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Unfortunately, sending Tillington
himself
to non-existent Maudit wasn't an option.

“A
nd was it a regretful parting?” Lord Tatiseigi asked, regarding the young gentleman's guests.

“It was, nandi,” Bren said. The two of them occupied opposing green-upholstered chairs across a low table in the legislative sitting room, two days on from the exchange of messages with Shawn.

On the wall, a wooden scoreboard reported a slowly progressing tally of votes on the forestry bill—a certainty to pass. Half the people who should be voting were in the lounge at the moment having a cup of tea, but that didn't include the representatives of the Edi and the Gan peoples, who were exercising their very first votes as members, and who were early on the floor to cast them in favor of something that would benefit the Edi district.

It was an auspicious beginning to the tribal peoples' admission to the aishidi'tat. The bill established and funded a new open game reserve, land donated by the Taisigin Marid, the tract to be reforested on the western side, with game corridors that would improve three other hunting ranges in the direction of the Edi lands
and
the Marid.

The bill included restoration of species drawn from the other shore of the Marid, moreover, which was another popular new notion in various quarters—bringing certain trees and shrubs back to regions where they had once flourished.

Free land, a new spirit of cooperation from the Taisigin Marid, and a wide-reaching ecological repair. Those were attractive notions to party leaders on both sides of politics—especially when the more suspicious conservatives, in favor of all lordly prerogatives across the board, had had the aiji-dowager pushing them to approve the measure. Well, as Tatiseigi expressed the conservative sentiment, the entire forestry program would probably not be
too
high a financial cost to run, and, key provision, it improved the hunting, which improved the economy, which improved local chances of peace. Atevi might farm grain and vegetables, might have orchards, might run a business like egg-gathering, and fishing—but everything was seasonal. Wild game was how districts put autumn meat on the table—huge tracts given over to nature, and hunting.

Bren had cast his vote already; so had Lord Tatiseigi, both favorable to the measure. Not infrequently their votes cancelled each other out; but today they happily agreed.

And they had tea together.

“Did the youngsters seem sad to leave?” Tatiseigi asked.

“Indeed, nandi. They will miss the young gentleman.”

“One observed that they seemed sad to leave Tirnamardi.”

The old man was justifiably proud of his estate, his collection, his stables.

“They were delighted by Tirnamardi, nandi. They were entirely delighted, and there could be no better place in the world to show them so much of history and art. They will certainly never forget that first experience of your collection, so long as they live.”

Tatiseigi cleared his throat. “Well, well, perhaps we shall find time to host them next year.”

Now, that was the most unlikely thing in the world, that Tatiseigi should not only tolerate the youngsters, but miss them and court their return. The childless lord had demonstrated an unexpected soft spot for children—even, it turned out, human ones.

“Nothing would please them more,” Bren said. One suspected it was as much Tirnamardi's lawns and open spaces the children regretted, as the baroque and gilt of the Bujavid's great halls, or the collections of antiques and pottery—but so had Tatiseigi delighted them, personally. “They will miss you, too, nandi, one strongly suspects. They greatly enjoyed your stories.”

A second clearing of the throat. “Well, well, the staff certainly was charmed. They have inquired repeatedly after the children's well-being.”

Not Lord Tatiseigi, himself, oh, no, not possibly would Lord Tatiseigi personally miss a handful of human kids.

 • • • 

He had messaged Tabini, spoken to him once since his return—a pleasant conversation in Tabini's downstairs office, and the topic had, beyond the Tillington matter, mostly been on operational matters and the legislative session.

But in his
second
such session with Tabini, after the vote on the forestry bill, and in Tabini's sitting room, Tabini asked a more direct question:

“You just have exchanged letters and messages with the Presidenta.” Tabini's information-gathering was markedly improved, since he had taken the dowager's men as his security. “Does it regard the administrative matter you mentioned?”

One never knew, sitting down with Tabini, where a conversation might go.

“It does, aiji-ma. Tillington, and the Presidenta's search for a resolution of the Reunioner situation, which is at the heart of the problems aloft. I have expressed quite firmly that the Reunioners must be counted toward the treaty balance, whether at this station or any yet unbuilt. The Presidenta is inclining to oppose the creation of a Maudit colony at all, and may be leaning toward bringing them down to Mospheira. But that solution would have to involve a very few at a time: there just is not room in the shuttle schedule, even with the Mospheirans increasing their fleet. It cannot be any faster.”

