So it was all just preparation for the festivity, and it was going to happen, and Great-uncle had just called them in for Jase-aiji to meet with them and explain procedures to be absolutely sure his guests understood. That was good.
Cajeiri stood by and listened to the explanation, reminding himself of ship-speak words, learning a few new ones, and meanwhile he kept thinking—
He kept thinking Great-uncle had hinted that there might—there might be a hope of going back to Tirnamardi before his guests had to leave. He was not sure his guests had understood that. He was not sure he ought to tell them, if Jase-aiji failed to mention it, for fear it was only an idle remark and would not happen. Great-uncle’s hint was the sort of thing adults said when they were trying to get someone to behave—what was it his father had said to him?
Make them believe you might please them . . .
It was interesting how well that worked, even on him, even when it was clear as could be what the adults were doing to them.
He had to do everything well—to have even a chance of getting what he most wanted.
That was the way things always worked in politics.
· · ·
Sleep, granted a settled stomach and a sense that things were moderately under control, was actually possible—finally, for the whole rest of the afternoon. Bren surfaced from time to time, listened for any noise in the household that might signal a problem, and drifted again, face down. Jase had taken word on the Topari meeting down the hall to Lord Tatiseigi, head of that caucus, and also to the dowager, who needed to know, and thirdly to Tabini himself—keeping everyone abreast of the little problem which one hoped would not blossom into a big problem before Lord Tatiseigi could talk to several of his most level-headed associates. The Conservative Caucus was briefed about the taped record of the Kadagidi encounter. They would have the chance to view it; and they would form a recommendation on the situation in Ajuri and the situation in the Kadagidi lordship.
The dowager would call in some of the Liberal Caucus and do her own damage control—Dur, in particular, would have some constructive opinions on the Ajuri situation, being part of the local landscape, and in a neighboring association. The Liberals would by no means object: the Liberals would all but hold a celebration at the notion the Kadagidi were being taken to task.
The aiji-consort, meanwhile, was bound to have a personal opinion about the future of Ajuri clan. He’d warned Jase to tread particularly carefully during his visit to Tabini’s apartment, avoiding any contact with Damiri, and to be wary of any setup in the Festivity involving any contact of the children with Damiri. Damiri needed to be involved in planning the Festivity, and she was also well aware of the upheaval in her clan. That marriage had been under stress enough, and Damiri, who had a temper, did not do well with surprises. Whether the demise of Shishogi had made her situation easier or worse—had yet to be proved.
He shut his eyes. He slept the sleep of the moderately just.
And he waked finally with Narani’s gentle presence in the room, turning on the lights.
“Nandi. An invitation from the dowager, for brandy after dinner, or for dinner, if you find yourself in sufficient health for such an event. Jase-aiji and nand’ Tatiseigi are also invited.”
“One hears,” he murmured—there was time enough to get ready for a formal dinner, he was sure, or Narani would not have waked him; but there would not be all that much time, either, granted Narani would not have waked him any earlier than need be. He carefully levered himself up on his arms and put a foot over the edge of the mattress. Two feet—and he set himself upright very carefully.
The headache was indeed still there. More pills were in order.
Perhaps an appeal to Port Jackson for a gross of them.
“Banichi has waked,” Narani informed him, “and he says he is feeling better.”
“Is he following nand’ Siegi’s orders?”
“Somewhat, nandi.”
Somewhat. He drew in a deep breath, set his feet on the ground, and said, “Thank you, Rani-ji.”
He didn’t wait for his valets. He put on his robe and headed down the hall barefoot, straight for the security station, where, indeed, Banichi sat—in uniform, shirtless, but having a heavy uniform jacket draped about his shoulders. The arm was, yes, still taped, Bren noticed critically. But boots were on, hair was in its queue, and Banichi was sitting there upright.
“Is this approved, nadiin?” Bren asked.
“It seemed we would do more harm stopping him,” Tano said.
“Of the two of us,” Banichi said, looking at him, “I seem to be faring better at the moment.”
Barefoot, in his dressing robe, with his hair disheveled and with a brutal headache, Bren said, perhaps a bit shortly, “The dowager has invited me down the hall to dinner tonight. I shall need two attendants, amid all the others who will be present. One of them will not be you, Nichi-ji, and no amount of argument will convince me. You will not need your dress uniform.”
Banichi nodded graciously. And was amused.
“He believes, however,” Jago said, “that he will be in the escort at the young gentleman’s Festivity.”
“The young gentleman,” Banichi said, “would be disappointed otherwise.”
One entirely understood that point: the youngster had regarded Banichi as a second father, during the ship voyage—not to say Banichi had declined the attachment. Banichi would be sorely disappointed to be kept from that event.
“That will be a considerable time standing,” Bren said, not happily; and looked to the others. It could not be the first time a Guild member had been on duty while injured. “Is there a way he can sit down?”
“The service hall,” Algini said. “We can arrange a chair to be there . . . granted his sincere undertaking to use it from time to time.”
“You will use it,” Bren said to Banichi. “Are we agreed?”
“Two chairs,” Banichi said.
He and Banichi were, in fact, a matched set; and an available chair during three hours of standing about, in the case the room started to go around, sounded more than sensible.
“One agrees,” he said, wondering whether his entire aishid had just collectively put one over on him.
· · ·
“We are,” the dowager said after dinner, “hearing good things within the Guild. They are finding the things we fully expected them to find, and perhaps one or two things that surprise us. They are sifting records. They are interviewing reliable people and looking for other people they should be looking for. My grandson may complain about the individuals now in charge there, but they are setting things to rights.”
It was good news.
“In the matter of Lord Aseida’s future,” Ilisidi continued, swirling brandy gently in her glass, “we have a reasonable situation in mind, a small house under the supervision of the very strong-willed lady of Corhenda, a subclan of Cie, a very practical-minded place. It has electricity, but phones are scarce. Its mills and tanneries are a blight, but then it always was barren. His artistic skills—we are told he paints—might enliven the house—perhaps the mills, who knows the limits of his talent? As for who should succeed him in the Kadagidi lordship, nand’ Tatiseigi has a proposal.”
“A modest one,” Tatiseigi said. “He is a Kadagidi gentleman, a third cousin of mine, from the old union of our house with Kadagidi clan. He is ten years my senior, fifteen years retired—he ran the largest Kadagidi granary and the northern plains operations. He is a respectable fellow, never politically active, and what one might call a dedicated administrator. He has, besides, three daughters, and the eldest is a member of the Scholars’ Guild. One believes he would only reluctantly undertake the burden of the lordship—but in order to put his eldest daughter in the line of that succession, he might; her husband is a quiet fellow, affable, whose skill is hunting management: he would not be a bad neighbor.”