Protector: Foreigner #14 (23 page)

“The house?”

“The house has protections,” he said.

“Those people are out there by the gate,” Gene said.

“They will have a wet night. But they will know what to do. They all will be safe. Come. We can go downstairs. I shall show you from the front door if I can persuade security.”

They went with him, excited, and Antaro talked with house security, and said they wanted just to look out the door, for the guests’ benefit.

“They agree,” Antaro said, so they all went, down all the way to the front door, and Great-uncle’s major domo opened it for them, while Great-uncle’s security stood by.

Just in that little time, the bank of cloud was closer, and the wind had begun to blow.

“Oh!” Irene said, as a gust came at them, and lightning obligingly flashed in the cloud.

“Neat!” Artur said.

“This is so good,” Gene said, and walked out onto the porch, with the wind tumbling his hair and blowing at his coat and his lace.

They all did, and the wind blew in their faces, and the thunder rumbled.

“It smells different,” Irene said.

“It smells like rain,” Cajeiri said in Ragi. “You shall hear a storm your very first night!”

“It’s different than the archive,” Irene said, and flinched as lightning went from cloud to cloud. “They don’t show us the planet.”

“Who doesn’t show you the planet?” Cajeiri asked.

“We’re Reunioners,” Artur said. “We don’t get the same news as the Mospheirans. As the atevi, too, likely.”

“Why not?” Cajeiri asked, while the wind blew at them, and the guards behind them.

“It’s not our planet,” Irene said then. “We’re not supposed to know things.”

He heard it. He thought about it a moment. It was not right. It could not be right.

“I never heard that,” he said. “Who said that, nadiin-ji?”

“We don’t know,” Irene said. “But we know Mospheirans get their news. We don’t.”

He had to
ask
about that. He had to ask nand’ Bren, and nand’ Jase why that was. And he had to ask mani if she knew about that.

“Well, now you have seen a thunderstorm,” he said. “And we should go in and let the major domo close the door.” He led them back inside. The door shut, and he debated between the utilitarian lower hall, where there were interesting things, and the gilt upstairs. “I shall show you the main floor. You saw the upstairs foyer. But I shall show you the breakfast room, and the sitting room.”

“New words,” Artur said. “Irene, get out your notebook.”

“I have it,” Irene said, patting her pocket. And said it again in Ragi. “One has it, nadiin-ji.”

“You have to say,” Cajeiri said reluctantly, “
nand’
Cajeiri, nadiin-ji, when you are in my uncle’s hearing. And mani’s.”

There was a sudden silence. A little hush, and he was embarrassed.

“It is the world,” he said. And in ship-speak: “It’s the world.”

“No,” Gene said, “Captain Jase told us. He explained.
Nand’
Cajeiri. We can’t forget that. And your great-grandmother is
nand’ dowager
and Lord Tatiseigi is
nandi.
And we bow.”

“Nadiin-ji.” He gave a little bow of his own, conscious that, just a year ago, he had been no taller, and they had shared things, and there were no guns and guards all about them. It
was
different. It was very different. He would never again be just
nadi-ji
down here, or up there.

They had tried more than once, last year, to work out those forbidden words—man’chi, from his side, and friend, from theirs. Love. Like. All those things he was never supposed to say to them, and they were never supposed to say to atevi—well, they were never supposed to
talk
to atevi, which was why they had met in the tunnels, but they had found a way to talk, and they
had
talked, and they had an association they all believed was real.

And they were back to that, with his aishid standing next to him, and with Great-uncle’s guards nearby, and him having to remind them—that if they were going to continue as associates, on the world or in the heavens—he would have to be obeyed.

“Nandi,” Artur said. And Irene said, after thinking about it, and with particular emphasis and a polite little dip of the head:
“Nandi.”

Thunder boomed, outside. There was silence after that. They were waiting, looking at him.
He
gave the orders.

“We shall go upstairs,” he said, not sure their offering was man’chi, with no way to tell if it was friendship, no way to tell what they were trying to be, or whether he was pushing them away—but they tried. “Nadiin-ji, I shall show you the main floor, the parts you missed, and then we should be in the dining room before mani and Great-uncle.”

•   •   •

They
were
first into the dining hall, waiting with a little light fruit juice, when Bren came in, and Jase, with just Banichi and Jago.

