“We are surprised the boy is sent out on such short notice,” Tano said. “Shall we contact the aiji’s guard and ask the reason?”
“Discreetly,” he said.
“You will wear the vest, Bren‑ji,” Algini said. “Lord Geigi has moved a shuttle off‑schedule to provide a shortened time frame–for any plans Ajuri might make.”
“He has said so?” He was astonished. Shuttles delayed at times, on technical issues. They rarely rushed a launch to be early.
“On our advice, Bren‑ji. We requested he move the schedule. He said he would attempt it. He has put Paisien up in the flight order, ahead of Shai‑shan. There are no passengers listed on the manifest for Paisien. There are four listed for Shai‑shan. The manifests will stay as they are, so both lie.”
Five days early.
Early. To throw off any plans Ajuri had laid, and disrupt any mischief.
“One understands,” he said. “We have the legislation as settled as we can manage. We are assured it will pass. We can go wherever we need go.”
If Tabini could somehow find the time alone with Damiri to sort out the problems within his household, all to the good. It might be the best timing–at least to have Cajeiri elsewhere.
In the meanwhile, given the boy suddenly on his hands, and the dowager rearranging her plans, there were things to do.
It started with phoning his own clerical office, commending the runners who had served him today, and asking the director to come meet with him in his apartment.
Tea with the worthy gentleman, who had served him under some very dicey circumstances, including during the coup.
He would instruct the man to lay down a preliminary official schedule that looked–at least until they were out at the spaceport picking up Cajeiri’s guests–as if the paidhi‑aiji were doing business as usual.
It was a minimal sort of ruse, one they could adjust by the hour, and it might end up being one of several such schedules he let leak, but he thought it prudent.
He also had to arrange with Lord Dur, quietly, to have that very respectable gentleman attend the Tribal Peoples bill on its course through the legislature, and advise his office of events.
Then he notified Bindanda that the young gentleman was dining with them, that the dowager might be. And that they needed a supply of eggs.
· · ·
He had only time to draft the first half of his message to Dur before he heard Narani open the front door.
That would be Banichi and Jago, with the young gentleman in hand. There might or there might not be baggage. If there was not, if the young gentleman were quitting his residence in a Situation, his staff might have to go next door a little later and collect it from Tabini’s staff.
Well, it sounded, out there, that there was something more arriving than the usual luggage cart, something that rolled and rattled in an odd way. He guessed what that might be, even before he heard a sudden blood‑curdling shriek in his foyer.
Doors opened and closed and staff stirred from every recess of the servants’ halls, startled out of whatever they were doing.
He left his letter unfinished, capped the inkwell, and blew out the waxjack before he rose and opened his office door.
There in his foyer was the boy and a very large antique cage.
“Nand’ Bren, we are here!” Cajeiri said. “And Boji.” There was an earsplitting shriek. “We are sorry about Boji. He is excited.”
Tano and Algini came from the security station. The sitting room door opened, the young kitchen girls peering past the junior cook, who had arrived with one of the kitchen knives in hand.
There were, with Cajeiri, with their baggage, but still partly outside the doors, the young gentleman’s bodyguard and two servants in Ragi livery.
“These two young men are–” Bren asked.
“My servants, nandi.” Another bow, more nicely delivered. “We are all here! We are so glad! One is grateful! ”
“Well, well, your great‑grandmother will decide where you will stay this evening, and in what state.” He almost added, And who will house Boji and the servants, but he feared he already knew that answer. “She has been all day in a meeting, and one does expect she will be getting out of it about now, but you may at least settle long enough for tea and cakes, shall you not? Ladi‑ji, if you will move the cage into the guest room for now.” The latter to Jeladi. He feared for the antique carpet runner, and feared an escape with the door still open, but the sitting room was a far worse choice, considering the vases.
Meanwhile baggage was inbound, Narani and Jeladi, Cajeiri’s servants, and his young bodyguard all handing it in, more and more of it piling up in the foyer. “Welcome,” he said to all and sundry, and to Narani: “Tea for myself and the young gentleman. Advise the dowager’s bodyguard and say that the dowager would be welcome for a modest and informal supper here, should she wish.”
Narani gave a little bow, and all those things would happen in short order. Bren showed the young gentleman into the sitting room, and they sat and had tea and cakes, quite spoiling any potential dinner, but Cajeiri was in a high good mood, chattering on about the party he hoped to have and asking questions about the shuttle and could he, could he, could he go to the spaceport to meet his young associates?
“That rests with your great‑grandmother, young gentleman,” Bren said. “You will have to ask her. And do be somewhat prepared for her to forbid it: we have some security concerns, and you know such situations can change on very short notice.”
“But is there a chance, nandi?”
“There is a chance, but one cannot promise: we get our advice from our bodyguards. And one has no idea what their landing schedule is, nor are they likely to decide it yet–as with all these things, they will watch the weather.”
“Is it going to be good weather? I hope it will be good weather.”
In point of fact he had absolutely no idea what the weather was outside. It could be pouring a monsoon over the city, and he had been so locked in his work, in an apartment without windows, and offices without windows, that he had not the least notion what was going on in the natural world.
“I shall inquire,” he said. But Cajeiri’s question to his own bodyguard brought the answer that, indeed, it had just been raining, but the weather was due to clear tomorrow.
“I hope they may hurry,” Cajeiri said.
“They will be down in good weather, likely morning after next, young gentleman.”
“Might we go to Najida and go on your boat, nand’ Bren?”
“Only your great‑grandmother and your parents can say that, young gentleman.” He could not fault the boy for being excited and full of ideas. But negotiating with a Marid warlord was no more strain than dealing with Cajeiri–who had his hopes all up and a justified fear that everything could fall apart on some adult whim. He would not promise things not in his hands. He could not appear to promise anything, and the boy had more changes of direction than Malguri’s upland roads.
“When do you think they will actually land?” the boy asked. “At what hour?”
“All depending on the weather, young gentleman. You know these things. You took the same flight.”
“I was not entirely paying attention,” Cajeiri said, looking down, then up, sharply. “And I was upset about my birthday, nandi.”
It had been that time of year, when all hell had broken loose.
“And anyway,” Cajeiri said, “we were going to land over on Mospheira, not in the aishidi’tat.”
“It is very little difference,” Bren said, “when you are moving that fast. You would only be a few minutes off.”