“Geigi-ji.” He gave a deep bow of his head.
“Shall we not go to Sidi-ji’s dinner now? One understands Lord Tatiseigi will be present. I have now gathered up my resolve, I have fortified myself with good drink, I shall have the company of yourself and Sidi-ji, and I have nerved myself to remain absolutely serene this evening, knowing I have your household ready to soothe my nerves once this is done.”
Ilisidi’s formal table was, as always, traditional and elaborate, with service both wooden and silver, china and bone ivory, on a plain table runner itself at least a century old, not to mention the plates and glassware. A considerately low centerpiece of stones and Malguri spring flowers ran down the center, and the service was set for fivecthe fifth conspicuously lacking the wine glass, so Bren would have guessed had not young Cajeiri just turned up, fortunate fifth, without his parents, exceedingly happy to see Lord Geigi and him, bright and full of questions—was Lord Geigi here to take the shuttle? And brimming with declarations and announcements: he was very grateful to Lord Geigi for conveying a message and for interceding with his father, and his father was going to invite his associates on the station for his birthday, and he was looking forward to it and only wished Lord Geigi could come, too, and nand’ Bren hadto come, and could they use his boat?
That came mostly in one breath. Cajeiri was very happy, and one was, frankly, astonished that Tabini had permitted the visit from space without consulting his human advisor.
Or maybe he hadconsulted.
Yolanda, up on the station, had been Tabini’s contact for the two years while the paidhi-aiji had been absent from the scene; and while one tended to forget Yolanda, who truly did not enjoy being on the planet and no longer exercised her office, she was a good one to consult on the temper of human relations aloft, a good, studious paidhi with about as much soul as Wilson, in Bren’s estimate.
One hoped to God she got it right.
Or was thatcjust a little professional jealousy?
Damn, he tried to be better than that. He was thinking so when the final guest arrived, with his bodyguard. Lord Tatiseigi—speaking of jealousy—came to sit in the same room as his grandnephew and his chief annoyance when it came to philosophy, political affiliation, and Ilisidi’s andCajieiri’s favor: Geigi.
“Nandi.” Bren gave the little duck of the head courtesy demanded. Then two voices at once, one lighter than the rest and full of enthusiasm, the rascaclass="underline"
“Great-uncle! One is so glad!”
“Well, well. A pleasant surprise, Grandnephew!”
The kid was acquiring the sly skills of a diplomat: happily diverting off a topic with Geigi that would send great-uncle into an apoplexy, to a cheery, apparently sincere how-do-you-do that elicited an astonished reciprocation out of Tatiseigi. Eight, and going on nine, for God’s sake, and absorbing his grandmother’s tactics like a sponge.
They were all seated—or almost seated—Tatiseigi the last, being a little stiff in the joints, as Cenedi and Nawari came in, preceding Ilisidi herself, so it was back up to their feet to give a courteous bow to their hostess, who arrived in splendid black lace with small ruby accents, and who bowed slightly in her turn, offering a serene smile and her ordinary manner. Her cane went to Cenedi, who set it against the buffet—she often kept it, but she exuded relaxation and good cheer tonight.
So they were all together, finally, in about as secure a place as existed in the Bujavid. And he was particularly glad to have Ilisidi safely back within Bujavid upper stories, where she was far safer than off in the East dealing with the neighbors.
They were five at table, a felicitous number, though containing a chancy two—and one knew exactly which were the Infelicitous Twosome: Tatiseigi and Geigi. One flattered oneself that the paidhi-aiji with the aiji’s son and the aiji-dowager posed the felicity in the arrangement, and thank God and thank Cajeiri’s clever start to the conversation, everybody was on good behavior all the way through dinner. In the course of dinner conversation, Lord Geigi avowed himself completely cheerful at the prospect of seeing his on-planet business neatly handled so he could go back to the station, and Lord Tatiseigi was rather caught up in hearing from Ilisidi the details of Baiji’s wedding—somewhat inconsiderate, had Geigi chosen to be take offense at having the scandal in Lord Geigi’s house aired, but Geigi remained in good humor and asked details himself, what his nephew had worn, and how Baiji, no great scholar, had gotten through his pledges without stumbling.
And both gentlemen quite enthusiastically, genealogy being a particular interest of Lord Tatiseigi, heard Ilisidi’s reckoning of the lineages and ancient associations involved in the marriage she had arranged.
“It is a veryfelicitous match, and you must understand, Tati-ji,” Ilisidi said, paying the old man personal attention—if she were human she would have patted him confidentially on the hand. She was not, and she simply nodded in his direction. “We have married that scoundrel Baiji to a lady of great good sense, not to mention her antecedents; the ancient connection of Lord Drusi with your own third-great-uncle, Tati-ji, might be argued to connect Atageini relatives as well. One has not forgotten nand’ Drusi’s Eastern wife, out of which the current lordship of the Atageini rises.”
“Now that is the most tenuous of connections!” Lord Tatiseigi said, and went on to trace exactly how the relationship ran, while Geigi added his own remote ancestry.
Cajeiri listened remarkably politely, though with his eyes occasionally glazing over, and a mere human attempted to connect the dots in a set of political and genetic relationships running back fifteen hundred years—long before humans had exited their own motherworldc
Arcane stuff. But it mattered to the traditionalists. It mattered because it contained history and subtext. That Lord Tatiseigi, traditionalist to the hilt, and Geigi, a Rational Determinist and a modernist, sat there comparing ancestors was amazing. Just amazing. The time had been when those two had been bitter, bitter opponents on the grounds of the very ancestors they now compared.
And thenc
Then there came into question, not quite a case of business at dinner, the matter of the Marid and the porcelains and the ravages to Lord Geigi’s personal collections. Geigi and Tatiseigi had the passion for porcelains in common as well, and, starting from the ancestor who had started Tatiseigi’s collection, the dinner dwindled down to last courses in the completely esoteric discussion of green glazes, which was somuch better than might have been. There was not a whisper yet about Lord Machigi.
But in conclusion of the meal, Ilisidi of course offered brandy in the sitting room, which would be the venue for serious, even disagreeable discussion, and Bren braced himself.
“One would very much wish to attend the after-dinner sitting, mani,” Cajeiri said quietly. “One will not say a thing, even if one should wish to.”
It was Ilisidi the lad addressed. Lord Tatiseigi looked a little put out at the idea, and he probably wanted to say the boy belonged home in bed at this hour.
But the things at issue were matters Cajeiri knew intimately—quite intimately, the boy having seen far too much of the warfare on the peninsula. Ilisidi had not withheld information of that sort from the boy. Ever.