Inheritor (17 page)

Right now, a thorn in Tatiseigi's flesh, Tatiseigi's ancestral apartment in the Bu-javid was tainted by unwanted humans, his niece was, to all public perception defying him in bedding down with Tabini — and last year some excessive fool in attempting to state opposition to humans
or
to embarrass the Atageini had sprayed bullets across the breakfast room and taken out a frieze of elegant porcelain lilies…

Lilies which even now were being restored, angrily, defiantly, by Atageini-hired workmen: the breakfast room secured off from the rest of the apartment by a steel wall installed with screw-bolts, a barrier that let those workmen come and go without compromising the aiji's security.

The lilies had been broken by someone who'd authorized an attack on the paidhi.

By someone, he was relatively sure, who'd had no idea what he was shooting at, someone blindly bent on shooting up premises which held a human, and possibly bent on compelling an Atageini break with Tabini.

It was an unthinkable botch-up of a job if some Atageini had done it, because those bullets were not just sprayed into
an
apartment favored by the Atageini, they'd been sent into an apartment filled with priceless Atageini art treasures, and had hit the lilies which were the
symbol
of the Atageini.

The fact was public. The shame was public. And no Atageini would have been so stupid. Tabini wouldn't have done it — he had Damiri already and nothing to gain No, an Atageini ally had done it — someone either wanting to push Tatiseigi into action or (the whisper was) chastise him for inaction in the matter of human influence.

But the result had embarrassed him instead of angering him.

One
hell
of a dangerous situation was what was left. Either Saigimi had attacked the lilies — or Direiso had, the two likeliest suspects.

And if Saigimi had, and was dead, Tabini had removed a man Tatiseigi now could not get vengeance from. Now, in the aftermath of Saigimi's assassination, Direiso would have to move against Tabini soon — or die next.

That left the highly embarrassed Tatiseigi with no vengeance available, standing eyeball to eyeball with Direiso, who herself wanted to be aiji of Shejidan at the expense of Damiri, who could weld the Atageini onto Tabini's line and unite
two
Padi Valley lines in a way that might alter the hitherto several-way contest in the Padi Valley forever.

Damn, a man could get a headache, but he was beginning to see through this set of moves of Tabini's. Diminish
all
other prospects: it was Direiso that the Saigimi affair was setting up for a fatal fall, and if Tabini could only recover Tatiseigi's dignity in such a grand gesture as Tabini had made to salvage lord Geigi's finances, then Tabini had the man and a
very
valuable alliance with the Atageini in his pocket and the potential mother of his heir with her man'chi secure and solid as a rock.

"Are we secure here?" he asked his security, with a notion how very, very much was at stake in the apartment he was occupying. "I mean — staying here. Under the circumstances."

"One simply watches. Say only that you're as safe as the aiji himself."

Ironic double meaning. If lady Damiri betrayed Tabini at this juncture — or if the Tatiseigi matter blew up into violence — they were in real trouble.

If
Tabini's grandmother Ilisidi didn't take over. Which Ilisidi might do —
longed
to do, at least, by some reports. God — one
wouldn't
suppose
she'd
blasted the lilies?

She
was
an Atageini ally. And a major power among the Eastern lords around Malguri. It was why Tabini's grandfather had married her: to hold the East in the Association.

On the other hand — he was running out of hands — considering grandmother — Ilisidi — you couldn't say she was disposed unfavorably to the paidhi or to humans. If she hadn't wintered at Taiben, in the open land she preferred, he himself would have passed no little of his scarce free time this winter in Ilisidi's company.

He
liked
Ilisidi. As he
liked
Geigi. Human judgment. Which wasn't, dammit, automatically invalid. No… Ilisidi would not destroy the lilies, the way Ilisidi wouldn't destroy what was historic, and beautiful. He could never believe such a gross act of her. It was a human judgment, but it
was
accurate.

"Nadiin," he said, head aching from all this circular thinking, "one has to get to bed, nadiin-ji. I've a meeting with Tabini after breakfast. You're not obliged to be up at that hour — -I'm sure Tano or Algini can manage and you can sleep late."