“These children? Their families?”

“One would not press for them to take priority without your direction, aiji-ma, and the matter is only theoretical. Should you wish them brought down first, however—the Presidenta would, I am sure, agree—even as a case separate from a general resolution. But politics—as usual, aiji-ma, politics will complicate any actual decision.” A deep breath, a decision. “The
Heritage Party
is not entirely dead, aiji-ma, and the Presidenta has no wish to see them find a foothold in this case.”

“And you will entangle yourself in these affairs?” The pleasant casualness faded. Became a frown. “For whom are you paidhi—when you go up to the station?”

He was caught unawares by that question. It was a fair one. “For you, aiji-ma,” he said. “One begins to feel one does not know all one should know, aiji-ma, to give good advice. I have become uneasy in my understanding of politics aloft. And I cannot advise to any good advantage without better information. If I can, in the process,
solve
a problem—”

How much dare he say? How much
should
he say?

“Clearly you are troubled
,
paidhi.”

“I cannot advise without knowledge. And that is my office. I ask your patience, aiji-ma, while I try to understand the politics which may be forming around the Reunioner issue. One does not wish to be caught unaware, and far less—to be advising you amiss.”

“Or advising the Guild amiss.”

“That, as well, aiji-ma. One would wish them to be informed—in the best way. If I and my aishid can help, understanding that the Guild advisors will be going up, I would wish, for one thing, your appointment to go with them, and mediate for them, and advise them.”

“Did you mention the new Guild office to the Presidenta?”

“No, aiji-ma. I did not. I shall, however, bring it up at an appropriate moment—with your permission.”

“Tillington,” Tabini said.

“Yes,
aiji-ma. I have advised the Presidenta. I have urged action.”

“You believe the Presidenta
will
replace Tillington. He has the power to do this.”

“Aiji-ma, he has the power to call him home, and to send a representative to fill the office until there can be a legislative approval. And I have urged him to do it rapidly, before the aishidi'tat need take any notice of Tillington's existence. I have not had his answer yet. But I hope you and he can work to relieve this situation in a good way.”

Tabini gave him that flat, expressionless stare that could unnerve councilors and make lords reconsider.

“Will such provocations cease if you bring these people down to Mospheira?”

“One cannot promise that, aiji-ma, but one expects cooperation from Tillington's replacement to improve matters.”

Tabini nodded. “Do not believe my grandmother lacks resources. It would be well to deal with this in utmost urgency. And do not waste your talents in lengthy politics with this man. I have other uses for you.”

God. He knows.

“Aiji-ma. One is grateful for your patience.”

“Depose this troublesome human, paidhi. Observe the situation up there. Report to us.”

“With all my energy, aiji-ma.”

“If you are going up there,” Tabini said, “one does foresee my son asking to go.”

One did, indeed, foresee that, with no trouble at all. “I would discourage it,” he said. “I cannot predict events up there. And I shall need all my resources, and all my attention, centered on dealing with this man. I do not expect resistance, but there will be tension. I would urge against it, aiji-ma.”

“So would I, for reasons
here,”
Tabini said. “My son's first actions after his Investiture are under close scrutiny. It satisfied public curiosity for his young guests to attend him here, as applicants for
his
favor. For him to go to the station to visit at this stage—is quite the opposite implication. He should never be seen to attend
them.
”

“One entirely understands the difference,” he said. “And I think, aiji-ma, that if you explain to the young gentleman in that way,
he
will understand.”

“You have great confidence in my son.”

“I think, without any flattery, aiji-ma, that your son has deserved my confidence. He will not be happy at being left behind. But he will understand, if you explain it to him.”

“He will not be happy,” Tabini agreed, “but this is likely the best decision.
Of course
my son could not possibly choose three young associates from Mospheira itself. Preserve these young people, paidhi. Keep them out of politics. That is a policy matter. I have signed it, I have set my seal on it. I trust that document is being conveyed to the ship-aijiin. That is absolute.”

“Am I to encourage your son in his hope for another visit here?”

A moment's silence. “Oh, I think we are ultimately doomed to that event, paidhi. Not only do we have my son on his best behavior—we have my grandmother and Lord Tatiseigi on theirs. Together.” Tabini drew a deep breath. “One finds it frightening. Where do you look to settle these children—if they are agreed someday to land?”

