Protector: Foreigner #14 (32 page)

“Too bad,” Jase said. “Interesting little creature. But if we can have our holiday without a shooting war—ideally without the kids or their parents ever noticing there’s been a problem during their visit, well, except the grandfather—I won’t explain it to them. Briefing Geigi and the captains, yes.”

“Definitely,” Bren said.

•   •   •

There was supper, an uncommonly very fine supper. The cook was doing his best, given the young gentleman’s grandfather dying, his disappointment at being restricted from
his
birthday gift, and his having lost his parid’ja into the bargain. Do him credit, the boy had been bearing up with a determination that Bren feared even to compliment, for fear the boy would dissolve on the spot. He was bearing up on a sheer charge of nervous energy—that downhill rush that could spin into disaster if one began to notice anything but the obstacles. Dodge, dodge, and dodge. Keep going. Smile. Keep his guests from upset. Bren knew that state of mind. Knew the effort it took the boy to laugh when the others did.

Did the guests pick it up? Bren had a slight suspicion they did—and
they
had had warnings up and down the line to avoid any emotional upset with atevi. They were surrounded by strangeness, they were fed unfamiliar things, and there were signs all around them that there might be dangers, that their atevi hosts were trying to keep it from them, and that Cajeiri’s grandfather was not only dead, not of natural causes, but nobody was acting in the least sorry about it. He had no complete knowledge of what Jase had told them when he talked to them, but they were getting a quick lesson on what upset atevi looked like, and they were doing their best to eat what was put in front of them and get it down their throats no matter what it tasted like.

“Nadi,” Bren said to one of the servants, the one bearing the bitter-spiced eggs, and ladling two onto his plate, “the human children will find this too strong for them and will be embarrassed. Kindly pass by them.”

“Nandi,” the servant said, going on his way, and Bren managed one egg, with a healthy dose of sweet relish.

There was nothing but pleasant talk. Cajeiri and Jase translated for the guests their elders’ assurances the weather would stay fair, assurances that Cajeiri’s mecheita would be stabled here quite happily and would always be available for him—and Tatiseigi’s personal regrets for the inconvenience of the change in schedule.

The attempt to have the herd-leader locate their problem had not gone well—or given them any reassurance it had been a stray leaf or an electrical malfunction. Someone had strewn a massive amount of deterrent in the area. The mecheita had gotten a nose full of it, shied off, and they had just had to let him run it out—which had taken him much too close to the Taibeni camp at the eastern end of the estate. If he had not had his sense of smell disrupted, and if the wind had been blowing in the other direction, they would have had a serious problem. They had warned the Taibeni—but riders had also gone out from Tatiseigi’s stable and found him in time to get him calmed down. They were back in the stable, the grooms had treated the poor fellow with vapors and an abundance of water, and Tatiseigi was both irate, and now convinced it was a Kadagidi spy, equipped with the noxious weed, and somewhere on his premises.

The children had seen some of the goings-on from their window. They had sent Veijico down to find out what was going on. House security had informed Veijico. Veijico had doubtless told her team, and told Cajeiri what was going on. Whether Cajeiri had then told the real story to his guests—one was not sure. But they had their door locked and that young aishid was doing everything by the book . . . a very good thing, in Bren’s opinion.

Tatiseigi signaled a desire for attention, and declared that there would be a treat tomorrow in place of the canceled ride. A tour of the basement collections.

It was, after a long and trying day, a complete puzzlement to the youngsters—Cajeiri and the human children looked equally as if they had missed a translation.

Tatiseigi said, “You shall see, you shall see,” and was amused.

“You will enjoy it, Great-grandson,” Ilisidi said, preserving the mystery, and young spirits visibly lifted. A mystery. A treat. And Tatiseigi, God save them, was going to take the youngsters in charge.

Dessert arrived. Between a mystery and an abundance of sugar, the human youngsters’ spirits rose. The guests were happy . . . and Cajeiri had a second helping of cake.

T
he bitter-spiced eggs had been a mistake. Cajeiri decided he never wanted another one.

