Djinana left on that errand. He poured himself another cup of tea. He had to answer the summons, one way or the other. The thought unworthily crossed his mind that the aiji-dowager might indeed have waited until Banichi and Jago were otherwise occupied, although what might legitimately have drawn the whole damned staff to the airport when Tabini had saidhe was in their charge, he didn’t know. He carefully rolled up the little scroll, shoved it into the case, and capped it. And waited until Djinana came back, and bowed, with a worried look. “Nadi, I don’t know—”
“—where Algini is,” he said.
“I’m sorry, nand’ paidhi. I truly don’t know what to say. I can’t imagine. I’ve made inquiries in the kitchen and with nand’ Cenedi—”
“Is he still waiting?”
“Yes, nand’ paidhi, I’ve told him—you wished to consult protocols.”
Tell Cenedi he was indisposed? That might save him—if the dowager wasn’t getting her own reports from the staff.
Which he couldn’t at all guarantee.
“Nadi Djinana. If your mother had a gun, and your mother threatened me—whose side would you take?”
“I—assure you, nadi, my mother would never…”
“You’re not security. I don’t come under your man’chi.”
“No, nadi. I work for the Preservation Commission. I’m a caretaker. Of the estate, you understand.”
If there was one ateva in the world telling him the truth, he believed it by that one moment of absolute shock in Djinana’s eyes, that minute, dismayed hesitation.
He hadn’t phrased it quite right, of course, not, at least, inescapably. Banichi would have said, You’re within my duty, nand’ paidhi. And that could have meant anything.
But, caretaker of Malguri? One knew where Djinana stood. Firmly againstthe hanging of schedule boards and the importation of extension cords and the sticking of nails in Malguri’s walls. He knew that—but he didn’t know even that much about Banichi at the present moment. Certainly Banichi hadn’t been wholly forthcoming with him, either that, or Banichi had been damned lax—which wasn’t Banichi’s style as he knew it.
Unless something truly catastrophic had happened. Something like an attempt on Tabini himself.
That surmise upset his stomach.
Which, dammit, he didn’t need to happen to him when he had just gotten his stomach used to food again. No, Tabini wasn’t in danger. Tabini had far better security than he did; Tabini had the whole damned City to look out for him, while hisstaff was down at the airport, leaving himto Cenedi, who could walk in here and blow him and Djinana to small bits, if Cenedi were so inclined to disregard biichi-jiand stain the historic carpets.
“Appropriate paper and pen.”
“With your own scroll-case, nadi?”
“The paidhi doesn’t know where his staff put it. They don’t let him in on such matters. Try some appropriate drawer. If you don’t find it, it can go bare.—And if Banichi isn’t back by tomorrow morning, you’llgo with me.”
“I—” Djinana began a protest. And made a bow, instead. “I have some small skill at protocols. I’ll look for the scroll-case. Or provide one from the estate. Would the paidhi wish advice in phrasing?”
“Djinana, tell me. AmI frightening? AmI so foreign? WouldI give children bad dreams?”
“I—” Djinana looked twice distressed.
“Do I disturb you, nadi? I wouldn’t want to. I think you’re an honest man. And I’ve met so few.”
“I wish the paidhi every good thing.”
“You areskilled in protocol. Do you think you can get me there and back tomorrow unpoisoned?”
“Please, nand’ paidhi. I’m not qualified—”
“But you’re honest. You’re a good man. You’d defend your mother before you’d defend me. As a human, I find that very honest. You owe your mother more than you do me. As I owe mine, thank you. And in that particular, you could be human, nadi, which I don’t personally consider an outrageous thing to be.”
Djinana regarded him with a troubled frown. “I truly don’t understand your figure of speech, nadi.”
“Between Malguri, and your mother, nadi—if it were the ruin of one or the other— whichwould you choose?”
“That of my mother, nadi. My man’chiis with this place.”
“For Malguri’s reputation—would you die, nadi-ji?”
“I’m not nadi-ji. Only nadi, nand’ paidhi.”
“Would you die, nadi-ji?”
“I would die for the stones of this place. So I would, nadi-ji. I couldn’t abandon it.”
“We also,” he said, in a strange and angry mood, “we human folk, understand antiquities. We understand preserving. We understand the importance of old stories. Everything we own and know—is in old stories. I wish we could give you everything we know, nadi, and I wish you could give us the same, and I wish we could travel to the moon together before we’re both too old.”
“To the moon!” Djinana said, with an anxious, uncertain laughter. “What would we do there?”
“Or to the old station. It’s your inheritance, nadi-ji. Itshould be.” The paidhi was vastly upset, he discovered, and saying things he ordinarily reserved for one man, for Tabini, things he dared not bring out in open council, because there were interests vested in suspicion of humans and of everything the paidhi did and said, as surely misguidance and deception of atevi interests.
So he told the truth to a caretaker-servant, instead.
And was angry at Banichi, who probably, justifiably, was angry with the paidhi. But the paidhi saw things slipping away from him, and atevi he’d trusted turning strange and distant and withholding answers from him at moments of crisis they might have foreseen.
He’d puzzled Djinana, that was certain. Djinana simply gathered up the dessert dish and, when he couldn’t find the scroll-case, brought him an antique one from the estate, and pen and paper and sealing-wax.
He wrote, in his best hand, Accepting the aiji-dowager’s most gracious invitation for breakfast at the first of the clock, the paidhi-aiji, Bren Cameron, with profound respect…
It was the form—laying it on, perhaps, but not by much. And he trusted that the dowager wouldn’t have hermail censored. He passed the text by Djinana’s doubtless impeccable protocol-sense, then sealed it with his seal-ring and dismissed him to give it to Cenedi, who was probably growing very annoyed with waiting.
After that, with Djinana handling those courtesies, he composed another letter, to Tabini.
I am uneasy, aiji-ma. I feel that there must be duties in the City which go wanting, as there were several matters pending. I hope that your staff will provide me necessary briefings, as I would be distressed to fall out of current with events. As you may know, Malguri is not computerized, and phone calls appear out of the question.
Please accept my warm regards for auspicious days and fortunate outcome. Baji-naji be both in your favor. The paidhi-aiji Bren Cameron with profound respect and devotion to the Association and to Tabini-aiji in the continuance of his office, the…
He had to stop and count up the date on his fingers, figuring he had lost a day. Or two. He became confused—decided it was only one, then wrote it down and sealed the letter with only a ribbon seal, but with the wax directly on the paper.
That one was for Banichi to take on his nexttrip to the airport, and, one presumed, to the post.
Then, in the case that one never made it, he wrote a copy.
Djinana came back through the room, reporting he’d delivered the scroll, and asking would the paidhi need the wax-jack further.
“I’ve a little correspondence to take care of,” he said to Djinana. “I’ll blow out the wick and read awhile after, thank you, nadi. I don’t think I’ll need anything. Is the dowager’s gentleman out?”
“The door is locked for the night, nand’ paidhi, yes.”