That was how powerful Geigi had become. And Geigi was still the counterbalance to the administration. Geigi didn’t want power, but he had it. His own house was down to the questionable genes of a single fool of an embezzling nephew, and Geigi was happier in space than he was on his estate, even with his orchards.
Everyone who knew the situation–was very grateful for Geigi’s presence in the heavens. Nobody could easily stage another coup, with Tabini on high alert for treachery and Geigi’s finger on the button up on the station. If they a second time contemplated dislodging Tabini from power–they knew now that Geigi was a threat, and capable of unifying the aiji’s supporters no matter what happened to other communications networks.
What else Geigi and the station might be capable of, no ateva knew, and Bren hoped they’d never have reason to find out.
The last of the dissidents who’d staked their lives on Murini’s coup were fighting with their backs to the wall, trying to carve out a territory where they could do things their way. They’d enjoyed a temporary safe haven in the Marid–until they’d gotten greedy and taken on Machigi and Lord Geigi.
Now they had lost that security. They had lost a pitched battle. They had lost a clandestine operation.
Unfortunately they still had their underground . . . and they still had a sting.
Even after the business in the Marid, a few fools who’d thought they’d scented weakness in Tabini had pushed to get influence. The most outstanding fool had been Damiri’s father, Komaji, lord of Ajuri.
The man had gotten into power on the death of his brother, and lost all common sense–as witness his public tantrum in the halls of the Bujavid. Komaji had let his rivalry with Tatiseigi blind him, perhaps because Tatiseigi had been included in an honor and he had not, but even that wasn’t clear. He had thrown a tantrum, tried to force his way into Tabini’s home, had terrified the staff and sent Cajeiri into hiding. It had been extremely embarrassing for Damiri, who at that point had a clear choice: leave her marriage–or leave her father’s clan.
The world had suspected, when she had not departed with her staff, and tonight, with that shocking arrival in the dining room, she had laid any lingering doubts firmly to rest.
· · ·
The second course arrived, and then the third, with the traditional pause for applause for the aiji’s truly excellent personal cook. The old man, reasonably new to the aiji’s service, bowed happily, accepted the praise, and then had his staff bring out the next, the fourth course, a set of imaginatively arranged dishes which filled the ample table to overflowing.
Bren took the vegetables he knew, and did not trust the seasonal tubers, last of the winter root crop, traditional to use up before the first breaking of the vine‑buds.
The traditional recipe, alas, rich in alkaloids atevi thought wonderful, would have a human dead in short order.
“You are missing the traditional dish, paidhi,” Tatiseigi chided him.
“Alas, one must leave it to your enjoyment, nandi. One is very strongly advised against it.”
“Oh, surely, just a sample . . .” Tatiseigi said, not because Tatiseigi wanted him dead, Bren hoped–such an ungracious way to get out of a dinner invitation. The old man’s relaxed, somewhat wine‑assisted complacency indicated he was in an unprecedentedly happy mood this evening. It was, Bren decided, actually rather touching, that solicitude about the dish, as if Tatiseigi was certain the paidhi‑aiji had become atevi enough now to survive the diet.
2
Brandy always followed a formal dinner. With brandy, business talk, banned at the dinner table, could be conducted in an alcohol‑fueled but somewhat torpid contentment. It was a social hour in which there was much leeway and little offense taken.
In the case of the aiji’s dinners, there were always more guests for brandy than would possibly fit at the aiji’s private dinner table–guests who did not fit for reasons of rank; or who did not fit for reasons of politics; or for a number of other considerations including the frequency with which they had lately been invited.
People kept track of these matters. Tabini’s master of kabiu more than arranged flowers, he arranged people. And he would keep everyone properly happy, even those not invited at all to the evening’s festivities, with small gifts, elaborate invitations, and special recognitions that substituted for invitations, keeping all the contacts polished, as it were.
So it was out to the large reception hall for brandy, more people, and light refreshment. There was still enough food on the buffet tables for a reasonable meal, had one not had supper yet–and it was shoulder‑to‑shoulder in places. There were Names in the room. That these were all well‑wishers of the administration was a comforting notion, considering the political variety of the gathering, and considering the tradition‑breaking legislation about to arise in the session. It augured well for everything they were trying to get settled.
Ilisidi was definitely a focus of attention in this room. Her personal understanding with Machigi, the new overlord of the five clans of the Marid, as he was shaping up to be, was certainly at issue. Machigi himself might have gone home to take care of business, but he had set up a new trade office down the hill from the Bujavid, and Ilisidi was doing business for that office wherever she walked, setting up meetings, extolling the virtues of the southern porcelains. She was simultaneously courting votes for the admission of the two west coast tribal peoples to the legislature–a matter which was not near and dear to her new ally Machigi, but which was definitely connected to her recent dealings with him–and an issue most certainly connected to Lord Geigi, whose Kajiminda staff came from the local Edi people. She talked to this lord and that, the redoubtable cane grounded for a prolonged time, occasionally thumping the antique carpet in emphasis.
Bren judged himself not remotely as effective with the conservative set as Ilisidi, who, as the most powerful lord of the traditional East, had immense influence among western conservatives. Tatiseigi led that faction, and attended the dowager in her tour of the room. Bren just watched, taking mental notes as to who had a pleasant expression, and who looked less happy.
“Bren‑nandi!” someone said, behind him. He turned, recognizing the voice with pleasure: the young lord of Dur, Reijiri, son and often proxy of the sitting lord, was the bravest, staunchest, and most reckless of his own allies. Reijiri was not in his usual flight‑casuals this evening, but wore a very plain formal dress in this company of glittering elite.
“Jiri‑nandi,” Bren said, with a quick bow. “So good to see you. Is your father here with you?”
“I tried to persuade him to fly.” The elder lord’s reluctance toward his son’s bright yellow, open‑cockpit plane was a standing joke in present company. “But you know how that is. At least I shall have his apartment in order when he gets here.”