Peacemaker (25 page)

“He's certainly getting one.”

“He is, that. Let me give it a try. Pending tomorrow.”

“Yourself?”

“Oh, I'll be persuasive. If the kids stay, I can't leave them here alone, can I?” Jase made to get up. “I should leave you to your work, however. I've heard the staff coming and going. Things are in progress, and I'm in the way.”

“Never,” Bren said, but it was true, and he'd caught a sign from Narani in the hall that there was important mail in-house. “I had better cross-check with staff, however, and stay up on the details. Supper tonight if we're lucky.”

“Formal?”

“Informal as hell, I hope. Are you running out of entertainment in there?”

Jase grinned. “We're amply supplied. My office doesn't let me alone. And Kaplan and Polano are on the longest leave of their lives, so I'm hearing no complaints. I don't know where their poker tab stands, but neither one gets more than twenty credits ahead of the other and it's been ongoing for days.”

“Good.” He laughed. “Good for them.”

He saw Jase to the door, went to his office and settled to look through his mail—was not surprised when Narani arrived with the mail, and prominent in the batch was a message cylinder of the heraldic sort that usually circulated within the upper floors of the Bujavid.

Red and black.

The dowager, he thought, telling himself he needed to ask his staff how the preparations for the event were going.

“Thank you,” he said. “Wait just a moment. There may be a reply.” He opened the cylinder. The seal on the message itself was
not
the dowager's, however: it was Tabini's.

The numbers of the Festivity have officially come in as favorable for the event . . .

Rarely did official 'counters produce anything contrary, for something the aiji firmly decided to schedule. It was a bit of a non-announcement for most long-scheduled events, particularly those naturally containing fortunate numbers.

We have waited for these numbers, considering recent events. We are, as of a few moments ago, absolutely certain of them. Expect, at the Festivity, investment of my son as my heir.

Investment. Nine
was
a fortunate year, extraordinarily felicitous. But it was also extremely young to be officially set into a will. The traditional number for a child to be invested as heir was . . . he recalled . . . fifteen, the next entirely felicitous number after nine, and offering the greater maturity of that year as well as a fortunate numerology.

A formal investment, however, fended off inheritance disputes, or at least let them happen during the lifetime of the parent, when they could be quashed with authority.

Tabini's
legacy wasn't a set of fishing or hunting rights.

But it
was
a little unexpected, this. For various reasons, Tabini himself hadn't had it. He was not sure it had actually been done for the aijinate since Tabini's grandfather's investment. Certainly it wasn't in Wilson's notes.

My wife is advised, and I am, in two other letters sent with this one, informing my grandmother and Lord Tatiseigi of my decision.

My decision.
Not the plural. Not the imperial we. And
not
including Damiri in any implication whatever.

“Trouble, nandi?” Narani asked.

“Not trouble, exactly,” he said. “The aiji is going to invest the young gentleman as his heir.”

“Indeed.” Narani hardly lifted a brow. Surprised? It was rare anything surprised Narani.

“It is, apparently, held secret until the event. Please keep it so.” He had no doubts of Narani, who well knew how to keep secrets. “You look surprised, Rani-ji.”

“One would say the last three years have certainly urged it.”

An overthrow of the government and the whole world in upheaval. That, to say the least, was a reason to have intentions clear.

But one still had to wonder.

Had something significant gone on between Tabini and Damiri in the boy's absence—an understanding reached, or definitively
not
reached, since Tabini had taken initial steps to shift the birthday party from private celebration to national holiday—on the very day they had gone to the spaceport to pick up the boy's guests?

Tabini had evidently started that extreme move while they—including the dowager—were on their way out of the Bujavid, and dropping into a communications blackout. It was as if Tabini had waited for that.

He evidently hadn't mentioned his intentions to Ilisidi—who might have had definite advice about it.

Geigi had hastened the shuttle launch—so the boy had been able to pick up his guests a few days early and enjoy a little vacation before all hell had broken loose.

