A very curious sobriety came over the young gentleman, who nodded very deliberately, and said, “My father needs me for his heir. My sister is a hazard.”
He was surprised, even shocked at that declaration, but he simply nodded. “Well. One trusts you, young gentleman.”
God, he thought, then. Where did that come from? He almost wanted to ask.
But not at present.
He finished his tea. Banichi had arrived in the doorway.
“We should move now, nandi.”
So. It was time.
· · ·
They were on their own, Ilisidi and Tatiseigi arriving on their own schedules. Tano and Algini had a lift car on hold. Bren entered the car and, with Cajeiri, stood against the back wall while it headed down and down, without a stop.
“My servants, nandi,” Cajeiri said. “And will mani be there?”
“Trust your aishid,” Bren said, “to have all these things worked out. It will all work. Do not worry.”
The car headed down, and down, past residential floors, past the public floor, and down to the warehouse levels, then through a set of floors only accessible from the lift they were on–and let them out finally, in that broad cement corridor that opened out onto the train tracks.
It was huge, full of echoes. The arch above the tracks was studded with lights that did not reach the far places, the other tracks and roundhouse shunts. The space swallowed light and amplified sound. And centermost, under the lights, was the old‑fashioned engine and the two cars that had taken Geigi to the spaceport.
It was three cars now, the red car and two baggage cars. They were not traveling light. The door of the red car opened and one of the dowager’s young men met them, welcoming them in, while his partner, pistol in hand, stood watching.
Their collective bodyguards folded them inside, and the door whisked shut.
Ilisidi and Tatiseigi were comfortably seated at the rear of the car, on the broad bench, the dowager with her cane planted before her. Cenedi was there, and Nawari, in attendance on the dowager, and Tatiseigi’s bodyguard, seated just in front of the galley, rose in respect for the young gentleman.
“We are here!” Cajeiri declared happily. “We are all here!”
“Great‑grandson.” The dowager gave a nod, patted the bench near her, and Cajeiri came and settled down quietly.
Bren bowed and quietly took his own seat on the end of the bench, Tatiseigi being on the other end. There was a long, general silence, a quiet so deep one could hear the occasional sounds from the station outside, the arrival of another train, the movement of baggage trolleys, the shout of a supervisor on the siding. Cajeiri fidgeted ever so slightly. He had his hands locked together as if he were absolutely determined not to let them escape to merit a reprimand.
Then came a thump from their own car, or the one next to it. Bren listened hard for any cues what was going on; and felt the vibrations as the next car loaded, heard the distinctive sounds as the engine fired up.
“Staff,” the dowager said, “is joining us. With Boji.”
They were operating under the most extreme security Bren had ever experienced, even in far worse times. With the parid’ja and its huge cage.
Doors shut, elsewhere. There was a further delay. A second, more distant thump.
And they sat.
And sat. The dowager and Tatiseigi discussed the vote count on the tribal bill, which looked good. And Cajeiri sat so very still, being so very good.
“Perhaps,” Bren said, “the young gentleman might enjoy a game of chess. I think his aishid would oblige him with a challenge. There is a chess set in the galley storage.”
Ilisidi waggled her fingers, a dismissal. Cajeiri got up, bowed silently, and went over to his aishid with that information.
The game set up and started, Veijico taking black.
Tatiseigi muttered, disapprovingly, “In my youth, one would have sat.”
“Nandi,” Bren said, “he is concerned about the flight.”
“Well,” Tatiseigi said, “well, so should anyone be, with such machines.”
“Best young minds stay busy,” Ilisidi said, not displeased, and the three of them sat quietly and talked, had one cup of sweet tea, and the chess match progressed.
Then the train, with its characteristic chuff, began to move.
The chess match paused, Cajeiri’s hand, on a Fortress, hesitated in midair.
Then calmly resumed its course toward a square.
Eight, going on fortunate nine, and a mental age above that. Cajeiri, on the most intense campaign of good behavior in his whole life, set the piece down.
Cajeiri’s opponent, Veijico, lifted an eyebrow, considering the move, then cast a furtive glance toward the dowager, and quietly advised the young rascal, likely, that they were indeed watched.
There were quiet remarks. Human ears, at least, could not hear them. Likely neither the dowager nor Tatiseigi could hear. Tano got up and renewed the teapot, and provided a large pot for Cajeiri and his bodyguard as the train made its slow passage along the restricted tunnel. The rest of the adult bodyguards continued in quiet conversation interspersed with Guild signs.
They cleared the hill, cleared the tunnel, gathered speed toward the city junction, and clicked over onto the lefthand track.
Faster and faster, then, a steam‑age locomotive bent again on rendezvous with a spaceship.
“Are they coming down yet, Banichi‑nadi?” Cajeiri turned to ask as the train gathered speed. “Shall we see it land?”
“One fears not, young gentleman, however we will be arriving there at about the time it touches down, and we shall take the bus to meet them. You will get to see them disembark.”
“One wished–” Cajeiri began to say, and then meekly said, “One is glad, Banichi‑nadi.”
“Security,” Banichi said. “One regrets, young gentleman. But these are necessary precautions.”
“Yes,” Cajeiri said quietly, frowning.
Difficult for the boy, Bren thought. But one understood. They were moving as expeditiously as possible: get the youngsters under their protection, get them to the train, and get moving again, with as little exposure as possible. The shuttle landings were fairly routine. The shuttle the children were stated to be taking was not due for days. When the news did get to observers that this one had the children, and that the heir was here, any hostile action, unless extremely well‑placed or very lucky, was going to have to scramble.
The whereabouts of the train was traceable–if one had agents within Transportation; but again, the exact routing for this train was given only at intervals necessary to shunt other traffic onto other tracks. It prioritized itself through the system on a sector by sector basis, not always at high speed, given the engine that often pulled it, but in a traveling bubble of secrecy and priority; and they would be stalling all train traffic on a very main line for at least an hour, while they performed their maneuver out to the port and back.
“The port has contact, aiji‑ma, nandiin,” Cenedi reported finally.
They were very near the spaceport.
And Nawari got to his feet. “Aiji‑ma, nandiin, you will find the port bus right off the platform, so it will be a very short walk. We shall enter the perimeter fence through the service gate, which will be open. We shall pick up our passengers, and their baggage, which is able to be hand‑carried aboard the bus. No one should exit the bus. Aiji‑ma, nandiin, as you board, please occupy the seats behind the driver. The opposing row will be reserved for our passengers, who will board as quickly as possible.”
“Very good, Wari‑ji,” the dowager said.
The operation was on schedule, and while they had no view, Bren had an excellent idea where they were: a flat prairie with very few features except grazing herds and the occasional patch of brush.