It would not likely be as crowded as at the seasonal celebrations, but short notice or not, people rarely lost the chance for a holiday, and would to go to the largest town or city they could manage—to Shejidan itself if they were near enough. Certainly the whole city population would be involved in the event. Little eateries and open-air pubs would be busy around the clock. The usual number of individuals would imbibe too much, perhaps spend too much, and definitely eat too much, having a splendid time along the way. Musicians would have country dances chaining through amiable crowds—
Or at least that was the sort of atmosphere one hoped would prevail, given the recent goings-on. Number-readers and ’counters real or self-proclaimed would solicit coins at one-legged wandering booths shaded by the black and gold umbrellas of their trade—apt to be a brisker business than usual, given the rumors bound to be circulating in the drinking establishments. Entertainers were not so formal—they’d take the coins that came their way either in a bowl or a bag, as they circulated through the prospective audience. There’d be drink, food, excess before the small hours of the morning . . . likely a little broken pottery, a few canopies knocked askew . . .
He had never, himself, ventured down into the press. He had the security of the Bujavid. In a year when he had felt competent to navigate the events—security had become far too precarious. But he had been as far as the Bujavid’s upper steps, and seen the banners and the press below.
And the colors. Festival clothing observed heraldic colors only for the lords and their households. For everybody else it was a display of only occasional political significance. The lords of provinces and associations would have their tents going up out on the northeastern shoulder of the Bujavid hill, and outward, in an ancient precedence of place. Clans major and minor would be flying their flags there and representing their clan, offering services to any of their own who might need them—impromptu Contract marriages were not unknown, sometimes repented with sobriety.
And the tents offered shelter to clan lords, lost children, and others who might want to take a break from the noisy goings-on in the streets without braving the crowds on the way to the hotels.
Najida was entitled to a tent. He had not provided one—and he should. He was resolved to do it, and to provide transport for Najida folk who wanted to come so far, and for staff of his who wanted to go down: they so deserved that benefit—granted security improved. In a public Festivity, the lords actually resident in the Bujavid would not likely be braving the press of bodies down in the hotel district; but those seasonally resident in the hotel district might well take a night in the tents—the noise on the esplanade was not conducive to sleep. It was ordinarily one night of moderate rowdiness, a second of mild madness and a great deal of food and drink . . . utterly, utterly out of the question, but he conceived the oddest longing to go down there himself—granted his bodyguard ever approved.
Tabini-aiji hadn’t had to organize the city event: city officials, guilds, vendors and licensed purveyors of this and that knew exactly what to do, since they did it several times a year. The aiji only needed issue one phrase in his decree: a day of public Festivity . . . and the restaurants would be preparing to fire up their mobile carts, the vendors would pick their wares, the district officials would prepare banners to be hung, and the whole nation would start looking for train and plane tickets before the echoes died . . .
That would have begun on the very morning they’d been out riding at Tirnamardi, enjoying life.
Well, it was positive politics, this time, a happy event, a chance for people to enjoy themselves.
The numbers had turned out, and the aiji was ready to state that there would be no consideration of a second child as heir. Whatever numbers had prevailed in Cajeiri’s life were taken into account, accepted as favorable, apparently with no more argument.
With human guests to witness it.
With the whole nation to witness it.
Tabini had made his move, one could guess, in some apprehension his own existence was at risk.
Tabini had had no advisement the aiji-dowager was going to make hers in her own fashion, double or nothing, and take on the Guild. They’d surprised each other.
He was not too surprised when a message arrived from the dowager’s apartment, under the dowager’s personal seal.
It said: We trust you have heard from our grandson. Of course the numbers are felicitous. We have seen to that.
Jase-aiji and the young guests will not forget this event. And their attendance will stamp them forever, if they are wise.
Jase-aiji often speaks to the ship and to Lord Geigi. They should not, in decency, be informed yet. Advise him.
The aiji-consort may have her child. We can now be sure of ours.
We are very pleased.
Damn, he thought. But there was nothing in the letter or the conclusion his aishid did not know. It only remained to slip the hint to Jase—without himself being certain quite what the dowager meant by stamp them forever.
“I have a notion,” he said in that conversation with Jase alone in the sitting room, “that the ship-captains and the human authorities are getting a strong signal from Tabini-aiji and the dowager. One only wishes one understood it.” He spoke in Ragi, naturally as breathing, and switched languages, to enter another referent. “A signal about the status of those kids.”
“Does she know about the pressure—to send the Reunioners off to Maudit?”
“She may,” he said. “Between you and me, it’s at least a signal her personal plans don’t include Maudit.”
“I’m not sure I get the nuance. Am I included in this idea?”
“Three kids. One of you. It’s an infelicity if combined. The verb governs all preceding.”
“So I’m included.”
“I think definitely. She’s handed you responsibility for those kids. And they’re not going to Maudit.”
Jase had a troubled look in his eyes. “I had both figured on different grounds, actually, before the message. Tell her, since I figure you’re the designated channel, and I shouldn’t write to her unless she writes to me—”
“That would be true.”
“Tell her I’ll protect the kids. Personally. And officially. And no, if she asks, I’ll keep this from the ship until she agrees I can say something. I answer to Sabin on this, but her word to me was—you make the judgment call.”
Sabin, senior captain, was no fool. Let the one of the four fluent in the language and adept in the culture assess what was going on on the planet. And with the four captains in agreement, and with Lord Geigi, head of the atevi space authority, backing them—the Mospheiran station authorities would be fools to back the emigration of the Reunioner refugees, badly as the Mospheirans wanted to shed the Reunioners . . . who were, never to forget it, actually under the four captains, not the Mospheiran government.
Politics, politics. The aiji-dowager had just, in the atevi proverb, taken hold of the strongest stick to stir the stew, not attempting to use her fingers.
“So the kids aren’t going to Maudit,” Bren said.
“No,” Jase said, a breath of an answer. “Given how things have turned out down here, not any time this century, if I have anything to say about it.”
17