Peacemaker (27 page)

“Yes, sir.” Heads bobbed. Looks were very earnest.

“Anything we can do, anything you need, or if you're in distress, Jase first, then me, or any of my staff. Got it?”

“Yessir.”

Excellent kids, he thought. Kids who'd been warned within an inch of their lives—but kids who'd borne up in good humor through a hell of a lot that hadn't been in anyone's planning.

“You've been good beyond any expectation. Carry this evening off for him and there's an outside chance we can send you somewhere you can have some fun, maybe with the Taibeni.”

“The mecheita-riders?” Eyes went large.

“They're completely loyal to Cajeiri. A very safe place. And I'll do everything I can to arrange it, if you just do everything you're asked, be patient with delays, and don't mess it up. Twelve more hours, and if the aiji's enemies don't create a problem, you're out of it and clear. Jase will be here in a moment, and he'll fill in the rest for you.”

God, he
hoped
he was telling the kids the truth. The combined force of staring, believing eyes went right to the nerves, while his
if
was still a very big word.

 • • • 

“Nandi,” the major domo said, welcoming Cajeiri and his bodyguard into the foyer. Jase-aiji paid courteous nods and immediately left, going back up the hall. “Welcome home, young gentleman.”

“Nadi,” Cajeiri said with the requisite little bow. Servants were close about them—until the ones near the inner hall folded backward in startlement, ducking heads, as his
father
arrived, his father likewise in court dress, and solemn, and accompanied by two of his bodyguard. All the servants backed up, clearing room, and Cajeiri gave a deeper bow.

“Son of mine,” his father said solemnly. “You look very fine.”

“One is gratified, honored Father.”

“And everything is going smoothly?” his father asked, coming very close to him.

“Yes, honored Father.”

His father took him by the arm very lightly and maneuvered him so that he could speak close to his ear. “Son of mine, you look particularly elegant, and so does your aishid—a credit to your great-uncle's household, but one needs to forewarn you. Your mother is already having a difficult day, and so is the staff. Your mother had secretly ordered a coat and vest from your regular tailor, and she was not willing to deliver it to your great-uncle's house, but your tailor is greatly out of sorts about this, and this being her present to you—it has set her out of sorts. If you wish to please your mother—and one advises you this would be very desirable today—send staff to your suite and have them bring the black and red brocade instead.”

He
liked
his black and gold brocade coat, which his mother would call too old for him, but he was
nine
today, and he had three red and black ones, besides. He said quietly: “Uncle had Master Kusha come in because of my guests, honored Father. They had nothing suitable, and Master Kusha and his staff worked very hard.”

“One will do everything to honor master Kusha's efforts, but you would not be politic to ignore your mother's gift, son of mine. And besides, the 'counters have figured red into the numbers.”

He was not happy. But he understood. “Yes,” he said, and to Jegari: “You know my coats. Can you recognize the new one?”

“Assuredly, nandi,” Jegari said, and with a bow to his father, hurried off through the servants and down the inner hall toward their suite. Cajeiri began sadly unbuttoning the elegant black and gold coat, and his father helped him, with that and with the vest, right there in the foyer in front of everybody. He was sure he blushed, and he was angry about it, but his father was on
his
side, which was the important thing. And he knew how much politics with his mother mattered, for everybody's good.

Next time the 'counters did the numbers, however, he swore he was going to have his say in it. And wear black and gold if he wanted to.

But it would be his thirteenth birthday before he ever got another festivity, and his fifteenth before another big one, which he swore was not going to be
public,
either. He was verging on a bad mood. And could not afford to sulk.

“Very well done,” his father said, handing off his favorite new coat and vest to the major domo, who gave it to the servants to deal with. “Be agreeable, do not frown at your mother, and thank her nicely for the new coat and vest, if you can possibly manage it. Count it training.”

