Intruder (35 page)

The rebuilding at Najida had gotten as far as the roof, which had to be the most urgent matter—getting the difficult part done before another torrential rain; and, Geigi relayed from Ramoso, Bren’s major d’ at Najida, the news that the architect would send plans based on Bren’s sketch of what he wanted.

“One will be very anxious to see them,” Bren said. He had engaged the best in the district, and had an Edi foreman in charge of the clean-up crew, men who knew carpentry and masonry and who would, one very much hoped, get the work advanced by fall—it was approaching the summer runs of fish, and the Edi were chafing to work on their own new building.

Once all the legislative agreements went forward to give the Edi their new status—please God they went forward—there would be frustrating days of no progress on Najida Estate, during the height of the fishing season, and days when everybody was engaged on the Edi’s own building, but that was as it had to be. As it should be. He was absolutely determined to hire local folk, even if they had to have the roof of Najida estate under plastic sheeting until fall. It was a district that needed the money.

“And I shall be back on the station for it all,” Geigi said, “but one would delight to see the plans and also have views of the work going forward, if only for my curiosity. One has come dangerously close to being attached to the land again. Alas, my orchard.”

“Your staff can surely recover it. And now they will have help from Targai, surely, Geigi-ji.”

“Some trees are doomed. But indeed, that is the agreement with the new lord.” A sip of juice and vodka. “And once my nephew’s wife is pregnant,
she
will take residency there. Sidi-ji assures me she is a plain and practical young woman who understands rural districts very well, and who loves an orchard.”

The girl in question was the one Ilisidi had just married to Geigi’s fool of a nephew. Baiji would not set foot in the west again, but she, an Easterner, would produce a Maschi-clan heir to replace Baiji, and until the heir reached his or her majority, she would rule over Kajiminda district. Geigi might have been lord of Maschi clan himself, had he wanted the post; but he had appointed a subclan house-head to take that honor and had permanently relinquished his own residence at Kajiminda, breaking all ties with the earth. It was not something he had done lightly.

“One certainly hopes you will not utterly abandon the district, however,” Bren said. “One is certain the young lady is an excellent person, and one will be neighborly, but I shall miss you beyond measure, Geigi-ji! Know that you are always welcome under any roof I manage.”

“And you, wherever I am,” Geigi said. “I look to you, Bren-ji, to guide this girl and my heir, as a good neighbor. I have the greatest confidence in you. And should they misbehave in any fashion, I rely on you to tell me without hesitation!”

“So I shall, Geigi-ji. I shall keep a close eye on the situation, for their welfare, and I shall not, again, leave Najida unwatched.”

“Nor that eastern border,” Geigi said, meaning the border with the Taisigin Marid and the Senjin Marid. “One is greatly encouraged by your reports from Tanaja. But one begs you not to take personal chances.”

“One has every intention of being careful,” Bren said, “but between us, Geigi-ji, and with all due reservations regarding the district history, I have a certain sense, be it only a human one, that we have in Machigi—a very tangled relationship, but a workable one. I have a document from him, which he asked me to show to select individuals at my discretion. You are one I would include. In that very small circle, besides you, are Ilisidi, Tabini-aiji, and my aishid. It confesses to some things; it denies others. One of these things he mentions is extremely delicate, and one hesitates even to name it, but having that clear before tonight’s meeting…”

“Regarding my sister’s death?” The look from Geigi was suddenly flat, stark, direct.

“Regarding that, yes.”

“Tell me, Bren-ji. I shall not budge from our plan, no matter what you tell me. But be direct.”

“In essence, Machigi has not publicly attempted to claim innocence of her murder. He is a stiff, unyielding sort and has never, in fact, denied any charge against him. In this letter, however, he claims two things: first that the entire letter in which he contains his statement is a mix of truth and untruth, and second that he was courting your sister in hopes of gaining some favor with you should you attack Murini and claim the aijinate. That his enemies were the agents of the poisoning, and it was not his planning nor his wish.”

The stare continued flat, protected, emotionless for a long while. Then Geigi nodded slowly. “Credible,” he said in that same chill voice. “But you say, Bren-ji, that he was playing games with this letter. I shall be patient for the sake of the aishidi’tat, for the sake of lives at risk. But he will not do well to play word games with me.”

