Tracker, page 16
“Is that so?” she asked him. “Is that what you hear in the thunder?”
“Yes,” he admitted, disturbed, and tried not to let the inky cuff-lace touch the cup. “Yes, honored Mother.”
“One thought so,” his mother said, and took a sip of tea.
She was different than Great-grandmother. A great deal different. He had no idea what she wanted.
“An attack would sound like that,” his mother said. “Is that what you thought?”
“One did,” he said, “For an instant.”
“So,” his mother said. “So did I. For an instant. We have that in common, son of mine. We have both heard guns in the distance. We have both seen things we wish not to have seen. And your father is in a meeting and your bodyguard is at training. So I thought, My son might find a visit just now—comfortable.”
He was not comfortable. He had had Boji loose, he had ruined a shirt and a coat. He had put inky fingerprints on the tea-caddy, and the teapot, and might have inked his trousers as well—not to mention the chair arm, where he was doggedly remembering not to set his hand down.
“One greatly regrets the accident, honored Mother.” Boji would not stay quiet. Boji had finished his egg, and was now becoming a nuisance, rattling his cage.
“Thunder,” Mother said. “Just thunder. The coat is not your best one. The ink missed the carpet, did it not?”
“It did, honored Mother.” It was the second time Mother had asked that, and she didn’t make that sort of mistake. He wondered if there was a spot. “It never got to the edge.”
“So,” Mother said, and set down her teacup. “The storm seems to have gone over us. I shall go back to your sister—so long as you are well.”
She rose. He set aside his teacup, stood up and gave a little bow.
She went to the door. He hurried, before Liedi, to open it for her.
“Visit me,” she said. She only lived down the hall in the same apartment. They saw each other, and Father, at breakfast and lunch and supper, every mealtime since he had gotten home. It was strange to say, Visit me. But he felt it as a very solemn invitation.
“I shall,” he said. She left, and he shut the door.
His fingers had smudged the white paint near the door latch. He thought about rubbing the mark off, but that cuff was what had done it. He used the other elbow, the coat being beyond salvage anyway, then walked back to his room to change clothes.
• • •
A second thunderstorm came rolling in half an hour after the first, with thumps that Bren swore all but made ripples in his teacup, even within the thick walls of the Bujavid.
Lightning had hit a pole and dislodged some tiles from the Bujavid roof, which rather well accounted for the initial boom. A work crew was up there assessing the damage from the inside. He thought they could have rather well waited in case of another strike—and he hoped they had run for cover as the second wave rolled in.
A report from Jeladi said that there was a handspan of water on the rails near the Guild District, by the old canal.
Power had been out for a bit in the east end of Shejidan, again due to a lightning strike.
Najida had gotten its share of rain from this system, Bren was sure. And the assurance the workmen had gotten the new wing roof sealed was good. He just hoped Jaishan was safe at dock and not in transit with the peninsula and its rocks alee.
The winds of an ordinary spring met summer and did ritual battle. It was a rhythm old as the hills—literally. And it was a warm and comfortable thing to have the city’s most solid walls between him and the storm.
He’d had lunch. Now he had those letters to write, and when the storm passed, a courier could go out to the spaceport by train, quietly, and without publicity of any kind, bearing his request for passenger space on the next shuttle after this one. He could surely manage to wrap up his business sufficiently in the next couple of weeks, and he rather hoped a quiet message had already gone up to Tillington from Shawn saying, simply, Make no statements whatever on the Reunioner matter, so that at least nothing worse would happen up there.
On his agenda, too, was a matter which achieved more significance with the Tillington matter afoot. Cajeiri had written to him this morning, a formal letter with only a few childish calligraphic shortcuts, reporting that everything was very well next door and would he please invite him to a dinner party soon.
But there was a second issue, and a more troubling one. Cajeiri added that he had written to his associates up on the station—and he had somewhat expected letters from his associates to come down on this current shuttle. He was worried, but he did not want to ask his father, and he felt that asking Lord Geigi would attract his father’s attention.
It would. It attracted the paidhi’s attention and made him ask why, a second time, was there possibly a problem with correspondence being delayed, and who was at fault?
Perhaps the children had just not written in time to get their letters included in the physical mail. But—all of them?
He was a little concerned. He had put off his answer to the young gentleman’s letter this morning only because he had had the committee meeting. But he intended a serious inquiry into the possibility of missing mail, and he sincerely hoped that the answer was a simple case of the kids missing the deadline.
But—missing mail had been a problem before this. And the fact that Tillington’s office was on a rampage about the children’s visit and the children’s ties to Cajeiri did occur to him in the question. If Tillington had taken it on himself to stop the children’s letters, a call to Jase was in order, and there was one more point in his problems with Tillington, depending on whether he wanted to go up quietly—or with forewarning of official displeasure. He had to decide on that matter.
But before he made that call, he wanted details from Cajeiri, to start with facts.
That was one issue on his mind, that, the letter to the port director, and the fact that, perhaps at breakfast tomorrow, he had to break the news to the boy that he was going up to the station and Cajeiri wasn’t. At least he could promise Cajeiri he would find the letters, if they’d been sent.
