Intruder (47 page)

Boji, exhausted, had had his egg and curled into a furry knot on his perch. Boji was the only one who had had supper.

And Cajeiri was hungry, but he had no appetite. He supposed everybody was in the same state. His bodyguard were all sitting at the little table, Antaro and Jegari playing chess and Lucasi and Veijico giving advice to them. But he was sure they were all listening for what they could learn.

It grew quiet. It stayed quiet for a while. He looked at the clock on the shelf, and he was sure mani and nand’ Bren and everybody had gone down to the signing by now, so he was really all alone up here, whatever happened.

And it still was not good, outside. He was sure it was not. Hardly anybody was stirring, just occasionally a servant going past on some errand, but very, very seldom. When staff got quiet, things were bad.

Once he had heard his mother’s voice. And not since. At least he had not heard his father shouting.

All the rules could change. He could be sent here or there, or forbidden this and that, because everybody in the world had a theory on how he ought to be brought up.

At least Grandfather had not shown up in the middle of everything, and that was good. He told himself he just had to be quiet
while his father settled things, if they could be settled, and if he had a punishment, he could hope it was just a talk, and maybe a sort of an apology to his mother. He could do that. He was sorry to have upset her, and he was sorry about the baby things.

He was thinking that when Lucasi said, suddenly, pressing a finger to his ear: “Nandi, we are back in link again. Your mother’s staff is dismissed from the Bujavid. They are being sent back to Ajuri. Tonight. This instant. They will leave from the servants’ quarters. They are not being allowed back on this floor.”

His heart began to beat very fast. He hardly knew what to think.

“And my mother?”

“There is no word, nandi.”

He nodded and sat there a moment, not knowing what to do with himself, or what he had touched off, or what he even felt, if it turned out his mother was moving out.

Maybe his father had ordered her to go home, with the new baby about to be born and all. He was not sure what he thought about his sister being born in Ajuri. He was not sure he wanted that.

But it would mean Ajuri would have a Ragi in their midst, and not the other way around.

He had not wanted a sister.

But now that there was a strong likelihood of never seeing what she turned out to be for years and years, and having her grow up Ajuri instead of Ragi, he was more than a little upset about that.

And he decided he was upset about his mother going away, if that was what was going to happen. He wished he could make everything be all right, just not with Grandfather. But he began to think maybe even his father could not do that.

“We have a second communication from security,” Lucasi said. “Your
mother and your father are in the sitting room. They request you come there.”

He had no choice. Whatever would happen—he was not in control of it.

“I shall go,” he said. “All of you…stay here.” That was ordinary, for them not to witness when his father was reprimanding him—and he thought that was probably to the good.

T
he room acquired a few more committee heads, Ilisidi’s frequent allies, and an uncommon smattering of the Conservative Caucus—among the first of whom was Lord Tatiseigi, resplendent in the white and pale green of the Atageini, with an impressive emerald pin nestled amid a very great quantity of lace, and with emeralds and tourmaline in every shade on his black fingers—it was an amazing show.

He made an impression with his entry; and he went from person to person of the Conservative Caucus, doing his political best.

He came then to stand where the principals were gathering, near the tables where staff set out pens and inkstands, and waxjacks, gleaming brass, were ready to be lit. A writing stand was set up with lesser seals, pens and inkstands, a vast stack of special cards for the attendees, and ribbons of the requisite colors.

Light conversation went on. And Algini said, quietly, at Bren’s elbow,

“Nandi, Machigi has arrived at the Bujavid train station.”

Not that much longer, then.

Father’s bodyguard was present. Mother’s was not. They were both calm and formal, at opposite ends of the couch. Cajeiri sat on a small decorative chair sipping his tea. There had been teacakes offered but he had accepted none, nor did they. He was starved to the point of shakiness, and yet he had no appetite, which was an unusual and upsetting feeling.

“Have you had supper, young gentleman?” his father asked. Meaning, perhaps, had he stored food in his room, which he was not supposed to do.