“Well!” nand’ Bren said in ship-speak. “Nand’ Cajeiri, nadiin. A very nice appearance.”

“One is gratified, nandi,” Cajeiri said, for his guests, who copied what he said, a faint echo.

Jase asked, “How do you like the weather? They have arranged a storm for us.”

“Nandi.” They all said it, and nodded in just the right degree. “Interesting, nand’ paidhi,” Gene said, very properly. “We went down and looked . . .” He ended with something quite unintelligible. Artur choked and looked away, trying Cajeiri could tell, not to laugh, which would be rude. But Irene clarified for Gene: “Looked out from the door, nandi.”

“Security approved,” Cajeiri provided quickly.

“One indeed heard so, young gentleman,” Bren said.

By the tapping sound echoing in the high hall outside it was clear now Great-grandmother was coming, and Great-uncle, and the bodyguards took their places, standing by, as mani’s and Great-uncle’s bodyguards arrived, and went to their places at opposite ends of the table. They all stood up as mani and Great-uncle came in, and servants positioned themselves to help with the seating.

“Well,” mani said at the sight of them. “Such a splendidly turned out company.”

“Nandiin,” Gene and Artur mumbled. “Nand’ dowager, nandi,” Irene said, the proper form, very faintly, at the same time. They all bowed, they all sat, and to Cajeiri’s relief mani and Great-uncle seemed extraordinarily pleased, though they went on to talk to nand’ Bren and nand’ Jase while the servants poured wine and water. Then they talked about the shipment of part of Great-uncle’s collection to the museum in the Bujavid.

The first course arrived. And adult talk went on, talk about the neighbors, while Cajeiri said nothing at all, not wanting to draw his guests into
that
discussion. His guests were all quiet, very quiet.

The second course, and Great-uncle asked if the guests had noticed the storm rattling about outside.

“Yes, nandi,” came a chorus of whispered answers, everybody sitting upright, eating some of everything they were offered, though once or twice with a shudder. They were being exemplary, Cajeiri thought.
He
could not eat the pâté.

The third and fourth and fifth courses came, with occasionally a question to the guests, and a little adult talk. They all kept to Yes, soup, please and not a word in excess, except that they were delighted by the fruit and cake dessert, and ate all of it.

Then Great-uncle put aside his fork and said that they might attend the brandy hour.

Cajeiri had rather planned on an escape. But he bowed and said, carefully, as everyone was getting up, “You are greatly honored, nadiin. We are offered tea with mani and Great-uncle.”

They were brave. There was not a sigh, not a frown in the lot. They just got up and went to the sitting room.

And just inside the door, before they had a chance to sit down, Great-uncle stopped, and signaled his head of security, who handed him a folded paper. “Nephew,” Great-uncle said, and handed it to him. “One delights, on the approaching felicitous occasion, to present you with a gift, from your great-grandmother and myself.”

Cajeiri looked at the paper, and found a name: Jeichido, daughter of the second Babsidi and Saidaro.

He knew Babsidi. Babsidi was mani’s mecheita, leader of mani’s herd.

“The dam was mine,” Great-uncle said. “She is not a leader in my herd—you are, after all, a young rider—but she will not shame you. She is yours.”

“Great-uncle!” he exclaimed.

“An earnest, Great-grandson,” Great-grandmother said, “of the stable you will one day have, and a son of the first Babsidi will be yours when you have the strength and the seat.”

“Shall we ride, then? Is she here?”

“We shall ride,” mani said firmly. “We have the grounds under our control, we expect this storm to pass and leave us clear skies, and it has been far too long,
far
too long. If your guests will wish to ride, your great-uncle has several fat and retired mecheiti, who will go very gently.”

“Yes!” he said, and bowed deeply, to mani and to Great-uncle.

“You must remember that you have guests, and not run. We shall not be other than sedate, Great-grandson.”

“No, mani. We shall not. Thank you!” He was happy, happy beyond all his expectations. Nand’ Bren and nand’ Jase looked uneasy. But mani said it was safe, and Cenedi, right next to mani, looked perfectly content. “I shall tell my guests. Thank you!”

He took the precious paper, which, once he got back to the Bujavid, was going to go into that little box, not in his office, but in his bedroom, where he kept his most precious things . . . not that anyone would ever dispute mani’s and Great-uncle’s gift—but that was a box full of things that made him feel good, whenever he was disheartened. He showed the paper now to his guests, and opened it, with the date of Jeichido’s birth—she was ten—and the names of all her ancestors.

