Protector: Foreigner #14, page 20
“One noted Ragi colors on this conveyance,” Tatiseigi said. “Indeed, those colors are always welcome on Atageini land.”
Bren was not about to admit it was his personal bus. No. It was going to come out. He had to say something eventually. Just—not at this moment.
Cajeiri was happily pointing at something. The children leaned to look. Bren had no idea what they were looking at. The back aisle was packed, Guild seated where they could, standing where they could find room. But not enough of them. A few of Ilisidi’s young men, Bren thought, must be staying with the two trucks.
The driver took a right turn, up and over the track, and onto the road.
The packed crowd swayed. Steadied. Trees whipped past, close at hand, which had used to affect Jase. But Jase seemed perfectly steady despite the movement, the horizon problem. He even turned to have a look out the other side.
“Are you all right?” Bren asked Jase, in ship-speak. “Medication holding up?”
Jase put a hand on his forearm. “Constant dose,” Jase said. And changed to Ragi. “One is faring very well, Bren-ji. One needs to settle in, now. One must get the vocabulary up.”
It took only a few minutes of conversation—mutual acquaintances, the cell phone affair, the changes in the apartment and the problems getting the Farai shifted out of his residence before they could even think about reconstruction—before Jase was “settled in.” Jase glitched on the occasional words, but he’d been working. And he kept a fortunate numerology on the fly; it was no small trick.
The bus reached rolling grassland, open, a relatively unlikely spot for snipers.
Thank God, Bren thought.
They had reached Atageini land, and done it without incident.
• • •
The road became a grassy track through the hunting range, and straight as an arrow. The mecheiti riders kept up with the bus quite handily, the bus taking only a moderate pace.
And there was, scarcely visible except at the very edge of the track, a peculiar condition on the road. The only vehicles that routinely took this track were Tatiseigi’s magnificent open car—rarely—the estate truck, traveling either to the train station or to the town some distance to the northeast, or town trucks and vans, taking people to the train station, or bringing supplies into the estate. As roads in the Padi Valley went, it was a veritable highway—
But usually the grass stood up.
At the moment, as best Bren could observe from his vantage, the grass was quite flattened. The road was well-defined, indicating a lot of recent traffic. Bren glanced at Tatiseigi, wondering if the old man had noticed that, and noted how much traffic, most of it perhaps from Taiben, had gone to and from his land.
Tatiseigi, however, was busy talking to Ilisidi.
One had an idea that Guild on the bus, standing in the aisle back there, hadn’t missed it. But they probably had no doubt of the cause. Trucks had been moving in equipment and supplies, setting up what Cenedi had arranged.
They took a slow curving turn.
“I see the hedge!” Cajeiri exclaimed, from his side of the aisle.
The estate hedge, indeed it was, a thick green barrier that towered up as high as a two-story building and went on and on over the horizon, defining Tatiseigi’s personal grounds. It was thorny stuff. It had grown around massive stakes, from ancient times, when mecheiti riders, cannon, and muzzle loaders had contended in district wars. Absent the cannon and modern artillery, it was still formidable, tough and fibrous strands with thorns the width of a man’s hand, and as thick as the bus was wide—a barrier even mecheiti would not attempt.
The whole perimeter had only a formal front gate, which came visible just ahead, and a smaller, more utilitarian one on the far side of the house.
The bus slowed to a crawl, then almost immediately rolled forward as the ornate iron gates opened electronically, the riders going ahead of them.
Taibeni, moving freely into the heart of Atageini land.
“Home,” Tatiseigi said, sitting with his back to the movement of those riders.
They rolled onto gravel, now. The inner road was well-kept, running beside the southern hedge, rimming a broad, rolling meadowland, a huge expanse of it. Lord Tatiseigi’s grounds were famous and extensive, enclosing pasturage for his mecheiti herd and providing insulation from the world.
But something else showed, from Bren’s view: a cluster of trucks, one with a mast and communication dishes, and a handful of tents. The mecheita riders headed off in that direction, toward what had to be a Guild field camp.
