“Shall we go for brandy?” his father asked.
There was quiet agreement, everyone rising, and Cajeiri got up. His guests did—servants moved to assist his guests in moving the chairs, though Gene managed—Cajeiri gave it only a little push to help it move straight back. So they all four gathered, with Antaro and Jegari, who had stood along the wall with the other senior bodyguards, and who now attended their lords: Lucasi and Veijico were out in the hall, where they ought to find out things—but he doubted they were learning any more out there.
What’s going on? Cajeiri wanted to ask Jase-aiji, when they came near, going out into the sitting room. He could ask it in ship-speak, and nobody but his guests would know what he asked.
But he feared to break the peace, such as it was, that kept questions out of the conversation and kept everybody polite. He went in with his guests, and as his mother and his father sat down—his mother, like them, to be served a light fruit juice and his father and everybody else receiving a brandy glass. His father asked politely whether his youngest guests had enjoyed their dinner.
There was crashing silence. It was an unscheduled question, one Madam Saidin had not prepared them to answer.
Then Irene said, in her soft voice, with only a little lisp, “Dinner was very good, nand’ aiji. One is very grateful.”
“Yes,” Gene and Artur said, both nodding deeply.
“Excellent,” his father said, and Cajeiri resumed breathing—there had been no mistake, no infelicity. He was not superstitious. Mani said superstitious folk were fools. But it felt as if any mistake they made could bring everything crashing down, everything balanced like a precarious stack of china. People he relied on were not here. They were about to go far off the polite phrases they had memorized for the occasion, and with nand’ Bren not here to fill up the gaps.
His father went on to ask Lord Tatiseigi about his art exhibit down in the public museum—and they talked about which pieces were there, and then wandered off into talking about Lord Geigi’s collection out in the west, and the effort to retrieve a piece that Lord Geigi’s nephew had sold.
Mani said that she was tracking it—and they went off about that, then stopped to explain the matter to Jase-aiji.
There was not a word about the Dojisigi or Lord Aseida.
There was not a word about what had gone on at Tirnamardi.
They just talked on and on. Jase-aiji had hardly said a word all evening, and he had had hardly a word from his parents, either—not “We were worried,” nor anything of the sort—which, considering they had come in from a situation with Assassins, and had sneaked into the Bujavid, seemed another considerable lack of questions. It was as if nothing had happened at all.
Then, after they had worn that matter out, his mother asked, almost the first word she had uttered, “Your guests, son of mine—they are all older than you, are they not?”
“Yes, honored Mother.”
He waited, wondering whether she was going to make some observation about that point, but she looked elsewhere, and meanwhile Great-grandmother had called one of her bodyguards forward and asked a question he could not hear. The young man seemed to say no, or something like no.
It was more than weird. It was getting scary.
He took a deep, deep breath then and asked, very calmly, very quietly, “Have we had any security alerts tonight, honored Father?”
“Nothing our guests should worry about,” his father said.
And almost as he said it, all the bodyguards twitched at once, and Jegari checked his locator bracelet.
Father’s chief bodyguard moved first, and went to his father, bent close to his ear and said something, no one else moving, everybody else watching.
His father asked a question, and got an answer that Cajeiri could almost hear, it was so quiet.
His father nodded then, and drew a deep breath. “Guild transmission has resumed,” he said. “Cenedi has just reported the mission is a success.”
“Excellent,” mani said, and Lord Tatiseigi and Jase-aiji all breathed at once.
“May one know?” Cajeiri asked, but mani was talking to his father and all he could do was try to overhear, because it was grown-up business, and he had the feeling it was very, very important.
There was something going on with the Assassins’ Guild. He caught that much. Some signal had hit everybody’s ear at once. His father asked whether documents had been filed, and his bodyguard said they had been.
It could be that his father had just Filed Intent on someone, but he heard no names, and his mother just looked upset. His father put his hand on hers and leaned over and talked just into her ear a moment. She nodded and seemed in better spirits then . . . so at least it was not something between them.
It was Assassins’ Guild business, he was absolutely sure of that. Some sort of papers were filed and something had upset his mother until his father reassured her.
He knew far more than his three young guests were supposed to know—that there was a little old man in offices in Guild Headquarters, who was behind a good deal of all their troubles, and that man’s name, Shishogi, was a name he was not supposed to mention. Shishogi was another of his relatives, and his mother’s relative, and Shishogi might have been involved in Grandfather being killed.
Had Cenedi possibly done something about Shishogi?
And where was nand’ Bren tonight? Maybe nand’ Bren’s bodyguard was helping Cenedi.
He wondered if his guests were understanding enough to make their own guesses.
And he would have to tell them, once he found out, but he did not expect that his father was going to say anything definite in front of them.
“Is there word from Bren-paidhi, nandiin?” Jase-aiji asked then.
“Well. He is well,” was the answer.
Well was very good news.
But why did his father have to assure Jase-aiji that nand’ Bren was well? Had nand’ Bren anything to do with Shishogi, if that had been what was going on?
Maybe it had been some other problem.
At least the grown-ups were relaxing. Father called for another round of brandy and fruit juice, and the bodyguards, from stiffly watchful, had moved together, opened the door to the hall, and were conferring in their own way, passing information which Cajeiri desperately wished he could hear.
“What’s going on?” came a whisper from Gene.
“The Guild,” he whispered back, in Ragi, and then in ship-speak, quietly, so his mother would not hear: “Our big problem, maybe. Fixed, maybe. Not sure.”
Gene passed that on to Irene and Artur, heads together, and his mother was, at the moment, talking to his father, so they went unnoticed.
Whatever had happened, the Guild meeting at the door broke up, and bodyguards went back on duty, with no different expressions. That was all they could know, because nobody was going to say anything to his guests. Antaro and Jegari had moved over to the door and had not moved back to the far side of the room.
But he had no wish to have his father officially notice that his very junior bodyguard knew anything about his father’s business. He so wanted to call them over as everybody else had and ask what was going on, but he decided not to attract grown-up attention. He would find out when the dinner was officially over and they all could go back—
He hoped they could all go back to Uncle Tatiseigi’s. He hoped not to be moved back here to his father’s apartment, if there happened to be any thought of that, now that whatever emergency had been in question seemed settled. He had no inclination to attract any sort of reconsideration from the grown-ups.
Clearly mani and Great-uncle were not going to leave yet. They were all going to sit here and drink brandy and fruit juice, probably until there was some sort of all-clear. He had experienced security alerts often enough in his life that he knew how that went.