“ Didhe?” he asked, but he was sure of that, too.
“Of course. But we should get dressed, in case. There was no danger early on. But toward morning we should be a little on our guard, in case we must move.”
“Direiso?”
“Possibly.”
“What’s going on? Whereare we going and what are we up to?”
“Cenedi and the dowager know that for certain. But Mogari-nai, most likely. Which Direiso-daja will not like.” She unwound herself upward and tugged on his hand.
Will not like? he asked himself. Getting to his feet, he agreed with. But she ducked out of the tent stark naked into driving rain and pulled him out with her. It was cold rain. They were standing in water. Lightning was still going on, the wind was still fierce and Jago, her black skin glistening in the lightning, sluiced over by the rain, and her braid streaming water, acted as if she were in the safe, warm showers at home.
He followed her example, unwilling to think himself more delicate than she was. He scrubbed and rubbed and was oh so glad she ducked back inside in a hurry. She flung his insulated sleeping bag at him for a towel, and they both cleaned up and dressed and snuggled down with one of the open bags beneath them and one zipped out flat above them, both shivering and holding on to each other.
“Better than a roof in the peninsula,” she said, and hugged him close. “Get some sleep.”
He tried. He didn’t think he could, after the shock of cold water; but the shivering stopped, her warmth was comfortable, her embrace was trustable as anything on earth, and he found himself drifting.
Not love, he said to himself. And then thought, with one of those flashes of insight his professional mind sometimes had, maybe they’d had such rotten luck with the love and man’chi aspect of relations because that word in Mosphei’ blurred so many things together it just wasn’t safe to deal with.
They were lovers. But Ragi said they were sexual partners.
They were lovers. But Ragi said they were associated.
They were lovers. But Ragi said they were within the same lord’s man’chi.
They’d made love. But Ragi said there were one-candle nights and two-candle nights and there were relationships that didn’t count the candles at all.
They’d made love. But a Ragi proverb said one candle didn’t promise breakfast.
He and Jago would be lucky to have a breakfast undisturbed by the trouble that might come tomorrow, but he’d know his back was protected, come what might, by her andBanichi. So if their languages didn’t say quite the same thing and their bodies didn’t quite match and the niches they made that said this person satisfies enough requirements to make me happywere just a little different-shaped in their psyches, the center of that design might match, leaving just the edges hanging off.
But didn’t his relationship with Barb have unmatched edges? Didn’t every close relationship?
He was quite out of his depth in trying to reckon that. But with Jago he certainly wouldn’t count the candles. Whatever they could arrange, as long as it could last from both sides, that was what he’d take.
He was happy, right now, where he was. He didn’t swear it would bear the light of the sun. He didn’t let himself hope—the way things in his personal life that had looked as if they were going to work had tended not to—that it would stand the sun.
But he trusted that Jago would protect herself.
That thought let him relax, finally, listening to her breathing. In dim-brained curiosity he began timing his breaths to hers and seeing if they could be brought to match. He could force it—but it wasn’t quite natural. She seemed asleep, so that might not be a fair test.
He went on trying to make a match, but it eluded him.
21
Good night?” Banichi asked them, in the cold, rainy dawn, when Ilisidi’s men were off to saddle the mechieti.
“Quite good,” Jago declared with a tilt of her head. “For the curious, yes, Banichi-ji, and you’ll go begging for the salacious details.”
Bren tried to keep an expressionless face as Banichi glanced at him for information. And didn’t think he succeeded.
“Shut out,” Banichi said. “Abandoned.”
“Fled,” Jago said. “Having set the scene.”
“ Shewas the one who said we needed to set separate guard last night,” Banichi said. “But I heard no appeals for rescue.”
“Be decent!” Jago said, finally rising to the defense. “My partner has no shame, paidhi-ji.”
Banichi strolled off quite happily, while the servants hastily struck tents. Ilisidi and Cenedi had gone out to get the mechieti; until Babsidi came to his rider, no other would. The boy from Dur had found Jase and was tagging him on a course toward them.
Jase was limping: it needed no guess to say why, in a beginning rider. Jase looked worried. Likely he was going to ask why they’d been separated last night.
And he didn’t know how he was going to explain it. The truth was going to have repercussions. There was no way it wouldn’t.
“I have duties,” Jago said, and deserted him.
“Bren?” Jase said.
“Good morning, Jasi-ji. Sorry about the change of arrangements last night.”
“The rain. I know.” Jase rushed past that item. “Where are we going? nand’ Rejiri says west. West, am I right, nadi? Mogari-nai? Not fishing. Not down to the sea?”
The boy from Dur looked as if a glimmering had reached him that he had just possibly said something out of line. And Bren tried to recall what he’d told Jase on the other side of a mountain of new information.
“You promised me the ocean,” Jase reminded him, “nadi. We were going to go fishing. You said political problems at Mogari-nai. Nand’ Rejiri says his father should bring guns there and I should ask you to ask the dowager if he can go to his father and bring guns.”
“Ask the dowager,” Bren said to the boy, “nadi.”
“One has asked, nand’ paidhi. But she won’t rely on me.”
“Possibly she has other reasons, nadi, such as intentions she holds in secret, and I would suggest that you remember she is old because some of her enemies are dead.”
Rejiri’s face grew quite sober. “Nandi,” he said.
While an aggrieved roommate with a good deal more than that on his mind waited to have hisquestion answered.
“Jase,” Bren said, “we are going to Mogari-nai, and I am increasingly certain we have a difficulty.”
“We are not on vacation.”
“I do not think we are on vacation, no, Jase.”
“Where were you last night?”
The boy was there, all ears.
“Talking,” Bren said.
“But not to me,” Jase said, and walked off.
“Jase!” he said, but Jase kept walking down what had been a line of tents and now was a set of bundles of baggage.
He couldn’t run after after Jase in front of the whole camp. He couldn’t start a quarrel. Jase was nota diplomat. He didn’t know how far it would go, or where it would end if Jase blew up, and blew up at the wrong people.
Meanwhile Ilisidi was up on Babsidi and she and Cenedi were bringing the herd in to the place where the gear waited.
“I suppose I talked too much, nand’ paidhi,” Rejiri said shamefacedly.
He’d never dealt individually with atevi youngsters. Certainly not with a boy verging on independence.
And he had no wish to humiliate the boy, who had probably heard his faults enumerated by Banichi. “Did nand’ Banichi give you advice?” he asked.
“Yes, nand’ paidhi.”
“Was it good advice?”
There was a moment of silence. “Yes, nand’ paidhi.”
“He’s a wise man,” Bren said. “I take advice from him, frequently. Even the aiji does. I’d watch himand do what he does.”
He wasn’t thinking about the boy. He was thinking about Jase, and how to patch his own mistakes, and maybe it was a little revenge for Banichi’s jokes to aim the innocent in his direction. But the boy said, enthusiastically,