His fixed stare had gotten Tatiseigi’s attention. Tatiseigi turned and took a look out the window, straight out, then further over his shoulder as the bus moved past the camp.
“There is a camp on my grounds!”
“There are two small camps, Tati-ji,” Ilisidi said. “You know we are taking measures. They will be out of sight, quite out of the way. You will not know they are here.”
“Aiji-ma,” Tatiseigi said, visibly perturbed. “All this business of new men and retiring my old servants—and taking one of my storerooms—I have resigned myself to new faces; but I am beyond uneasy to be met with this camp at the gate. How much more is there, up at the house?”
Ilisidi held up a finger. “One little antenna on the roof. A camera or two. You will not see them from the ground.”
“Aiji-ma,” Tatiseigi said, and Bren decided it was a good time to study something off to the side and across the aisle.
“Is the threat that great, aiji-ma?” Tatiseigi asked.
“Tati-ji,” Ilisidi said, “our conscience still troubles us, after the damage our presence inflicted this last year. You have been so staunch an ally—well, I shall say it: brave. You have been the bravest, the steadiest, the most trusted and the closest of our allies. I lie awake at night thinking of the danger, not so much to me—I have such very extensive protections constantly about me, and I have come through every attempt. But, Tati-ji, my closest associates are, by comparison, far easier targets, and the very ones my enemies will go after first, to do me harm. They know they cannot attack me—until they have buried my allies, my protectors, and taken away my strongest supporters. Terror is their weapon, and I know you do not feel it—nor do I—but let us not give them access here. These are an enemy that has no respect for such ancient premises. These are people who attack civilians and servants, and have not observed any such requirement as Filing. This enemy murders old servants, like gentle old Eidi, who died at my grandson’s door, brave, loyal and holding his post. I cannot suffer such losses. I will not have such things happen here. I will not have a single vase shaken on a shelf in Tirnamardi, let alone these bloody-booted outlaws tramping through your halls, destroying what they are too crass ever to understand. No. I need you, Tati-ji. I shall not have your bravery putting you at risk! I will not lose you! Suffer these small changes. And stand by me.”
My God, Bren thought. She had the gift.
“Aiji-ma,” Tatiseigi said. “One hears. One is honored by your concern.”
The bus rolled on.
Jase said, quietly, “This is all your estate, Lord Tatiseigi? It is huge. I have tried to think how long it took this hedge to grow.”
Tatiseigi, still unhappy, said past a clenched jaw, “Four centuries, ship-aiji.”
“It is very beautiful, this place,” Jase said. “I am very grateful that you have offered your hospitality. I shall try to be a good guest.”
“Honored, ship-aiji.” Tatiseigi gave a nod of his head, unbending a little, though he kept looking anxiously out the window, in search of other tents, one could well imagine. “You hosted the aiji-dowager aboard your ship. One is pleased to return the gesture, in her name.”
“Nandi,” Jase said properly, with a little nod.
“Those two—” Tatiseigi said, resigning his search for tents with a little shift of the eyes toward the aisle, by implication Kaplan and Polano. “Is that their indoor uniform?”
“No, nandi,” Jase said. “Not at all. They wear it now because I am traveling between safe places, but once indoors, be assured, they will be happy to put on ordinary clothes.”
“Indeed,” Tatiseigi said diplomatically, nodded, and looked measurably relieved.
The bus rolled on at a moderate pace on the graveled drive, and exclamations from the youngsters said they had seen something.
Bren looked ahead, between Ilisidi’s seatback and Polano’s white shoulder.
The last time he had seen Tirnamardi, there had been shell-holes in the masonry and broken gaps in the low, ornamental hedge of the front drive.
It sat on its low rise looking as serene as if there had never been an attack from the Kadagidi. The road curved. The grass had grown over the trampled lawn, and, on the other side of the bus, the house, a rectangular stone affair of many windows, showed neither patches nor scaffolding.
“I can see the house, nandiin-ji,” Bren said, “and it is beautiful again, nandi. Absolutely beautiful.”