He was exhausted. But he had had enough sugar his nerves were wound tight. Everyone was in that state: Lieidi and Eisi had had their supper in the room, and Antaro and Jegari were down in the dining room, having theirs, along with Banichi and Jago and Cenedi and Nawari and Tatiseigi’s senior bodyguard, Rusani, and the rest.

There was every chance they were going to find out
something
of what was going on. He had heard about the powder, and the herd-leader nearly running up on the Taibeni camp. That was nasty—and it was mean, and it was a very good thing nobody had been outside that camp right then. There had been two searchers out in the little woods, and at least they could climb a tree, but that was just scary, what could have happened.

And some of the Taibeni were Antaro’s and Jegari’s cousins. They were not pleased with the trick, either.

“If my cousins lay hands on that fellow,” Jegari had said, “they will give him a dose of his black powder.”

He and his aishid agreed.

“It is certain,” Veijico told them then, “that there is someone here up to no good. And it seems that person is
still
here. He tried to get out, then realized he had set off the alarm, and went back into his hole.”

“Maybe,” Jegari said in a hushed voice, “he is in the basement.”

That
was the scariest thing anyone had said yet. Great-uncle was going to take them on a tour of his basement, for a surprise. But if some Kadagidi assassin was hiding down there in the dark—

“Maybe you should tell them to search the basement, nadiin-ji,” Cajeiri said.

“One is sure they
are
searching it,” Lucasi said. “But we will mention it.”

Meanwhile, Cajeiri thought, he just had to take deep breaths and think of things to do so his guests had a good time and did not get bored. And he hoped the basement was better than it sounded. Mani had thought so.

Meanwhile—meanwhile, of all things, Artur had come up with a pocket full of rocks, and provided his own entertainment, laying his treasures out for everybody to see.

“Where did you find those?” Cajeiri asked. On a day when they were all pent in with a security alert, he
knew
where his guests had been, and surprises were not a good thing, today.

“The stables. Where we walked.”

Artur had been hindmost, going out the door, and Cajeiri recalled indeed, it was a gravel walk—a lot of places had gravel, or flagstones. And Tirnamardi had gravel all along by the stables.

There was a sandstone, a quartz, and a basalt one—“That one I got at the train station,” Artur said. “This one in the front of the house.” That was the pink quartz.

“You can almost see through it,” Irene said, admiring it against the light. “Those are so great!”

Artur had been collecting them all along. None of his guests were used to walking on rocks, or dirt. And trust Artur to do something unusual.

So now that Artur tallied up his collection, all very small ones, he used what he had learned from his tutor to tell everybody what they were, and how they had formed, and even where they came from. They were river-rounded. And it was very likely they had been under a glacier once.

Everybody was impressed with what he knew. And he did not have his big map, but he drew one for them in Irene’s notebook, a map of the Padi Valley, and he showed them where they were, and the river where probably the rocks had come from—he had never been there, himself, but he knew about it.

And the idea that water and wind could smooth them into eggs, and how mountains formed and wore away, and how volcanoes happened, down near the Marid, and down in the islands in the Great Southern Ocean—all of that was wonderful to them. They knew about magnetic fields, and about dustball asteroids, and interesting things up in space. They said Maudit had volcanoes, a lot of them, but not much water.

“If we have to live there,” Irene said, “we’ll really live in another space station, in orbit, but it won’t be very nice as the station here is. Nothing will be.” Irene frowned and rested her chin on her hand. “I don’t want to live on Maudit Station. I don’t.” She wiped her eyes. “I’m not supposed to get upset. Sorry.”

He did not want Irene to live on Maudit Station either. Not any of them. And he did not want to think about anything else sad or upsetting today, he truly did not. He was very glad Irene was getting the better of her upset.
Everybody
had gone quiet.

“Right,” Irene said in a moment, and picked up the smoothest of Artur’s collection. “It’s like a little world, isn’t it? In space, rocks can’t smooth out and be round until they’re huge. And here’s this little round rock that spent hundreds of years in running water, and it’s just lying there on the ground this morning for Artur to find it. That’s something.”

