Depressing thought, trekking through the city to reach what would be, were he in his own apartment, a simple trip down in the lift. And a damned great problem to be living and trying to do research in the hotel, where security was a nightmare and spying was rife—all the minor lords being in residence for the session. The Bujavid housed the legislative chambers of the Western Association, the aishidi’tat; it housed the aiji’s audience hall, and the national archives. But it also, and year round, housed the most highly-placed lords of the aishidi’tat. A centuries-old hierarchy dictated who resided on what floor, in what historic apartment: the teacup Bren used casually, for instance, was ciabeti artwork, from the Padi Valley’s kilns, probably two hundred years old—not to mention the antiquity of the desk, the carpet, and the priceless porcelain on the shelf. Who held what apartment, with what appointment, from what date—all these things meant respect, in proportion to the antiquity of the premises and their connection with or origin from potent clans and associations of clans.

And the aiji’s translator, the jumped-up human who had used to occupy the equivalent of a court secretary’s post in the garden wing next to the aiji’s cook—the human who had risen to share the same floor as the aiji’s own apartment, in the depletion of an ancient house which had left it vacant—had now lostthat lordly apartment to the same coup that had temporarily ousted Tabini from the aijinate.

In the coup, Tabini’s own apartment had been shot up, his staff murdered, and Tabini currently endured a sort of exile in status grandmother’s apartment, while his own place underwent refurbishment and his staff underwent its own problems of recruitment and security checks.

But the apartment next door to the aiji’s proper apartment, the apartment which had briefly been the paidhi’s, was now, yes, occupied by the Farai, Southerners, no less, out of the Marid—the very district that had staged the coup and murdered Tabini’s staff.

And whyshould Tabini thus favor a Southern clan, by letting them remain there? The Farai were natives of the northern part of the Marid, the Saijin district, specifically Morigi-dar— they were part of a foursome of power in the South, and they claimed high credit for turning coat one more time, opening the doors of the Bujavid and (so they claimed) enabling the aiji to retake the capital—while the rest of the Marid, namely the Tasaigin and the Dojisigin and Dausigin districts of the Marid, currently teetered somewhere between loyalty and renewed rebellion.

If the Farai were telling the truth about a change of loyalty, they were owed some reward for it—and to put a gloss of legitimacy on their seizure of that precious apartment, they claimed inheritance from the Maladesi, the west coast clan that had once owned the apartment in question. It seemed the last living member of that defunct clan had married into the Farai’s adjunct clan, the Morigi. Tabini maintained the Maladesi lands had reverted; they claimed inheritance. It was at least a serious claim.

So their seizure of that apartment actually had some justification. Tabini’s tossing them out of it might make his own future north apartment wall more secure—having a Southern clan there was a huge security problemc but tossing the Farai out of it in favor of the human paidhi, after their very public switch to the aiji’s side, would be counted an insultc a very strong insultc that might damage the Farai’s status in the still unstable South. And whether or not the Farai were sincere in their switching allegiances, they werechallenging the Taisigi clan and seeking to rise in status in the South. Swatting the Farai down might help the Taisigi, who were notTabini’s allies in any sense.

So the paidhi had no wish to upset that delicate balance. And certainly no other clan wanted to be relocated from theirhistoric premises, the rights to which went back hundreds of years, to give the paidhi theirspace. They had their rights, the Bujavid had allotted all its upstairs room, and outside of booting out legislative offices in the public floors and starting a new scramble for available apartments below, there was nothing to be done for the paidhi.

All of which boiled down to an uncomfortable situation. They had a clan out of the Marid taking up residence next to Tabini, where it wasn’t wantedc and for various reasons, it might stay a while. It was quite likely that one of the delays in Tabini getting into his apartment was his security reinforcing, and probably heavily bugging, that wall between him and the Farai.

All of that meant the paidhi was borrowing Lord Tatiseigi’s historic apartment—vacant so long as Tatiseigi of the Atageini had been out repairing his own manor, which had been likewise shot up in the coup. The work was nearly finished, the legislature was about to meet—

And the paidhi now had nowhere to go butthe hotel or the country.

There was, however, a bright spot of coincidence in the current situationc should he go to his coastal estate.

His brother Toby had just put out of Jackson, out of the human enclave of Mospheira—Toby fairly well lived on his boat, and plied the waters mostly in the strait between Mospheira and the mainland. He might have to hopscotch a call from here to Mogari-nai and Jackson, but however they got it through, unless Toby was on some specific business, Toby could easily divert over to the mainland, just about as fast as he himself could get to the coast, and they might manage to have that long-delayed visit.

Permission to leave the capital, however, was not certain until Tabini had answered his letter and agreed that he might take that temporary solution and go out to the coast. If Tabini was differently minded, there would be no visit, and he had no idea what he would do: he and his security would have to show up at the hotel tomorrow afternoon with baggage in hand, he supposedc but Tabini might think of something he hadn’t thought of. There was that possibility, too. So he would call Toby only after he had spoken to Tabini.

He drank the last of the tea, sealed and cylindered the letter to Tabini, then stood up and rang for Madam Saidin, major domo of this extravagant apartment. He gave instructions for both messages to be delivered, the one by courier, within the halls, the otherc

One of the staff would run the lily cylinder down to the mail centerc which would fax the content to the post office in the township neighboring Tatiseigi’s estate, and have it run up the hill, express, by local truck, to reach the old gentlemanc while the lily cylinder, itself ancient and precious, came back upstairs to Saidin’s keeping, to wait for Tatiseigi’s arrival. Proprieties, proprieties, and the motions they went through, to preserve the appearance of the old ways.

Tatiseigi have his own fax? Hell would freeze solid before that modern contraption found a place in Tatiseigi’s house. Or here.

“Lord Tatiseigi is coming back, nadi-ji,” he told Saidin, in giving her the message.

He looked up to do it. That esteemed lady stood a head taller than he did: skin the color of ink, eyes of molten amber, black hair well-salted with her years—he had no idea how many years. She was, like many of the great houses’ highest staff, a member of the Assassins’ Guildc but she bowed with such graceful sweetness, as she said, “He has sent also to us, nandi. We so regret the short notice.”

He would very much miss Saidin. He had stayed here before, never expected to do so again, and fate had surprised him. He laid no bets now, when he departed, whether he would ever be back under her care. “We by no means question it,” he said quietly. “My first message felicitates his arrival and the other advises the aiji of the situation. One has requested to take a short vacation in the country.”