He hadn’t seen the boy since he’d been back, hadn’t communicated with him as he’d intended to do. He’d met with Tabini more than once, had been in the apartment, but the boy had evidently been told it was business and he should stay out of the way. He’d managed to talk with Ilisidi twice before she left. He’d managed to exchange a few words with Tatiseigi in the legislature before Tatiseigi left for his estate. He’d even exchanged a few words with Damiri.
But Cajeiri—no. Cajeiri hadn’t been accessible. He’d been telling himself for days he needed to make time to check on the boy—but problems kept coming up and the schedule kept pressing on him. Now the boy had had to write a letter to tell him something he should have known about, and beg him for a breakfast invitation, poor lad, now that all his other prospects had left town.
He’d had far, far better intentions than that.
A knock came at the office door. Narani entered, bearing the message bowl with a single cylinder.
“This just arrived, nandi.”
Not Shawn, which was the letter he had been waiting for. That would have been under Presidential seal, and in a diplomatic pouch, not a plain steel cylinder that meant the Messengers’ Guild had transmitted it.
That left few possibilities. Jase. Geigi.
He reached for it and opened it, extracted and flattened the message while Narani waited for a possible response.
It was from Toby. His brother, who lived aboard his boat.
Storms in the strait, he thought instantly.
God, are he and Barb all right?
Hi there, the typescript letter began. We’re fine, that first. We took a little bit of a beating two days ago, lost the antenna and a railing, not to mention both bilge pumps, which was the greater concern. We’ve just limped into Najida on the manual pump and they’ve offered help putting things to rights. We could make it back to Port Jackson now, I’m pretty sure, now that I’ve located a new bilge pump—I’m going to owe a local fisherman. The front’s moving past, but we’re real tired, and Najida was our safest choice. We got in an hour ago, still having quite a bit of wind here. Ramaso says we should stay as long as we want, but I think officially I should ask.
We’re fine. Barb was with him. They were both all right. They’d gotten to Najida.
He just hoped the boat wasn’t too badly damaged.
With your permission, we’re going to be here a few days. We’re likely going to do a little more repair, either locally purchased or shipped over. Ramaso says not to worry, that he’ll order anything we need and put it on your tab. But I’m going to arrange a transfer of funds to cover it; we’ll feel better. I don’t know how to convey that to Ramaso in a way he’ll understand.
You can’t, brother, and it’s not a language problem. Ramaso knows what I’d say about your paying anything. I’ll get the fisherman a new pump.
I’d love to see you in the meanwhile. Any chance you could take the train over to Najida for a couple of days?
Oh, damn, he so wanted to do that. Did he have time? He might—if he flew, and worked on the flight to and from.
“The storm damaged nand’ Toby’s boat,” he said to Narani, who was standing by for a reply. “Toby has put in to Najida for repairs and he asks whether I can come out there. One is very strongly tempted, Rani-ji. The trip up to the station—I have to arrange. But two days—if nothing else blows up—I could possibly spare that.”
“Indeed, nandi. There are a few meetings on your schedule, but those might be rearranged. You could fly, or even take the train, and the bus could have you at Najida tonight.”
“Meeting with the young gentleman. Answering his query. The committee meetings in three days. Lord Tatiseigi is coming back tomorrow. He could deal with the Transportation committee. He intends to be there, regardless. We absolutely agree on the issues.”
“Indeed he might chair them quite ably, nandi.”
God, he rarely did things on the spur of the moment, these days—or he did, but those generally regarded politics or the need for firearms. Doing something this self-interested was an entirely different prospect. He should, he thought, feel guilty for even considering going out there.
But, hell, Tatiseigi could deal with the meetings. And whatever Jase answered about the kids’ maybe-missing letters probably should wait for him to get up to the station. He wanted to talk to Tillington, get the measure of the man, personally, maybe impart a quiet understanding as to why Tillington needed to go home on the next shuttle and seek a nice job in the space industry, with no damaging fuss about it. That was by far the most constructive solution.
That left the Transportation Committee and that series of meetings—which he could come in on toward the last, if Tatiseigi was there to handle the initial phase.
Narani had his orders. He personally had just a few things to mop up, now. He needed to message the Port Director, confirm that he was indeed taking next rotation up. He had to meet with the Guild observers, everything as previously arranged.
And if anything critical came up in the committee meetings, he could be back in Shejidan by plane in a couple of hours.
He could do it. Fly out, fly back. No need of formality or any great furor, or any fuss with the wardrobe, not for informal Najida and working on his brother’s boat.
“Let me compose an official permission for his landing, Rani-ji. I shall send that before all else, just to have the legalities in order.”
“Will you indeed go there, nandi?”
“I think I shall. Tomorrow. I have a letter from the young gentleman, asking for a breakfast tomorrow morning.” God. “And he will be entirely put out if I go to Najida without him. I shall ask his father. It might salve the matter of the other trip, which he cannot take. And there are phones, after all. I can call Lord Geigi and inquire about his problem from there.”
