“Television, an advancement,” Lord Tatiseigi scoffed. “And these computers are questionable and impudent.”
“You would never take the Talidi part, great-uncle.” This bit of politics from Damiri. “They decry computers. One is gratified to know Atageini clan has the sense to own them.”
“A damned nuisance,” Tatiseigi muttered. “They were supposed to report from the valley. And did they?”
“The Kadagidi destroyed the sensor,” Tabini said darkly, “and it reported that, nandi.”
“And what good is it after?” Tatiseigi retorted. “A telephone could have told us how many, and what direction.”
“Your telephones are compromised, nandi.”
“Not Atageini doing! We accepted this Murini under our roof in the interests of peace, when the whole region was in upheaval. What alternative did we have but further conflict?”
“Did we not say,” Ilisidi interjected, “no mercy for Talidi leadership back when we had the chance? And did I not warn you, Tati-ji, that sheltering their ally was no solution?”
“What were we to do? Slaughter a guest? If you had moved in, he would have moved out sooner.”
“We had our own beast to hunt,” Ilisidi said, leaning on her cane, “and a great deal on our hands, nandi. We have our own province. And where were you when matters turned difficult, Tati-ji?”
Bren found his hand gone numb.
“Dare you,” Tatiseigi cried, “and under our roof, and us sheltering Ragi guests, to our personal danger, accuse us?”
“Nandiin,” Bren said, “nandiin, one asks, one most earnestly asks—” Tabini was looking him past him when he spoke, but immediately those uncanny pale eyes snapped back to his, at close range. “One most earnestly asks,” he resumed, suddenly short of breath, and felt Tabini’s grip ease, as if Tabini had remembered whose arm he was holding. “Moderation in these events,” Bren finished.
“Moderation,” Tabini said. “Moderation, indeed.” Tabini let him go, and rested the same hand gently on his shoulder. “Baji-naji. The world is in upheaval. So do you have advice to give us, paidhi-aiji?”
His moment. His opportunity. Or the aiji was mocking him. “I have my report to give, aiji-ma.”
“The report,” Tabini said, as if such things were very far from his mind at the moment. “There will be many reports, paidhi-aiji, piles of reports. We have already heard where you have been, and what you have done, and promised in our name.”
“You say you hear,” Ilisidi muttered.
“We have never failed to hear your opinions, grandmother.”
“Heard us, and disregarded us,” Ilisidi said. No one daunted her in argument. “After which you hurled us off to space and went your own way!”
“We put you in charge of educating our heir, establishing atevi authority in the heavens—and making agreements in our name and in the name of the aishidi’tat. This was not an inconsiderable job for an Easterner and an outlander, grandmother! Wherein was this any disrespect of your views?”
“Well, well, outlander is it, blood of mine? And we have accomplished both tasks quite well, have we not? Now need we straighten out this current mess for you? Dare these fools in the south say it was the paidhi’s choice? It was yours! It was nothing but yours!”
It was decidedly time to move aside. But the aiji still rested a hand on his shoulder.
“Mani-ma,” Tabini said. “In all due respect—”
“Oh, pish! Are we fools? This movement has been brewing and bubbling for far more than the mere decade of the paidhi’s close involvement. Toss a treasure into a crowd and all dignity and common sense vanish in the scramble, and everyone emerges bloody. Toss human treasure into the same situation and watch sensible folk start scrambling for this and that piece of value, for factories to spoil their skies and new goods to corrupt their common sense! You loosed the prospect of wealth, new importance for whole provinces, new fortunes, entire new houses elevated or created by this rush to space, with all the upheaval in rights of precedence and legislative power—Gods less fortunate, grandson, what did you expect in this condition but a riot?”
“And confusion,” Tabini said. “Never forget confusion and folly, which always attend change, do they not? Change what exists, and toss what-will-be into the air, and, yes, certain fools lose all certainty about the rules.”
“Have we not said so?” Tatiseigi said from across the room. “Human influence comes in, human goods, human wealth, and now we have a confusion in man’chi and a galloping calamity of unrest in the rural provinces. Did we not warn at the outset this would be the result, aiji-ma? We warned you not to promote this human!”