“Mani and Great-uncle have given me a mecheita of my own, nadiin-ji. And we shall ride tomorrow. On mecheiti. We shall go on mecheiti.”

“We,” Artur said. “On
mecheiti.
”

“Mani promises we shall not run. We shall be very safe. They will not go fast.”

“How do you tell them that?” Artur asked, in ship-speak this time. “They’re taller than the bus!”

“Not as tall as the bus,” Cajeiri said, which was the truth. They only came up to the windows. He was disappointed, but he whispered back, “If you’re scared—”

“No,” Gene said in Ragi. “I shall go.”

Artur looked doubtful, but he nodded.

That left Irene, who looked scared to death. She clenched her jaw and said, very faintly, “Yes.”

•   •   •

“Shall we be safe out there tomorrow?” Bren asked, once he and Banichi and Jago got back to their quarters, two brandies on, and got a very, very slight hesitation.

“We have some concern,” Banichi said. “But in this gift and this event, Cenedi says the dowager is particularly determined. She had planned this for after the party, in the Bujavid, and with no access to Lord Tatiseigi’s stables. But the opportunity is here, and given the attractions of the visitors, and the unhappy situation in the Bujavid, which may or may not be resolved by the time we return—Cenedi’s assessment: she would not be crossed in this.”

It was, one understood,
Babsidi’s
daughter. And a gift the dowager had waited years to give. And the perfect moment—give or take the harassment from the Ajuri side of the blanket. Ilisidi didn’t make emotional decisions, or didn’t—that he had ever seen. But if there was one that just might reach that degree of determination, with her—this one, involving her great-grandson and a favorite of all her years, in her lifelong passion for riding and hunting—this occasion, they had to understand, yes, approached the level of an emotional decision.

“I shall try not to break anything tomorrow,” he said. “Most of all, we shall keep the youngsters safe.”

The riding really was safe, as Ilisidi proposed it. Jase was dubious, worried about himself, as well as the kids—but this was not a breakneck ride through hostile territory, on a beast with a snaking neck and a disposition to use its tusks for right of way to challenge its herd leader. Nokhada, his own Nokhada, was safely pastured at Malguri, and they would be putting the youngsters on the oldest, least ambitious members of the herd, the perpetual hindmost, who would resist any order from the rein, and simply keep up with the herd, using as little energy as possible. Stay in the saddle, tie the rein to the ring, since it was virtually useless, and watch the scenery—that was what they would have.

He actually
could
ride, which put him in danger of being given one of the herd-foremost, some young mecheita with ambition, but he truly hoped not.

And when he contemplated the idea, lying in the dark and listening to the thunder above the roof, he found himself looking forward to the ride. Actually looking forward to it.

•   •   •

“We’re going to go very slowly, nadiin-ji,” Cajeiri said, as they all knelt at the sitting room window. The curtains were back and the window open just a little, so they could hear the storm and the rain, which beat down hard at the moment. “Mecheiti go in order. And I shall be riding mine—” He could hardly wait. He truly could hardly wait. He knew Antaro and Jegari were looking forward to the ride as much as he was. Lucasi and Veijico were from a mountain clan, and had not been such habitual riders, but they would manage, he was sure. “But I shall hold her back, nadiin-ji. I shall be very careful.”

Lighting chained across the sky, whitening everything, the little stand of trees that ran beside the house, the stable roof, the pens. Thunder was instant. His guests jumped, and everybody laughed nervously.

“That is right over our heads,” he said, laughing with them, enjoying the window, and the safety, and the storm.

“But the roof protects us,” Irene said. He had established that with them.

“This is the safest place to be except the basement,” he said. “And in the morning, everything will be wet, but that will not stop us, either.”

“Your great-grandmother and your great-uncle are really going to ride?”

“Oh, they may ride the herd-leaders!” he said. “They are very good riders.” But, he thought, mani was so frail, now, this last year. “Except they will not be riding fast at all, with new riders in the group. You shall see. We shall get you up safely—that is the hardest; and then you just stay in the saddle. There are rings and straps to hold on to.” He made a ring with his hand. “Like that.
Take-holds.
”
He remembered the word for the little recessed bars on the ship.