“Indeed, nandi.” Narani let the bowl stand on the little table by the door and quietly left.
Bren spread out a new sheet and dipped his pen in the inkwell, in rising good cheer.
I hope the damage is by no means extensive. You are of course welcome at Najida as long as you need and I shall make every effort to free my schedule. I am sending off the necessary permissions for your landing, with notice to Tabini-aiji, and the Assassins’ Guild. If your schedule is flexible, too, we may be able to gain a day or so together.
If you need greater assistance of any sort, absolutely rely on me. I can locate supplies and repair items with no great difficulty at all and have them in your hands within a day or so.
Please take advantage of every resource Najida can offer for your safety and comfort meanwhile.
He hesitated at the last line. Always, always, there was politics, even within the family.
I hope that Barb is well. Give her my regards.
The letter would be physically delivered. He could pick up a phone and ask for direct contact, but if Toby and Barb were busy trying to bail out the yacht, he had no wish to call them up the steep hill to the phone. He simply spindled it, shoved it into one of his own official white cylinders, and rang for Narani to come back and take it. He could phone Toby tonight, perhaps, after everybody had finished for the day and had a good supper. Ramaso would see to that.
But express mail, couriered to the train, should make it by suppertime. And with luck—he could follow it after breakfast tomorrow and surprise Toby.
“To my brother,” he said simply, “on the regular train.”
“Nandi.” Narani took it, to be carried by one of the staff, who would pack an overnight bag and make it to the main train station from the Bujavid transport stop.
Thunder boomed and crashed, the storm had done with Najida, perhaps, but it had not yet quite done with Shejidan.
And if Cajeiri was to go out to Najida with him he needed clearance from Tabini. If they flew, on a charter, it would be quick, it would be secure, and if the plane waited, he could easily get himself and the boy back to the capital within an hour of any phone call.
He pulled down another sheet of paper, deciding that, hell, yes, he would clear his schedule, and he would go next door and see if he could liberate the young gentleman into the bargain, perhaps for dinner this evening, and have their breakfast on the plane at the crack of dawn.
Bren, paidhi-aiji
To Tabini, aiji of the aishidi’tat
A request has arrived, aiji-ma, from Toby my brother, who has had an emergency at sea. His boat took damage from the storm, and by my prior permission, he has put in at Najida for repairs. One begs you grant him an extended stay, of whatever length repairs require.
He also requests me to come visit him there, if this is possible. I am delighted to do this and believe I can do so without adversely affecting my schedule.
It also occurs to me that the young aiji would greatly enjoy a very brief—
A knock came at the door. Narani came in, bowed, and, without the bowl, handed him a second steel message cylinder.
This one did not have the Mospheiran color. It was plain.
Toby being in worse trouble was his first fear—but a message from his estate manager, Ramaso, should have the blue Najida band. He opened the cylinder, extracted the message, again one of those coded prints.
And not in Ragi.
Jason Graham, Captain, starship Phoenix.
Bren Cameron, paidhi-aiji, the Bujavid.
Unicorn sighted. ETA fifteen days. Operation here as discussed.
Reply requested.
His thought—if it was so coherent as a thought—was, Oh—my—God.
He read it twice. Looked up at Narani and didn’t trouble to keep the distress off his face.
“Rani-ji, the kyo are here—fifteen days out from the space station. All plans—my entire schedule—everything has to be suspended.”
It was more than a question of operations suspended.
All manner of operations had to be gotten underway—many of them not confined to the Earth.
And a very dangerous set of strangers they had met at Reunion was arriving to be entangled with the problems he and Jase had been negotiating.
Tillington. And the Reunioners.
The Reunioners were going to panic when they heard. The Mospheirans might well.
He couldn’t wait for another shuttle rotation. If he and his aishid had to ride up in the cockpit with the crew, he had to get up there.
He glanced at the calendar, in its nook on his desk. The current shuttle was launching day after tomorrow.
Narani was still waiting.
“I need to phone the Port Director, immediately, Rani-ji. I have to delay the shuttle launch, if at all possible. Call her, and let me tell her as much as she must know personally. I also need my aishid to report in, whoever is on the premises.”
“Nandi.” Narani left, and almost immediately after he had closed the door, footsteps went both directions down the hall. Narani was bound for his office to look up the spaceport code, likely—it was not one they routinely used; and Jeladi was likely headed deeper into the apartment, to advise his bodyguard they had a serious problem.
Fifteen days.
No trip to Najida. That was out.
Silly thought. The whole world was in danger. And he spared a thought for his brother, in dock at Najida, waiting for him, with no idea what had just shown up in the heavens.
The dowager needed to get back to Shejidan. She was involved in this.
He and Ilisidi likewise had a codeword for the kyo—but passing through Assassins’ Guild communications what was clearly a codeword that the Guild was not permitted to understand, at a time when they were trying to establish trust—
He had to play those politics carefully. Everything involving the guilds was new and no little touchy.
