The vote was delayed, with a call for a quorum of regions. Certain of the legislators had showed up in the lounge, conferred at extreme leisure, then went back to the floor as the vote progressed, restoring the required quorum.
God. Four of the oldest clans were in the For column, plus all those associations geographically affected by the bill, plus the two largest sub associations on the continent–what more could honest folk want?
But the math, with the smaller regions, in this hostile committee, was still dicey. There was yet another try, this one on the Against side, at tabling the bill for later debate and possible revision, saying it was being rammed through at indecorous speed.
That failed.
Then an amendment was proposed–good God!–from their own ranks: Separti Township’s representative, coming back from a break, wanted a prohibition against the Edi enlarging the port on the Kajiminda Peninsula. It was a not‑too‑veiled suggestion the Edi, with a larger port, would continue their attacks on Marid shipping, but it came from Separti, whose shipping would be affected by competition, and it came after a break.
Someone had cornered that man. If Geigi were here, he’d back the Separti representative into a convenient corner, exuding dominant man’chi, and make him understand the value of sticking with one’s district in a crisis.
Haidiri was only Geigi’s proxy. He was new to this business, and timid. He should be the one to pull his subordinate district into line, with whatever deals or force he had, and by all reports from the runners, he was asking the marshal what he could do to object.
The amendment, however, failed. Tatiseigi’s sometime ally to the east, beyond the Kadagidi, slipped to Tatiseigi’s side during the recess. With the dowager, and Lord Machigi’s proxy–and, belatedly, Separti, who came back to their side–the proponents of the tribal bill mustered a yea vote to prevent any more amendments.
Opposed to the bill were the third‑largest association and some of their more remote associates. If the bill could get to the legislative floor–it should have the numbers. But the more obstinate conservatives owned this committee, where the bill was still stuck without a recommendation to pass it.
And now the vice‑head of Finance, a rival of Tatiseigi’s, got up to speak.
And speak.
Jago came in and dropped into the vacant leather chair across the little table. He expected news from the committee room.
It wasn’t.
“The young gentleman,” she began, “has just written the dowager, requesting she supply staff for his mother. And stating that he and his guests will be the dowager’s guests, excepting for the actual birthday festivity itself.”
He was concentrating so hard on the committee matter it took several heartbeats for the words even to make sense.
And another several for the implications to snap together into a structure.
Are you serious? The question occurred to him, at least. But Jago, on duty, was always serious.
“Have you arranged 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 mother requested 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 grandmother getting 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, “what precisely is going on, Jago‑ji? Do you have 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 you had 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 politic with 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 any other 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 far better 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, unwanted Atageini 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 had mentally 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 other had 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 not the 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 talk to 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 and Cenedi and others of her staff actually understood ship‑speak, a fact she was never going to advertise.