“Well, well,” Tatiseigi said, “it has been a struggle.” He drew a deep breath, and courteously addressed himself to Jase. “Understand, ship-aiji, our neighbors attacked us with mortars, and even our allies made wreckage of our hedges. We sought out shrubs of exact girth and age, and we have nurtured them through last summer. We have brought stone from the exact quarries, and while the match is not perfect, it will age.”
“We look forward to it,” the dowager said, as the tires rolled onto the paved part of the drive, rumbling on the brickwork. On that broad curve, the bus slowly came to a halt. The doors of the great house opened, pouring out servants and Tatiseigi’s security.
The bus door opened. Kaplan and Polano had to be the first off. One hoped security was warned.
“Now you must escort us, nandi,” the dowager said, setting her cane before her, and Tatiseigi gallantly struggled to his feet and offered his hand.
Guild had sorted themselves out by the seating arrangement of their lords, and Cenedi and his group moved out, immensely relieving the congestion back there, and Tatiseigi’s aishid after them. Cajeiri got up, and his guests did, as Bren and Jase got up.
Banichi and the rest of the aishid followed right behind them. They stepped down the far last step onto the pavings of Tatiseigi’s drive, with Kaplan and Polano waiting at the left, the dowager and Tatiseigi already headed up the steps. The two trucks with the baggage were right behind them. The white dust of the gravel was still lingering in the air along the road.
The children came down next, exclaiming in amazement at everything.
“They’ve never seen a stone building,” Jase said quietly. “Or a building, for that matter. Everything’s a wonder to them. They’ll want to know everything.”
“It’s supposed to rain tonight,” Bren said. “A few showers. That should provide entertainment. So much of the world one takes for granted. We have to arrange that fishing trip, Jase.”
“I’m going to do my damnedest,” Jase said. “So many textures. So many details.”
They walked up into the foyer, the hall of lilies, those beautiful porcelain bas relief tiles that were the pride of the house, and there was Tatiseigi, Cajeiri, and the dowager watching three human children standing in awe of the porcelain flowers.
“They’re cold,” Artur said, touching a flower petal with the merest tip of his finger. “But not really cold.”
Then they all had to touch, very gently.
“Ceramic,” Bren said. “Bow nicely to your host and tell him you think the flowers are beautiful.”
They did exactly that, and for the old lord, clearly anxious for the welfare of his lilies, they could not have picked a better feature to compliment. He nodded benignly.
“They are very delicious, nandi!” Artur insisted, as if Tatiseigi had failed to hear the compliment, and Cajeiri quickly snagged his arm and Gene’s and, Irene following, got them all up the steps and into the main house ahead of the adults.
“Wow!” echoed upstairs, as the youngsters got a look at the halls inside, the ornate scrollwork, the lily motif repeated, the grand hall with its gilt, the high windows, the paintings and vases.
Bren said, quietly, “One believes the boy’s attempted word just now was beautiful, nandi. The children are absolutely in awe of the house.” Indeed the old lord had just had his precedence and the dowager’s violated, in his own front hall. “One sincerely apologizes.”
“For my great-grandson,” Ilisidi finished dourly, though Bren thought the young gentleman had been admirably quick about getting Artur upstairs before he mispronounced beautiful again. Ilisidi made the climb to the main floor on Lord Tatiseigi’s arm, as the high hall echoed to young voices. The children were standing in the center of the hall, revolving like so many planets as they gazed all about the baroquerie and the gilt stairway and the windows.
“Lord Tatiseigi is bearing up with extraordinary patience,” Bren muttered to Jase as they walked up together, his aishid walking quietly, and Jase’s pair with servos whining at every step.
“Beautiful!” was the word from above. Safely in ship-speak, this time.
They reached the main floor to effect a rescue.
But, unprecedented sight, the old man stood beside Ilisidi with a smile dawning on his face, watching the children so admiring his house. She smiled, pleased as well. “Well, well,” he said. “They are certainly appreciative.”