He had in no wise gotten to that question, in his thinking. Or he had, but only in the vaguest way. “As to where—I have no idea. I cannot think it would be good to have them settle on this side of the strait. They cannot be separated from their parents.”

“No,” Tabini said. “It would not be good at this stage. But we have a decision to make. We must either take these three away from him soon, and permanently assign them residency on the station—or allow them and all their influences from now on, such as those influences may eventually be. If these children descend to live across the straits—shall we foster this association freely? Their connections may endanger them there. That is foreseeable.”

“It is, aiji-ma. One confesses it.”

“We shall have to protect them, on whatever side of the strait they settle. We shall have to see to their protection, lifelong.”

“One foresees that, aiji-ma.”

“Thus far their influence has seen my son become compliant and polite and
patient.
We have to wonder whether the mental strain of obedience is warping his character.”

Levity again. But quite serious, couching a world-affecting question.

“Do
they
wish this association, paidhi? Do these children remotely see what association with my son will cost them?”

“I do not know. I think they have some notion. And I cannot predict what pressure human politics may put on them or on their parents. Nor can I predict how strong this association may remain over time. They have a great deal of growing to do.”

“We cannot predict either, paidhi. My son has yet to reach that stage when he believes he understands all philosophy and reason. Baji-naji, my grandmother has set some sense into him. But, baji-naji, we shall not be in charge of him forever, either. We can only set the course.”

“I would agree, aiji-ma.”

“So,” Tabini said, “go up there. Shake this tree and see what falls out of its branches. Investigate the children as well. But I charge you—report, paidhi! No more of this secrecy. The Guild is approved to go up there. I could have stalled that. I might yet, if you do not wish to take the time.”

“If they can observe the several matters at hand, aiji-ma, if they can observe, and learn how things are done, and
why
things are done as they are regarding humans, it may be a better education than any explanation can provide. I by no means ask to know their secrets, but if they will hear why things are done as well as what is done—it would become an asset up there.”

“I shall have that understanding with them,” Tabini said, “and I shall receive their reports and compare them to yours. Be sure, when I do so, it is the
Guild
I shall be testing.”

A
solitary lunch was rare. Bren's aishid was about their own business. Banichi and Algini were downstairs in the Bujavid, in conference with representatives from the Guild on matters which no longer—thank God—involved the paidhi-aiji. Decisions ricocheted from Guild Headquarters to the aiji's office, but
not
to the paidhi's personal attention. The Guild was in the process of choosing its on-station observation team—and while the paidhi-aiji was interested in the outcome, it was not his choice.

The Guild
was
consulting the few Guild members who had experience in space, both about the physical demands of the flight up, and the nature of life on the station. That was why they asked Banichi and Cenedi—who would also tell them that
mental
flexibility would be an asset; and that assassination was
not
an option outside the atevi section, and would be dimly viewed within it. The Guild served as peacemakers as well as peacekeepers and security, and
that
would be their desired function, as well as information-gathering and communication.

Tano and Jago were likewise absent from the apartment, off conferring with the dowager's staff just down the hall. Cenedi was busy with the Guild selection, but Cenedi's second-in-command Nawari had scheduled time for a conference, a last information exchange prior to the dowager's twice-delayed flight to the East.

There had just been, in Bren's schedule, and in the dowager's, two days of conferences with the Taisigi Trade Mission regarding the depth of dredging in the harbor the dowager was arranging in her district.

That issue was now settled, and there had been conferences with Geigi's team aloft, interpreting data from orbital survey. They had the details nailed down. So the aiji-dowager could now escape the city.

The paidhi-aiji had no such escape.

Shawn delayed about his answer. There was, one could imagine, difficulty.

Politics. And shuttle schedules.

If Shawn had
any
encouraging word to send him—would Shawn not have sent a courier from his side?

Was it that damned hard to pull Tillington?

What kind of political allies did the man have?

What was being argued over there, across that narrow span of water?

Or was it simply down to shuttle schedules? God knew Tillington had gone
up
on an atevi-built shuttle, though from a Mospheiran port.

Politics would likely forbid he come down that way. No, Mospheira ran its own program now. Was fiercely proud of it.

He went back to his little office, unexpectedly snagged his coat sleeve on his fingers, of all things, and settled to sand down his fingers for the second time since he had been home. Even this many days after his vacation, they were rough—from handling harness, making fires, hauling on rope, and working with canvas—and, he recalled with pleasure, uncrating the paired stained glass windows for the new dining room, then crating them back up again to await their installation.

