“Is thatwhere my mail’s been going?”
“Oh, there’s a market for it. The post tries to be careful. But things do slip.”
Is that what this is about? Bren asked himself. Someone stealing mail? Selling illicit catalogs?
“If you get me to the Bergid this winter,” he said, “I’d be glad to show you the basics. Fair trade for the riding lessons.”
Cenedi achieved a final, two-handed stack in his desk-straightening. “I’d like that, nand’ paidhi. On more than one account. I’d like to persuade the dowager back to Shejidan. Malguri is hellin the winter.”
They still hadn’t gotten to the subject. But it wasn’t uncommon in atevi business to meander, to set a tone. Atevi manners.
“Maybe we can do that,” he said, “I’d like to.”
Cenedi sipped his tea and set the cup down. “They don’t ride on Mospheira.”
“No. No mecheiti.”
“You hunt.”
“Sometimes.”
“On Mospheira?”
Were they talking about guns, now? Was that where this was going? “I have. A few times. Small game. Very small.”
“One remembers,” Cenedi said—as if any living atevi couldremember. “Is it very different, Mospheira?”
“From Malguri?” One didn’t quite go off one’s guard. “Very. From Shejidan—much less so.”
“It was reputed—quite beautiful before the War.”
“It still is. We have very strict rules—protection of the rivers, the scenic areas. Preservation of the species we found there.”
Cenedi leaned back in his chair. “Do you think, nadi, there’ll be a time Mospheira will open up—to either side of the strait?”
“I hope it will happen.”
“But do you think it willhappen, nand’ paidhi?”
Cenedi might have gotten to his subject, or might have led away from the matter of the gun simply to make him relax. He couldn’t figure—and he felt more than a mild unease. The question touched policy matters on which he couldn’t comment without consultation. He didn’t want to say no to Cenedi, when Cenedi was being pleasant. It could target whole new areas for Cenedi’s curiosity. “It’s my hope. That’s all I can say.” He took a sip of hot tea. “It’s what I work very hard for, someday to have that happen, but no paidhi can say when—it’s for aijiin and presidenti to work out.”
“Do you think this television interview is—what is your expression?—a step in the right direction?”
Is thatit? Publicity? Tabini’s campaign for association with Mospheira? “Honestly, nadi Cenedi, I was disappointed. I don’t think we got to any depth. There are things I wanted to say. And they never asked me those. I wasn’t sure what they wanted to do with it. It worried me—what they might put in, that I hadn’t meant.”
“I understand there’s some thought about monthly broadcasts. The paidhi to the masses.”
“I don’t know. I certainly don’t decide things like that on my own. I’m obliged to consult.”
“By human laws, you mean.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not autonomous.”
“No. I’m not.” Early on, atevi had expected paidhiin to make and keep agreements—but the court in Shejidan didn’t have this misconception now, and he didn’t believe Cenedi was any less informed. “Though in practicality, nadi, paidhiin aren’t often overruled. We just don’t promise what we don’t think our council will accept. Though we do argue with our council, and sometimes we win.”
“Do you favor more interviews? Will you argue for the idea?”
Ilisidi was on the conservative side of her years. Probably she didn’t like television cameras in Malguri, let alone the idea of the paidhi on regular network broadcasts. He could imagine what she might say to Tabini.
“I don’t know what position I’ll argue. Maybe I’ll wait and see how atevi like the first one. Whether people wantto see a human face—or not. I may frighten the children.”
Cenedi laughed. “Your face has already been on television, nand’ paidhi, at least the official clips. ‘The paidhi discussed the highway program with the minister of Works, the paidhi has indicated a major new release forthcoming in microelectronics…’ ”
“But that’s not an interview. And a still picture. I can’t understand why anyone would want to hear me discuss the relative merits of microcircuits for an hour-long program.”
“Ah, but your microcircuits work by numbers. Such intricate geometries. The hobbyists would deluge the phone system. ‘Give us the paidhi,’ they’d say. ‘Let us hear the numbers.’ ”
He wasn’t sure Cenedi was joking at first. A few days removed from the Bu-javid and one could forget the intensity, the passion of the devout number-counters. He decided it wasa joke—Tabini’s sort of joke, irreverent of the believers, impatient of the complications their factions created.
“Or people can think my proposals contain wicked numbers,” Bren said, himself taking a more serious turn. “As evidently some do think.” And a second diversion, Cenedi delaying to reveal his reasons. “— Isit a blown fuse, this time, nadi?”
“I think it’s a short somewhere. The breaker keeps going off. They’re trying to find the source.”
“Jago received some message from Banichi a while ago that distressed her, and she left. It worried me, nadi. So did your summons. Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
“Banichi’s working with the house maintenance staff. I don’t know what he might have found, but he’s extremely exacting. His subordinates do hurry when they’re asked.” Cenedi took another drink of tea, a large one, and set the cup down. “I wouldn’t worry about it. He’d have advised me, I think, if he’d found anything irregular. Certainly house maintenance would, independent of him.—Another cup, nadi?”
He’d diverted Cenedi from his conversation. He was obligated to another cup. “Thank you,” he said, and started to get up to get his own tea, in the absence of a servant, and not suggesting Cenedi do the office, but Cenedi signaled otherwise, reached a long arm across the corner of the desk, picked up the pot and poured for him and for himself.
“Nadi, a personal curiosity—and I’ve never had the paidhi at hand to ask: all these years you’ve been dealing out secrets. When will you be out of them? And what will you do then?”
Odd that no one had ever asked the paidhiin that quite that plainly… on thisside of the water, although God knew they agonized over it on Mospheira.
And perhaps that wasCenedi’s own and personal question, though not thequestion, he was sure, which Cenedi had called him downstairs specifically to answer. It was the sort of thing an astute news service might ask. The sort of thing a child might… not a political sophisticate like Cenedi, not officially.
But it was very much the sort of question he’d already begun to hint at in technical meetings, testing the waters, beginning, one hoped, to shift attitudes among atevi, and knowing atevi couldn’t go much farther down certain paths without developments resisted for years by vested interests in other departments.
“Things don’t only flow one way across the strait, nadi. We learn from yourscientists, quite often. Not to say we’ve stood still ourselves since the Landing. But the essential principles have been on the table for a hundred years. I’m not a scientist—but as I understand it, it’s the intervening steps, the things that atevi science has to do before the principles in other areas become clear—those are the things still missing. There’s materials science. There’s the kind of industry it takes to support the science. And the education necessary for new generations to understand it. The councils are still debating the shape of baffles in fuel tanks—when no one’s teaching the students in the schools whyyou need a slosh baffle in the first place.”