“It is his manner, I fear. It is a risky, self-destructive mode of address engendered, possibly, by pride. There is a possibility of truth in his claim.”

“There is also the possibility that the first circumstance is true and that, at her refusal of his suit, he killed her.”

“I have had very limited experience of his manner, Geigi-ji, but in several intense discussions with him, I have detected a high-mindedness—I can only call it high-mindedness. Pride that does not accord well with such an act. But I have also detected an arrogance that equally well supports a deception. I cannot judge. I am compelled to leave it to atevi judgment—or proof. I am extremely uncomfortable having even to mention it. But I would not have you put in a position of supporting this agreement without knowledge of that letter. And therefore I must warn you. I offer it, if you will wish to read it.”

There was a lengthy silence, and Geigi composed his face to absolute calm.

“I shall read it,” Geigi said, then.

Bren reached into his inner coat pocket and carefully withdrew a copy of the document; leaned forward and laid it on the little table at Geigi’s elbow, beside his glass.

Geigi took the paper and opened it, and in a lengthy silence, read it. A muscle jumped in his jaw at a certain point, and ceased. And at last he folded the letter. “Am I to have this copy?” he asked. “I would like to have it.”

“As you wish,” Bren said. “Please do.”

Geigi carefully put it into his own coat pocket, then said: “As you say, Bren-ji, he is arrogant. But the logic he presents is reasonable. The circumstances are reasonable. Kajiminda was undefended. My sister had no protection but the Edi. And they were leaving. I do see the man you describe in this letter.”

“I am bewildered by him, quite frankly, Geigi-ji. And this also I will say: The Guild entrenchment in his district is thorough and getting deeper. The Guild has its own motive in this action, promoting him as lord of the Taisigi. More I cannot say. But be advised. I think he is quite pent in.”

“Then I understand more of this letter,” Geigi said on a deep breath. “One appreciates the extreme delicacy of the task Sidi-ji set you. One has appreciated that much from the outset. And I shall examine that small possibility that he is too arrogant to plead his case with me, an enemy. I shall hold onto that possibility very carefully, with tongs.”

“One wishes one had answers.”

Geigi touched his chest, where the letter now resided. “It deserves several readings, the final one in the remoteness of the station, in the perspective of great, cold distance from local affairs. The earth brings me memories, not all of which are as pleasant as I have regarding my nearest and favorite neighbor. My sister was unwise in most choices, and my nephew will live and die a fool. Rest assured, Bren-ji, I greatly appreciate your frankness
in this matter of her relations with Machigi. And from believing that Machigi killed my sister for his simple convenience to suspecting he killed her as a danger to him brings him a small step upward in my regard, but to sympathize with him as too proud to plead his utter innocence, well, I shall assess his qualities when I meet him. The agreement with the lord of the Marid stands to benefit everyone, while opposing it would benefit my enemies in two other districts of the Marid. So. I thank you, Bren-ji, for giving this to me in advance. You have never disappointed me in your sensitivity and your perception. And if you believe Machigi—there is hope he is telling the truth.”

“Geigi-ji.” He gave a deep bow of his head.

“Shall we not go to Sidi-ji’s dinner now? One understands Lord Tatiseigi will be present. I have now gathered up my resolve, I have fortified myself with good drink, I shall have the company of yourself and Sidi-ji, and I have nerved myself to remain absolutely serene this evening, knowing I have your household ready to soothe my nerves once this is done.”

Ilisidi’s formal table was, as always, traditional and elaborate, with service both wooden and silver, china and bone ivory, on a plain table runner itself at least a century old, not to mention the plates and glassware. A considerately low centerpiece of stones and Malguri spring flowers ran down the center, and the service was set for five…the fifth conspicuously lacking the wine glass, so Bren would have guessed had not young Cajeiri just turned up, fortunate fifth, without his parents, exceedingly happy to see Lord Geigi and him, bright and full of questions—was Lord Geigi here to take the shuttle? And brimming with declarations and announcements: he was very grateful to Lord Geigi for conveying a message and for interceding with his father, and his father was going to invite his associates on the station for his birthday, and he was looking forward to it and
only wished Lord Geigi could come, too, and nand’ Bren
had
to come, and could they use his boat?

