Deceiver: Foreigner #11 (16 page)

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Authors: C. J. Cherryh

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He gathered his aishid in his own apartment, himself sitting by his own fireplace and its comfortably warm embers. “Sit down,” he said, “nadiin-ji.” And they took the other chairs, all four of them.
“How much did you hear?” he asked Lucasi and Veijico. “And how much did you understand?”
“We heard,” Lucasi said, “that they are hoping Edi will function in the place of the Guild in protecting this region, and that Lord Geigi intends to move into Kajiminda faster than the aiji’s Guild occupying it would like. We heard that Maschi clan leadership may no longer be reliable.”
That was certainly an aspect of it. One could gather Tano and Algini had somewhat discussed that problem in their own terms. And one also gathered Lucasi and Veijico clearly did not think Geigi was being smart.
“The Edi know everything that moves on the coast,” he reminded them. “And they are used to managing this area, nadiin-ji.”
“They failed to advise nand’ Bren there was a problem. That was wrong.”
“Talking to the Edi is a problem. You know they have a rule against talking to outsiders. Nand’ Bren has gotten past that now. So has my great-grandmother. And Lord Geigi is their lord—besides, mani is already talking about putting the Edi in charge of part of this coast. So the Edi are talking to us now. And they are part of the protection of this house.”
“They have no skill against real Guild,” Veijico said. “And should not be relied on. Your father ought to know this, nandi.”
“One is certain he will know it,” he said, annoyed at their pertness with opinions. “But the Marid Guild did
not
succeed in taking this house, or in holding onto Kajiminda. So they are not as smart as they think they are. And the Edi are not doing badly.”
His older bodyguards looked more than a little offput. Then Lucasi said, “That is no measure of success, nandi. The Guild does not
hold
positions. Holding positions is a lord’s business. Holding is politics, and the demonstration of power.”
Well,
that
was a recitation from some book.
“So it is my business to hold things,” he said. “And yours to take them. When I say so.”
Silence, from the troublemakers. “Yes,” Antaro said quietly. Jegari nodded. But not the other two.
Useful to know the Guild’s opinion of its uses.
“The Edi,” he said, “have done very well.”
“Not
well,” Veijico said.
“Better than the Marid Guild,” he said. Tag. Point for his side. He liked winning an argument, too. “Some of them are dead. The Edi were smart. They sided with Great-grandmother.”
“Still, nandi,” Lucasi said, “they are irregulars.”
“They are alive,” he said, “and the Marid’s Guild have been trying to take over for years.”
“Kajiminda’s Guild has prevented it, nandi. It is
not
irregulars who have defended this coast.”
He liked the notion that his bodyguard would talk back to him: Cenedi talked back to Great-grandmother, and Banichi talked back to Bren. But Lucasi and Veijico were being stupid. And that made him mad.
“That was,” he said shortly, “after Kajiminda’s Guild went off and got killed in the Troubles, or never even got to Shejidan, for all we know. They died.”
“Possibly the Edi that served Kajiminda all died, too,” Veijico said. “Since they are missing.”
“Nandi,” he corrected them sharply. “You say ‘nandi.’ ”
“Nandi,” Veijico said.
“And you are to mean it, nadi!”
A bow of the head and
no
openness of expression from her or her brother. Mani would never put up with it. They thought he had to, being a year short of nine.
“I have been in space,” he said, just as nastily. “I have been on a spaceship and on a station
and
the shuttle, and I have seen people who are not atevi and not human, either, where we all could have gotten blown up. So I know things, nadiin. I have gotten myself out of trouble. And Antaro and Jegari and I all three were in a war. You were not. So you should listen.”
“We listen, nandi,” Veijico said glumly.
“You are rude.”
“No,
nandi, we are
not
rude. We are advising you, for your safety.”
“We do as we please, nadiin!
You
do not.
We
get away with things because we are not loud about it and we do what our guards by no means expect, but also because we
listen
about what is dangerous and what is not and we do not go some places. We are not stupid, nadiin! You think anybody not Guild is stupid. You think the Edi are stupid. You probably think everybody in the staff is stupid. Superior thinking, mani says, does not consist of thinking oneself superior. We think you should reconsider who is stupid.”
