Which he did not reach. “Come here,” Cajeiri said, and gave a series of clicks, mimicking Boji.
Boji came, approaching carefully on all fours, then sat up and stood up, and moved onto Cajeiri’s knee.
“Look at that!” Irene exclaimed.
“He understands you,” Gene said. “What did you say to him?”
“I have no idea,” Cajeiri said, and laughed and scratched Boji on the side of his cheek, which he liked. Boji then climbed up his arm in a vaulting move and ended up on the couch back behind him.
Parid’ji could become attached—not man’chi, so Jegari had said, but something like it. They were sociable among themselves, and with only atevi for a choice, some attached and learned to do clever things like retrieve a ball.
But they also stole things, Jegari had said. And it was true. Boji had made off with his treasured penknife and a brand new hair ribbon, which he had bitten through, freeing his little hands for a jump.
“Artur,” Cajeiri said, and tossed him the end of Boji’s chain. Boji went with it, clever creature, leaping for Artur, and grabbing at the chain in mid-air.
Artur was cleverer than that, and got the chain anyway. Boji had to be content with climbing up to Artur’s shoulder and chittering at him—especially as Artur took him toward the cage. Artur clipped the chain to the grillwork, which gave Boji the freedom of the inside or the outside.
Boji was rather like them, Cajeiri thought, a short chain and a walk from this guarded place to that guarded place.
But they were all right, at least, and there would be a museum tour. His guests were safe. They said they were having a good time. They played with Boji—Boji liked it. They played cards, and he let them win at least half the time.
He sighed, which drew immediate stares from his guests, who were not stupid, so he could not even do that much—let alone throw a tantrum about it all. Being infelicitous eight had been hard. But right now it seemed safe and known. Nine was supposed to be a very felicitous year . . . but Nine was unexplored territory, and he almost wished he could stay just eight.
Being nine, he had to stand there and look important and grown up, but having not one single thing he wanted, for three whole hours.
And give a speech.
That was not an auspicious start of being nine.
15
A little time lying down—that helped. Bren managed a nap very carefully, having shed his coat, and his vest, and lay carefully on his stomach, head on his hand, so as not to wrinkle the shirt.
A knock sounded at the door, and he turned a little and looked from the corner of his eye—it was Jago who had come in.
“Bren-ji. Narani reports Lord Topari is coming. Imminently.”
Damn. And good. “How imminently?”
“Narani estimates half an hour.”
Damn again. He didn’t want to move. But he carefully slid off the bed—he and his valets had agreed that the helpful little stepping-stool should always be set precisely in the middle of the bedframe, so that he could find it infallibly with his foot. “My vest,” he said, “Jago-ji. How is Banichi?”
“Sleeping,” Jago said. “Tano is also sleeping.”
“Good for both,” he said. He straightened his sleeves, saw that Jago had taken not the vest he had just put off to lie down, but the bulletproof one, and considering Topari’s opinion of humans, and his experience in the south, he didn’t argue. He simply slipped his arms into it, and let Jago fasten it. “How did Narani report his disposition?”
“As unhappy.”
“The brown coat.” That was a day-coat that accommodated that vest, the only day-coat that would. Jago took it from the closet and held it for him, helped him settle the shoulders.
“A message from Tabini,” Jago said, the sort of running report he usually got from his valets or his major d’, “regarding the festivity schedule. A message from the aiji-dowager, which is actually Cenedi’s report on security—Algini and I have heard it. There are no surprises.”
“Good,” he said. “Teacakes. Can we manage that?”
“Bindanda has anticipated the need,” Jago said, “and arranged some small pastries, too, in the thought that such things, if unneeded for guests, never go begging.”
“Excellent,” he said. “We need to call Bujavid security.”
“Better,” Jago said. “I shall go downstairs and escort the lord up.”
“Having him in the best mood possible,” he said, “will be an asset. Thank you, Jago-ji.”
“Look at me,” she said, and gently angled his face to look him in the eyes and let him track her finger. “The pupils still match.”
“Good,” he said, wishing he dared take another painkiller. But he had an ill-disposed, rough-edged southerner headed for his apartment and he needed nothing to dull his senses. “The video from nand’ Jase.”
“The video and the viewer will be in the sitting room, should you wish.”
“Excellent. One trusts Topari has a bodyguard.”
“Yes,” Jago said. “Algini just requested their records. If there should be any problem—shall we defer Guild objection to his escort, in the interests of the meeting, or shall we make one and bar them from entry?”
“Let them in,” he said. “Let us be cordial to our guest . . . and do not alarm him. Advise Jase and his aishid—no, I should advise him. His presence might be useful. Otherwise, just let Tano sleep. Surely you and Algini can deal with any problem.”
“One suggests we ask two of the aiji’s guards to fill in, to be sure.”
Tabini’s secondary bodyguards were the dowager’s own, and their presence would brief Tabini and Ilisidi at once they returned to their posts. “Yes,” he said. “Do that. Go.”
She left, moving quickly. He took a slower pace to his office and left the door open, seeing to a little note-taking, while kitchen, serving staff, and Jago collectively saw to it they had a smooth welcome for a very problematic visitor, who must not get stopped and annoyed by the extraordinary security of the third floor.
Jase came in. “Visitor?” Jase asked, in the shorthand way of ship-folk. “I’m told he’s a problem.”
“He can be, easily. Conservative as hell, and he and his staff are probably the only citizens of his district that’ve ever met anybody who wasn’t born in his district.”
“We’ve seen that problem,” Jase said. “Too long between station-calls.”
“Only his district has never made a station-call, even on their own capital, not in the whole existence of the aishidi’tat. The mountain folk only heard about the War of the Landing. They only hear about humans. This fellow’s certainly the only one in his district who’s ever met one of us, and that one is me, so it’s a pretty small sample. Meeting you would double his entire experience. Kaplan and Polano in armor—and the technicalities of that recording from two angles—are going to be a bit much for him, I’m suspecting, but I’ll try not to push matters.”
“We’re there if you need us,” Jase said. “Kaplan and Polano are sleeping off last night. I can send them in if you want.”
“We’ll manage. We have reinforcement from next door.” He noted Narani’s quiet appearance in the doorway. “Very well done, Rani-ji. How was he?”
Narani’s little lift of the brows, the little hesitation, spoke volumes. “One believes, nandi, that the gentleman does not trust the invitation, but considers your position.”