Deceiver: Foreigner #11 (48 page)

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Authors: C. J. Cherryh

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His bodyguard would eat and drink either before or after him—after, in this instance, clearly. One could only hope for safety in simple practicality—the fact that things could have blown up before now, and had not. And that there was a busload of Guild out there prepared to do damage if things did blow up.
Machigi was not an easy man to read. He had
seemed
to turn receptive. He had showed, if nothing else, curiosity. Keep satisfying it bit by bit, enticing him further and it might be enough . . . but that game ran both directions.
He and his aishid talked about the room, the porcelains, the fine hospitality. And about the magnificent tower-porcelains outside the reception hall, and whether they were all one piece or an assembly of pieces.
They kept the conversation as esoteric and blithely innocent as they could manage, not without a certain grim sense of humor. Tano had quite a fund of knowledge regarding the historic methods of firing of large porcelains that easily filled a quarter hour and enlightened the lot of them on the subject, though it probably disappointed any listeners. “My birth-mother’s brother-of-the-same-father was a collector,” Tano said, “of books on porcelains. I used to entertain myself with the pictures for hour upon hour. One can even venture a guess that those were made in the same tradition as Lord Tatiseigi’s lilies.”
Victim of more than one disaster, those porcelain lilies.
And Tano went on into detail.
“One hopes these beautiful things will stand untroubled,” Bren ventured to say, charitably, and as an advancement of policy. “One can only think, if tourism ever does extend here, they will certainly be greatly admired.”
A knock came at the door. They had timed it admirably. Algini answered the door and allowed the entry of one of a pair of Machigi’s Guild guards. “Nand’ paidhi.” A bow. With use of the honorific that acknowledged the paidhi’s rank in the aishidi’tat: significant, courteous, and reflecting Lord Machigi’s usage, almost certainly—accompanying a gesture toward the door.
“One is honored.” Bren acknowledged the courtesy with a nod, and gathered up
only
Banichi and Jago, precisely the arrangement when one guested under uncertain circumstances, and exactly what Machigi ought to expect—two of his aishid staying to protect the room, two to protect him and raise hell in the house if there were any untoward event. They would likewise eat by turns—him first, then Banichi and Jago, then Tano and Algini, who might have to wait quite late for it.
It was what it was: chancy.
But they walked downstairs with their escort, through the elegant hall and on to a brightly lit, quite open dining room.
They walked in, and a waiting servant appeared to indicate a seat, of three, one other place besides Machigi’s. An intimate supper, then, with a long table and four servants, besides the obligatory bodyguard. And some third person, of Machigi’s choice.
“Bren-ji,” Jago whispered urgently, brushing close to him.
“Veijico
has just arrived at the room, under guard.”
Veijico. The other of Cajeiri’s bodyguard, who’d been tracking the kidnappers.
Oh, give Machigi that: he knew damned well the news would get to him: they were not interfering with short-range communications.
Veijico, whose brother he had personally set off the bus as an insupportable risk on this mission.
Uncharitably, he could not think of a less stable individual to have in the middle of their operations. Or a more unanswerable puzzle to have land in the middle of negotiations.
Where in hell was Barb?
And he could not afford to have his thinking distracted by any personal question.
Machigi showed up in the doorway, with an older man of some presence. Bren gave the correct bow, noting that the standard attendance of two bodyguards per notable provided Machigi and his guest with four, collectively . . . not as if they weren’t in the middle of an armed camp and a hostile city to boot.
“My minister of affairs,” Machigi said pleasantly. “Lord Gediri.”
“Lord Gediri.” A second bow, just before they sat down.
And thereafter they had the rules of a formal dinner, which confined conversation to the weather—“One noted a large mass of cloud off the west coast . . . .”—and the surroundings—“We are all quite amazed by those notable porcelains in the outer hall, nandiin. Are they local?”—and the dinner—“One is exceedingly grateful for the special fish offering, nandi. One finds it excellent.”
To which: “If we poison our guests we prefer it to be deliberate, nand’ paidhi.” Machigi and the minister were having sauce with theirs, but the simple, grilled preparation was a pleasant surprise.
There was simple brandied fruit, besides, a safe item. Bread, which was safe if one dodged the pickle. Ilisidi would have taken to that dish in a moment.
It was still best to eat slowly and be alert for effects. But there were none.
Machigi maintained, over all, a pleasant tone to the affair. There was absolutely no mention of business . . . and they came down to the traditional after-dinner brandy, in the adjacent sitting-room, across the hall from the marvelous porcelains . . . still with bodyguards in attendance.
“Thank you, nadi,” Bren said to the servant, and saluted Machigi and his minister with a slightly lifted glass. “A very pleasant evening, on very short notice. One is quite grateful for such a kind reception.” He had said not a word about a missing Guildswoman delivered to his quarters. Now he did. “Thank you, too, for returning the young woman. Might one ask a further favor?”
Machigi lifted a brow ever so slightly. Perhaps he was expecting a request involving Barb.
“There is a young man,” Bren said, “who may be making his way into your district, injured though he is. This is the young woman’s partner. If your forces do happen to encounter him, one would be very grateful for his safe return.”
“How many people
do
you have wandering Taisigi land at present, nand’ paidhi?”
He smiled. “Only those two.” And turned sober. “One apologizes for their intrusion. It is embarrassing, under the circumstances.”
“Not at the dowager’s orders?”
“No, nandi. They have been tracking Barb-daja. Whose whereabouts is a side issue, and
not
in my orders from the dowager.”
“Orders which originated
after
you took down the Maschi lord.”
