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 two layers. 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 them in 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 that going 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.
I leave it to my grandmother and to you as to where to entertain these children. My son will celebrate his birthday here in Shejidan, where both his parents can properly congratulate him. He may at that time avail himself of the museum and the natural history exhibit as well as the services of the Bujavid staff, provided that we shall have been able to arrange adequate security.
Careful thought persuades me that my wife’s decision, which we wish understood, is entirely her own, has moved the household expediently toward the best source of auxiliary security available.
The new arrangement will entail a hairdresser, and added security, and we are confident this is the best solution.
This letter is not for the official archive of our correspondence. We request you burn it and preserve no word of it.
You may of course rely on the red car and all official assistance in dealing with the visitors.
In caring for my son, care also for your own safety and my grandmother’s. These are unsettled times. But when have they not been?
Deep, deep breath. He read it again to be sure of the nuance. And put the letter back into the cylinder and the cylinder into his most secure pocket, to have it dealt with by his aishid.
His problem. Tabini was giving him the children. He had to refocus.
He gathered up his work, had the attendant notify whoever of his bodyguard was at the door at the moment, and walked out.
Banichi smoothly intercepted him.
“The shuttle has launched from the station, Bren‑ji,” Banichi said, before he could say anything. “It is on its way.”
· · ·
He waited until they got upstairs, into the foyer of their own apartment, and only Narani was witness. Narani took his coat, and his case of papers.
And offered the message bowl, in which there was one cylinder he well knew.
Cajeiri.
“I shall read this,” he said, “in my office. Banichi‑ji, nadiin‑ji, if you will be there.”
“Yes,” Banichi said.
They walked back to the office. Bren gave them Tabini’s letter, with its cylinder, then sat down in his work chair, opened Cajeiri’s cylinder, unrolled the little paper and flattened it under a heavy glass designed for that purpose.
It said, To Nand’ Bren, from Cajeiri,
I am very happy. I am coming to visit you and mani as soon as you send for me. I am supposed to be in mani’s apartment, but she is busy in meetings. Will you come get me until she can?
PS. I have to take Boji with me. He eats eggs. About four a day.
He looked at his aishid. “The boy is still at home. He wants to come here now. His father’s standing order is that whenever he wishes to come here, I should not delay him. Banichi, Jago–go get him. Quietly. One does not know what the situation is over there.”
“Yes,” Banichi said.
Tano and Algini stayed, and Banichi and Jago shut the door behind them.
“Likely we shall be housing the human children until the birthday festivity,” he said, “and Cajeiri will have Boji with him–one hopes, with his cage. We may be somewhat disrupted, but we will manage. Please advise Cenedi of whatever of the situation he might not have heard. About Boji, among other things.”
“Yes,” Algini said. And added, “We shall arrange for the red car, for the spaceport, when the shuttle is ready to land. Either we or the dowager will need to pick up the children.”
“Do that, Gini‑ji.” He let go a slow breath, thinking of that conversation he had had with Tabini, about problems in the household, and about his own subsequent conversation with Damiri. The dowager had had tea with Damiri, the morning after–but as to the outcome between those two, his aishid had not been able to tell him. So either Cenedi didn’t know what the two women had said to each other–or wouldn’t say, even to them. “As to what may be happening next door, with Tabini‑aiji and Lady Damiri, one has no idea. One hopes for a good outcome.”