Free Precursor by C. J. Cherryh Page A

visited the district, and brought his very family and honored mother to visit, no matter their oddness.
    Or as Narani had put it, they had rusted in their former service, little called upon by the aiji, and now luxuriated in a service in the very heart of the court, their historic lodge likewise elevated to unprecedented prominence and wealth. Tourists came to the district to see “the paidhi’s country estate” in hopes of the exotic and outrageous, Bren was sure.
    His staff survived his mother’s residencies with remarkable fortitude, not to mention Toby’s children.
    Even Tatiseigi’s former servants avowed his service to their liking.
    “The mail, nadi.” Narani assisted him with the coat, delivered the garment to a maidservant, and with a nod indicated the small silver bowl on the ornate, ivory-inlaid table by the entry.
    Not unexpectedly, messages had accumulated, formally delivered message cylinders of «Uver, gold, ivory, and the like, each unique, most with some small felicitation or solicitation for the paidhi’s office—these cylinders were from the lordly ranks. The ordinary run of mail, arriving by common post, now had a staff of hundreds in full-time employment: would the paidhi kindly respond to a small association in the hinterlands who suspected the sighting of three meteors was a landing of spacecraft?
    Granted.
    Would the paidhi tell schoolchildren whether they might write to a school on Mospheira?
    They might exchange greetings, no more. They could not let down the barriers that prevented free access… not for lunatics in rowboats; not for innocent schoolchildren.
    Those were the kind of things the staff handled, up to certain levels. Messages in the silver bowl were likely to be departmental meetings, committee meetings, and policy conferences. Some might have heard about Jase’s departure. The whole court might know, it being late afternoon.
    But why was he not astonished to see the dowager’s message cylinder among the rest? And where was Tabini’s?
    “Rani-ji,” he addressed his major domo. “When did the aiji-dowager’s message arrive?”
    “Within the last hour, nadi.” Narani had not mentioned Jase. But the house was very sober, very quiet compared to happier homecomings. The servant who had taken his coat went away, head bowed, without a sound, and Narani had not a word to say about the shirt cuff.
    They stood in a white circular entry hall, reflected in three massive gilt-framed mirrors, before which sat three gilt-and-silver tables on which sat very massive bouquets… gold seasonal flowers in blue-and-green porcelain vases. The marble floor held, three times repeated, the baji-naji symbol in black-and-white marble; the same design echoed on the ceiling in a great medallion; and one could suppose someone had counted the number of repeating reflections from every angle of the mirrors, to be sure nothing in the entry hall was infelicitous.
    So were all the motives, all the implications, and all the politics around and above him… atevi. Tabini-aiji, effective ruler of the world, had not, to his observation, sent a welcoming message to him, and he could not approach the aiji without that invitation. He had to count on Banichi and Jago to get something through to Tabini’s staff… and to send a message to Tabini reporting what was surely an invitation from the dowager, Tabini’s grandmother, was exceedingly indelicate. Among atevi, one trusted a great lord
knew
what was going on. In the Bu-javid, messages flowed like groundwater, invisibly… tastefully.
    Perhaps a commiseration in the loss of Jase. That would be reasonable to expect. And there was not, not from Tabini.
    He opened Ilisidi’s cylinder. Not a word of Jase. The message indeed asked him to supper, with scarcely enough time to bathe and dress in sufficient formality.
    He was not surprised at all.
    But wary of this invitation, aware of all the threads that ran under various doorways here and across the continent…