“Confirms my instinct,” Bren said. If there was one kid of the three that–just from what he’d heard from Cajeiri–might well be the human associate Cajeiri needed, he thought it wouldn’t be the compliant, pleasant Artur. Irene? She might or might not adapt. But Gene, the troublemaker, Gene, the kid who had showed them the tunnels, was the one Cajeiri always mentioned first.
And Gene was the one Bren resonated with personally. This solo leave‑taking from the station felt very familiar. The scene when he’d told his own mother he was headed to the mainland for a year at a time, that his assignment had come through? Her response hadn’t exactly been congratulatory.
Long while since he’d thought of that. But he certainly hadn’t had the blessing of his family.
“They didn’t do anything on the ship without Cajeiri,” he said. “Now they’re in a strange place. They’re likeliest to take his cues. Put Cajeiri in charge of them whenever you’re not there. He has his own bodyguard. And his great‑grandmother is here. He minds her more than anyone.”
Jase said: “We’ve got one more asset. Locators on the kids.”
“Can they take them off?”
“Not without going barefoot.”
“Good,” he said. “Good!”
He felt better about the situation, hearing that. He wasn’t mad at Ilisidi, or at Cenedi. She had her objectives. They were essentially atevi objectives, and for the good of the side he was on. A chance to fortify Tatiseigi, and do it by sleight of hand, so that it looked like the security that would attend the unprecedented grouping of herself and her grandson and a batch of foreign guests out at Tirnamardi? Of course she took it.
But her movement to that place was as clandestine as they could make it, and that security wasn’t going away when they went back to the capital. It was going to stay right there, and any notions the Kadagidi had of reaching out to intimidate their neighbor or remove the dowager’s most valuable ally would meet that security head on.
Sooner or later the Kadagidi were going to make that move. Sooner or later, the Kadagidi were going to realize that the sudden dearth of information from inside Tirnamardi was not a temporary condition, that the investment they’d made over centuries, getting persons of Kadagidi man’chi into positions in Atageini centers of town government, even into Tatiseigi’s household–was never going to pay off. Their entire operation was being dismantled, that at Tirnamardi first. Then the others. Kadagidi Guild would realize it. They would have to watch it happen–piece by piece–and eventually they would realize at least some of the information they had already gotten was false.
That was the slow way things could evolve.
In a way, that was what had just happened to Ajuri, on a smaller scale, when Tabini had tossed out Damiri’s Ajuri staff. Lord Komaji now found himself cut off, with no information, when his daughter was about to give birth, and when his grandson had started turning up on the news with Ilisidi and human children.
Komaji’s move toward the Atageini made sense in that context. Komaji might well be trying to get more information, among the clans next to Atageini land–it was always a soft border, with the smaller clans dealing with one side and the other.
That the dowager, who was supposed to be headed for Malguri, was actually going toward Tirnamardi at the same time was something Komaji might not know.
There was a certain danger in that. Komaji had been a fool in the Bujavid. His reputation was in tatters. If, when he found out about Ilisidi and the children, he made a move down into Atageini land–
That was the fast way the situation with the Kadagidi could evolve.
But the Kadagidi would be fools to get involved with Komaji’s mistake.
Total fools.
· · ·
Linens arrived.
Tableware. More fruit juice. Plates with sandwiches. And eggs.
“What’s this?” Irene asked.
“A pickled egg,” Cajeiri said, and popped one into his mouth. “It’s safe. Red eggs, don’t eat. The green are all safe. Enjoy it.”
Irene tried it, tasting just the end, and screwed up her face. She put it down and carefully looked into the sandwich lying on her plate.
“Don’t do that,” Gene said. “If you look, you’re just going to be worried about it. And you know what they said. Whatever it is, just eat it. They’ll be sure it’s safe for us.” He had eaten his egg in two mouthfuls, washed it down with fruit juice, and took a bite of the sandwich. “Pretty good actually, together.”
“I hate spicy things,” Irene said in a thin voice.
“You’re going to get real hungry in two weeks,” Artur said. “Better eat it, girl. You know what the captain said.”
Irene did, squeezing her eyes tight shut. She ate it like Gene, in two big bites, washed it down with sweet orangelle, which was, truthfully, not the best combination, but that was the drink she had wanted. She shivered all over. “It’s sour! ”
“Won’t kill you,” Gene said. “Got to do it. Or in two weeks you’re going to be a lot skinnier.”
“Long time ’til supper,” Artur said.
“Try the teacake, Rene‑ji,” Cajeiri said. Everybody liked cakes.
She was upset. Irene got upset when they teased her. But after a little bite of that, her face brightened. “Oh, that’s good !”
“Dessert,” Gene said. “It’ll be a good last bite.”
“Come on, Reny,” Artur said. “Dare you. You can do it. You’re not going to back out now.”
She had another bite of sandwich.
The lunches all disappeared–in Irene’s case, in large bites, quickly swallowed, washed down with the fruit drink. It was, Cajeiri thought, fairly brave of her, especially the egg, which, to be honest, he had used to dislike. He gave her his own teacake, and she looked at him.
And very reluctantly pushed it back, as his.
“I can get more,” he said, which was almost always true. If they were there for dessert, there would be a supply for tea. “Do you want more?”
They did. He asked mani’s guards if there were extra cakes, and indeed, they each had one more, to finish their lunch, and then black tea, which Irene also found a challenge, but she drank it.
“Ugh,” she said after a big mouthful, but after a moment she took another one. And another.
He had used to bring food from mani’s table to the passages of the ship, so it was not their first sample of atevi cooking, but it was a lot more elaborate. He had been afraid what he brought would poison them, before, so he had mostly stolen sweet dried things they thought were candy.
Now they had to face slimy pickled eggs. But they liked the cakes, and they had eaten all of a whole regular meal, and nobody was sick.
That was very good.
After they had cleared away lunch, they sat at their table and talked and talked–about living on the station, and where they lived now, and what they had been doing for the last year–Irene and Artur had lessons, mostly, a lot of math and science. Their parents were strict about it. “We couldn’t get out much,” Irene said. “The station’s big.” She used several words he could not get, saying something about Mospheirans that sounded unhappy.
“The atevi section you can’t get into,” Gene said. “I tried. I just wanted to see, you know. Security is pretty tight. That was a big mistake.”
His face wasn’t happy when he talked about that. The others looked uncomfortable. Everything they said about the station sounded unhappy, but he could only get the little words, not the big ones.
He tried to think of something else in the awkward silence, something that would make them happy. Something they could talk about. Then he thought about his slingshota. He took it out of his pocket, and took out the three stones and laid them on the table.