But had that been the only reason Geigi had moved things up? Had Geigi had a clue this was in the offing?

More, the dowager's servants were threaded all the way through Tabini's household. And yet—had she been surprised by it?

All Tabini needed do to arrange it was sit in his office, write a few orders, seal them and send them: Give me the numbers of the event. Give me the numbers if I do thus and such in addition.

Damn, he
hoped
this didn't mean Tabini had decided on divorce.

His headache threatened to come back in force.

What
had
Tabini discussed with Lord Geigi during their private conversations? And
did
Ilisidi know it was coming?

“Nandi. Will there be an answer?”

He blinked the room back into focus. “Rani-ji. One apologizes. No. No, there will not be an answer to this one. That will do. Thank you.”

“Nandi,” Narani said, and left the office.

God. If Geigi
had
gone up to the station with orders to get the kids down here . . .

Why? A distraction?

Maybe he was overthinking everything. Things too easily ran in interlocking circles. That didn't help the headache, either.

But thinking often ran in circles, where Tabini was involved, circles that always ran right back to Tabini's tendency to keep his own counsel.

Tabini's quiet, even joking dismissal of his problems with his Ajuri wife?

Never believe Ajuri's move physically to reach his grandson would be dismissed. No. Tabini had been amazingly forgiving of Komaji's actions.

Damn.

Today was the day the birthday party
should
have returned from Tirnamardi, had everything gone as planned when they'd headed out there. Tabini had launched his own plan, ordered the numbers run—which meant he'd long since
had
to tell the 'counters what he was up to—and
then
having launched the inquiry about numbers—Tabini would also have had to tell the 'counters and kabiuteri what had happened at Tirnamardi and in the Guild. Keeping it from the arbiters of arrangement and felicity risked an infelicity in the goings-on that could turn into a political earthquake.

He'd had his moment of sheer terror pinned beside that shattered door in the Guild. Tabini had probably had his own moment in his sitting room the day after they'd returned, when Cenedi had told him they were going to go into the Guild and restore the old Guild leadership.

Well, if Tabini had surprised his grandmother with his plan to put the boy into his will—Ilisidi had certainly returned the favor with interest.

And God only knew what strings Tabini had just pulled with the College of Numerology to get a good outcome after the upheaval in the Guild.

He got up from his desk. Painkiller and pleasant company had thus far had kept the headache at bay. He backed it off with two deep breaths, then walked out and down the hall to the security station.

His aishid were all in their outer office, sitting in the arc of desks and consoles, apparently in conference.

“One would not wish to interrupt a discussion, nadiin-ji,” he said quietly, “but one has just received an advisement from the aiji. He intends formally to name the young gentleman his heir tomorrow, in the Audience Hall.”

Four faces showed rare surprise.

“An
investiture,
”
Algini said, rocking his chair back. It was an obscure word, a variation on the modern legal word he had read it to be. “The Guild does
not
know this. Has he run the numbers?”

“He says they have come back favorable.”

Algini asked, warily: “Did you expect this, nandi?”

“In no wise did I.”

“Sit with us, Bren-ji,” Banichi said, and Bren sat down gingerly on the edge of the counter, closer to eye level. “It explains the aiji's intention in making this a public event. But did he give a reason, Bren-ji?”

“None. It was a very short letter. He has told Damiri-daja. He said he was writing to the dowager and Lord Tatiseigi.”

“This was
not
anticipated,” Algini said.

Banichi said dryly, “With encouragement, the best 'counters can find felicity in an earthquake. But it
is
useful,
considering
the changes in the Guild, that these 'counters will proclaim felicitous numbers. One trusts he
has
told them about the substantial changes in the Guild.”

“It was not in the letter,” Bren said, “but this information seems down to the moment.”

“At nine years of age,” Algini said. “This will surprise everyone.”

“Investiture,” Bren repeated. “Different from investment?”

