Foreigner

Some things he didn’t write, fearing his room wasn’t immune to search, if only by the servants and his own security, who were probably one and the same—but he asked himself about the aiji-dowager, and asked himself twice what Tabini had had on his mind with that throw-away comment, “Grandmother’s in residence.”

Not in the least likely, of course, that Tabini had foreseen his invitation to a fatal tea: even for the aiji-dowager, it was too serendipitous and too strange, over all—even if one grew extremely suspicious when accidents happened in the presence of persons of twice-denied ambition.

The obvious thought, of course, was that Ilisidi didn’t like humans.

But what if—a poisoned, delirious brain could form very strange ideas—what if Tabini’s sending him here hadn’t been to send himhere, but to get Banichi and Jago inside Malguri, past Ilisidi’s guard?

A try on Ilisidi?

Thinking about it made his head hurt.

His appetite was still off, at supper. He didn’t feel up to formal dinner, and ordered simply a bowl of soup and wafers—which tasted better than they had yesterday, and he decided he felt up to a second bowl of it, in his televisionless, fellowless, phoneless exile.

Mealtimes had become a marker in the day, which thus far, lacking even a clock, he measured in paces of his quarters, in pages turned, in the slow progress of clouds across the sky, or boats across the wind-wrinkled lake.

He forced himself to drink an ordinary tea, and lingered over a sweet milk pudding, in which there was only one questionable and lumpy substance, exceedingly bitter to the taste—but one could, with dexterity, pick the bits out.

Food became an amusement, a hobby, an adventure despite cook’s assurances. The book he had open beside his plate was an absorbing enough account of lingering and resentful spirits of Malguri’s murdered and accident-prone dead. The lake also was given to be haunted by various restless fishermen and by one ill-fated lord of Malguri who leapt in full armor from the cliffs, thus evading what the book called ‘a shameful marriage.’

Curious idea. He resolved to ask someone about that, and to find out the doubtless prurient details.

He discarded the last bitter bit in the pudding, and had his final spoonful as Djinana came in, to take the dishes, as he supposed.

“I’ll have another cup of tea,” he said. He was feeling much better. Djinana laid a tiny silver scroll-case, with great ceremony, beside his plate.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“I don’t know, nand’ paidhi. Nadi Cenedi conveyed it.”

“Would you open it?”

“It’s the dowager’s own…” Djinana protested.

“Nadi. Would you open it?”

Djinana frowned and took it up—broke the seal and spread out the paper.

He took it, once Djinana had proven it only the scroll it seemed to be. But he was thinking of the Bu-javid post office, and Jago’s comment about needles in the mail.

It was almost as welcome. An invitation. From the aiji-dowager. For an early breakfast.

The hospitality of an aiji of any degree was not easy to refuse. He had to share a roof with this woman. She’d nearly killed him. Refusal could convey a belief it wasn’t an accident. And thatcould mean hostilities. “Tell Banichi I need to talk to him.”

“I’ll try, nadi.”

“What,‘try?’ Where ishe, nadi?”

“I believe he and nadi Jago drove somewhere.”

“Somewhere.” He’d become reluctantly well acquainted with the vicinity, at least the historical sites within driving distance of Malguri. There wasn’t anywhere to drive to, except the airport and the town just outside. “Then I need to talk to Tano.”

“I don’t know where he is, either, nand’ paidhi. I rather thought he’d gone with your security staff.”

“Algini, then.”

“I’ll look for him, nand’ paidhi.”

“They wouldn’t have left me here.”

“I would think not, nand’ paidhi. But I assure you Maighi and I are perfectly well at your service.”

“Then what would youadvise?” He handed Djinana the scroll, case and all. Djinana scanned it, and frowned.

“It’s unusual,” Djinana said. “The aiji-dowager doesn’t receive many people.”

Fine, he thought. So she’s making an extraordinary gesture. The stakes go up.

“So what do I answer, nadi? Is it safe?”

Djinana’s face assumed a very official serenity. “I couldn’t possibly advise the paidhi.”

“Then can we find Algini? I take it there’s some urgency to respond to this.”

“A certain amount. I believe nand’ Cenedi elected to wait—”

“He knows Banichi’s not here.”

“I’m not sure, nadi.” The facade cracked. Worry did come through. “Perhaps I can find Algini.”