The short answer for the humans would be—never deal with the Guild directly. Go to Geigi. That was the way it should theoretically work, and that was all anybody on the human side ever needed to know. How complicated that office really was, under that layer—just wasn’t human business at this point.
And it would not, if he had anything to do with it, entail an assassination.
He wrote a short note to Geigi.
I have nothing of substance, nandi, about names, but I assure you that the Guild is attempting to become better-informed and more forward-looking than in the past, and they will greatly value any instruction you can give them.
This is an atevi matter which I have not yet explained to our partners in station operation.
Geigi would also know that once the Assassins gained an office on the station, other guilds would clamor to get a foothold in what amounted to a new atevi province in the heavens. He saw it coming, and certainly Geigi would. He could all but hear the swell of debate among the Guilds over who was to have what priority, since it would depend on space available.
Precedence by antiquity was the only criterion that would not provoke debate; and the Assassins, first up to the station, were in fact the oldest of all guilds, so at least that worked. Transportation and the Scholars were the most directly involved with the station. The Messengers—there was going to be a lively discussion, in a community intimately linked to computer communications. If they went by seniority, the Messengers would take a place in line behind Transportation and the Builders. But they would argue. Passionately.
Geigi could well figure that a riotous tide was coming in and details were going to have to be worked out.
Tabini was the one to moderate the Guilds—including the requests to go to space. The paidhi-aiji did not have that thankless job, though Banichi and Algini were discussing things downstairs with officers of the Assassins’ Guild at the moment. They likely would consult Tabini next—which was the way it ought to be.
Major changes are occurring and regional offices are being recognized in many guilds. This will place this office under your able supervision over procedures and associational boundaries. I have every confidence you will be pleased.
I look forward to our meeting with great anticipation.
That should relieve Geigi’s apprehensions.
He was watching the atevi shuttle schedule, with the notion that Shawn was likely watching it, too, watching both shuttle schedules, not wanting news to arrive ahead of a replacement, not wanting to advertise their intentions, not wanting to stir up debate in what, at least on an emergency basis, could be done by decree.
And where it came to his schedule, there was one final problem before he could insert himself and his aishid into the shuttle schedule.
That problem’s name was, as the dowager had said, Topari.
With deep resolution, he leaned forward, shook back his lace cuffs, and uncapped the inkpot. He positioned a new piece of paper on his desk and set the bridge on which the hand rested.
A Ragi document, this time.
Bren Cameron, paidhi-aiji, Lord of the Heavens, Lord of Najida
To Topari, Lord of Hasjuran, of Halrun in the Southern Mountains
Salutations.
From correspondence with Geigi, to a very formal letter to the lord of a weather-worn little train station, a highly diffuse population of less than seven thousand, and a ruling clan of about thirty-five people, whose land just happened to sit astride the only sizeable flat spot in the southern mountains.
We would be pleased if you would share our dinner table two days hence.
We shall be inviting your brother lords of the district as well—
He wrote it in the most florid calligraphy he could muster, and added the proper titles for the lords of the little mountain association, in absolute exactitude, before he gave it a ribbon and seal.
Two days’ grace would let Lord Topari and his neighbors hold whatever conference in advance they needed, let these rustic lords find the right wardrobe for formal dinner with the paidhi-aiji, and let them actually get to Shejidan if they had chanced to be at home in the mountains when they received their invitations, as could well be the case. He tried to impose sufficient burden of formality on them that would let them feel the weight of his office, impress on them the importance of his good opinion, leave them limited time to get an agenda together—and still manage to have them in a good mood when they arrived.
He wanted to deal with the railroad problems all in one group. He wanted to ply them all with food and wine and lay them out a fair and attractive proposal as a group before he dealt with Lord Topari in private—and, God! he so fervently wished he and his aishid had gone with the aiji-dowager to Malguri, instead.
She sat in her mountain fastness clear at the other end of the continent, where even a phone was a rarity—though it was not the case with her security office. She didn’t have a shuttle schedule to think about.
Lord Tatiseigi was headed for his estate at Tirnamardi tomorrow, having finished his work.
They were both leaving him to mop up. The essential major bills had sped through the legislature and they were off to deal with their own local problems.
He had his dinner party with the mountain lords.
And a railroad deal of great importance to the dowager’s trade proposal with the Marid hanging in the balance.
9
The dinner party small talk was, alas, and as Bren had feared, an indelicate series of business questions insinuated at table, and the affair extended into completely blunt questions during brandy afterward.
But one could consider it a moderate success.
Far too much brandy proved to be the answer. When voices rose and the objections of private interest became wildly unreasonable, Bren signaled and staff kept pouring until the conversation descended to incoherency, and sober bodyguards—two apiece—took the befuddled guests safely down to the Bujavid train station and back to their hotel, probably confused as to whether a deal had been made.
Lord Topari’s enthusiasm for the project had, however, only increased. He was the one who had begun a heated argument with his neighbors and—in Lord Topari’s evident opinion—subordinates, and he had seemed to be winning his points. That the argument might continue back at the hotel seemed very likely.
Twice in the days following the dinner party, Lord Topari positioned himself beside the only door of the Transportation Committee conference room, to pounce when Bren exited the committee meeting, wanting this and that addition to the agreement.
Two four-man bodyguards stood at right angles to such encounters, one Guild-trained, the other composed of leather-clad high country hunters armed with pieces of, Banichi said dryly, a caliber hard to come by in Shejidan’s shops.
“Have you heard from the aiji-dowager?” was the daily refrain, referring to Lord Topari’s new requests: he wanted to extend roads from his domain into those of his neighbors, making the rail station in his district the center of a hitherto primitive transportation network.
It was not an unreasonable notion. It was even desirable—but a road was still a lower priority, a matter to be dealt with once the station itself was approved and underway. It was, however, a moment at which Topari had gotten the agreement of his neighbors—and Topari wanted the matter included and attached to railroad finance in the original proposal.