Resurgence Read online

  Kadagidi clan administration was being run by the Guild at the moment. The Kadagidi manor, Asien’dalun, perched on its own hill almost within sight if one stood at the hedges, was still repairing a hole nand’ Bren and Jase-aiji had blown in it, and the former lord was in the cold and mountainous south, working in a mill and learning how to run looms, which Uncle said, might teach him something he could actually do that might be of more use to the world, since he had not been much of a lord.

  The prospects for peace in the world were better this year than at any time Cajeiri could remember. There was peace in the heavens. His associates from up there had just landed, first down of all their people finding a home on Mospheira, and Father had approved of the arrangement, declared them under his personal protection. Just as important, he had approved their visiting the continent from time to time.

  Here on Earth, the Shadow Guild that had caused so many problems for so long was slowly being hunted out of existence, and might be gone from the north altogether. Uncle had made peace with Taiben—that feud had gone on, active and not, for two centuries. Cajeiri’s own little sister Seimiro would inherit Atageini clan from Uncle someday, so that succession was settled, which nobody had thought would happen, and if Nomari did win approval, Uncle might have a good neighbor to the west, which he never had had, not from the days when Grandmother died and Grandfather had caught the blame. Now it would all be better in that direction, too. There was still the question who had killed Aunt Geidaro, but at least she was gone, and he was not sorry for her. He had seen enough of the world to believe that truly bad people would never learn to behave.

  One thing was certain: that although things were headed in a good direction, the area around Tirnamardi, Asien’dalun, and Ajiden was not yet safe. Father wanted them back in the capital, and under protection.

  Peace in the heavens, peace on the earth . . . but in his father’s household, he feared another kind of warfare was brewing.

  By what he knew, Great-grandmother had come back from her province, all the way from the East, because she was worried about him, and worried about Uncle, who was Great-grandmother’s closest associate and strongest ally.

  But by the time she arrived in Shejidan, Mother had already taken the Red Train and headed here, herself Ajuri, and bent on settling matters with Ajuri in a way Great-grandmother could not.

  He had no idea what Great-grandmother had thought or felt when she had heard Mother had decreed the future of the region all on her own, without ever even consulting Great-grandmother, and not really consulting Father, so far as he knew. He truly, truly did not look forward to hearing what Great-grandmother and Mother might say to each other when they next sat at the same dining table.

  But he would have to. The latest news was that Great-grandmother had gone out to the coast to meet nand’ Bren on his return from Mospheira, and she was very likely upset and wanting to get nand’ Bren on her side, before they both returned to Shejidan.

  He wished Great-grandmother had been here to see how well Mother had handled things. She might not be so upset. But if she had been here, Mother never would have had the chance. It was a side of his mother he had never seen. A very good side. But nobody got past Great-grandmother when she was in the room.

  A noise disturbed the quiet, an engine. Out on the front drive, the bus was starting up.

  “Jeri-ji,” Antaro said. “We should go.”

  “Yes.” Cajeiri gave his hands a final dusting, with a regretful look at Jeichido. Jeichido gave a loud whuff, indeterminate what she thought. But tomorrow there would be no treats. No treats for a good while, except now and again from the grooms. When they wanted something.

  He so wanted time to spoil her properly.

  But with the bus running, that meant time had run out. He heard the market truck start up, too, and that meant hurry, because people would be getting on the bus.

  A piercing screech carried over the noise of the engines out in front of the house, making him think perhaps spoiling Jeichido too much was not such a good plan.

  Not far away, out on the drive, a very, very spoiled parid’ja was very, very unhappy. Boji and his huge filigree cage would be on the truck. So must his servants ride the truck, in the open air, taking care of the rascal. They put a tarp around the cage to shield Boji from the wind, but Boji hated it, hated not being able to see, hated the racket assaulting his ears from the unseen world.

  And poor Eisi and Liedi had to ride with him and try to keep him from panic.

  The house door opened as he came toward it, and there was his senior aishid, gray-haired Rieni, Haniri, Janachi, and Onami, come to fetch him, with no nonsense about it. Mother would be coming down to the front doors, with Seimiro, and Uncle. And Nomari. And security dictated they would board quickly.

  “We can go around by the side,” he said as Rieni and the rest joined them. Around the house by the garden path was all open ground, and that route was far less trouble than negotiating the inside hall and the up and down of the formal steps.

  The stable precinct gate in the curtain arbor was repaired since the night that had injured both Great-uncle and Antaro. It was all new wood, that the staff had not gotten around to staining, waiting for dry weather. The surrounding overgrowth of flowering vines had suffered a bit, but it would regrow by the time he saw it again, the same as ever. The tents were off the front lawn, and the lawn would grow again. Some of Nomari’s people had taken the regular train yesterday, to get to the capital and support his bid for the lordship. And several were coming with Nomari on the train.