“In the calamities you name,” Tabini said sharply, “is the fault in the paidhi-aiji, that greed and ambition break out among us? Power is the question. Power has always been the issue, and whether there will be an aishidi’tat in future, or whether this moment will give a toehold to the lurkers-in-wait who want power and who will carve the aishidi’tat into regions and interests, even if all they gain is the chance to battle each other for scraps of interest to themselves. Ambition of that sort has existed from the foundation of the world. Outright folly and selfish greed! And blame the paidhi-aiji that folly found an opportunity? Never lay that failing at the paidhi’s feet. Was it my folly not to have broken the houses of the conspirators? The paidhi may have counseled moderation but the power to act was constantly in my hands.”
“Oh, let us not forget the Kadagidi,” Ilisidi said. “Let us not overlook their flaws. Think of that, Tati-ji. You relied on their promises. You listened. The Atageini took them for houseguests and even married into the clan.”
“I listened to them?” Tatiseigi cried. “Three hundred years sitting on our boundary, the upstarts, and sending their feuds across our border, politicking with the Ragi, with the Kaoni, with the Edi, and with us—yes, we have connections with the Kadagidi. One cannot live as neighbors for three hundred years without some connections, however unfortunate, and indeed we took our turn believing in the aishidi’tat, in ignoring the numbers, in attempting to mend old feuds and patch up old differences with our neighbors, precisely the Kadagidi, as we were advised to do, as we were even threatened with high displeasure if we failed to do! Yes, thanks to the aishidi’tat we have cross-connections, lately forged, against our better judgment and by the blandishments of young fools hot to marry—but the aishidi’tat was created precisely to knit associations together and overcome these old feuds, was it not? It was to give us all advantage! And where is the usefulness of the aishidi’tat now in protecting us, when we fritter away our resources, fling our wealth off into the ether, and create this house in the heavens where we mix what experience has shown us should never be mixed, not just Atageini with Kadagidi, gods more fortunate! But humans with atevi, which has always brought war! Have we forgotten that?”
The grip had closed on Bren’s shoulder. He was sure he would have bruises, so tight had it become. And never mind the chief offender in politicking with the Kadagidi through the most recent years had been Tatiseigi himself…attempting to straighten out these tangled old and new connections, that might be the truth, but at the same time forming a close association entirely troublesome, even threatening to the aishidi’tat. The whole Padi Valley sat as the geographical heart of the country, and, partly due to Tatiseigi, it was always in a flutter.
And never doubt this old curmudgeon would have made a move to take the aijinate for himself years ago if he remotely had the backing. That a descendant of his was Tabini’s heir was the only reason they were safe under this roof.
Tabini said not a thing to that argument.
But Damiri, Atageini herself, had no such reserve. “And have Atageini never contributed materially to the Kadagidi’s indiscretions? Have you not looked for your own advantage in their upheavals, encouraged their conniving with the south? Where were you when a simple refusal to shelter their dissident members would have put them within reach of the Guild and saved us al
l this trouble?”
“Oh, now, indeed, niece!” Tatiseigi said.
“Indeed?” Ilisidi said ominously. “Indeed you have done so repeatedly, nor can deny it, Tati-ji. And did I not tell you where this double-dealing would lead? We told you to dispose of Murini. Now we have arrived at the destination of this policy of yours. We are clearly there, at this moment.”
“Bren-ji,” Tabini said quietly, easing his grip and massaging the shoulder he had abused, “at this threshold of a memorable family fight, do us a great favor and go outside. Be sure our son stays safe. Go. And we shall see you this evening, if these households survive.”
“Aiji-ma.” He got up, still feeling the impression of fingers and a tingling in his arm. He bowed, and bowed generally, then specifically and very politely bowed to their host. “With your permission, nandi,” he said to Tatiseigi, and immediately headed for the door.
