Intruder (12 page)

Was the world, was the universe, big enough to accommodate everybody in decency and prosperity?

Maybe it was a crazy dream that people would finally see that it
was. But he bet on it. He damned sure meant to try to make it happen.

He was going to have those windows.

And—inevitably—Guild protection went with the windows. His own bodyguard was going to have to be have help when they were there, until the world was quieter. And there would be electronic surveillance.

But he would go on working toward not needing it.

He would miss the Najida staff. He had gotten used to them in his short visit, and they to him. But they belonged to Najida. They needed to be there, to supervise the construction, to lead their lives close to the land and their clan—in peace.

A few of Najida village, however, had gone to Shejidan to work for him. They were already in the Bujavid, waiting for him, and more—also of Najida—were coming down from the space station, where they had been stranded for three years apart from family and all the luxuries of planetside living. They were also coming back to serve in the Bujavid, his apartment on the space station going on lowest maintenance until he got back to that residence—and all the problems hanging fire in the heavens.

Well, but they were
his
places. Home, each of them, in a different way.

A handful of weeks ago he’d been living in Lord Tatiseigi’s apartment on Lord Tatiseigi’s charity. Ilisidi had gotten him that favor that and well, nand’ Tatiseigi’s curiosity had probably given a little push, too, since it was certain staff had reported to the old man on a regular basis, and the old man, who detested humans and every variance from tradition, was insatiably curious about what he deplored.

So his volunteers from Najida had taken the train to Shejidan three days ago, bringing with them furnishings that staff had rescued from the apartment in the coup. What the Farai had brought into the apartment when they had occupied it—security had taken that furniture out, and then gone over the place, stripping
the walls down to bare stone—even rearranging the division of rooms in the process—so he understood. They’d found bugs—God knew which agency had planted them—the Farai, or the Maladesi, who had preceded him, or Tabini, or Murini. He somewhat doubted the Maladesi, since his own bodyguard would have found those, and probably they would have told him had Tabini been listening. So it was likely one or both of the other two. They’d even x-rayed the furniture, so tables and chairs and small carpets and vases that had been in the apartment when the Farai vacated might be turning up piecemeal. Bujavid Security, in fact, had passed him photos of the items and asked him to declare which were originally his and which the Farai had moved into the place.

Senji clan treasures—maybe there were a few of those. It was only fair and civilized to return those to the Farai or put them in storage, even though nobody cared particularly what the Farai thought at the moment. They’d betrayed the Senji, their own ruling clan; they’d certainly been ready to betray the Dojisigi. Next they’d be trying to snuggle up to Machigi as long lost relatives—which they were. But
that
wouldn’t get them far.

Could
things ever go back to what they had been, before the coup?

His job at the moment, his whole trip to Tanaja, had been to make damned sure they didn’t go back to status quo ante.

Among the hardest heads he had to deal with in that regard—count his former host, Lord Tatiseigi, who led a formidable collection of conservative interests.

Everybody
in the Bujavid was a close neighbor. It was the snuggest possible collection of people in power on the planet, and most everybody in the Bujavid was going to be asking everybody else—What did the paidhi have to negotiate with that scoundrel Machigi? What is he up to? What is the aiji-dowager up to? Why is Machigi still alive?

And, most significant to most in the Bujavid:

Where does Tabini-aiji stand on all this?

N
and’ Bren was coming back to Shejidan. His plane was in the air. Cajeiri had it from the best source, from his father saying it to his mother, so it was definite.

They had been moving in all day, into their new apartment—or their remade old one. They had had their last supper in Great-grandmother’s apartment, where they had been staying, because, Mother said, they were still unpacking the kitchen in the new place, and the staff would be working through the night to assure they could cook breakfast in the morning.

So the official move was after supper, but Father had said emphatically they were going to be in the new apartment today, and today it must be—because now that they had sent the boxes over after lunch, there was nothing they owned left in Great-grandmother’s apartment, and all their clothes and things were being set up in the new apartment.

So at last they officially moved—simply walking to the new apartment, with their bodyguards and some of their staff, all together like a procession. It seemed to Cajeiri it ought to be sort of an occasion, and in fact when they reached the apartment and Father’s bodyguard opened the door, there stood a gathering of servants Cajeiri did not remember at all, all of them lined up to welcome them to what was now home for the first time since they had fought their way back to Shejidan and his father had taken the government back.

The door to the sitting room stood open, past the reception line of servants, and
the servants brought them immediately inside, offering Mother and Father brandy and him his favorite fruit drink. There were very good little cakes for the occasion, so Cajeiri began to feel it really was a party. There were a lot of flowers, and everyone was smiling. Servants came and bowed to his parents, conversing for a moment, and then came and bowed to him, and introduced themselves, and said embarrassing things about having taken care of him when he was a baby.

Well, he was not a baby. He had left the Bujavid when he was a baby. He had lived with Uncle Tatiseigi mostly. He had gone to space with Great-grandmother, and when Great-grandmother had decided to go with nand’ Bren into the great void and go get the stranded humans, well, she had decided against sending him back to his father, and he had not wanted to go, either.

Which was a good thing. Because the rebels had shot up the apartment and killed a lot of the old staff, and then they had shot up the lodge at Taiben and his parents had had to run for it. If he had been a baby and slowing them down, probably none of them would be alive to get back here.

But they were. And the servant staff, some of them, were old servants, and knew how things needed to be, his mother said.

He did not remember any of them, try as he might. And he did try. The cakes were especially good, and there were plenty of refills of punch. The only immediate bad thing was that the whole place smelled of paint and new varnish under the flower smells, and that was going to be unpleasant to live with, but it was just the repairs.