Cajeiri saw them, cast a worried look at his guests, and hurried over to give a sober, harried bow. “Mani, Great-uncle! Shall we be lodged together? May I take them upstairs?”
“As the dowager permits,” Lord Tatiseigi said, and nodded toward the handful of servants lined up by the stairs. “They will guide you. Do tell the servants, young gentleman, they should open the white suite for Jase-aiji and his bodyguard. —Ship-aiji, my staff will make suitable arrangements, and if there is any need, do ask my staff. —Nand’ paidhi. You will have the blue suite. I am confident it is ready for you.”
“Nandi,” Bren said with a little bow, and to Jase—not sure Jase would have understood, since when he spoke to his own, Tatiseigi used the regional accent: “The white suite is adjacent to the blue. We’ll have time to catch up before—”
About that time there was a sudden bang and a considerable clatter and sound of wheels on the marble floor downstairs.
Lord Tatiseigi looked alarmed.
A shriek echoed up from the foyer, ear-piercing and echoing.
The human kids froze in alarm. Ilisidi simply said, with a sigh, “The parid’ja, Tati-ji.”
Tatiseigi drew a large breath and said, “There are no antiquities in the suite assigned to the young gentleman and his guests.” He signaled and snapped his fingers for staff, who stood looking downstairs. “The young gentleman’s suite, for that.”
No breakables seemed an excellent idea, in Bren’s opinion. He had no idea how they were to get the cage upstairs but to carry it. There were no lifts in Tirnamardi, most features of which predated the steam engine.
But they were safe. They were within walls, inside a security envelope that three clans, the paidhi’s security, and ship security were not going to let be cracked. He had worried all the way. But what Cenedi had had moved in here was not just the presence of younger Guildsmen, and more of them, it was surveillance. And, he was sure, it was also armament to back it up. Nothing was going to move on the grounds without their knowing.
And count the mecheiti in that camp as a surveillance device right along with the electronics. Surveillance and armament: one did not want to be a stranger afoot with mecheiti on the hunt.
• • •
Uncle’s house was just the way Cajeiri remembered it—only without the shells going off outside—and his birthday was absolutely certain now. Uncle had been patient, mani was not unhappy, Jase-aiji was a happy surprise for nand’ Bren and for him, too, and it was what he had dreamed of, having Gene and Artur and Irene with him.
They all trooped along with the servants who guided them up the main stairs, and by the time they got up to that floor, there, making a huge racket, and silhouetted in the light of the windows at the end, came Boji’s cage, and his servants, Eisi and Lieidi, and two of Uncle’s, pushing it up the hall. Boji was bounding around, terrified by all the rattling and the strange place and the strange people, after the train ride and the truck, and he let out shrieks as they came, right to the middle suite on the floor, while he and his guests waited.
The servants nodded a polite respect, and rolled the cage right through the door, into a suite with big, wonderful, sunny windows, tall as a man, and filmy white draperies that blew in the breeze from the open windows. It was a beautiful room. Nippy from the breeze, but after all the traveling, even that felt good.
“Put him near the window, nadiin,” Cajeiri told the servants. Nand’ Bren’s servants had wired the cage door shut for the trip, and there was no way Boji could get loose. He was bouncing from one perch to another and looking very undone, panting, once the cage stopped, and staring at him with pitiful white-rimmed eyes, with his fur all messy.
“Poor Boji,” he said, putting his fingers through the grillwork, so Boji could smell them and be sure it was him. “Poor Boji. I am sorry, I am sorry. —Close the window, Eisi-ji. They have spilled all his water.” It was in a glass jar with a tube, and it had emptied with the bouncing about. He was sure Eisi and Lieidi had kept him watered and fed on the train. “Get him water. And an egg. Poor Boji.” Boji was crowding close to the grillwork, up against his hand. Boji put his longest finger out and clamped it on his finger. It was very sad.
“Is he all right?” Artur asked.
“Just scared.” He kept his hand where it was. Artur reached out, but Boji moved away.
“He’s a monkey,” Irene said. “Just like in the archive.”
