Intruder (4 page)

“One might show you first what is already tagged for you, young lord,” the supervisor said.

“One wishes to see it, nadi,” Cajeiri said, and followed the man to a set-aside area with a little bureau and a little bedstead and a rolled up carpet. The bureau and the bed had carved flowers. And he almost remembered that bureau with a little favor.

But it was undersized. Baby furniture. It was downright embarrassing to think he had ever used it.

And there were far more wonderful things all around them.

“We are permitted to choose different ones,” Cajeiri said.

“That you may, young lord. If one could ask your preferences, one might show you other choices.”

“Carving,” he said at once. He had seen better carving on a lot of furniture around them, some with gilt, some without. “A lot of carving. With animals, not flowers, and not gold. The most carving there is. You would not have any dinosauri…”

The man looked puzzled. “No, nandi. One must confess ignorance of such.”

“Well, big animals, then. With trees. Except,” he added reluctantly, “we are not permitted to have antiquities.”

“I know several such sets,” the supervisor said, and led the way far down the aisle between towering stacks of old furniture.

The first set was all right, dusty, but the animals were all gracefully
running, more suggestions than real animals. The second one had animals just grazing. That was fine. But not what he wanted.

The third, around the corner, had fierce wild animals snarling out of a headboard and a big one with tusks, staring face-on from a matching bureau with white and black stone eyes. “This one, nadi!” he said. “And this!”

So a tag went on that set. And he had most of the bedroom. It was a big bed. Bigger than the one he had in mani’s apartment.

“You will need chairs for a sitting room, young gentleman; we have a suggestion for seven chairs. And a table. A desk for an office. Carpet for three rooms. All these things.”

“And my aishid will have their beds and carpets,” he said. “And they can choose for themselves. Whatever they want. But we favor red for ourselves.”

“Red. One will strive to find the best,” the supervisor said.

There were five wonderful chairs. Mani would approve. They were heavy wood and tapestry had the most marvelous embroidery of mountains in medallions on the backs and seats, each one different. There was a side table of light and dark striped wood that was almost an antique. And for his office there was a desk that had a picture of a sailing ship, an old sailing ship, with sails. He liked that almost as much as the bedroom set. It reminded him of Najida.

There was a red figured carpet that was fifty years old and hedging on antiquity, too, but the supervisor said if it was in the bedroom, it would surely not be spilled on; and it was a wonderful carpet, with pictures woven in around the border of a forest and fortresses and animals, with a big tree for most of the pattern, but the bed would cover that.

Then his aishid picked out beds and side tables and chairs for their rooms: Lucasi and Veijico liked plain furniture with pale striped wood, and Antaro and Jegari liked a dark set that had trees and hunting scenes like Taiben forests, and they agreed to mix
it up, because Veijico and Antaro had one room and Lucasi and Jegari had the other. But that was all right, too: Mother had said there would be a master of kabiu to sort all that out and put vases and hangings and such that would make it felicitous, however they scrambled the sets.

It was a lot of walking and pulling back canvas covers and looking at things. He thought they would all smell of vermin-poison by the time they got out of the warehouse.

But they were only half done. The supervisor showed them a side room and shelves and shelves of vases and bowls and little nested tables and statues and wall hangings. The supervisor pulled out several hangings he thought might suit, and Antaro wanted a hunting one that he rejected, himself. He took one that was mountains and lakes and a boat on the lake, and Veijico took another that was of mountains, while Lucasi and Jegari took hunting scenes and another mountain needlework.

And there was, in this place, a marvelous hanging that was all plants, and all of a sudden Cajeiri saw what he wanted for the whole room, the whole suite of rooms. “I want that one, nadi,” he said. “But I want growing plants, too. I want pots for plants, nadi.” He and his associates on the ship had used to go to hydroponics, and nand’ Bren’s cabin had had a whole hanging curtain of green and white striped plants, and just thinking about it had always made him happy. He suddenly had a vision of plants in his rooms.
His
rooms. And plants were not antiquities, and they could not possibly be outside the rules.

“One will make a note of that, young lord,” the supervisor said, and was busy writing, while Cajeiri peered under an oddly shaped lump of canvas. “One will notify the florists’ office.”

One was sure it would happen. He paid no more attention to that problem. He saw filigreed brass. And there proved to be more and more of it as he pulled on the old canvas, canvas that tore as he pulled it, it was so old.

The brass object was filigree work with doors as tall as he was, a little corroded and green in spots, and it took up as much room
as two armchairs. It was figured with brass flowers that made a network of their stems instead of bars. And it had a brass door, and brass hinges, and a latch, and a floor with trays.

He worked to get all the canvas off.

“That is a cage,” the supervisor said. “From the north country. It is, one fears, young gentleman, an antique, seven hundred years old.”

“But it is brass, nadi!” He
wanted
it. He
so
wanted it. It was big, it was old, and it was weirder than anything in the whole warehouse. It was the sort of thing anybody seeing it had to admire, it was so huge and ornate. And he wanted it to stand in the corner of his sitting room, whatever it was, with light to show it up, with plants all over. “I am not to have
fragile
antiques,” he said. “Brass is different. My mother said I might have brass.”

The supervisor consulted his papers. “That exception is indeed made, young lord.”

“Parid’ja, nandi,” Lucasi said quietly. “In such cages, people used to keep them for hunting. They would go up in the trees and get fruit and nuts. And they would dig eggs. That is what this cage was for. To keep a parid’ja.”

