But they had two dead, a loss that the dowager would not forget. Nor could he.

Settled, Banichi had said. But he was very, very dubious that it was at all settled. Geigi’s estate had taken damage—in several senses. The Korisul Coastal Association might have had an attack come into its midst: but the Marid Association, the four-clan aggregation that lay at the heart of the Southern Coastal Association, had both flexed its muscle and committed a critical error of timing.

That was good, in the sense that the situation had gone no further.

But where were Geigi’s people? All quiet, the Edi, while outsiders had prepared to assassinate the paidhi-aiji and while Baiji had made extraordinary gestures—extraordinary effort from such an unenterprising man; but on which side he had exerted such effort, and with what intent was not in the least clear.

Likely nobody they could trust for information yet knew all the things he wanted to knowc but pieces of that information might be had, here and there, and he meant to have them.

He had a unique responsibility now as a regional lord, in Geigi’s absence, in the situation with Kajiminda. He’d never had to exercise it. Still, he knew what that responsibility was, and that was to defend his people and assert their rights, and to extend a stabilizing influence throughout the Korisul Association. He had to represent his people with the aiji, had to secure what was good for the district, and the occupation by Tabini, a Ragi lord, was not, ultimately, going to be acceptable with the Edic who, for one thing, had to be approached, and asked what the hell had happened here. They were not likely to talk to Tabini, on general principles.

They might talk to him. He couldn’t swear to that. They might not, given the situation, even talk to Lord Geigi himself.

That had to be dealt with.

They had the Farai in his apartment; they had the Marid trying to disrupt the aishidi’tat; they had the Edi coast in disarray, for starters, and they had the aiji having had to move Guild into action in the Korisul, where Ragi-directed Guild historically had never been welcome.

He was, when he added it all up, mad. He had been mad last night. He was damned mad this morning.

And no little worried about the future.

Not least of which was a matter that had been nagging the back of his mind since last night on the bus.

The Edi. Edi—who constituted part of the population of Najida village. Who were partially the reasonKajiminda estate and Najida estate had enjoyed such a steady, reliable flow of information.

Ramaso hadn’t warned him. Ramaso hadn’t said a damned thing about the mowing, just about the debt. Had said there was a lapse in contact. But absent the critical information about Edi leaving Kajiminda—it hadn’t conveyed the real situation there.

And Ramaso hadn’t known that fact?

He wasn’t mad at Ramaso—yet. But that question was forming in his mind.

Edi. And total silence. Not unlike them. They pursued their own business. They were not a government, officially, within the aishidi’tatc but they settled their own affairs, handled their own disputes, and generally didn’t make outsiders aware of their business. A silent, self-directing lot—they frowned on their secrets being discovered. They’d run illicit trade. There was a tacit sort of agreement with the aishidi’tat: the aiji’s law didn’t investigate things in the Edi community and the Edi didn’t do things to annoy outsiders.

So there was at least a situation behind the silence about the neighboring estate—and he understood Ramaso had one foot in the village community and one foot in the estate, so to speak.

But not warning him? Worse, letting him take the aiji’s son over there with him?

There were questions.

There were a lot of questions—some of which he was prepared to ask, and some of which he was prepared to investigate.

But theirs was an old relationship. And Edi reticence and the Edi reputation for piracy and assassination had managed to keep the coup from touching Najida in his absence.

So it was worth a little second thought—his frustration with Ramaso’s silence.

It was worth a careful approach, and a due respect for what services the man had given him. Maybe, he thought, he ought to talk to Banichi about the matter—doubtless Banichi had also added up certain missing pieces of information, but Banichi was not from the district; Banichi and Jago came from further inland, part of the aiji’s household, once upon a time, and that—

That could be an issue that might complicate any investigation his bodyguard tried to make.

Diplomacy, besides, was hisexpertise.

He found Ramaso in the servants’ hall, supervising a temporary repair on the ceiling paneling—one of the young men was on a ladder taking measurements—and approached him quietly. “Rama-ji,” he said, and before all other business, inquired about their driver. “How is Iscarti this morning? One is distressed not yet to have gotten down to see him—my guard does not want to be parted from me—or from their monitoring equipment.”

“He certainly will understand. He is much improved, nandi. Awake and talking, with diminishing doses of painkiller. His mother has come up from the village.”

A piece of good news. “Brave woman. One is very glad. Tell him not to worry in the least about his family. Tell him we will see his salary paid, and his family protected, not even a question about the medical bills. And we will get down there, among first things when my guard lets me leave this hall.”

“One will do so, nandi. Though he asks us what did happen. He says he cannot remember.”

“Then I shall personally tell him what he did. With all gratitude.”

“That will so greatly please him, nandi.”

“One thing more you can do for me, Rama-ji.”

“What would this be, nandi?”

The question.

And the wider question.

“We have had a dearth of information, Rama-ji—information coming to us, and information coming from us. It seems perhaps the village has felt abandoned in my absence.”

“No such thing, nandi. They have known you were about important business.”

“Nevertheless—it seems I should be more concerned with Najida’s business. One hopes to speak to the village councillors about the general situation—about Kajiminda. About what has gone on in my absence, and during the Troubles. One wishes to address the council courteously and ask its advice.”

The young man on the ladder had had his head up above the ceiling. He had looked down, and now descended the ladder, casting a look at Ramaso and giving a little bow.

“This is Osi, nandi,” Ramaso said. “He is from the village, the council senior’s grandson.”

A bow to Bren. “One would be glad to carry a message, nandi.”

Council senior was a woman. That was generally the case in the countryside, in any village. Council senior was everybody’sgrandmother; but this was a blood relationship.

“Tell your honored grandmother, tell all the council, Osi-nadi, that Najida will not accept Kajiminda falling into the hands of the Marid; it will not accept Marid presence on this coast. The lord of Najida estate wishes to meet with the council, in the council’s premises, and asks to be invited to speak, at a time not to interfere with their session.”

“Nandi!” A deep bow from the dusty young man. “Certainly they will be honored.”

“Nevertheless,” Bren said, “Osi-nadi, make the request for me. One wishes to listen to advice as much as to give it. One requests, Osi-nadi. And advice. Please say that, exactly.”

“Nandi.” Another bow.

“Go, Osi-ji,” Ramaso said. “The lord’s commission outweighs mine.”

“I have my measurements,” the young man said, tapping his head, and made a third bow. “Ramaso-nadi. Bren-nandi. I shall, one shall, as fast as I can.”