“Possibly the paidhi-aiji could not have adequately interpreted.” He constructed the scene in his mind, the maids, the men, the townsfolk, and Barb, unable to communicate. The gown in question—the gown would have been made for a specific young lady who would have been, yes, Barb’s size. But the special-made gown now had been the subject of an argument—exceeding bad luck for the impending birthday—and Barb had offered more money, a suggestion which Ikaro had not dared translate.
“One understands,” he said. “You did your best, Ikaro. One will manage the matter. Please call Ramaso. And thank you. You have done everything you could have done.”
Besides flinging herself bodily on Barb and pulling her out of the shop.
God!
“One believes it might be best to replace the gown,” he said when Ramaso had come in and heard the matter. “May the paidhi do so, at his expense?”
“That would be extremely gracious of the paidhi,” the old man said. “The event is for spring. There is time.”
“The paidhi might favor the young girl with a festivity in the estate on the auspicious day—might we not?”
“Indeed,” the old man said. “Indeed. That would be most generous.”
“Do I know the girl?”
“She is the sailmaker’s daughter.”
“Egien? Then the paidhi will be extremely delighted to offer the event the hospitality of his house if they will take it.”
“One will send that message immediately, if the paidhi will write.”
Before the ill omen of the criticism of the little girl’s gown reached the couple. It had already distressed the tailor, who must be wondering what he could do.
So he wrote two letters, one to the tailor: The paidhi has learned of a misunderstanding in the village this morning in your establishment. Please accept the apologies of the paidhi-aiji for the difficulty. The paidhi wishes to gift the child with a new gown of the best materials in your stock, and has every confidence in your skill to accomplish this in a timely way. Please bill the paidhi directly, courtesy of the estate, and please add the cost of the discarded gown to the bill. It is my gift to the family.
Then he wrote to Egien-nadi: This morning, the paidhi has learned with great joy of the impending felicity: the paidhi has been extremely distressed to understand that a misunderstanding in the shop has compromised the tailor’s work for this happy event. This accident must not compromise the omens of the occasion. It is the paidhi’s wish to have the happiest of events for this child, the daughter of a skilled craftsman who is an asset to the village.
Accordingly he wishes, as Lord of Najida, and in gratitude for the work of your house, to offer an ensemble of the finest work. He offers his estate’s hospitality with a dinner and celebration for all the guests on the festive dayc
That would be the whole village.
c Please accept this gesture with the paidhi’s personal wishes for felicity and prosperity.
Barb’s tab for the morning had run to, oh, a considerable figure. The ensemble Barb had admired would have to be burned, and a new gown made, to purge the taint of envy and criticism from the child. For the rest, he’d meant to offer Toby fuel and resupply, he wasn’t sorry to have Toby have the knife, and if Barb’s new atevi clothes, the clothes she’d actually bought in that shop, pleased the pair of themc well, good, he thought. Worse could have happened. The girl would have the birthday of her dreams, the village would be happy: over all it added up to felicity, and that, on the most superstitious of occasions, the entry of a child onto the fringe of adult society, was the important thing.
So when it came to supper, he even fell into the spirit of the occasion by kitting Toby up in one of his less formal coats—the trousers were impossible—and the shirt and coat were a close calclass="underline" Toby was a little stouter below, and his seafaring life had given him a greater breadth of shoulder than one gained sitting at a desk, never mind the exercise the paidhi attempted to take.
“I swear I’m going to have it in the soup,” Toby said, apprehensive of the lace cuffs. “Bren, God knows what Barb’s outfit cost this morning. I don’t want to ruin a shirt for you.”
“I’ve spilled a little soup in my career,” Bren said. The two of them were in his bedroom, with Koharu and Supani standing by to adjust the coat. “You use the wrist, turn the hand and lift when you reach for your wineglass—drop the fingers, pick up the glass. Keeps the lace right out of the soup bowl. I’m not kidding.”
“Turn and lift, huh?” Toby gave it a try. The lace wrapped onto his wrist in a decently elegant gesture. “Hmn.”
“Works as a gesture, too, just the half-reach. If you really want the water goblet and can’t safely cross the territory, wait till the servant takes the soup bowl out of the path: he’ll notice your signal. Nobility has some sacrifices.”
“It’s an incredible life.”
“Honestly, I don’t even think about it. I just keep my cuffs out of the soup.”
Toby laughed. “Never that successfullyc figuratively speaking. You’re always in it.”
He laughed, at the same joke, for once. “Still, I try. Shall we see if the maids have gotten Barb into that outfit?”
“I’ll check,” Toby said. “You go find the royal youngster, why don’t you?”
“No smoke has risen,” he said. “And there’s been no further sound of breakage. I’m fairly sure my bodyguard has been able to keep up with him.”
He sent a manservant to advise Banichi and the youngsters, wherever found, that supper was in the offing, and dropped by to consult Jago and Tano and Algini, who had been resting in quarters, playing dice, and actually enjoying themselves.
Deep breath. Calm. Everything was handled. He didn’t tell Jago about the ninth-year ensemble. Not on so pleasant an evening. He just met Banichi and the youngsters near the door, advised the youngsters to wash up, and looked forward to what the major domo informed him was a very extravagant effort from the kitchen.
Well, so, they would have all five courses, and helpings on an atevi scale. Time to pace oneself, or be sorry. And the lord of the place was obliged to be last to table—but he paced that, too, and contrived, with Jago and Banichi, to get himself into the dining room and settled into the conversation before Cajeiri and Toby had gotten much beyond, “You look great, nand’ Toby, Barb-daja!”
Barb got to preen in her new clothes. She had gotten herself a sea-green dinner ensemble with gold beading. It was, to be sure, styled for a slightly built child, with a high neck—and the sea-green outfit was really quite becoming to her slight figure, with its wide belt, gold embellishment, and a long scarf trailing just a little onto the floor—adjustment would still have been indicated. But there it was. He’d lent Toby a beige informal coat with velvet same-shade collar and, of course, the shirt and lace. Toby had on his best brown corduroys and a pair of boots in good polish, and actually looked quite the figure in it, as long as he didn’t reach and split a seam. The youngsters were duly impressed, and consequently put on their party manners—though for this household meal, Antaro and Jegari ate at table, in their best.
So did Banichi and Jago and Tano and Algini, with no visible weaponry. It was relaxed, Cajeiri’s youth and rank kept the conversation moderately modest. Everybody smiled, everybody appreciated the cook’s efforts and praised the meal properly, Barb didn’tlean on Toby’s shoulder at table, Toby managed not to drag his cuffs through the soup—actually managed the cuffs with a bit of flair, and the youngsters didn’t drop anything on the tablecloth.
It was splendid, all in allc given the start to the day.
“It could have been worse,” he said, finally relating the whole ninth-year ensemble problem to Jago, after hours, in bed.
A moment of silence ensued, Jago with her head on the other pillow, facing him in the darkness. Then:
“Bren-ji, this woman is a scandal.”