“No, honored Father. None of us have had.”

His father had a muscle tight in his jaw; it was not quite jumping, as it would do from time to time when he was extremely angry, but it was tight. His mother did not quite look up, and Cajeiri did not, either, not wanting to be glared at by either of them.

The servant offered another cup of tea. Cajeiri’s stomach was already upset with the first. “No,” he said, “thank you, nadi.”

His father set his teacup aside, then. His mother did, very quietly and almost untasted, on the small side table on her side.

“Have you anything to say, young gentleman?” his father asked.

He was calm. Numb. He said, quietly, “One very much regrets, honored Father, honored Mother. It was an accident. We attempted to get Boji back.”

His father asked: “What, in your briefest account, happened?”

He took a breath, took a firm grip on the chair arms and gave a polite, time-consuming nod while he was thinking where to start—mani always said, the courtesies were a good way to stall and think. “Honored father, honored Mother,” he began, “I was feeding Boji when Metiso-nadi opened my door. Boji was scared: he broke free and headed up. Metiso-nadi kept the door open. We shouted at her to close the door, but she didn’t, and he went out right past her.”

His father said. “You had given particular instructions to limit the servants coming to your suite.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You so instructed Eisi that he and his cousin should be the only persons to come into your suite for any reason.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I shall stay out of this,” his father said, settling back and folding his arms. “Talk to your mother.”

“Yes, Father,” he said, with a lump in his throat.

“Understand,” his mother said, “that I did not instruct Metiso to enter your room.”

“One is very sorry for what happened, honored Mother.”

“Let me explain, son of mine. My father, your grandfather, has been told he will now not have dinner here, tonight.”

“I am very sorry for that, honored Mother!”

“Listen to me. Hear me. As of this hour, my major domo, Lady Adsi, who has been with me since I was born, and all my servants, and my bodyguard, are all sent back to Ajuri.”

“Honored Mother!”

“One has had to make a choice,” his mother said with icy calm. “My servant heard that there was something going on in your apartment and was attempting to gather information, coming into an area not assigned to her. It seems superfluous to point out that you are not a foreign enemy and I have no need to spy on my son.”

His heart was beating very fast. He knew sarcasm. He knew mani’s kind of expression. And a boy was smarter not to say a thing.

“Your father’s security has checked the phone records between my household and Ajuri. Metiso-nadi’s calls have been frequent and direct to her male cousin, on my father’s personal staff. She does not call her mother nearly so frequently. More, she has continually gotten phone access, which is under Lady Adsi’s supervision—and my bodyguard, which my father sent this year, has said
nothing
.”

He hardly knew what to say.

“I have, at this point, the choice,” she said, “between Ajuri and marriage to your father.”

Words stuck in his throat. He looked at his father, at her lastly.

“So I ask, son of mine, your sentiment in the matter. Answer me. Is your man’chi to your great-grandmother or to your father?”

That was a scary question. A very scary question. When it got that scary, the truth was sometimes the best way. “One has never seen a difference, honored Mother.”

“And have you,” his mother asked, “man’chi at all to me, son of mine?”

“Of course I do!”

“And to your grandfather?”

He was caught with his mouth open. He hesitated. And it was too late.

“No, honored Mother. I am sorry.”

“And if I were not sitting here, would you have claimed it to me?”

“You
are
my mother! One does not want to lose you!”

“And if put to a choice between your great-grandmother’s instructions and mine, which would you obey?”

He drew a deep breath, and told the truth. “Wherever I would be,” he said. “Either one of you—I have to obey, honored Mother!”

There was a lengthy silence, with his mother looking straight at him in a degree of upset he had never seen her show.

“You would have launched your guard at mine…to protect an animal.”

“To protect us, honored Mother. To protect
us.”
He said it accusingly, to have her understand. “You
frightened
us.”

“You felt something in that room. In my staff.” She shook her head. “Son of mine, we have wondered if you pick up certain signals…brought up as you were, with humans.”