  So was a double unit of Guild, to be sure Nomari stayed alive. Besides those eight, Mother had a double guard, and so did he and so did Lord Tatiseigi—that was thirty-two persons, not even counting the servant staff. The Guild presence was an absolute wall of black uniforms, so they were certainly protected—heavy weapons were in evidence as well as sidearms. Along with all that, Antaro and Jegari’s parents and kin would be waiting to join them out on the road—Taibeni clan riders, an honor to them, but likewise a fast-moving protection in case anybody had notions to repeat the assault on nand’ Bren’s bus.

  “Well,” Mother said as he joined her at the foot of the grand front steps. “You are here.”

  “Yes,” he said. The nurse was by Mother’s side, holding Seimiro, a little bundle in a green and white blanket—Atageini colors, that blanket, for the new heir of the house. And all that overwhelming Guild presence closed about them, so many that some had to ride the market truck and some, it seemed now, were going in Uncle’s grand open-topped automobile, a noisy lot of engines and a smell of fuel that Cajeiri found exciting—but Seimiro fretted and waved a small black fist at the disturbance.

  It was a very big bus that waited for them. It had been shiny red and black. Now it was dented and scarred and with some of its armored panels replaced, as yet unpainted—very sad to see. But the engine was as strong as ever.

  Nomari’s senior guards boarded first of all, and then Cajeiri’s, and Mother’s and Uncle’s, with Seimiro and the nurse, and no other servants. They all would have to come to Shejidan on the regular train—the truck would be back for them.

  His setting out from Shejidan to come here had been quiet by comparison, even with the news services involved. There were no reporters here now, but he was amid a whole crowd of people, on their way to a little wooden station in the forest, and somehow they were going to load that huge bus onto the train, too. He hoped they would let him watch that process, but he doubted he would get to see. The Red Car had no real windows, only the look of windows, and the Guild would be in a hurry to get them safely loaded and moving, so lingering outside the train to watch was out of the question.

  He boarded the bus with Antaro and Jegari, Lucasi and Veijico, and he settled in the seat they appointed for him. Everything went quickly, considering so many people involved, but Guild moved like that, interested in getting th
em from point of safety to point of safety with as little delay and exposure as possible. The doors shut with a thump, the bus almost immediately began to roll, and they were on their way.

  He was sad to leave Tirnamardi, and sad to leave Jeichido.

  He was sad, too, that he had been here while the shuttle was landing, and that right now, and for a while to come, his three associates, the only people his own age he had ever known, would be down on Earth, but not able to visit him. He had wanted so much to be there to meet them—which was just impossible. And politics said they had to land on Mospheira, and live there, and it would be a while before they could even talk to each other.

  At least nand’ Bren had been able to be there to meet them, though there had apparently been some unpleasantness. His aishid said it all seemed to have been settled for now—but was there anything in all the world that just made everybody happy?

  At least they were down, and safe, and eventually they would come to visit, and in the meantime they could send messages and perhaps even phone. They were down, nand’ Bren was back . . . and for the first time he ever remembered, Mother was happy with him, so there was a lot for him to be happy about. He hoped, though he doubted it, that Mother would stay happy with him. Unhappily, he reminded Mother of Great-grandmother in most everything he said and did . . .

  But since Mother had come here to make peace with Uncle, and since Mother had out-raced Great-grandmother to get here, and since he had not done something Mother would disapprove of since she had been here—

  He was in Mother’s good graces for the first time since he had been the baby in nurse’s arms. It proved he could do it.

  At least until Great-grandmother got back to Sheijidan.

  * * *

  • • •

  Brighter Days left the dock toward a setting sun, a curl of water behind her as she moved under engines, and Bren wished them well.

  He had come down to bid Toby and Barb a safe voyage, and to tell them that it was internal atevi politics that was at issue, politics swirling about the prospective appointment of an Ajuri lord, and that that was what had the dowager concerned and wanting to talk to him before he got to the capital. It was nothing that threatened him, or relations with Mospheira.

  That relieved them of worry—atevi problems were not their problems, and they had, besides, the handsome gift from the dowager to prove she was in no wise displeased.

  Beyond that, the great wardrobe crate and the equipment crate had gotten safely onto the truck up on the bluff that overlooked the dock on the east, and the truck had come down again to park in the drive by the time Bren and his aishid had climbed back up the evergreen-bordered path to reach the portico. There was no need to delve into that case short of its destination in the Bujavid, in the capital. For tomorrow, he had an easy, comfortable wardrobe here at Najida that, thank God, did not come with a bulletproof vest. He had not worn the thing down to the dock—although there had been a little argument over his going down to the dock after shedding it in favor of a plainer, more suitable coat for outdoors.

  He had won that round with his aishid. “I shall not stay. I promise,” he had said, and added: “I have learned to duck, nadiin-ji.”

  Jago snorted.

  But he had been quick about the visit, and lost no time getting back into the house.

  “Dinner, nandi,” Ramaso stood by to tell him as he came in, and staff was there with the formal court coat again for dinner. “The dowager has already moved to the dining room.”

  A definite signal to hurry. He shrugged the coat on and let a servant quickly tidy his queue, while Banichi and Jago shed their heavier armament to Tano’s and Algini’s care in the interests of speed. It was a brief detour to wash, then on to the new wing, and up a little set of steps to the grand new dining hall.