“I can bring this back with me,” Artur said, then explained. “No animals, no biologicals, like seeds or anything. Everything has to be processed. They’re not going to argue about rocks. But there’s so much, like almost everything we touch. Everywhere I look—there’s things that are just—random. Shaped however they want to be.”

“Most things,” Cajeiri said. He remembered, how everything about the ship was made by machines, smooth, shiny, or plastic. He thought of his own room, where he had gathered living plants, and pictures and weaving, and carvings of animals on every chair and table . . . he knew what Artur meant by random. It was a good word. He had been on the ship two years and found himself wanting windows, wanting the open sky and the smell of plants and curves on everything his eyes touched. And he had told his associates how the world was and promised them they would see it. They had fourteen days. That was all they had, until—until—he had no idea. He had not mentioned his
next
birthday yet, and they were talking about being sent to Maudit, which none of them wanted to happen.

And now some stupid Kadagidi had gotten into the house and Boji was gone . . .

He was not going to give up on Boji. And the guards were going to catch that Kadagidi who had pulled that nasty trick with the black powder.

And he knew beyond any doubt that his guests were enjoying everything they saw. Even pebbles on the ground were treasures to them. They had pills to take because the sky would make them sick—but Gene said he hadn’t needed them today; and Irene said she wanted not to need them, and then Artur said the same thing—Artur said looking toward the horizon was like looking down the core-corridor: scary, because the place could look like the edge of the world one moment and a pit, the next.

But he had seen the core-corridor on the ship. He had been there, in a suit too big for him, and floated in air. He had looked right down it, which was the scariest place he had ever been.

And maybe, for them, having dared each other to look down the core, where gravity just didn’t exist, it had made them ready to look at the sky.

They were all brave. He knew that. Irene had been scared of the mecheiti, but now she said she wanted to ride again, even if she was limping tonight—poor Irene was the skinniest of them, all bones and pale skin, and she looked even skinnier when she was wearing her stretchy clothes. The saddle and Irene’s bones had been very close together this morning.

But she tried. Artur collected the rocks that pleased him—and Gene—

Gene looked at everything, and he said he had really wanted to bring something to take pictures of everything, but security said no. So he just looked at things. Really looked at them. If Gene was standing still, not doing anything for a moment, he was looking—at the sky, at the edge of the meadow, at the mecheita he was riding. Like sketching things, only doing it all in his head.

Cajeiri had never had a camera. He had no idea how one worked. And he did not think mani or Great-uncle would approve: it was a lot like television.

But there were books with pictures. He thought he should give Gene one.

And there was Gene again, with Artur’s sandstone in his fingers, just looking at it, and thinking.

They had so very little time, so very little, and his grandfather had managed to get in the way of them having it. And there was this relative of his, another great-uncle, Shishoji, or something like that, who had been a problem for years and years.

And who even knew what went on in this Shishoji’s brain, or what he was even after, except he could be involved with the Shadow Guild.

Had Grandfather known about that, and not warned them?

That night when Grandfather had tried to get into their apartment and get to
him
—that was still scary.

And now they had this Shishoji person trying to kill everybody, and a troublesome Kadagidi over the hill who was up to no good. Was anybody really surprised? Kadagidi had always been trouble.

He had no idea why they were. But he became interested in finding out.

They talked about all sorts of things, he and his guests, in the sitting room of his suite, with its tall, wonderful windows. The sun being down, they had to keep the curtains drawn and stay away from the windows—but they had comfortable chairs they could pull up in a circle, and there they could sit and talk the way they had used to do in the echoing service tunnels of the ship. In the ship’s tunnels, they had shivered in the cold and had to find nooks where it was safe to sit, where nobody would find them and where none of the machinery would run over them.

Now they had this comfortable room with the windows and soft furniture, and Eisi and Lieidi to serve them tea and teacakes, as many as they could eat—not many, after the supper they had had; and his aishid had the rest. Lucasi and Veijico understood some of what he and his guests were saying—but Antaro and Jegari were a lot better at it, having studied ship-speak longer.