“There is nothing wrong with humans!”

“One understands nand’ Bren is your particular associate. And you have gained permission for your young associates to visit.”

“Yes, honored Mother.”

“And you prefer your great-grandmother’s household to me. What am I to think?”

He hardly knew what to say. “Great-grandmother is—” he began. “I
was with her. I have been with her all my life. I
want
to be respectful toward you, honored Mother. I am not a bad son. Great-grandmother never thinks I am a bad great-grandson.”

His mother said nothing to that, for a long, long moment. “I have never called you a bad son.”

“But you think it. You think I meant to ruin the nursery! You think I would harm my sister!”

“I believe you,” his mother said. “I have been worried. I have been listening, perhaps, to servants who have not offered the best advice.” His mother’s face looked very sad, very tired. “I never wanted to give you up.”

“I was too little to have any choice, honored Mother. But one still wants to understand my Ajuri side! And my Atageini side.”

“Your great-uncle,” his mother said with a sigh and a shake of her head. “And your grandfather.”

“Your grandfather
,”
his father said, suddenly, “is ambitious. One could forgive that. But one cannot forgive other activities.”

“One cannot forgive,” his mother said sadly, “his spying on my son. And on me. I shall miss my staff. I shall be quite alone here. I wish my son might understand that.”

“I am here,” Cajeiri was moved to say. “I do not mind being here. But—”

No, it was probably not the most auspicious time to argue about Boji. With luck, his mother would just let the matter fall.

“You have had a large life,” his mother said, “and this is a small apartment.”

“Yet I am happy in it.”

“You want that creature,” his mother said. “Will you keep him in your suite?”

“Beyond any doubt, honored Mother! I shall be very happy to keep him in, and train him, so he can be safe with my sister!”

“Do you
want
a sister?”

“One hopes to,” he said. “One hopes to be a good son, honored Mother. One truly does. And you will have a baby to take care of, and we will all be especially good, honored Mother.”

“I have no lady servant now,” his mother said, suddenly upset. “I have no lady servant.”

“We will mend that,” his father said. “We will mend that tomorrow. One promises.”

She leaned forward, hands clasped on her knees. “Son of mine, shall I stay married to your father? Or not?”

“You have to! My father relies on you! And neither of you should be alone!”

“You constantly tell me how your great-grandmother does things. You consider her advice ahead of mine.”

“I have lived with you very little, honored Mother, but I think you are very smart, or my father would not listen to you. And he does. So I should.”

His mother looked at him without saying anything, seeming upset. Or not. He was not sure. “You are assuredly her handiwork,” his mother said with a shake of her head, “and your father’s. What a pair you are!”

“Yet—she should stay, should she not, honored Father?”

“We have told her so,” his father said. “And I have agreed your sister and you will take separate paths. Your sister will
not
be turned over to your great-grandmother. She will be completely in your mother’s charge, so do not campaign for her to go to your great-grandmother.”

“If you will defend your little sister,” his mother said, “we would be grateful. And we hope you will not instruct her in how to slip past security until she is at least felicitous thirteen.”

His face went hot, but he knew when he was subtly being reprimanded, and laughed at, however gently.

“Yes,” he said. And could not help adding: “But she will be my sister, honored Mother, and one is quite sure she will be clever. Just I shall always be ahead of her.”

His mother smiled gently. “Then be sure to keep ahead of her, son of mine. And keep her safe.”

“You have not had supper, have you?” his father asked, gently.

“No,” he said. “Nor my staff.”

“Nor your mother nor I. Come.” His father stood up.

And his mother held out her hand, as if he had been a tiny child. He took it the way he took mani’s when she dispensed with her cane, and wrapped his arm around hers, with her hand atop.

So his father muttered to Jaidiri that they should have supper and let everyone out of his son’s apartment.

And nobody had ordered Boji sent back to the market or told him he could not have his birthday party.