In one part, oh, he wanted to know exactly what Tabini meant to say regarding the family business between the Ragi clan and the Atageini that had been simmering all his career. But in another, more sensible part he was absolutely sure that it would by no means improve a human’s welcome with Uncle Tatiseigi if he stayed to witness the family laundry laid out in order.
All was still decorously quiet as he shut the door, nodded a quiet courtesy to Tabini’s chief of security, then picked up Jago.
“We are to find the heir,” he said quietly, “on the aiji’s request. One assumes Banichi and Cenedi are already on the track.” It was still all too quiet behind that door, but then, atevi fights were sometimes exceedingly quiet, phrased in extravagant politeness, interspersed by long silences, and occasionally with whole pots of tea, simply because the recourse to misstatement could be deadly. In very fact, the aiji under anyone’s roof was the one who gave the orders, with quiet, polite acknowledgment of his host, it was true; but Tabini would give the orders.
And the warlike half of those gathered on the lawn and up and down the drive, the really experienced fighters, as opposed to the farmers and shopkeepers, were all the aiji’s forces. Lord Tatiseigi had no means to object to the aiji’s presence or his decisions, and no profit in doing so. Tatiseigi had always skirted the edges of conflicts, never directly stood for or against anything, and now, in the heir, he had a route to power, if only he stayed quiet, and if only the aiji won the day. So he was quite, quite confident Tabini would have his way, whatever that way was.
It was, however, very likely that the paidhi was going to be a central subject of debate inside that room. Words might be passed that Tabini had no wish for him to hear.
At very worst—
“The young gentleman has his young escort with him, nandi,” Jago said as they moved. “He ran down to the steps and out the door.”
“To find the house fuel tank,” he murmured as they negotiated the steps off the main floor and into the foyer, under the scaffolding.
“The fuel tank?” Jago asked.
That did sound entirely ominous, in mental review. It might become even more ominous, if youthful security grew distracted in a press of the curious and enthusiastic around the young stranger. There was a remote possibility of Kadagidi infiltrators on the estate, more apt to conceal their movements within a crowd. In that thought he hastened his steps, under the scaffolding around the damaged frieze of the entryway, across a scatter of carpentry shavings at the door, and emerged into the afternoon sun, on steps high above what had been a stately hedge, elegant lawn, and cobbled drive.
The jam on the cobbled drive now stretched out of sight among the hedges and over the hill. Mecheiti grazed the lawn, among tents, and the hedges were in tatters. The nearest vehicles had become gathering points for a motley collection of townsmen armed with hunting rifles, some ladies and gentlemen, doubtless town officials, wearing brocade coats by no means suited to rough living. The latter were local ladies and gentleman who had not, thus far, found lodging in the lordly house, to which they would ordinarily be entitled. They might be late arrivals out of Heitisi, the neighboring aggregate of towns in this area of the Padi Valley. But as he passed the corner of the house, he saw they were not at all the whole of the crowd. There was a sizeable gathering as well beyond the eastern hedge, near the charcoaled uprights that had been the stable.
“The fuel tank,” Jago said, “is there.”
The boy was not immediately visible, but he caught sight of Banichi and Cenedi. Dignity be damned, Bren thought, and began to run.
3
The fuel pump, thank God, did not sit close enough to the stables to have been involved in the conflagration. The station was an inconspicuous little concrete pad, bearing tire marks, with a small pump at the side, the sort of thing one might have tripped over in the dark. But it must be working. A small group had already left the area, bearing fuel cans down the hill toward the plane in the meadow, and entraining a straggle of spectators from up on the hill.
The straggle included the young gentleman and his companion, to be sure, in plain view, at the head of the advance, and available to any sniper, right behind Rejiri and the strong men bearing gas cans, Banichi and Cenedi in close attendance.
Bren took out down the hill in the wake of the crowd, Jago beside him, both walking faster and faster, until they reached Banichi and Cenedi—who, absent a clear threat, had not been able to stop the young rascals. It took a lord who outranked him, and he could, a little out of breath, and with his security, just overtake Cajeiri as they reached the bottom of the hill.
“Nandi.” A little nod as they arrived at their destination “I am obeying my father.”
