The national treasures on display? Museums on both sides of the strait could long for such treasures as filled this apartment, but no public tours such as frequented the downstairs legislative halls had everreached this floor. Such photography of historic treasures the security staff had allowed was limited to fine detail of certain objects, or set against a background, to prevent any public knowledge of the geography and geometry of the—in truth—rather simple and austere corridors outside, and of these fabled, far more ornate rooms. It was a television first.
And a live reception in a premise of the Bu-javid where cameras had never been, with a guest list that included Tabini andhis favored lady, who was contesting Uncle for supremacy in the Atageini clan?
Machimi plays couldn’t possibly touch it.
All of a sudden hisstomach knotted up in panic.
“Nadi,” Banichi said, briskly coming from the same direction as the camera crew. “It’s all on schedule. The aiji’s party is arriving in short order. Entry will be by precedence andtenancy. They just settled it: simultaneouslylord Tatiseigi will arrive at this door and the aiji and Damiri-daja will arrive from next door.”
The mind refused to grasp what convolutions of protocol and argument thatstatement had settled.
“I’m going to forget,” Jase muttered under his breath. “I’m going to forget his name. I’m going to forget all the forms.”
“You won’t,” Bren said. “You’ll be brilliant. Just, if I have to go off with someone, stay with your security: Dureni will be with you— he’lldo the talking.”
Banichi was off down the hall talking to Saidin, who was keeping a stern eye on the camera crew and the gilt woodwork. Junior security was down there standing by with grim expressions. Dureni and his partner Ninicho had come from the security station, junior, very earnest, and they stood by, attaching themselves directly to the paidhiin at a time when Banichi and Jago were apt to have their hands full or be distracted to a critical duty at any given moment.
Jase was saying to himself, “ Hamatha ta resa Tatiseigi-dathasa. Hamatha ta resa Tatiseigi-dathasa. Hamatha ta resa Tatiseigi-dathasa.”
Madam Saidin was talking furiously with the cook. One of the maids ran— ran, to the rear hall. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone run in the household.
The steel security barrier was gone. They’d taken that out while he was getting dressed for the occasion and he still hadn’t seen the breakfast room, though he’d heard relief that the woodwork and the plaster was intact. Carts were coming from the kitchen, he heard them rattling. There was, for which he was infinitely grateful, no formal dinner, just a reception, at which guests, too many to seat, were going to be straying back and forth between the formal dining room and the breakfast room.
No one was stated to be a security risk except the lord who owned the apartment.
The rattle came closer. It and the maid must have met and dodged. There was a momentary pause: then a continued rattle.
Something evidently wasn’t on schedule.
Jago passed them, coming fromthe breakfast room and from a brisk pause for a word with Banichi. She was resplendent in a black brocade coat with silver edgings. He’d never seen her in formal dress. She was beautiful, absolutely beautiful.
“They’re coming,” Jago said to them, and delayed for one more word with a servant. “—To the foyer, nadiin-ji, please!”
“Calmly,” Bren said, and with Jase, walked to the foyer, which smelled of the banks of springtime flowers, and sparkled with crystal and gold and silver. Mirrors multiplied the bouquets, and showed a pair of pale, formally dressed humans. Saidin overtook them, and so did Jago, and they made a small receiving line.
The door opened. Tabini and Damiri were there, Tabini in a brilliant red evening-coat; Damiri in Atageini pale green and pink, both escorting an elderly gentleman with an inbuilt scowl and a dark green coat with a pale green collar. Atageini green, like Damiri’s.
Saidin bowed, Jago bowed, they bowed to the lordly arrivals. Tabini wore his cast-iron smile, Damiri had hers stitched in place, and Tatiseigi—Bren had no doubt of the gentleman’s identity—came forward with jutting jaw, folded hands behind him, and looked down at them with unconcealed belligerence as a black and red and dark green wall of atevi security unfolded into the foyer, transforming the place from bright floral pastels to a metal-studded limiting darkness.
“Lord Tatiseigi,” Bren said, as he had prepared to say, “thank you for your”—he had meant to say gracious, and gravely edited it out—“presence on this occasion.”
Tatiseigi said, “nand’ paidhi,” in glacial tones, and turned an eye to Jase, who said with an absolutely impeccable bow, “Felicitous greetings to your lordship.”
Tatiseigi stood and stared. Jase stood his ground, bowed his head a second time, briefly, a trick of courtesy he had—thank God—correctly, but verging on impudence, recalled.
Miming him, dammit, Bren thought. It put the onus of courtesy on Tatiseigi.
“Nadi,” Tatiseigi said. Not the rank: Nand’ paidhi. Not the respectfuclass="underline" Nand’ Jase. But the more familiar and in this case slightly supercilious nadi, as acknowledgement and finality on the matter.
And looked at Tabini and Damiri. “I’ll see the room.”
Tabini had an eyebrow that twitched occasionally. It never boded well. “That way,” Tabini said with a negligent wave of his hand toward the hall, as if the lord of the Atageini didn’t know the way under his own roof.
“Tati-ji,” Damiri said, snagged the old man by the arm and whisked him off down the hall.
Tabini cast a look at them, drew a deep breath, and before there could be courtesies, followed as if he were going into combat.
Bren found himself with an intaken breath and a rise of temper he hadn’t felt since he’d last dealt with the Mospheiran phone network. And he was still politely expressionless as he said to Jase, “You took a chance, Jase.”
“What was I supposed to do?” There was a touch of panic in the half-voice. “He was staring at me!”
“Don’t flinch. Don’t stare back. You did the right thing. Just don’t risk it again with his lordship. Wait for help.”
“From who?”
“Whom.”
“Dammit, whom?”
He had his own quirk of an eyebrow. He gave it to Jase, who shut up, shut down, and lowered his voice.
Just as the door let in the aiji-dowager.
And he couldn’t— couldn’tresist Tabini’s grandmother. Ilisidi, diminutive and wrinkled with years, with her lean, graying chief of security, Cenedi, beside her, cast an eye about, leaned her stick on the polished stone of the floor, and snapped, in the face of noreceiving line but him, Jase, Jago, and Saidin, “Well, well, if my grandson won’t stay to meet me, at least the paidhiin have manners. Good evening.”
“Nand’ dowager.” Saidin bowed, Jago bowed, he bowed. And looked up with no need to mask his delight to see the old woman.
“Nand’ dowager,” Jase said. “I’m honored.”
“He’s improved,” Ilisidi said with a nod at Jase. “Hair’s grown. You can understand him.”
“Yes, nand’ dowager.”
“So where’s my damn grandson? Here to meet me? No? Lets his grandmother wander about without directions? Where are these fabled porcelains?”
“Nand’ dowager, we would most willingly show you the restorations.”
“Manners. Manners. You should teach my grandson. Andhis neighbor. Weshould have stayed at Taiben, for all the courtesy we have here.”