  A huge window gave a high view of the sunset harbor, a vista framed in stained glass that shed splashes of color onto the paneled walls and into the table crystal.

  Ilisidi had claimed the head of the long table, and a place was set to her honored immediate right, a warm gesture. It was potentially a seating of two, infelicitous in the numerology which ran through the Ragi language and through atevi hearts, with a basis in practicality. Two was an intimacy conducive to improper topics at dinner. Two could fall to arguing, and in the old days, cutlery could easily become involved.

  Which was why, in this dinner for two, Ramaso, as major d’ and estate manager, set himself at a slight remove, midway down the table—assuring that conversation was limited to the delight of the new windows and the niceness of the weather. The stained glass windows with the clear center panels were the dowager’s extravagant gift, one that Bren himself had never had a chance to see in full splendor.

  They discussed the view. The artist. The labor of building the new wing, a topic Ramaso knew top to bottom. They strayed to the progress of the Edi building their new center on the neighboring Kajiminda peninsula, and Ramaso mentioned exchanges Najida had had with the Kajiminda estate. Lord Geigi, whose domain was Kajiminda, had served for years as atevi-side master of the space station, and showed no sign of retiring. He had given up the lordship of Maschi clan to take that post, retaining only Kajiminda estate, his precious orchards, and his extensive collection of porcelains, pieces of which were still being tracked down, each with a story worth hearing.

  Ilisidi did have news on Geigi’s nephew Baiji, responsible for the illegal sale of those porcelains and other misdeeds. He was alive and well in the remote East, and apparently performing the one function he could contribute to Maschi clan—since his Calrunaidi wife was pregnant and the offspring was contractually destined to be Maschi. Geigi had no heir, nor was likely to produce one, but Baiji, after all his misdeeds, might at least have assured a continuance of the lordly line.

  And, Ilisidi was quick to point out, Baiji would not rear that child, and would not pass on his opinions or his manners. The contract marriage would end with the birth, the woman, a daughter of the respectable Calrunaidi clan, and distantly related to Ilisidi herself, would take the baby and move into Kajiminda estate. Baiji could rust away in relative harmlessness in the remote East—though watched: definitely watched.

  Inheritance and lordships slid perilously close to a topic they should not discuss, active and argumentative business being barred from the dining hall. So they moved on to discuss Ilisidi’s harbor project in the East, which was making progress. They discussed the local weather, the stormy spring, the fishing—the schools were running late this year, but they were arriving.

  The sunset faded in the windows. Candlelight became the ambient, before the colors had quite left the glass. When an accident involving the garage had set the house to constructing a new wing, and when the windows were proposed, Bren had asked himself whether this space should be a new sitting room—the one near the front doors was fairly small, its furnishings showing a little wear—but it was the nature of dinners to happen at sunset, and for brandy afterward to happen in the sitting room after sundown. So there was no benefit to the great windows except to be here when the sun was setting. He was glad, he expressed the thought, to have made that choice, and he was more than appreciative of Ilisidi’s gift.

  “An extravagance appropriate to this happy place,” was her observation. Her own mediaeval holding was all stone and timber, usually chill, with a few rough-paneled rooms made cozy by the many fireplaces. “We have admired such windows in other houses. We are delighted to see them in this most fortunate of situations.”

  “You are always welcome to this place,” Bren said, “whether or not I am here.”

  “It is a fine hall. But alas, the show is past.”

  “Shall we then go down to brandy, aiji-ma?”

  “We shall,” Ilisidi said, and reached for her cane, which Cenedi—their aishidi were both present, about the periphery of the room—was instant to provide. He pulled her chair back. B
anichi was similarly quick to assist, at Bren’s back, and Algini and Tano assisted Ramaso, who bowed to each of them and excused himself, his numerical usefulness at an end.

  They went down the short stairs, each attended by the appropriate aishid, down two halls to the vicinity of the main doors—not that they needed protection in the heart of Najida; but that Guild was always about them, always witness, always ready to provide information, or to discuss, later, what wanted discussion.

  And with Ilisidi, indeed, it would be a comfort not to rely solely on his own memory, his human understanding of the discussion; as she, likewise, might want a second opinion on the paidhi-aiji’s responses. In discussion over brandy, most any topic was valid, and she would expect frankness—Ilisidi, in converse with her allies, insisted on it.

  Discussion, like the brandy, did have a morning after, and it was no time to be muddle-headed. They settled in first with tea, that cup to calm the mind. Servants served. But they took only a few sips before the dowager set her cup down, and he did.

  Then the brandy came round, and that deserved a sip before conversation, everything in due course, in a calm and quiet place.

  “So,” Ilisidi said, “you know, paidhi, that my great-grandson has been given a double aishid. That he was sent to visit Tatiseigi, after all that noise about appointing a new lord for Ajuri.”

  “One witnessed the trip, aiji-ma. Mospheira received the news feed. And one was informed about the doubled guard. One was entirely surprised to see him traveling alone.”