He had gotten a look at the place while they were painting it, and it looked bigger with furniture and carpets. It was bright and new. But it was white. It had white walls and nearly white tile in the foyer, and a lot of white furniture in the sitting room made it worse, in his opinion. He would have preferred dark wood like mani’s apartment. But no one had asked him. He just hoped his furniture had not been painted white.

After the cakes came a tour through the heart of the apartment, Father’s office, which
was very fine, a little darker walls, with polished wood, and beautiful old carpet and porcelains on pedestals…it was not as nice or as cozy as Great-grandmother’s office, in Cajeiri’s opinion. But it was fancy, and he liked it. There was the library, also comfortably dark and full of books.

His mother’s room was white with pastel greens. And the nursery, which came first, had windows, three of them, and the room was brilliant yellow—the only color in the whole apartment, and the only windows.

The dining room had been white. The bath was white tile. Even the towels were white.

It was just—not fair that the baby was going to have all the windows.

But he was on best behavior. And he had to stand still and bow and say the white bath was beautiful, and he had to listen respectfully while the staff pointed out the phone, which was in a cabinet on which one could raise the lid, and the light switch, as if one were too stupid to find a light switch in the bath, and a button to call staff, which was, of course, beside the light switch…

Then Father said, unexpectedly, “You may go see your rooms, son, if you wish. One is certain that more interests you.”

“Yes!”
he said and half-turned to go, and then decided it was politic to be quiet and far more grateful. “Thank you, Father. Thank you, Mother. Nadiin-ji.” He bowed, including the staff, then collected his bodyguard, who, like all the rest of Father’s and Mother’s staff, had tagged after them and crowded into every room they were in, and escaped with them.

He took off into the inner hall that led to the other rooms—that was a new security trick, because you had to go through separate halls to get to Father’s hall and Mother’s hall, and yet another direction to get to his door. It was a security arrangement: there was a foyer past the foyer, and the first pick would get you Father’s security station, which was also—white.

He and his bodyguard went back up the hall to the first door on the
left, just past the servants’ access door, and he pressed ahead and opened the door to his suite himself, he was so excited and hopeful.

The door opened directly into his sitting room, and the place smelled of paint and it was, yes, white.

But redeeming that fault, there were plants everywhere: dark green ones, and light green ones and leaves with pale borders, and blue borders and yellow borders, each with bright lights to support them.

And there was his table, and the chairs with the animals, all polished up like new. With the red tapestries.

Best of all, nearly hidden behind potted plants, and behind a gnarly tree trunk that was also, cleverly, several shelves for more plants—there stood the big brass cage, dusted off, still with a lot of corroded green, but clean, and intricate, and old. He went immediately to see it and make sure it was what he remembered.

And its door worked, and everything.

There were no windows in his rooms at all: that was the biggest fault with the whole place, so far as he was concerned. But everywhere, on the walls, on stands, in pots on the floor, sat potted plants. Even the air smelled better in here than out there, a lot better.

And when he went back further into the suite, down a little hallway with two rooms for his bodyguard, there was his little office, with the desk, and everything, and still more plants. His office had shelves, and the books he had packed were on them, two that he had borrowed from nand’ Bren, and his own books, his atlases…and his map, his precious huge map, that he had had hanging in his bedroom in mani’s apartment: his world map, with all the towns and cities and harbors and rivers and mountains, that he had studied until he could draw whole pieces of it, and they had kept all his pins, which marked places he wanted to think about and places he had been.

There was the west coast, where he had just been. And Malguri, far across
the mountains, where mani was. He had a black pin at Malguri, for Great-grandmother. He had a white one at Najida, for nand’ Bren. He put another white one halfway between the west coast and Shejidan. That was nand’ Bren’s plane, coming here to Shejidan, to get his apartment back, which would be just the other side of his father’s office wall.

The kabiu master had made his map the center of the wall, easily in reach, and there were tall plants on either side, but not in front of it, because it was not an ordinary hanging. The master had understood. His office was right. It felt right.

And across the little foyer from that, his bedroom was full of plants, each with its light, and there were the red and blue hangings he had picked out, and the wonderful carved bed with the snarling beast-head, and the bureau that matched it. The bed had figured red pillows and a red tapestry bedspread with green leaves winding over it, and a picture of mountains in the middle of it. There was the red and green carpet, all fresh and clean, and another red and gray hanging he did not remember ordering, but it was all of leaves, and the drapes all along the short wall, as if there were windows, even if he had none, with plants at either corner—those were red, wonderful red, so one could drink down the color and be happy.

It was the most splendid place. It was
his.
He had as many plants as he could possibly want, all different kinds, and the cage, and the dark animal furniture that was warm and old and just the sort of thing he liked. He threw himself on the bed and bounced, and sat up and looked at his aishid, who had come from admiring their rooms to admire his.

“Mani would like it,” he said, and his aishid agreed with him. “She would,” Antaro said.

And that the kabiu master who had arranged everything would have understood exactly what he wanted and made everything feel right, right down to the plants and the cage and all of it—that felt
good
, as if the man had understood how he saw things and respected him. That was what kabiu masters did. Mother’s and Father’s rooms
would fit them, and the white sitting room had to impress important people and make them sit still and be solemn, but this was a place for him to be comfortable and at home, and for him to think about things, and for him to imagine things, with the mythical beasts and the real ones and the ones from the human archive all mixed up. In real life, he enjoyed open places, with animals running around. He had enjoyed the ship, too, which was all bare and plastics, with, here and there, plants growing wall to wall, to help the air—and the most marvelous tunnels to get into, dark, cold, secret places.

And this place had a little of all of it. And, as on the ship, the lights would keep the plants growing, and, well, the servants would water them…