There was a moment of deep, uncomfortable silence.
“We stand corrected, nandi,” Veijico said coldly.
“You should,” he said. It was as good as mani could do—almost. And they had deserved it. He was still mad. Which was not satisfactory. He hated being mad. He hated having people see that he was.
Face!
mani would say, and thwack him on the ear until he mended his expression. Which he did—mended all the way to a tight, small smile. And got up, so they all had to.
“It will be a very formal dinner tonight,” he said, meaning whatever bodyguard attended him had to eat beforehand or after. The little dining room was going to be wall-to-wall security—literally shoulder-to-shoulder Guild, considering nand’ Bren’s little estate had so many important guests.
And maybe the boredom of standing about this evening, while Antaro and Jegari ate at leisure in the suite, would give Lucasi and Veijico enough time to think about the seriousness of the situation, and about the fact that they were in among very senior security who had earned the right to respect.
“You two will attend me,” he told them. “All day.” He planned to do his lessons, which was the most boring thing he could think of, and not to let them off. “You can stand at the door and keep an eye on things. Jegari and Antaro will be helping me with my homework.”
 
For the paidhi-aiji, it was a formal evening coat, light green, and freshly pressed, with only a moderate amount of lace—comfortable, a country style. It was one of Bren’s favorites, comfortable across the shoulders, unlike the court-style that was intended to remind the wearer about posture—constantly. He slipped it on and went down to the front door to welcome Toby and Barb into the house. It was an exposed walk, coming up the hill, and he breathed easier when the door opened and let them in.
“I gather Lord Geigi made it in all right,” Toby said. “We saw the bus. Fancy!”
“Everything in order,” Bren said. Toby didn’t bow. He didn’t. And they didn’t touch, in front of staff, which they always were, in the hall. “Barb. Good evening.”
“Are we proper?” Barb asked in a low voice. Toby’s lady—his own ex, which was an inconvenience—but one he was determined to ignore. And do her credit, Barb tried. Toby and Barb had come up the hill wearing good Mospheiran-style clothes—that was to say white trousers, light sweaters, Toby in blue, Barb in brown with a little embroidery, and in Toby’s case, a dress jacket, the sort one might wear to a better Port Jackson restaurant. It was as formal as two boaters got, within their own wardrobes.
“Perfectly proper,” he said, in good humor, and led them on down toward the side corridor toward the dining hall, with Banichi and Jago in attendance.
But just down toward the end of the hall, Lord Geigi exited his quarters, and they delayed to meet the portly lord and his two bodyguards . . . Lord Geigi resplendent in gray and green brocade and a good deal of lace.
To Lord Geigi, surely, the mode of Barb’s and Toby’s dinner dress might be a little exotic—yachting whites weren’t the mode among the numerous humans on the station—but Lord Geigi was an outgoing fellow and went so far as to offer his hand, station manners, to the complete astonishment of the household servants standing by at the hallway intersection.
“My brother Toby and his companion Barb,” Bren introduced them both. They both knew Geigi by reputation, no question of that: but a formal introduction was due. “Lord Geigi of Kajiminda, Lord of Sarini Province, third holder of the Treaty of Aregorji, Viceroy of the Heavens and Stationmaster of Alpha Station. Nandi, my brother-by-the-same-father nand’ Toby, an associate of the Presidenta of Mospheira, and his companion Barb-daja.”
Barb and Toby had never heard the full string of titles rattled off, and seemed a little confused. Toby bowed. Barb stared with her mouth a little open.
“Very glad to meet you,” Geigi said, using very idiomatic ship-speak, as they pursued their walk toward the dining room. “A pleasant surprise, your presence here.”
“Honored,” Toby said. “Very honored, sir. My brother has always spoken extremely highly of you. One is grateful.” The latter in fairly passable Ragi.
“Well, well,” Geigi said, still in ship-speak, “and eloquence runs in the family. I do very much regret displacing you from your quarters.”
