were the old nobility and ran the legislature, and liked it that way. The Marid—
Well, the Marid needed no excuse at all to oppose the Edi.
Not to mention that certain conservatives in the legislature blamed the paidhi’s influence for the recent troubles. Now he would be associated with offering the Edi equality and a voice in politics.
He really, truly needed to preserve this one little sanctuary in the house, where he could get his thoughts together and figure out what to say when he finally did have to face the legislature.
And facing that moment with an acceptable solution already worked out would make life so much easier.
There were two keys to getting the Edi representation accepted. One was Lord Geigi, who, being the real lord of Kajiminda, and a good man, had long enjoyed the man’chi of the Edi people—before he had gone to space and left his estate to his sister and her fool son. If Geigi could sort out his domestic problems and regain that man’chi, his influence over the Edi could make the proposal a great deal more palatable to several factions.
The other key to the situation, oddly enough, was Ilisidi’s sometime lover and Cajeiri’s great-uncle—Lord Tatiseigi of the Atageini, that hidebound old man who didn’t approve of trains, telephones, television, space travel, humans, Southerners, Taibeni, west coasters, or anything ever imported from those sources.
Uncle Tatiseigi ran the Padi Valley Association, with its powerful sub-associations, on the sheer force of his antiquity. No, he didn’t want Tatiseigi here at Najida, physically, but dealing with Tatiseigi was inevitable . . . and possibly to the good, since Tatiseigi swung a big weight with the conservatives—and since Ilisidi, above all others, could reason with the old man.
Especially since she had evidently wanted to do this fifty years ago—bringing the disenfranchised majority of the west coast into the house of lords. Depend on it, ultimately Ilisidi tended to win her arguments, and knew Tatiseigi like a well-read book.
The wonder to him was that Tabini, the cleverest and most underhanded politician the continent had witnessed in centuries, second only to Ilisidi, had just walked in, passed that issue by with fairly moderate comment, and let his eight-year-old son stay in the middle of the situation.
The paidhi, who rated himself the third cleverest politician on the continent, was left wondering what had just happened, how many Marid agents there might be in the vicinity that Tabini’s agents hadn’t ferreted out—and whether he, the human who didn’t have atevi senses to read the currents, was going to be blindsided twice in this war of towering egos and ancient agendas.
First on his own agenda, definitely, had to be making sure the Edi didn’t put an unfavorable intrepretion on the aiji’s visit.
And that meant making sure the Edi knew the aiji-dowager hadn’t changed her opinion.
That meant dealing with Ilisidi when her blood was up.
A fool would do that. He wrote out a message, went out into the hall and gave it to a junior servant to give to Cenedi, senior of the dowager’s bodyguard. It said:
Certainly the Edi have noted the coming and going of the aiji-dowager’s grandson. The paidhiaiji has accordingly sent an informal message to the Edi leadership offering a consultation should they wish one. The paidhi-aiji willingly takes all responsibility for such a meeting, whether on the premises or in the village, unless the aiji-dowager wishes otherwise.
The answer came back in a few minutes. It read:
The paidhi-aiji may assure the Edi leadership that our statements stand.
And from the Edi leadership, within the next hour, a young man, definitely not the Grandmother of Najida village, arrived in the little office, escorted by Banichi and Jago, and bowed respectfully. Dola, he said his name was, and one recalled seeing him the night of the village council meeting.
“Nand’ paidhi, the Grandmother
Well, the Marid needed no excuse at all to oppose the Edi.
Not to mention that certain conservatives in the legislature blamed the paidhi’s influence for the recent troubles. Now he would be associated with offering the Edi equality and a voice in politics.
He really, truly needed to preserve this one little sanctuary in the house, where he could get his thoughts together and figure out what to say when he finally did have to face the legislature.
And facing that moment with an acceptable solution already worked out would make life so much easier.
There were two keys to getting the Edi representation accepted. One was Lord Geigi, who, being the real lord of Kajiminda, and a good man, had long enjoyed the man’chi of the Edi people—before he had gone to space and left his estate to his sister and her fool son. If Geigi could sort out his domestic problems and regain that man’chi, his influence over the Edi could make the proposal a great deal more palatable to several factions.
The other key to the situation, oddly enough, was Ilisidi’s sometime lover and Cajeiri’s great-uncle—Lord Tatiseigi of the Atageini, that hidebound old man who didn’t approve of trains, telephones, television, space travel, humans, Southerners, Taibeni, west coasters, or anything ever imported from those sources.
Uncle Tatiseigi ran the Padi Valley Association, with its powerful sub-associations, on the sheer force of his antiquity. No, he didn’t want Tatiseigi here at Najida, physically, but dealing with Tatiseigi was inevitable . . . and possibly to the good, since Tatiseigi swung a big weight with the conservatives—and since Ilisidi, above all others, could reason with the old man.
Especially since she had evidently wanted to do this fifty years ago—bringing the disenfranchised majority of the west coast into the house of lords. Depend on it, ultimately Ilisidi tended to win her arguments, and knew Tatiseigi like a well-read book.
The wonder to him was that Tabini, the cleverest and most underhanded politician the continent had witnessed in centuries, second only to Ilisidi, had just walked in, passed that issue by with fairly moderate comment, and let his eight-year-old son stay in the middle of the situation.
The paidhi, who rated himself the third cleverest politician on the continent, was left wondering what had just happened, how many Marid agents there might be in the vicinity that Tabini’s agents hadn’t ferreted out—and whether he, the human who didn’t have atevi senses to read the currents, was going to be blindsided twice in this war of towering egos and ancient agendas.
First on his own agenda, definitely, had to be making sure the Edi didn’t put an unfavorable intrepretion on the aiji’s visit.
And that meant making sure the Edi knew the aiji-dowager hadn’t changed her opinion.
That meant dealing with Ilisidi when her blood was up.
A fool would do that. He wrote out a message, went out into the hall and gave it to a junior servant to give to Cenedi, senior of the dowager’s bodyguard. It said:
Certainly the Edi have noted the coming and going of the aiji-dowager’s grandson. The paidhiaiji has accordingly sent an informal message to the Edi leadership offering a consultation should they wish one. The paidhi-aiji willingly takes all responsibility for such a meeting, whether on the premises or in the village, unless the aiji-dowager wishes otherwise.
The answer came back in a few minutes. It read:
The paidhi-aiji may assure the Edi leadership that our statements stand.
And from the Edi leadership, within the next hour, a young man, definitely not the Grandmother of Najida village, arrived in the little office, escorted by Banichi and Jago, and bowed respectfully. Dola, he said his name was, and one recalled seeing him the night of the village council meeting.
“Nand’ paidhi, the Grandmother
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