asks if there is any change in the understandings.”
“One can assure the Grandmother that there is no change at all. The aiji had heard of the agreement.” That was a diplomatic understatement. “He issued no instruction about it. He was persuaded that his son was safe and that his grandmother was comfortable in her situation. The paidhi-aiji attended that meeting and knows these statements to be true. And the aiji-dowager particularly asks me to assure the Edi that the understandings have not changed.”
A bow and an immediately relaxed countenance. “Nand’ paidhi, one will say so.”
“One is grateful, nadi.” He bowed in turn, and that was that. The young man left, and he went back to his papers.
One matter handled.
The five clans of the Marid would be—doubtless having gotten wind of the visit by now—furious.
Beyond furious. If a leader of the Marid had had his schemes go this far astray—not only losing their smoothly running plot to marry their way into control of Kajiminda, but now provoking the aishidi’tat into establishing their historic enemies the Edi as a new power on the coast—that leader had to fear his own neighbors, whom he regularly held in check by threat and judicious assassination. In the last half-year that young man, who had loomed as the dark eminence behind Murini’s takeover—thus poised to assassinate Murini and take over the whole aishidi’tat—had lost the west coast a second time, thanks largely to the paidhi-aiji’s visit here, and was about to see the Marid’s old enemies gain legitimacy. If somebody attempted to take out Machigi, it would not be somebody who favored the Edi taking power. It would most likely be somebody else from the Marid, incensed at his failure.
Perilous times indeed.
“The move to the library is proceeding, nadiin-ji?” he asked Banichi and Jago, when they came back after escorting the latest visitor to the front door.
“Proceeding rapidly,” Jago said. “We shall not break down all the equipment at once. Part of it will be set up and running in the library before we move the rest.”
A good idea, he thought, that they not be blind at any given moment. Matters had gotten that dicey over the last few days. There hadn’t been this concentration of high-value targets on the west coast in two hundred years . . . all sitting in Najida, which was a sprawling country house, not an ancient fortress.
And Machigi of the Taisigin Marid?
Machigi was going to move. He had to.
Bet on it.
4
O ne of the mundane tasks of the paidhi’s residency in Najida had been finding a replacement for the estate bus—which had lately come to grief—along with the service gate, the garden utility gate, the garage door, the garden wall, and part of the arbor.
And while the lord of Najida naturally wanted to patronize local businesses, the only dealer in such vehicles in the region was down in Separti Township, a district in which Tabini’s forces were still ferreting out the last of a Marid cell—the same cell that was indirectly responsible for the disaster to the gates, the garage door, and the garden premises.
So the paidhi had regretfully sent his business elsewhere: a call to his office staff in the Bujavid in Shejidan—and to his bank—had reportedly solved the problem, and the item had been acquired with no delay at all, and shipped. He had had his Shejidan staff select a stout, security-grade vehicle from a random choice among three such dealers in Shejidan, one with ample seating for, oh, about thirty persons.
His chief secretary had called back yesterday asking if he wanted to outlay extra for blackout shielding on the windows—no actual protection, but a way of making life more difficult for snipers.
Yes, that had seemed a good idea, all things considered.
Weight mattered. A totally secure vehicle, involving bulletproof glass as well, was a very slow-moving vehicle, and gulped fuel, a dependency which became its own vulnerability in
“One can assure the Grandmother that there is no change at all. The aiji had heard of the agreement.” That was a diplomatic understatement. “He issued no instruction about it. He was persuaded that his son was safe and that his grandmother was comfortable in her situation. The paidhi-aiji attended that meeting and knows these statements to be true. And the aiji-dowager particularly asks me to assure the Edi that the understandings have not changed.”
A bow and an immediately relaxed countenance. “Nand’ paidhi, one will say so.”
“One is grateful, nadi.” He bowed in turn, and that was that. The young man left, and he went back to his papers.
One matter handled.
The five clans of the Marid would be—doubtless having gotten wind of the visit by now—furious.
Beyond furious. If a leader of the Marid had had his schemes go this far astray—not only losing their smoothly running plot to marry their way into control of Kajiminda, but now provoking the aishidi’tat into establishing their historic enemies the Edi as a new power on the coast—that leader had to fear his own neighbors, whom he regularly held in check by threat and judicious assassination. In the last half-year that young man, who had loomed as the dark eminence behind Murini’s takeover—thus poised to assassinate Murini and take over the whole aishidi’tat—had lost the west coast a second time, thanks largely to the paidhi-aiji’s visit here, and was about to see the Marid’s old enemies gain legitimacy. If somebody attempted to take out Machigi, it would not be somebody who favored the Edi taking power. It would most likely be somebody else from the Marid, incensed at his failure.
Perilous times indeed.
“The move to the library is proceeding, nadiin-ji?” he asked Banichi and Jago, when they came back after escorting the latest visitor to the front door.
“Proceeding rapidly,” Jago said. “We shall not break down all the equipment at once. Part of it will be set up and running in the library before we move the rest.”
A good idea, he thought, that they not be blind at any given moment. Matters had gotten that dicey over the last few days. There hadn’t been this concentration of high-value targets on the west coast in two hundred years . . . all sitting in Najida, which was a sprawling country house, not an ancient fortress.
And Machigi of the Taisigin Marid?
Machigi was going to move. He had to.
Bet on it.
4
O ne of the mundane tasks of the paidhi’s residency in Najida had been finding a replacement for the estate bus—which had lately come to grief—along with the service gate, the garden utility gate, the garage door, the garden wall, and part of the arbor.
And while the lord of Najida naturally wanted to patronize local businesses, the only dealer in such vehicles in the region was down in Separti Township, a district in which Tabini’s forces were still ferreting out the last of a Marid cell—the same cell that was indirectly responsible for the disaster to the gates, the garage door, and the garden premises.
So the paidhi had regretfully sent his business elsewhere: a call to his office staff in the Bujavid in Shejidan—and to his bank—had reportedly solved the problem, and the item had been acquired with no delay at all, and shipped. He had had his Shejidan staff select a stout, security-grade vehicle from a random choice among three such dealers in Shejidan, one with ample seating for, oh, about thirty persons.
His chief secretary had called back yesterday asking if he wanted to outlay extra for blackout shielding on the windows—no actual protection, but a way of making life more difficult for snipers.
Yes, that had seemed a good idea, all things considered.
Weight mattered. A totally secure vehicle, involving bulletproof glass as well, was a very slow-moving vehicle, and gulped fuel, a dependency which became its own vulnerability in
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