“Oh, no way, sir. We’re very comfortable on the boat. The same as being home.”
“Gracious as well.” Geigi was at his jovial best as they reached the door and he half-turned, hesitating at another arrival behind them in the hall. “And the aiji-dowager joins us.”
“Do go in,” Bren said to Toby and Barb, while Geigi’s attention and his courtesies passed smoothly to Ilisidi. Personal staff had neatly coordinated the arrivals by inverse order of rank, and the paidhi-aiji in particular did
not
enter the dining room after the aiji-dowager. Toby and Barb went first, least in rank; he came second, and as host and holder of the estate he took his place and bowed to Lord Geigi, who entered next, and found his chair at table, at Bren’s left.
Immediately after, Ilisidi arrived with Cajeiri—hindmost.
And what with Banichi and Jago, Cenedi and Nawari, Lucasi and Veijico, and Geigi’s guards, Saoji and Sakeimi, the wall around the dining table was solid black and armed to the teeth . . . not that the guests present didn’t trust each other. It was the house itself that was in jeopardy: dinnertime was absolutely classic in the machimi, as the most convenient time to sneak up on a house—what with servants coming and going, everybody gathered in one place, and maybe not paying attention . . . and perhaps a little buzzed with alcohol.
Their bodyguards, however,
were
paying attention. Constantly.
Poison? Not in his kitchen. Not with his cook.
Not with off-duty security having their supper next door to the kitchens.
And not with a household staff that came from Najida village. He had too many eyes, too many people on alert for any intruder to get that chance.
And dinner began, first of all, with wines, fruit juices, liquor. One knew what things their guest had been in the way of missing.
“Do choose, Geigi-ji,” Ilisidi said. Ordinarily staff would seek her choices first. She gave Geigi that honor.
And Geigi chose a delicate white wine for openers . . . Cajeiri opting for a sparkling fruit juice.
After that, then, came a succession of courses, especially the traditional regional dishes of the season. The cook had announced a seventeen-course dinner, which, even for atevi appetites, amounted more to a leisurely and lengthy tasting event than a dinner in the usual sense. There was a constant succession of plates and dishes—fish, shellfish, game of the season, imported curd and sauces of black bean plant, greenbud, orangelle, too many to track. There could not be a utensil in the kitchen not being washed and reused. There was black bread, white bread, whole-grain and soft bread. There were three kinds of eggs; and preserves and pickles. There were gravies, light and dark. There were vegetable sherbets—palate cleansers—between the courses. Bren had had particular warning from the cook about the lime-green sherbet, and he had a servant hovering anxiously by to be absolutely certain neither he nor Toby nor Barb got into that dish, which would have probably dropped them to the floor inside the hour.
There were souffles, and patés, there were crackers, four different sorts, and there were, finally, oh, my God—desserts, from cream fruit pudding with meringue to cakes and tarts, and a thirteen-layer torte with a different icing in each level.
Bren pushed back from the table in near collapse.
“If you’d like to go back to the boat—” Bren said to Toby in a very low voice, “staff can see you down. It’s dark already. But if you would like to attend the session in the study, where we shall drink brandy, or pretend to drink it at least, and observe courtly courtesies—”
“Barb?” Toby asked.
Barb looked on the verge of pain, but her eyes had that bright, darting glitter they got at jewelry counters. She looked at the lordly company, and at him, and at Toby, all in three seconds.
“When could we ever have the chance?” she asked. And then said, quietly: “If it really isn’t an intrusion for us to be there.”
Give Barb credit—and at times he truly struggled to give his ex any credit—she really was trying to absorb the experience she and Toby had fallen into, and she was on best behavior. She’d gathered about five Ragi phrases she could use, she’d bought herself a beaded dinner gown—itself a scandal in Najida village, but he didn’t tell her that—which she was not, thank God, wearing tonight. And after she’d helped Toby sink a boat in the harbor on the night when the whole place had erupted in gunfire—he’d actually had to admit Barb had been trying through all of it. Harder still, he had to admit that her help to Toby had mattered when it counted. Tonight she’d picked up cues very well, and Toby was happy, which mattered even more.

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