“It is wonderful,” he said. “One wants it, nadi, one truly, truly wants it!”

“It is quite large,” the supervisor said. “It really does not fit easily within the size requirements.”

“I still want it, nadi,” he said, and put on his best manners. “One is willing to give up two chairs or the table, but I want it. It can even go in my bedroom if it has to.”

“In your
bedroom,
young gentleman.”

“It can stand in a corner, can it not? I shall give up the hanging if I must. I want this above all things, nadi!”

The supervisor took a deep breath and gave a little bow, then put a tag on the cage and noted it on the list. “One will run the numbers, young gentleman, and assign it a space, if only doors and windows allow.”

“We
have
no windows, nadi!” For the first time ever, that seemed an advantage. “And not many doors!”

“Then perhaps it will fit,
with
your chairs and hanging
and
the table. Allow me to work with the problem. One promises to solve it. Meanwhile, search! You may find small items which may delight you.”

“One is pleased, nadi! Thank you very much!” He used his best manners. He hurried around the circular aisle, taking in everything. Brass meant he could have old things. He picked out a brass enamelware vase as tall as Lucasi. “For the sitting room,” he said.

That was the last thing he dared add. It was big, but it was big
upward,
and it went with the cage. He was satisfied. “May one come back again, nadi,” he asked, “if one needs other things?”

“Dependent on your parents’ wishes, yes, young lord, at any time you wish to move a piece out or in, we are always at your service. We store every item a house wishes to discard from its possession. We restore and repair items. We employ artists and craftsmen. Should any of these things ever suffer the least damage, young lord, immediately call us, and we will bring it down to the workshop and make whatever repair is necessary.”

He bowed, as one should when offered instruction from an elder. “One hears, nadi, and one will certainly remember. But we are very careful! We are almost felicitous nine, we are taught by the aiji-dowager and by our parents, and we are very careful!”

A bow in return. “One has every confidence in your caution, young lord. Rest assured, I shall have staff move these things to the staging area, give them a little dusting and polish, and you shall have them waiting for you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, nadi!” he said with a second bow, and they all walked back to the entry and took their leave in the brighter light of the hallway.

He was all but bouncing all the way to the lift, imagining how marvelous his suite was going to be and where
he
would put things.
He
would put things.
He
would have a choice.

He had seen vids about animals. Horses. And elephants. And dogs and cats and monkeys. He had wanted a horse. And a monkey and a dog and a cat and a bird and a dinosaur. He had wanted…oh, so many things he had seen in the vids on the ship. But humans had not brought any of them with them. He had been
very
disappointed that there were no elephanti or dinosauri on Mospheira.

He thought of things one could keep in a cage like that. He had instantly thought of several varieties of calidi, that laid eggs for the table—but calidi were scaly and had long claws and were not very smart. Parid’ji were spidery and furry, and moved fast and
ate
eggs. Like monkeys. He had seen vids. They were a lot like monkeys, but they belonged to the forests, and he had never thought of bringing one to the Bujavid.

Oh, his whole mind had lit up when they had said the cage was for that.

And when they were waiting for the lift, where nobody could hear, he stopped and said, “Can you find a parid’ja, nadiin-ji?”

His aishid looked worried. All of them.

“One can find almost anything in the city market, nandi,” Antaro said. “Or at least—one can ask a merchant to find what is not there. But one is not sure one should, without permission.”

“They are difficult to deal with,” Lucasi said. “Your father would not approve.”

“I want one. And you are not to say anything!
Any
of you! I can prove I can take care of it. I have never asked you to do anything secret but this. Find me one, and leave it to
me
that I shall get my father’s permission for it. I am his son. He will approve things for me that he would not if you asked him.”

There was a second or two of deep quiet. And very worried looks.

“One will try,” Antaro said. “One has an idea where one might find a tame one. It may take me a while.”

“Then you shall do it,” he said as the lift arrived. And ignored the frown Veijico turned on Antaro.

He could hardly contain his satisfaction. He had the cage. He was going to have a monkey. Well, close to a monkey. He had something that was going to be
fun.
And he would have something alive that was going to be
his
and not boring, because it
thought
of things for itself and it was not under anybody’s orders.

He had been sad ever since he had had to leave Najida, and sadder since he knew he was going to have to live in a room with no windows and just white paint.

His room would not be all white. His room would be
interesting.
He could not go back into space. But he had his beautiful furniture, he had his own aishid, and he had that beautiful ancient brass cage and he would have a room full of plants like nand’ Bren’s cabin on the ship. And he would have something to do unexpected things.

He had dreaded the move. Now he could hardly wait.

T
he rain never let up. The view of Tanaja and its busy port was gray and watery as the bus reached the improved gravel road, where there was at last no worry about bogging down. It was largely thanks to the skill of the driver that they had gotten out of their one difficulty in the highlands, and nobody had had get out in the downpour and push. It was, Bren thought, a very excellent bus, if extravagant. Power to all wheels was a very good idea.

It was gravel roadway now, and generally solid all the way down the hill to the first city pavement.

Tanaja was laid out as a bowl set in a hillside, and bottommost was the harbor. On a hillock overlooking the harbor—a height that the histories said had once commanded the waterside with cannon—sat the Residence, partly composed of the old fortress which had stood here but mostly, Bren understood, of the scattered stones of that fortress. Gunpowder had exploded, that being the business of gunpowder, when a Dojisigi ship with a monstrous unwieldy cannon had scored a chance hit on the Taisigi powder magazine.