“One is absolutely certain the young gentleman is exercising prudence.” One could make clever, light remarks. One could attempt to make his presence out here other than what it was, a retrieval mission. Neither would fool Cajeiri, who had just marched ahead of his great-grandmother’s security. “But this is not the closed environment of the ship. There might be rifles, the other side of the meadow. We have no idea who may be in the neighborhood. I do not personally know all these people. A Kadagidi agent could be walking right beside us, in all this crowd. Banichi will not be pleased with this. Nor will Cenedi.”
“A professional would not risk his life to assassinate us, would he?”
Oh, the arrogance of having overheard too much. And not nearly enough.
“There are circumstances, young sir,” Banichi said quietly, in his deep voice. “Once you have lived long enough, you may hear of them. This is not wise.”
A little upward glance. The lad had had Banichi for a teacher, in the corridors of the ship. If Cajeiri had a personal deity, it was likely Banichi, who had taught him to build remote controls, and once converted Cajeiri’s best toy car to a weapon. And that particular tone in Banichi’s voice, coupled with arriving authority, finally brought a little worry to that young face.
The can-bearers and Rejiri had reached the plane, meanwhile, and Rejiri began to unfasten the fuel cap.
“Stop here, young sir,” Bren said, as Cajeiri kept walking.
The boy hesitated half a step. “I want to watch. I have walked all this way perfectly safely. Assassins would have shot us by now, would they not? And the airplane would be cover if there were trouble.”
“Indeed,” Bren said, “with all that fuel about. And all this crowd around us will take their limit from you, young lord. The obligation of a person of consequence is to set limits and not bring all this crowd to the side of the plane to hamper the pilot.”
A half glance toward the goal. And not quite a glance—one could all but hear Ilisidi’s reminder to observe stiff-backed dignity. Prudence might not have figured anywhere in Cajeiri’s intentions, and he had defied two missions sent to stop him, but he had come to a stop now, and the onlookers, adult and many of them also persons of consequence, had accordingly stopped, providing a modicum of cover and a certain weight of inertia in the crowd. Cajeiri took in a deep breath, drew himself up perhaps a hand taller—or he was standing on a small hu
mmock—and scowled at this development, this check on his freedom.
The vantage he had, however, preserved a view of the fueling, and of where the fuel went in. They subsequently had a good view of Rejiri prepping his machine. Then Rejiri got in, started the engine, and with a very satisfactory roar, maneuvered the plane on the meadow.
“Aircraft must face the wind during takeoff,” Bren explained during this move, “and it needs a long run to get into the air, another excellent reason to keep the crowd out of the way. That propeller could dice a person into small bits.”
Cajeiri looked at him, and then at the plane, suitably impressed.
“Note the moveable panels on the wings, young sir,” Jago said. “Those will shape the wing for maximum lift on the wind. Lift will carry it off the ground and keep it aloft.”
“One thought the propeller carried it off the ground, nadi.”
“Speed from the propeller and lift from the wings and body are the means, young sir. A small, light plane can actually have its engine fail in the sky and still land safely…given a smooth landing area, and the lift it still enjoys from wings and body. As it descends through the air, it gathers speed and lift much as if the engine were running. Like Toby’s boat, which will not steer at all until it moves fast enough, do you recall? The plane has a rudder, on its tail, which also directs it. See?”
The plane was gathering speed now.
“Oh!” Cajeiri exclaimed, and then did not bounce in place. He folded his hands behind him, fingers tightly locked, the perfect young gentleman. And he added, glumly, “One wished to see inside,” as the crowd at large applauded the takeoff. The locals clearly found an aircraft at close hand quite as much a novelty as Cajeiri did. The plane soared, roared deafeningly over the crowd, and banked steeply toward the west, as cries went up from the hill.
“Is it all right?” Cajeiri asked in sudden alarm.
“A turn,” Bren said, and true enough, Rejiri leveled off and gathered altitude, headed toward the railway, the noise of the plane fading, as the rear of the crowd began to turn back toward the hill.