“Only that it applies to the aijinate and to the highest rank of the College of Numerology,” Algini said. “Tabini-aiji was never invested. Had the dowager strongly opposed his accession, that deficiency could have come into legal question. It has continued to be an issue with his detractors, who claim an infelicity in his accession. Murini of course was not given an investiture, and
he
was certainly an infelicity, with shocks still ongoing. Politically speaking—reviving the ceremony is a brilliant move. Doing it so young is a shock—but it will not be unpopular with the people.”

“What does it do?” Bren said. “I know it in terms of a will. The aijinate is not technically inherited. Does it somehow
bind
the legislature?”

“It does not,” Banichi said. “In ordinary inheritance, investiture sets business relationships for the future, makes the relationships public. And, especially with a family that has heirs through various contract marriages, it makes the future directorship of the business clear. To pass over an invested heir is only possible if the heir has disgraced the name or committed a crime. Investiture of an heir of the aishidi'tat establishes that the College of Numerology, the chief of which is the only other office that uses investiture, has set a stamp of good numbers on this heir being chosen on this date, and any change in those numbers thereafter has to go back to this point and demonstrate the origin and cause.”

“It makes it far more difficult,” Jago said, “to argue infelicity of origin.”

Origin.

Damiri.

“Nine,” Algini said, “carries the potency of an unbeatable number. And it will be six years,” Algini said, “before another year almost as felicitous. Under present circumstances, with a second child coming, there is certainly motive.”

“This,” Bren said, “effectively disinherits the daughter.”

“As regards the aishidi'tat, yes. It does. Having his son invested before this second child even exists—one sees, entirely, why he would decide on this course. The ninth year is indisputably fortunate; the next entirely felicitous year, the fifteenth—means six years in which speculation—and politics—might build around a second child. Considering the opposition to certain influences on the young gentleman—it is a statement, and a very timely one.”

“It also makes clear,” Banichi said, “that, given the history of the persons involved, the aiji-dowager,
not
the aiji-consort, could
instantly
be regent should anything untoward befall Tabini-aiji in the next twelve years. The executor of the inheritance would be, legally, of the aiji's bloodline.”

“That
would cool the opposition,” Jago said, “since the persons most likely to plot against Tabini-aiji have no desire to see the dowager in power.”

“And
removing rights of succession for the daughter,” Banichi said, “leaves no argument that could make Damiri-daja regent if he leaves the daughter in her care—as he has promised to do. Damiri-daja may have title to her daughter. But that daughter will not have the aishidi'tat. And there has been some speculation about that, should something happen to Cajeiri.”

“The city will be wild tomorrow night,” Jago said, “once that news is run out.”

“An excitement that would tax resources at the best of times,” Banichi said. “Bren-ji, we have kept this as quiet as possible—but the Guild had a choice last night, when the new leadership seized control of communications. We could continue the old communication system—which could expose our operations to the remnant we are hunting. We could shut the system down entirely. We could continue to use it but redefine the signals for a given few, which could create dangerous confusion. Or we could go ahead with technical changes, which would lock everybody but a chosen few out of the system entirely. The Council opted for the latter, which will deny access to any units not specifically cleared, until they can be approved into the system.”

“We cannot reach the Guild?”

“We
can.
We,
that is to say we four, the dowager's units, those assigned to the aiji, and those assigned to Lord Tatiseigi, will all be cleared into the system from the beginning. This includes the aiji's under-classified personal guard; Guild Headquarters, and units that it puts in place in and out of the Bujavid. We have argued to have the young gentleman's bodyguard put onto the system, but thus far we have not moved the Council on that matter, since the Council is still reviewing records and has not cleared them. It is solely on our recommendation and Cenedi's that the Council has not removed that unit from the young gentleman's premises because of the date of their assignment. We will be able to use our equipment through the change, but we
are
noticing small interruptions. We were warned of this. We are assured there will be no interruptions from tomorrow afternoon, but we count that an optimistic assurance. Reliable Guild assets are moving into position right now, but, in the same security considerations,
we
are not informed in all cases where, or in protection of what.”