"This house sets a memorable breakfast," Banichi said. "Jago may be unconscious and immoveable when the sun rises, but I at least intend to be there."

"Those who didn't spend the night on a roof in a rainshower may be drawn out for breakfast," Jago said. "I may be there, nadi Bren. I may not."

"It's so good to see you two." He rose, took the decanter and poured Banichi another helping, and one for Jago.

"You will corrupt us, nadi," Banichi said.

"Take it, take it. People who do and who don't spend the night on a roof are alike due some comforts when they reach a safe place, aren't they?"

"One is willing to be corrupted," Jago said, lifting her glass. "At least tonight, Bren-ji."

So the two of them went out with refilled glasses and, he was sure, headed to the two bedrooms that had been waiting half a year for them, next door to Jase's.

It had been a long day, Bren thought as he stripped off clothes and prepared for bed. A fine day, a disastrous day — a good day again, in finding Banichi and Jago.

Not a good day for the lord Saigimi. He
could
feel sorry for everyone in Saigimi's man'chi. He watched the machimi plays on television, in professional curiosity, as paidhiin had watched for years, trying to decipher the codes of atevi behavior. The Saigimi mess was absolutely high classic — the unknown loyalties, man'chi shifting unpredictably even for those most intimately involved with the dead lord.

There was even a chance that Cosadi, the daughter, wasn't sure where her man'chi rested from hour to hour, self-doubt which was real emotional upheaval, as he began to perceive it, a fundamental uncertainty for the young woman as to which elements in her blood, to use a human expression, were going to pull her which direction, and whether she'd survive the shake-out as the same uncertainty resolved itself for a dozen characters at once.

A new lord, probably Ajresi, meanwhile took control, driving out the Samiusi-clan wife, Tiburi,
Geigi's
relative, along with Cosadi, to a household (Direiso's) involved to the hilt in the dead lord's conspiracy against the aiji.

Classic machimi, indeed. He'd been fascinated by the color, the banners, the movement of troops, the texture of ancient atevi fortresses.

He was acquainted with one such fortress, at Mal-guri, on an intimate basis, right down to the classic bathroom plumbing. He'd told himself that as a human he had no business there.

And still he loved the place, and the
feel
of the windy height and the age of the stones tugged at something ancestral in him. He'd come to grips with what was essentially atevi there. He'd learned lessons he, whose business was words, couldn't put in words; he'd seen things that sent a lump into his throat and a quickness into his pulse.

Ilisidi had shown him.

Proving, perhaps, that human instincts and atevi man'chi did have something in common, before they diverged and became what they were in the higher branches of evolution.

Or just that — their species both came from planets. Something in both species loved the earth, the stones, the touch of what was alive.

Off went the shirt. It slid from his fingers before he had a chance to turn and deliver it to the servants.

Atageini servants. Who were, one sincerely hoped, loyal to lady Damiri next door, and not to uncle Tatiseigi.

Machimi.

Whose man'chi came first? Which man'chi had become clear to the servants, when they met their human guest — or dealt with Jase, who was having trouble with the earth and dirt and stone aspect of things, and who really, now in a family tragedy, had a profound justification for his winter-long distress.

He'd long since gotten beyond embarrassment in this lady's household, about this servantly insistence a man couldn't undress himself or deal with his own laundry. Tano had been stand-in for the staff during the last number of days, Tano and he taking the opportunity to exchange information in that little space of privacy: what they'd done for the day, what they expected on the morrow. And he'd felt more comfortable in that arrangement, and closer to Tano than he'd ever otherwise been.

But they were definitely back in Shejidan, and Tano was no longer accessible. Give or take the one nightcap too many, he found his nerves still buzzing with the information he'd gotten, buzzing so he wasn't sure he'd sleep easily at all.

Still, bed was calling to him with a promise of satin sheets and soft pillows. The television was over in the corner, his panacea for sleeplessness on the road, and a concession, in this antique bedroom, to the paidhi's necessity to keep up with the news; and occasionally just to have entertainment or noise to fill the silence.

