“You are indeed, young aiji,” nand’ Bren said, giving his greater title, very courteously, and, to his relief, not treating him at all as a child.
“Mind,” nand’ Bren added, “that your parents will be anxious about your impressions of your guests, and their influence on you. They will be forming their opinions about the effects of their visit. Trust that I shall be giving them a very favorable report, as Jase-aiji will give to his associates.”
Practicalities. Politics. That was a relief. That was what he had to think about. Nand’ Bren was very sensibly warning him to think clearly.
“And well done, young aiji.”
That—jarred him a little.
“Nandi.” He gave a little bow. He already knew his parents would be judging him, and listening to those reports—and to some reports less favorable, probably, by busybodies he could not control. Any bad report worried him. But there could not be too many of those. “I shall be very careful,” he managed to say. “Thank you, nandi.”
He was to leave the train first, these days, being his father’s heir.
Being no longer just a child.
Tano and Algini went forward and opened the door, and stepped down to the platform first—senior Guild, as his aishid was not. Cajeiri followed, disembarked under their guard.
And everything was ordinary. The train was at its ordinary spot. Some of his father’s household staff were on the platform to meet them and handle baggage, and likewise some of nand’ Bren’s staff stood by as the baggage car began to open up. He heard Boji give a shriek. It echoed eerily and lost itself in the high darkness of the station.
But his valets, and nand’ Bren’s, would be taking care of all that detail, so they need not be delayed by that.
Should not be. Dared not be. He had learned that from infancy, that he was not safe standing anywhere in a public place for too long, because some people, probably including, at the moment, his mother’s own clan, wanted to kill him.
They crossed the platform, he, and nand’ Bren and their bodyguards, a much smaller party on their return. They reached the lift in company with nand’ Bren, and Tano keyed them in.
The familiar ride up was not an easy few moments. Cajeiri stood and looked at the lights on the panel, and tried to clear the lump in his throat as the car rose up, up, up through all the levels of the Bujavid’s sub-basements.
When the car reached the third floor above ground, and the doors opened on their own hallway, he exited the car with his bodyguard, turned and bowed to nand’ Bren, and said, with good controclass="underline" “Nandi, thank you very much. One is very grateful.”
“One thanks you, young aiji. Well done. Well done, today.”
Oh, if that today were not there, he might have held it better. Today was not a happy word.
But nand’ Bren simply bowed and said not another word, just headed off toward his apartment, regardless of precedent.
Cajeiri was grateful for that. Nand’ Bren’s was a door that he must pass to reach his own, one apartment farther down the hall. But he could concentrate now on gathering his dignity.
He would not, at least, have to face his father immediately; he could say hello to the servants, change coats, get to his own suite, then report to his father. He could do that.
He stood there a breath or two, then quietly nodded to his aishid, and Jegari and Antaro, each with letters to carry, departed in the opposite direction.
He and Veijico and Lucasi walked on, as nand’ Bren reached his own apartment door.
Antaro was carrying a letter he had written to his great-grandmother; and Jegari carried a similar letter to his great-uncle Tatiseigi—both resident just up the broad, ornate hallway, with its plinths, its vases, its antique silk carpets.
His guests had thought it very beautiful. He had never noticed so many things until they had marveled at them.
He did not want to talk to his great-grandmother or his great-uncle yet. He had no wish to talk to his parents, either—but they were a duty he could find no way to escape.
I am well, he had written in those notes to mani and to Great-uncle. Thank you very much for entertaining us. My guests were very happy and they thank you very much. I thank you for the wonderful things we enjoyed and also thank you very much for my presents. I look forward to the next time I can ride.
I am going back into my parents’ apartment now. I understand that I have new responsibilities to my father and I am very grateful that I have had more time with my guests than I expected.
Thank you very much.
And to both letters he had added another line, in hope that there would be an interruption in his boredom—or a safe place, should his mother and father be having one of their arguments.
Should you wish to invite me to dinner or lunch or breakfast soon, I would be very honored.
· · ·
Narani was waiting at Bren’s door to open it as they arrived—of course Narani was waiting, alerted long since to their arrival at the train station, and having been in contact with Banichi or Jago all the way up.
And, standing now in his own apartment foyer, with household staff crowding the inner hall and the smell of fresh baking and festive pizza in the air, Bren gladly handed off his outdoor coat and the bulletproof vest—Jago had insisted he wear the heavy, hot garment today, just in case.
Now he could wear a comfortable light coat; his bodyguard could shed their own armored duty jackets for more comfortable light leather, likewise offered in staff hands.
Here was safety and very familiar faces. Narani was beaming. So was Narani’s assistant and understudy Jeladi, while the staff farther back in the hall was all but standing on tiptoe to get a view and their share in the homecoming. They had a personal stake in recent events, after so many weeks of upset and absence, and their personal efforts in caring for young humans.
“Everything went well with the young visitors, nandi?”
“Very well, Rani-ji. Nand’ Jase and the young people are now safely up in space, and it will be an easy journey home for them now. The young gentleman is bound for his own door, at the moment, safe and well. We have finished our mission with honor.”
“Excellent,” Narani said. “Truly excellent, nandi. There is pizza. There is every delicacy. And chilled wine.”
Home. He was definitely home, and safe, with all obligations discharged.
It had been a while since he had been home with no guests, no emergencies, no crisis. The staff had justly declared itself a party in celebration of the event, and there in the doorway, like a barge making its way through crowded waters, came stout Bindanda, the master of the kitchen, his dark arms dusted with flour, clearly fresh from work, very dignified and very happy.
There stood, on the table beside Bindanda, a less welcome sight—the overflowing message bowl, a sight almost obscured by the press of bodies in the hall. Message cylinders not only filled the figured porcelain bowl; a second, less elegant brass bowl held the unprecedented overflow.
Oh, not everything therein could possibly be felicitous—or simple. Simple letters his secretarial staff handled. They sent up the problems, the puzzles, the security threats, and the high-ranking ones. And all those were waiting for him.
It was, however, a homecoming party, Bindanda and Narani could not be denied, and his staff, who had coped with their comings and goings and their emergencies and communications throughout a chain of problems, certainly had earned it. His valets, still laboring with the baggage downstairs; and most of all his bodyguard, who had been more than once under fire and on duty with only scant letup—they certainly deserved it.