Antaro and Jegari were a little close-mouthed, however, not saying what they might have heard during their own supper, with all the high-up Guild. Cajeiri fairly burned to ask—but if it was really, really important, they would have called him aside and told him, he was very sure.

His guests talked about what the space station was like now—a place he had never really gotten to see that much of. It was the ship he really knew. And he heard that the ship,
Phoenix
was docked at a distance from the station, and only working crew could go out there.

That did not include Reunioners who had only been passengers.

Another pot of tea, a trip to the accommodation, one by one, under escort, and they were out of teacakes—Cajeiri talked about the west coast, and Najida, and where nand’ Bren lived, and Lord Geigi’s house; and how he had gotten lost in a storm in a rowboat. His guests were impressed.

By the end of that story, however, they all were flagging. Artur’s eyes were closing. And despite the beds his staff had made ready for them, Cajeiri thought he would happily just fall asleep in the chair, and they all could just sit there together, all night, talking whenever they waked up and felt like it.

“Nandi,” Eisi said quietly, at his side, “will you like to come to bed, now?”

He had had his eyes shut. For a moment he had been seeing the fields, feeling the mecheita moving under him.

Artur had fallen asleep, and Irene and Gene were trying not to nod off.

There was a weird sound from outside, far off: mecheita, he thought. And then he heard a mecheita grunt, and another moan, and then three or four.

Mecheiti did that when they were disturbed. It could be vermin in the stable.

Then there was a horrid screech that woke up Artur and had Gene and Irene wide-eyed.

“Boji!” Cajeiri cried, leaping to his feet, with every intent of going to the window to open the drapes.

But then a rifle shot echoed off the walls.

“Lights,” Veijico said sharply—she was already on her feet. All his aishid was, and he was. The rest of them stood up just as Lieidi, close to the door, threw the light switch.

The room went dark, all but a light in the bodyguards’ bedroom.

“What’s going on?” Irene asked in a whisper. “What’s that sound?”

“Mecheiti,” he said. Down in the stables, the mecheiti were telling everybody to keep out.

Their last light went out, except for the tiny seam of light under the main door—Eisi had gone into the bedroom and gotten that one. By that last seam of light, he saw Jegari putting on his jacket—and Gene bumped into a chair arm—humans did not see well in the dark, he knew that. “Everybody stand still,” he whispered. “Listen.”

He was trying to hear anything coming from his bodyguard’s communications unit, faint as it might be. Outside, another faint seam of light at the edges of the drapes: someone had just thrown on the outside lights. The mecheiti continued threatening and moaning about something.

He heard a faint scratching, then, right at the window.

Guild, was his first thought, even up here.

But then there was that tap-tap-tap of a bony, long finger, on the window glass—the way Boji opened eggs.

“That’s
Boji
!” he whispered. “Open the drape, nadiin-ji! Please! He wants in!”

Antaro was nearest. She very carefully pulled back the drape, and there in the gap, against the glow of floodlights below, was a little spindly-armed silhouette, looking in, hands spread on the glass.

“Let him in,” Cajeiri said. “Let him in! Let him
in,
Taro-ji!”

“Gari,” Antaro said to her brother, and Jegari worked his way to the other side of the window. They let the drape fall a moment, as the two of them, each on a side, loosed the latches and carefully eased the window up a little.

“Boji!” Cajeiri said softly, and made that clicking sound he used to imitate Boji’s own. “Egg, Boji! Eisi-ji, quickly,
find him an egg, Eisi-ji!”

The commotion down in the mecheita pen was clearer with the window open. There were voices outside. Lucasi and Veijico were talking on Guild communications, telling whoever they were talking to that Boji had just come up the wall.

“I have the egg, nandi,” Eisi said.

“Let me have it. Quickly!” Cajeiri took it, and held it in his hand—Boji’s kind could surely see it even in the dark. He obeyed Antaro’s furious signal and kept back against the wall as he reached the window. She shoved him down, low, and he held it on the windowsill, determined not to let Boji snatch it and run.