“Temporally, yes, nandi. But not stemming from that action. My orders originated after actions at Najida brought down a Guild investigation. Hence her surmise, and her proposal.” A nod of respect. “And whether or not she is correct in her assignment of blame elsewhere in the Marid, I have seen enough to suggest she is absolutely correct in her assessment of your worth as an ally, nandi. If some of your subordinates, like mine, have exceeded orders, that is, so far as my judgment, irrelevant to the central point of the matter. You
are
a man of consequence. It would be to her detriment and yours to let fall so
convenient
an alliance.”
Machigi looked at his minister, and looked back again, head tilted. “Convenient.”
“Convenient, nandi. Your rule over the Marid becomes an asset to all associated powers. And the advantages available in that alliance are far more than any you would cede in the process.”
“Allowing Edi piracy to operate unchecked.”
“No. That will be another consequence of negotiations now underway. A strong Marid and a strong association on the coast can be better neighbors than that, considering the dowager’s potential influence with both. Even the aiji in Shejidan will be behind you in your rights on the shipping lanes, I can state that. Realistically, there may be some resistence to this on both sides. We both know that. But less and less, as both districts become sure of their benefits.”
“We are naval powers. We do
not
accept armed ships in our waters.”
“The dowager has no interest in the whereabouts of your ships. Your interests in that matter have no possible point of contact. Nor does
she
have a navy. I would be beyond my instructions to recall that there
is
one decent harbor in the East, never more than a fishing village. But it is a broad bay. A far sail, for the Marid. But who knows, for the future?”
Machigi was silent for a moment, then looked briefly at his minister, and back to Bren, saying nothing, but thinking. Clearly thinking.
It was the way atevi association worked. A network of alliances, each dictating the relationship to other networks. Alliance to a power so remote, so generally landlocked, so tied to a neighbor’s network—
Could it be of advantage to Machigi?
Would it provoke others in
Machigi’s
local associations?
“We have reason to talk,” Machigi said, “nand’ paidhi. I do not say paidhi-aiji. You
are
speaking for another power at present.”
“Yes. In this, I am. I am not in conflict, in doing so. If I am mistaken, I may end up resident at Malguri with the aiji-dowager. But I do not think I am mistaken in this, nandi.”
“You have a certain reputation,” Machigi said, “as dispassionate. I see it is justified.”
Dispassionate. That was an odd assessment. But, he supposed, being immune to certain atevi emotions, or picking them up only in theory, intellectually—he could seem dispassionate, by some standards. Certainly he had no
territorial
history.
“I am fascinated,” Machigi said further, “by your accent. Less Padi Valley, more of the classic South.”
Southern. It could be analyzed that way . . . recalling that the South had been preeminent in the classic period, and that
that
was the origin of the South’s refusal to bow to the Padi Valley-based Ragi as leaders of the aishidi’tat. He bowed in acknowledgment of what was actually a compliment, with the southern conservatives. “My aishid’s accent,” he said, “is more southern. One is certainly aware of the ancient and honorable traditions of this region.”
“I find myself continually amazed that that accent comes out of your mouth. And you do not stumble over kabiu.”
“One is gratified by your notice, nandi.” Yet another bow.
“We shall speak in the morning, nand’ paidhi. Sleep soundly tonight, upon the thought that the dowager is a very wise woman.”
Did Machigi mean the dowager was right? That Machigi
was
being challenged?
“Nandi.” He rose, and despite the brandy, despite the fact the pain of bruised ribs had settled to a certain level and stayed there—it didn’t stay there when he got up. It was with the utmost effort he kept his breathing even and his voice level—he feared his face had gone pale. “One is very grateful for your hospitality.”
One of Machigi’s guards received Machigi’s signal and opened the door. He left, with Banichi and Jago close by him, and the first of Machigi’s men, and another, proceeding outward, escorted them to the stairs.
He wasn’t sure he could climb those steps. It wasn’t poisoning, he was relatively sure of that. It wasn’t the brandy. He’d been moderate with that. He set his hand on the bannister and paused at the bottom.
“Your patience, nadiin,” he said to the guards in the lead. “One had a minor mishap this morning.” Deep breath. He’d at least alerted Banichi and Jago to the likelihood the paidhi-aiji was apt to fall. But if he did—
If he did he could alarm the two in front, who were armed and hair-triggered. “I am feeling quite short of breath, nadiin. Be it understood it was in no wise the fault of the dinner or the brandy. It has just been a very long day. A moment to catch my breath. A bruised rib.”
“Nandi.” There was a little concern from Machigi’s men, who watched from above, and might have no wish to have a problem on their watch. “Please attend him, nadiin.”
Jago’s hand arrived under his arm. He waited. Took a step upward. He had his wind. He finished the climb with Jago’s hand at his elbow, and got a deeper breath.
“Nadiin,” he said, “I shall be fine once I have had some sleep. Please be assured so.”
“Nandi.” A bow as the two reached the apartment door, and knocked on it. It opened in short order, doubtless that Tano and Algini had been communicating.
“Nandi,” Jago began to say, “Barb-daja . . .”
“Bren!” The cry came from inside.
He was stunned, walking in on the sight of Barb, in atevi dress, standing there in the sitting room.
He was not prepared for Barb to rush toward him, arms spread.
Barb was not prepared for Tano to whirl about and interpose an arm. It knocked Barb backward to the floor.
Damn, Bren thought. Barb was half-stunned, lying in a puddle of russet voile, hurt, though Algini quickly knelt down to gather her fainting form up from the tiles. She had hit her head. They had scared hell out of Machigi’s guards, who had drawn weapons; and Banichi had interposed his body, blocking the door with an arm against the doorframe, so neither of Machigi’s men had a target; and Jago was simply holding on to him for safety.

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