Not that he lacked help to do that sort of work, but he greatly enjoyed working with his hands. He had used to do far more of that. Much more.

And it was amazing how quickly callus, however long ago gained, came back at the least excuse.

Alas, no need of hauling rope here or splitting wood in the Bujavid. Here, within walls, in baroque luxury, his routine required wax-smooth fingers and the fluid use of a quill pen—a quill pen, for a script highly directional, depending on the flex and edge of the natural material for its thick and thin lines.

Atevi maintained a respect for calligraphy which the advent of humans and technology had never changed. The traditional system of written correspondence remained obstinately handwritten, wax-sealed, and formal. Even casual messages generally did
not
go by computer link.

Some messages, however,
must
speed along by modern means. The Messengers' Guild, no fools, had been quick to adopt the convenience and speed of telecommunications, once such became available, so that most computer correspondence, such as letters from the space station, arrived in traditional little steel cylinders, in computer print, and under the Messengers' own seal, since a seal there must surely be!

And one such message had arrived today, at dawn, from at least one party in a position to give answers.

From Lord Geigi.

And after the usual salutation:

Regarding the Guild observers, they will be welcome. I have an excellent office in mind for them, a residency near my own. I shall be pleased to establish an official communication with whatever persons the Guild selects.

Read between the lines, paidhi. I shall want to know where they are and what they are doing, and I shall be very glad to provide them reliable staff for clerical work.

Politics and policy as usual. There would assuredly be spying.

On the matter of children's baggage, I am certainly able to provide wardrobe storage for the young people and also for Jase-aiji, who informs me that, as you say, their personal circumstances provide no space for such.

So what have you told Jase, Geigi-ji? What did you discuss?

I had a very pleasant dinner with Jase-aiji some days past and again last evening, but not yet with the children, whose parents have claimed them, quite properly jealous of their time.

Understandable.

But it's a little worrisome, all the same.

Jase-aiji assures me that in the orders issued by Captain Sabin, and in response to the aiji's official request, these three children will always have free access to reach me. I have ordered our security to admit them or any persons with them on any request, urgent or casual, and to notify me immediately, at any hour, of their arrival.

I shall issue invitations to the children and their parents for some future evening of their choosing, and look forward to hosting them, but Jase-aiji will surely advise me when will be a good time to make that gesture. He advises caution at the moment.

Jase and I had a lengthy exchange over brandy, and this renewal of association has been very enlightening.

Jase advises caution.

Caution in dealing with humans, was the likely interpretation. Caution in pushing anything. Or pushing back, if Geigi had gotten a whiff of what was going on.

Certainly Jase would have told Geigi that Tillington was coming under official displeasure. Would Jase have told Geigi all of it, told an ateva with an ateva's emotional wiring, trusting Geigi not to react in an emotional way?

Geigi might also, given a good grasp of the situation, have decided not to write to Tabini and Ilisidi on that topic, but only to him, who had sent Jase to speak to him. Logical. But, God, how convoluted could it possibly get?

Well, he should assume what needed to be said had been said aloft. But he could not reach Ilisidi at the moment and he had every suspicion both Ilisidi and Tabini knew what there was to know, in a deafening silence.

What he did reasonably need to advise Geigi of, in the workaday world, was the details of the Guild office being sent up into his territory—a significant change for Geigi, about which Jase knew nothing and could not have forewarned him. Adding two and two and two more, an action as natural as breathing for an ateva, Geigi was doubtless putting together Jase's information on massive changes in the Guild, information on the Tillington matter—and his sudden presentation of a Guild office on the station. Geigi
had
to be coming up with some very pointed questions he hesitated to ask. But unfortunately it might add up to a mistaken conclusion.

That was the downside of perpetually reading between the lines.

He didn't know Geigi's thinking. He could only try to signal that the decision to send the Guild office was due to local changes.

Ultimately he had to talk to Geigi directly. He had to signal him, however, that it was not forewarning of the assassination of the Mospheiran stationmaster.

Operationally, on his arrival up there
with
the Guild observers, there was going to be some head-butting, one could foresee it, with Geigi's bodyguard, who were
not
suddenly going to regard the new office as
their
superiors, and who, being from the southwest coast, would not have quite the seniority and political clout of the Guild observers—in the minds of the Guild observers, at least.

