“It was certainly part of our discussions,” Bren said. “And remains so.” Things had gone a little surreal. Ilisidi had surely been talking to the old man, and now a new twist had become an issue. The Marid’s acceptance of the northern‑based guilds’ authority within its bounds–yes, that had been on the table in the agreement. It was in there, in the fine print. But the conservatives seemed to have gotten it into their heads to run farther on that matter than discussions with Machigi had yet gone. The Assassins’ Guild was down in that district in major force–mopping up the renegade elements of their own Guild who had supported Murini. There had been a little talk of the Transportation Guild getting involved in improving rail service to the south.
The conservatives, however, suddenly envisioned the whole Shejidan‑centered Guild system going into place in the Marid, in every district, never mind the Marid’s long tradition of locals‑only in the only two guilds they had historically accepted–the Assassins and Transportation. That was not going to be a totally smooth road–though he was working on that matter with similar hope, particularly for the Scholars and the Physicians.
“I shall be offering these items of my collection,” Tatiseigi added, “for public viewing in the museum downstairs. And we shall catch the public imagination. The television service may be advised.”
Tatiseigi proposed television coverage? The famed Atageini porcelains on television? Tatiseigi had had three atevi‑scale glasses of wine at dinner and at least, from the snifter in his hand, three‑quarters of a brandy. Bren had had one of the former, and decided that going slow on what he currently had in his hand was a very good idea.
“One has become sensible,” Tatiseigi continued, “how truly rare items one has in that collection. The honor of the Atageini is to possess them–and to offer the experience of them to the people of the aishidi’tat, who will not have seen the like, ever in their lifetimes or their parents’ lifetimes.”
“A generous gesture. A very generous gesture.” It was, indeed worth a bow, while the less worthy thought was cycling through one’s brain–that the rush of publicity and the sudden availability of southern porcelains for the collector’s market was going to mean something to certain individuals, too. Collections of scope and antiquity would become more valuable, in status as well as monetarily.
And in Tatiseigi’s blue‑blooded circles, status was as negotiable as currency.
More so, if you had long been considered old‑fashioned, out‑of‑date, and a little eccentric, were politically ambitious to the hilt, and had just had the aiji’s consort turning up in clan colors. Tatiseigi had never scored such an evening.
And if the other guilds could be gotten into the Marid without reference to the historical, Marid‑born‑members‑only policy, the backers of that agreement would have political capital to put any financial gain to shame.
Was that it? Was the old man making a move for influence in the new shape of the aishidi’tat?
“One is certain such a gesture will be well received across the aishidi’tat, nandi.”
“Well, well, all due to the aiji‑dowager’s wise notions. –Ah,” Tatiseigi said, spying someone of immediate interest across the room. “I shall speak to you about this, paidhi‑aiji. Be assured I shall. But remember the date!”
Tatiseigi was off, at fair speed for an old man, and the alcohol was curiously not that much in evidence.
Bren drew a slow and careful breath, and was relieved to note that their little conversation had not appeared to draw undue interest. Only a few steps away, Tabini was deeply involved with Geigi, and across the room, Cajeiri was still talking to his young female cousin from the East, as Ilisidi carried on a lengthy conversation with the Calrunaidi lord.
He hadn’t been able to intervene in that situation, which was not Ilisidi’s nicest move, damn the circumstances. Damiri was on a permanent hair trigger regarding the dowager’s influence over her son, and, making matters worse, there was a very political cast on that meeting of second cousins. Calrunaidi was the clan of the bride of Geigi’s miscreant nephew. That meant ties to Lord Geigi on the one hand, and ties to Ilisidi on the other. Cajeiri was good and he was perceptive, but an eight‑year‑old was not up to negotiating the tricky grounds between his mother and his great‑grandmother . . . and the boy could not refuse either’s orders.
Oh, damned right Damiri was keeping an eye on her son, at the moment, watching with whom he formed associations–particularly female associations; and at the moment she did not have a happy look.
Bren shifted objectives, and went to be introduced to the Calrunaidi guests, which gave him a chance to bend aside and say, quickly and quietly into Cajeiri’s young ear–“Your mother, young gentleman. Go attend her. Quietly. Now.”
It was not a case of warning the average eight‑year‑old. Cajeiri was a veteran of literal fire‑fights and palace intrigue.
Did the boy blurt out, I don’t care? Or ask, sullenly, What does she want?
No. The boy did none of those things. Cajeiri said in a low voice, with a deep bow, “Please excuse me, nandi. I have just received a request from my mother.”
Bren did not even glance at Ilisidi as Cajeiri left. Ilisidi knew exactly what he had done and he knew she knew he knew, and suspected there had been no message from Damiri whatsoever. Ilisidi might well make her displeasure known in some minor way, over the next several days. Bren paid that prospect no heed, smiled and bowed in all courtesy to the lord of Calrunaidi. “One is very pleased to make your acquaintance, nandi. The aiji‑dowager speaks very highly of you.”
“Delighted, nand’ paidhi.”
Conversation then rapidly went from, “Will you be in the city long?” all the way to “If you find yourself in need on the East Coast, nand’ paidhi, consider my house open to you.”
So it was not a bad meeting at all . . . give or take Ilisidi’s grip on his arm as he left the conversation, and a whispered, “Paidhi, do not meddle.”
“Forgive me, aiji‑ma.” He was not in the least penitent.
Her firm grip headed him in Damiri’s general direction. As good as walking into a war zone.
“One advises against a meeting with the consort tonight, aiji‑ma.”
“Nonsense. This is my granddaughter‑in‑law. What could possibly be amiss?”
The hell! he thought. If his bodyguard were present even the aiji‑dowager would not take advantage as she was doing. But he dared not object as Ilisidi steered them straight into hostile waters. Cajeiri was in conversation with his mother, receiving some instruction when they arrived. Cajeiri shot them a very dismayed look.
“Granddaughter‑in‑law,” Ilisidi said smoothly. “The festivity is a complete success. We heartily compliment you.”
There was scant warmth in Damiri’s eyes when she said, “My husband’s staff deserves all the compliments for the evening, of course. You may recall my own staff is no longer in the city.”
Ilisidi stood, both hands on her cane. “Yet you are the hostess,” she said, and with a thump of the cane. “And you have been admirable. –Let us say something long unsaid, Granddaughter‑in‑law, which we should have said long ago. We applaud your choice to remain with my grandson. We support you in doing so. And we entirely understand your reasoning.”