“There is a camp on my grounds!”
“There are two small camps, Tati‑ji,” Ilisidi said. “You know we are taking measures. They will be out of sight, quite out of the way. You will not know they are here.”
“Aiji‑ma,” Tatiseigi said, visibly perturbed. “All this business of new men and retiring my old servants–and taking one of my storerooms–I have resigned myself to new faces; but I am beyond uneasy to be met with this camp at the gate. How much more is there, up at the house?”
Ilisidi held up a finger. “One little antenna on the roof. A camera or two. You will not see them from the ground.”
“Aiji‑ma,” Tatiseigi said, and Bren decided it was a good time to study something off to the side and across the aisle.
“Is the threat that great, aiji‑ma?” Tatiseigi asked.
“Tati‑ji,” Ilisidi said, “our conscience still troubles us, after the damage our presence inflicted this last year. You have been so staunch an ally–well, I shall say it: brave. You have been the bravest, the steadiest, the most trusted and the closest of our allies. I lie awake at night thinking of the danger, not so much to me– I have such very extensive protections constantly about me, and I have come through every attempt. But, Tati‑ji, my closest associates are, by comparison, far easier targets, and the very ones my enemies will go after first, to do me harm. They know they cannot attack me –until they have buried my allies, my protectors, and taken away my strongest supporters. Terror is their weapon, and I know you do not feel it–nor do I–but let us not give them access here. These are an enemy that has no respect for such ancient premises. These are people who attack civilians and servants, and have not observed any such requirement as Filing. This enemy murders old servants, like gentle old Eidi, who died at my grandson’s door, brave, loyal and holding his post. I cannot suffer such losses. I will not have such things happen here. I will not have a single vase shaken on a shelf in Tirnamardi, let alone these bloody‑booted outlaws tramping through your halls, destroying what they are too crass ever to understand. No. I need you, Tati‑ji. I shall not have your bravery putting you at risk! I will not lose you! Suffer these small changes. And stand by me.”
My God, Bren thought. She had the gift.
“Aiji‑ma,” Tatiseigi said. “One hears. One is honored by your concern.”
The bus rolled on.
Jase said, quietly, “This is all your estate, Lord Tatiseigi? It is huge. I have tried to think how long it took this hedge to grow.”
Tatiseigi, still unhappy, said past a clenched jaw, “Four centuries, ship‑aiji.”
“It is very beautiful, this place,” Jase said. “I am very grateful that you have offered your hospitality. I shall try to be a good guest.”
“Honored, ship‑aiji.” Tatiseigi gave a nod of his head, unbending a little, though he kept looking anxiously out the window, in search of other tents, one could well imagine. “You hosted the aiji‑dowager aboard your ship. One is pleased to return the gesture, in her name.”
“Nandi,” Jase said properly, with a little nod.
“Those two–” Tatiseigi said, resigning his search for tents with a little shift of the eyes toward the aisle, by implication Kaplan and Polano. “Is that their indoor uniform?”
“No, nandi,” Jase said. “Not at all. They wear it now because I am traveling between safe places, but once indoors, be assured, they will be happy to put on ordinary clothes.”
“Indeed,” Tatiseigi said diplomatically, nodded, and looked measurably relieved.
The bus rolled on at a moderate pace on the graveled drive, and exclamations from the youngsters said they had seen something.
Bren looked ahead, between Ilisidi’s seatback and Polano’s white shoulder.
The last time he had seen Tirnamardi, there had been shell‑holes in the masonry and broken gaps in the low, ornamental hedge of the front drive.
It sat on its low rise looking as serene as if there had never been an attack from the Kadagidi. The road curved. The grass had grown over the trampled lawn, and, on the other side of the bus, the house, a rectangular stone affair of many windows, showed neither patches nor scaffolding.
“I can see the house, nandiin‑ji,” Bren said, “and it is beautiful again, nandi. Absolutely beautiful.”
“Well, well,” Tatiseigi said, “it has been a struggle.” He drew a deep breath, and courteously addressed himself to Jase. “Understand, ship‑aiji, our neighbors attacked us with mortars, and even our allies made wreckage of our hedges. We sought out shrubs of exact girth and age, and we have nurtured them through last summer. We have brought stone from the exact quarries, and while the match is not perfect, it will age.”
“We look forward to it,” the dowager said, as the tires rolled onto the paved part of the drive, rumbling on the brickwork. On that broad curve, the bus slowly came to a halt. The doors of the great house opened, pouring out servants and Tatiseigi’s security.
The bus door opened. Kaplan and Polano had to be the first off. One hoped security was warned.
“Now you must escort us, nandi,” the dowager said, setting her cane before her, and Tatiseigi gallantly struggled to his feet and offered his hand.
Guild had sorted themselves out by the seating arrangement of their lords, and Cenedi and his group moved out, immensely relieving the congestion back there, and Tatiseigi’s aishid after them. Cajeiri got up, and his guests did, as Bren and Jase got up.
Banichi and the rest of the aishid followed right behind them. They stepped down the far last step onto the pavings of Tatiseigi’s drive, with Kaplan and Polano waiting at the left, the dowager and Tatiseigi already headed up the steps. The two trucks with the baggage were right behind them. The white dust of the gravel was still lingering in the air along the road.
The children came down next, exclaiming in amazement at everything.
“They’ve never seen a stone building,” Jase said quietly. “Or a building, for that matter. Everything’s a wonder to them. They’ll want to know everything.”
“It’s supposed to rain tonight,” Bren said. “A few showers. That should provide entertainment. So much of the world one takes for granted. We have to arrange that fishing trip, Jase.”
“I’m going to do my damnedest,” Jase said. “So many textures. So many details.”
They walked up into the foyer, the hall of lilies, those beautiful porcelain bas relief tiles that were the pride of the house, and there was Tatiseigi, Cajeiri, and the dowager watching three human children standing in awe of the porcelain flowers.
“They’re cold,” Artur said, touching a flower petal with the merest tip of his finger. “But not really cold.”
Then they all had to touch, very gently.
“Ceramic,” Bren said. “Bow nicely to your host and tell him you think the flowers are beautiful.”
They did exactly that, and for the old lord, clearly anxious for the welfare of his lilies, they could not have picked a better feature to compliment. He nodded benignly.
“They are very delicious, nandi!” Artur insisted, as if Tatiseigi had failed to hear the compliment, and Cajeiri quickly snagged his arm and Gene’s and, Irene following, got them all up the steps and into the main house ahead of the adults.
“Wow!” echoed upstairs, as the youngsters got a look at the halls inside, the ornate scrollwork, the lily motif repeated, the grand hall with its gilt, the high windows, the paintings and vases.
Bren said, quietly, “One believes the boy’s attempted word just now was beautiful, nandi. The children are absolutely in awe of the house.” Indeed the old lord had just had his precedence and the dowager’s violated, in his own front hall. “One sincerely apologizes.”