That came mostly in one breath. Cajeiri was very happy, and one was, frankly, astonished that Tabini had permitted the visit from space without consulting his human advisor.

Or maybe he
had
consulted.

Yolanda, up on the station, had been Tabini’s contact for the two years while the paidhi-aiji had been absent from the scene; and while one tended to forget Yolanda, who truly did not enjoy being on the planet and no longer exercised her office, she was a good one to consult on the temper of human relations aloft, a good, studious paidhi with about as much soul as Wilson, in Bren’s estimate.

One hoped to God she got it right.

Or was that…just a little professional jealousy?

Damn, he tried to be better than that. He was thinking so when the final guest arrived, with his bodyguard. Lord Tatiseigi—speaking of jealousy—came to sit in the same room as his grandnephew and his chief annoyance when it came to philosophy, political affiliation, and Ilisidi’s
and
Cajieiri’s favor: Geigi.

“Nandi.” Bren gave the little duck of the head courtesy demanded. Then two voices at once, one lighter than the rest and full of enthusiasm, the rascal:

“Great-uncle! One is so glad!”

“Well, well. A pleasant surprise, Grandnephew!”

The kid was acquiring the sly skills of a diplomat: happily diverting off a topic with Geigi that would send great-uncle into an apoplexy, to a cheery, apparently sincere how-do-you-do that elicited an astonished reciprocation out of Tatiseigi. Eight, and going on nine, for God’s sake, and absorbing his grandmother’s tactics like a sponge.

They were all seated—or almost seated—Tatiseigi the last, being a little stiff in the joints, as Cenedi and Nawari came in, preceding
Ilisidi herself, so it was back up to their feet to give a courteous bow to their hostess, who arrived in splendid black lace with small ruby accents, and who bowed slightly in her turn, offering a serene smile and her ordinary manner. Her cane went to Cenedi, who set it against the buffet—she often kept it, but she exuded relaxation and good cheer tonight.

So they were all together, finally, in about as secure a place as existed in the Bujavid. And he was particularly glad to have Ilisidi safely back within Bujavid upper stories, where she was far safer than off in the East dealing with the neighbors.

They were five at table, a felicitous number, though containing a chancy two—and one knew exactly which were the Infelicitous Twosome: Tatiseigi and Geigi. One flattered oneself that the paidhi-aiji with the aiji’s son and the aiji-dowager posed the felicity in the arrangement, and thank God and thank Cajeiri’s clever start to the conversation, everybody was on good behavior all the way through dinner. In the course of dinner conversation, Lord Geigi avowed himself completely cheerful at the prospect of seeing his on-planet business neatly handled so he could go back to the station, and Lord Tatiseigi was rather caught up in hearing from Ilisidi the details of Baiji’s wedding—somewhat inconsiderate, had Geigi chosen to be take offense at having the scandal in Lord Geigi’s house aired, but Geigi remained in good humor and asked details himself, what his nephew had worn, and how Baiji, no great scholar, had gotten through his pledges without stumbling.

And both gentlemen quite enthusiastically, genealogy being a particular interest of Lord Tatiseigi, heard Ilisidi’s reckoning of the lineages and ancient associations involved in the marriage she had arranged.

“It is a
very
felicitous match, and you must understand, Tati-ji,” Ilisidi said, paying the old man personal attention—if she were human she would have patted him confidentially on the hand. She was not, and she simply nodded in his direction. “We have married that scoundrel Baiji to a lady of great good sense, not
to mention her antecedents; the ancient connection of Lord Drusi with your own third-great-uncle, Tati-ji, might be argued to connect Atageini relatives as well. One has not forgotten nand’ Drusi’s Eastern wife, out of which the current lordship of the Atageini rises.”

“Now that is the most tenuous of connections!” Lord Tatiseigi said, and went on to trace exactly how the relationship ran, while Geigi added his own remote ancestry.

Cajeiri listened remarkably politely, though with his eyes occasionally glazing over, and a mere human attempted to connect the dots in a set of political and genetic relationships running back fifteen hundred years—long before humans had exited their own motherworld…