But he had his
staff
back with him. He had Banichi and Jago. He had them again.

It was Sasi into whose hands he shed the clothes: she was an older servant with, Sasi had informed him proudly, along with the requisite photos, four grandchildren.

An apostate, far-from-his-culture human chose to believe that made Sasi absolutely professional at seeing people into bed and tucked in, and that she was a decent and sobering influence on the two young maids who stood by and offered and received the exchange of garments, the lounging robe for the sleeping robe, in which one didn't ordinarily sleep, but there it was, nonetheless, the requisite robe. One just did wear appropriate garments, that was the explanation, even if said robe was immediately, fifteen paces away, to be taken off to go to bed.

It was polite. It was expected. It was what was done. The paidhi had rank in the court, therefore the paidhi's closet overflowed with appropriate garments which were the pride and the care of his staff on display.

And the paidhi couldn't, God, no, dress or undress himself, without showing lack of confidence in his Atageini staff.

The paidhi
had
gotten the message of the staff over the last year of his life, and had ceased to frustrate the servants in their zeal to please him.

"How
are
the repairs?" he asked as Sasi applied a cursory brush to his hair, towering over him the while. The faint aroma of paint and new plaster had been constant. But it seemed fainter this evening. "Nadi Sasi? One heard the painting might be over."

"All the work is most nearly complete, nand' paidhi. The tiles are all in place, so we hear. The painters have been at work almost constantly, and now they seem finished."

And the young servant by the door: "The artisans think — perhaps in a day, nand' paidhi. So nand' Saidin says."

"I believe, nand' paidhi," Sasi said, "that they have told the lady so."

Damiri, in other words. The crews that had been scraping and pounding away down the hall were Atageini workmen, or at least workmen intensely scrutinized by the Atageini lord.

In the thoughts of a few moments ago, one worried.

"Nadi." One maid produced a scroll from his robe's pocket, and offered it to Sasi, who gave it to him.

Toby's telegram. Damn. He hadn't gotten to answering it.

But he couldn't do anything about answering it, or about his mother's condition. She had medical care. He couldn't help. When they talked on the phone, she grew upset and got onto topics that upset her, like his job, her getting hate calls. It was better he didn't call.

He laid the scroll on the night table. Then he took off the satin robe and surrendered it to Sasi before he lay down on the sheets of the historic Atageini bed — in which an Atageini had been murdered, oh, some centuries ago, under a coverlet which was a duplicate of that coverlet.

As the lilies down the hall would be exact duplicates of the lilies destroyed by whatever agency.

The Atageini were stubborn about their decor. Their power. Their autonomy. The hospitality shown their guests.

Damiri had had resources to check out the workmen. He'd told himself so for months. That special steel expansion barrier, an ingenious affair with screw-braces that extended and bolted with lock bolts in all directions, had occasioned a fuss over the woodwork; but the security barrier had gone in; and that meant workmen and artisans had to come and go by a scaffolding let down from the roof, under the supervision of Tabini's guards. So the nearby residents had sealed
their
windows with similar precautions.

"Shall I leave the windows open, nand' paidhi? Or open the vents?"

"I think just the vents, thank you, Sasi-ji." He trusted no one was going to make a foray into the apartments from the construction. But the scraping and hammering and the smell of paint and plaster had gone on all winter; and now that it was spring, when neighboring apartments as well as his own had the desire to take advantage of their lofty estate well above the city and the general safety that let these apartments open their windows to the breezes, it had certainly put a matter of haste into the repair job — a need to get the smelly part done, before, as Tabini said, someone declared feud on the Atageini over the repairs.

They were nearing an end of that situation, as it seemed — an end of bumps and thumps that made the guards get up in haste and go investigate, and an end of a major eyesore in the apartment. 'A few more days' had gotten to be the household joke, long predating 'rain clouds,' but it did sound encouraging.

So they were going to be rid of the barrier, the workmen, the casting and solvent smells wafting in through the balcony windows, and he would have back a room of exquisite beauty, which happened to be
his
favorite place in the apartments, whether for study or breakfast or just sitting and relaxing.