“Yes,” he said. By then Jegari was back, with the new coat and vest, which at least went well with the black trousers and boots, the new vest being shiny black with glittering red woven in, and the coat being nearly all black with a little red—the vest at least fit well, as it should, and the coat fit, and his father with his own hands helped him do all the buttons, in front of all the servants and their bodyguards.

“One is very impressed,” his father said. “You have grown in more than height this year, son of mine. One is
very
proud.”

That was twice for blushing, but this was for a different reason. He gave a little bow as his father finished the last adjustment of his lace cuffs. “Thank you, honored Father. One will try very hard today.”

“Come to the sitting room,” his father said, and showed him the way as if he were an adult guest in his own home.

His mother was there, in black and green, Ragi and Atageini colors combined. She looked pleased as he came in, and mani had taught him how the game was played. He bowed to his mother, who did not get up—getting up was increasingly hard for her—and bowed a second and a third time, and said, without any sulking,

“Thank you for your gift, honored Mother. One was quite surprised.”

“You look very fine,” she said, looking extremely pleased. “How grown-up you look.”

“One is happy to be a fortunate age,” he said.
“Thank
you, honored Mother.”

There was, of course, tea. There were very fancy teacakes, one of a flavor he did not like, but his mother did, and he got it by accident. He took one bite, and nerved himself and swallowed the rest of it, smiling and washing it down with tea, thinking it was rather like the change of coats. One could get through anything, if there was a reason.

“The numbers of the day are fortunate,” she said. “And the whole country has turned out to celebrate the day, son of mine. The banners are out and the whole city will be in festival. You may see them from my windows.”

“I shall look,” he said. He truly had no desire even to go into the nursery, which had all the windows, but he thought perhaps he should, at least once, so when he had had his tea, he did go, and stood with his mother looking out past the filmy lace of the nursery windows. Very small and distant, there were colorful banners, and the tops of the tents, and the main street, even farther, crowded with people.

“The city is happy,” she said, with her hand on his shoulder, “and so should you be.”

“One is indeed happy,” he said dutifully, already wishing to be back in the sitting room. “One is very happy.”

“Your father favors you,” she said, and her fingers pressed his shoulder hard. “He favors you so extremely your sister will rely on you for the least scrap of his favor.
Say
to me that she will not go wanting.”

He did not look at her until one fast, wary glance, and she was gazing out the windows, into the hazy distance.

“I shall take care of my sister,” he said, and her hand pressed once, then relaxed. “Have I not told you I shall? If she relies on me, I shall be her older brother.”

“As you should be,” she said. “Always remember that.”

An uneasy thought struck him. “
You
will be here, will you not?”

“That is always at your father's pleasure. But someday it will be at yours.”

“You are my mother,” he said with complete determination. “I only have one.”

“That is good to know,” she said. “Shall we return to the sitting room?”

He was only too glad to do that.

 • • • 

Getting three kids into unfamiliar garments and giving them a meaningful lesson on
how
to keep the cuff lace out of the soup and the soup from landing on one's collar lace was no small undertaking. Turn your wrist to the outside covered the first; and Keep your chin up was the other. They practiced with water, as less damaging than soup.

“Very well done,” Jase said. “I shall try not to be the one to have soup go astray. You all have your speeches, if you need them.”

“Yes, nandi,” Gene said, with a very proper bow. “And one will pay very close aggravation to persons.”

“Attention,” Bren corrected quietly. It was a very easy mistake. “Elegantly done, Gene-nadi.”

“Attention,” Gene repeated, a little chagrined. “Yes, sir.”

Bren set his hand on Gene's shoulder. “You three are extraordinary. Keep up the manners just until midnight, and don't panic if you make a mistake. You're all three very small, people won't possibly mistake you for adults, and while children have all kinds of leeway . . . everyone's
very
impressed when they get things right. So just bow and apologize, and if you really have an accident, you have several spare shirts in my apartment. We
can
rescue you if we must, but we'd so much rather not. And the farther we get from the apartment the harder it becomes. Security's extremely tight.”

