Are you serious? The question occurred to him, at least. But Jago, on duty, was alwaysserious.
“Have youarranged this?” he asked. Plural. Meaning any of his bodyguard.
“The request,” Jago said, “came in the boy’s own hand, from him. He states that his mother made the suggestion and his father has approved.”
His motherrequested staff of Ilisidi. He’d have sworn there was no way in hell Damiri would want that clan attending her.
And Tabini had agreed. When there was no way in hell Tabini had wanted his grandmothergetting information from inside his household.
“What,” he asked Jago, with his mind suddenly jittering between the committee situation, the aiji’s admittedly dicey security situation—and that remarkable set of interactions at the reception, “whatprecisely is going on, Jago-ji? Do youhave any idea?”
Someone walked past. Jago leaned forward, nearly forehead to forehead and whispered, to avoid being overheard in this cavernous and treacherous room. “Cenedi received the message, couriered by Lucasi. He had Casimi bring the letter to us, rather than transmit anything. Cenedi wishes to know if youhad mediated this move, Bren-ji.”
“No,” he whispered back. “Not officially nor privately. I am as surprised as anyone.”
“Indeed. Banichi suggests Damiri-daja may actually be the prime force behind this request. Considering her appearance at the reception, she will politicwith Lord Tatiseigi and send him signals. But she will not request staff of him.”
The green and white dress. When Jago put it in the context of holding out promises to Tatiseigi, but not taking staff from him, it made a certain sense. Tabini himself was not going to go to his grandmother begging favors: he had rather be roasted over a slow fire. But what had Damiri said at the reception? Everyone in this hall has attempted to place servants on my staff . . .
Evidently Damiri had added two and two and come up with a way in which she could avoid being tributary to her uncle—namely allying herself with the one person on earth whom Tatiseigi deferred to without reservation or embarrassment: the aiji-dowager. Accepting anyother offer would offend Tatiseigi, who was a connection Damiri had to preserve. The dowager, seeing the situation, had apparently offered her an alternative. And now he had a farbetter idea what Ilisidi had said to Damiri that night.
Hell, yes, it was a good move. It positioned Damiri not as an Atageini hanger-on, dependent on her uncle, nor as Tabini’s almost-divorced consort; nor yet as Lord Komaji’s alienated and, through most of her life, unwantedAtageini daughter—
The marriage with Damiri had been a match of sexual attraction, in Tabini’s case, with more attention to her Padi Valley connections than to an undistinguished father in a fairly minor northern clan.
But if Damiri suddenly became a close ally of the aiji-dowager, the one force on earth who held her own toe to toe with Tabini himself . . . it was damned certain Damiri saw something to gain.
If Damiri hadmentally and emotionally gotten past the alienation of her son—and started thinking in a practical way of her own future, and of her soon-to-be-born daughter’s future—
Damn. He had been watching one hand while the otherhad been moving. It was not an unknown situation in the aiji’s court, but he rarely these days found himself so blindsided.
“Interesting,” he said. In the legislative sitting room, with an attendant now moving within earshot, replacing a pot of tea, it was all he could say. “Jago-ji, keep me informed.”
So Tabini was going to send Cajeiri and his foreign guests to his great-grandmother’s very conservative, very traditional house—the mediaeval stronghold of Malguri.
His whimsical revenge on his grandmother—for his having to accept Malguri servants in his house?
No. Affairs of state might occasionally have petty motives, but there was deeper purpose when it regarded security. Tabini’s household, with a crisis between Tabini and his consort, was notthe best place for a collection of clueless and provocative human children.
He had expected to be the one called in to assist with the event. He had expected to house the heir’s young guests, as the person who could actually talkto them and educate them in protocols before they made any really serious mistakes. No doubt he would still serve in that capacity—though the dowager andCenedi and others of her staff actually understood ship-speak, a fact she was never going to advertise.
Tabini played excellent chess. One should never forget that fact. So did Damiri.
And so did the aiji-dowager.
God, he could almost see the pathways of it. But some of these winding trails had twolayers. At least two.
Jago left him, and he was sure she would be back. The sitting room attendant had provided a fresh pot of tea, poured a cup and took the cooling pot away. Tea was an unending resource, once one had ordered a pot.
News came, finally, not with Jago’s return, but with the gentleman with a long pole and a hook, who, in the traditional manner, reached up on the wall to the framed agenda board, and slid bill number 2823 over to the right, into the slot for the hasdrawad.
The tribal bill had just passed committee, by a vote of 43 to 41.
Bren let out a long, slow breath.
Passed. Now the legislature would debate the tribal bill, presumably would pass it—and the paidhi did not officially want to hear the reasoning behind some of the yes votes it would draw: the expectation that both tribal peoples would be swallowed up in large regional associations where they would be junior, small, and never, ever have any political force.
That expectation didn’t take into account that little bomb in the package, the business with the guilds.
And given the character of the Grandmother of the Edi, and Her of the Gan, he had every confidence the tribal peoples would not fade into quiet compliance. He only hoped the Grandmothers would appoint two of the quieter voices actually to sit in the legislature. He could not imagine themin that committee room.
So with all the potential troubles yet to come—the bill had now gotten to the floor, and it, thank God, had the votes to pass.
He felt like celebrating. He considered giving the whole staff the next day off and just sleeping in.
Then the representative of the Messengers’ Guild brought over the official bowl for the sitting room, and in it was one black cylinder with a red seal.
Word from Tabini.
He absently poured himself yet one more cup of tea for reinforcement and cracked the seal with a thumbnail, expecting something about the bill—or the security arrangements.
It said, beyond the usual salutations:
Remember our conversation. This is that moment. My son is going to my grandmother, who will host his guests and handle all events up to the festivity.
Following a heated discussion in which my wife concluded the world does not contain a hairdresser who can pass both security considerations and her requirements, my wife has applied to my grandmother for staff and my grandmother has just agreed. I am sure you will not need to tell your bodyguard, but should it have escaped notice, confirm it for them.
It must have been a message passed to the committee room. With all thatgoing on. God.
The tribal bill, I am assured, will clear committee today. The cell phone bill will be tabled as we have requested, to be brought up in some future session. The resolution in favor of the Marid agreement will likely pass.
My wife is having recurrent dreams that there are strangers in the house. I am not superstitious, but she has wanted the kabiu of the house adjusted, and she does not sleep well. She takes alarm at bumps in the night and our son’s parid’ja will occasionally cry out in the daytime, which does not improve her feeling of danger. Therefore I am sending the animal with my son and his guests, while my wife and I resolve our difficulties regarding staff and security, which will likely involve more than a hairdresser.