He had to hope for the best in that.

He also had to figure how to break a new fact of life to the human side of the station, Mospheiran
and
Reunioner, before they drew their own conclusions about the Guild presence.

The short answer for the humans would be—never deal with the Guild directly. Go to Geigi. That was the way it should theoretically work, and that was all anybody on the human side ever needed to know. How complicated that office
really
was, under that layer—just wasn't human business at this point.

And it would not, if he had anything to do with it, entail an assassination.

He wrote a short note to Geigi.

I have nothing of substance, nandi, about names, but I assure you that the Guild is attempting to become better-informed and more forward-looking than in the past, and they will greatly value any instruction you can give them.

This is an atevi matter which I have not yet explained to our partners in station operation.

Geigi would also know that once the Assassins gained an office on the station, other guilds would clamor to get a foothold in what amounted to a new atevi province in the heavens. He saw it coming, and certainly Geigi would. He could all but hear the swell of debate among the Guilds over who was to have what priority, since it would depend on space available.

Precedence by antiquity was the only criterion that would not provoke debate; and the Assassins, first up to the station, were in fact the oldest of all guilds, so at least that worked. Transportation and the Scholars were the most directly involved with the station. The Messengers—
there
was going to be a lively discussion, in a community intimately linked to computer communications. If they went by seniority, the Messengers would take a place in line behind Transportation and the Builders. But they would argue. Passionately.

Geigi could well figure that a riotous tide was coming in and details were going to have to be worked out.

Tabini was the one to moderate the Guilds—including the requests to go to space. The paidhi-aiji did not have that thankless job, though Banichi and Algini were discussing things downstairs with officers of the Assassins' Guild at the moment. They likely
would
consult Tabini next—which was the way it ought to be.

Major changes are occurring and regional offices are being recognized in many guilds. This will place this office under your able supervision over procedures and associational boundaries. I have every confidence you will be pleased.

I look forward to our meeting with great anticipation.

That should relieve Geigi's apprehensions.

He was watching the atevi shuttle schedule, with the notion that Shawn was likely watching it, too, watching both shuttle schedules, not wanting news to arrive ahead of a replacement, not wanting to advertise their intentions, not wanting to stir up debate in what, at least on an emergency basis, could be done by decree.

And where it came to
his
schedule, there was one final problem before he could insert himself and his aishid into the shuttle schedule.

That problem's name was, as the dowager had said, Topari.

With deep resolution, he leaned forward, shook back his lace cuffs, and uncapped the inkpot. He positioned a new piece of paper on his desk and set the bridge on which the hand rested.

A Ragi document, this time.

Bren Cameron, paidhi-aiji, Lord of the Heavens, Lord of Najida

To Topari, Lord of Hasjuran, of Halrun in the Southern Mountains

Salutations.

From correspondence with Geigi, to a very formal letter to the lord of a weather-worn little train station, a highly diffuse population of less than seven thousand, and a ruling clan of about thirty-five people, whose land just happened to sit astride the only sizeable flat spot in the southern mountains.

We would be pleased if you would share our dinner table two days hence.

We shall be inviting your brother lords of the district as well—

He wrote it in the most florid calligraphy he could muster, and added the proper titles for the lords of the little mountain association, in absolute exactitude, before he gave it a ribbon and seal.

Two days' grace would let Lord Topari and his neighbors hold whatever conference in advance they needed, let these rustic lords find the right wardrobe for formal dinner with the paidhi-aiji, and let them actually
get
to Shejidan if they had chanced to be at home in the mountains when they received their invitations, as could well be the case. He tried to impose sufficient burden of formality on them that would let them feel the weight of his office, impress on them the importance of his good opinion, leave them limited time to get an agenda together—and still manage to have them in a good mood when they arrived.

He wanted to deal with the railroad problems all in one group. He wanted to ply them all with food and wine and lay them out a fair and attractive proposal as a group before he dealt with Lord Topari in private—and, God! he so fervently wished he and his aishid had gone with the aiji-dowager to Malguri, instead.

She
sat in her mountain fastness clear at the other end of the continent, where even a phone was a rarity—though it was not the case with her security office.
She
didn't have a shuttle schedule to think about.

Lord Tatiseigi was headed for his estate at Tirnamardi tomorrow, having finished his work.

They were both leaving him to mop up. The essential major bills had sped through the legislature and they were off to deal with their own local problems.