“Yes, sir,” Gene said in ship-speak. “We won't mess things up. We really won't.”

“Good. Good.” Bren let the boy go and cast a look at Jase. “We're about due. Dur's just made it up to the floor. I need to go. If you can follow with the youngsters, we'll expect you in about ten minutes. Kaplan and Polano are ready?”

“Suited up and ready,” Jase said. “We'll be right over.”

“See you,” Bren said, and went out to the hall. Staff told staff, and his bodyguard showed up a moment later, Banichi with them,
without
his sling, at first glance, but then one noted the black, slim support for the injured arm.

Good for that, he thought. He had his hair arranged to hide the stitches, had a little paper of pills, not for atevi consumption, in his right pocket, and a second number of pills, not for human consumption, in the inside pocket of his dress coat, nicely done up, not to mention the discreet little pistol he had in his right-hand coat pocket . . . he had not carried it to the Guild. It did not mean he could not carry it to Tabini's apartment.

“Nichi-ji,” he said as his aishid joined him. “We are agreed, are we not, each to take a rest as appropriate?”

“We are agreed,” Banichi said.

“Do we have a promise, Nichi-ji?”

“We have an agreement, Bren-ji.”

It was as good as he was getting. Narani opened the door for them, and they walked out and down the short distance to the aiji's door—which, as it chanced, was still open, Lord Tatiseigi having just arrived with, as it proved, the aiji-dowager.

One simply stood a bit back and let that party sort itself out. There was some little hushed and prolonged to-do involving a coat, about which neither was pleased. But Ilisidi said, “It is the boy's event, Tati-ji. He will wish not to affront his mother.”

“His mother,” Tatiseigi muttered, but said no more of it.

One didn't ask. One was simply glad to get through the door, past the foyer, and into the enforced civilization of the dining room, where, indeed, the younger and the elder Dur were already present, and the formalities were a welcome relief.

The dining table was at full extent, with places for thirty-three persons, including Jase and the three youngsters, and an assortment of lords and spouses. It was diplomacy at full stretch. Even Lord Keimi had come in from Taiben—very, very rare that he put in a court appearance; but it was a pleasant arrival. Haijden and Maidin were there. And Jase and Cajeiri's guests arrived, Jase resplendent in the borrowed coat and the youngsters in immaculate and proper court dress—shy, and a little hesitant about getting to seats, but Jase, who could read the name tags, settled them properly, and sat down in a seat of high rank next to Tatiseigi, who was family—with the youngsters at his left, as Cajeiri's guests. As minors in Jase's care, they were seated far higher than their rank would have allowed.

But good-natured Maidin was next to them, and Dur was across the table, which was a very deft bit of diplomacy. The servants brought a cushion for Irene—the boys being just the little degree taller that made a cushion a bit too much; and the youngsters sat with their hands tucked and their eyes darting about the glittering table and the glittering guests—very, very quiet, the three, on best behavior.

Other lords arrived, the Calrunaidi, strangers to the aiji's inner circle, but on the rise; the Brusini and the Drusi, with current spouses. The company stretched to the end of the table with other arrivals, and the noise level even of quiet conversation became significant.

The youngsters sat staunchly silent, already stuffed with little sandwiches and teacakes, and shyly responding to servants' questions or deferring them to Jase, who ordered them small glasses of fruit drink . . . which they very judiciously sipped without much tilting.

The table was full. Conversation remained polite. Bren and Jase had followed their own prescription of sandwiches and teacakes to assure they had enough to eat
before
they had to deal with a full-blown state affair of thirteen courses, three or four involving gravy.

The doors to the hall opened, and Tabini, Damiri, and Cajeiri joined them, the boy in a black and red brocade he had not been wearing when he had stopped by the apartment to drop his guests off. No. He had definitely changed coats.
That
had been the controversy.

Bren rose, as they all did except Ilisidi. He seated himself when everyone sat down, and the servants began moving about, supplying more wine, or a change of drinks as the kitchen readied the first plates.