Foreigner

Djinana left on that errand. He poured himself another cup of tea. He had to answer the summons, one way or the other. The thought unworthily crossed his mind that the aiji-dowager might indeed have waited until Banichi and Jago were otherwise occupied, although what might legitimately have drawn the whole damned staff to the airport when Tabini had saidhe was in their charge, he didn’t know. He carefully rolled up the little scroll, shoved it into the case, and capped it. And waited until Djinana came back, and bowed, with a worried look. “Nadi, I don’t know—”

“—where Algini is,” he said.

“I’m sorry, nand’ paidhi. I truly don’t know what to say. I can’t imagine. I’ve made inquiries in the kitchen and with nand’ Cenedi—”

“Is he still waiting?”

“Yes, nand’ paidhi, I’ve told him—you wished to consult protocols.”

Tell Cenedi he was indisposed? That might save him—if the dowager wasn’t getting her own reports from the staff.

Which he couldn’t at all guarantee.

“Nadi Djinana. If your mother had a gun, and your mother threatened me—whose side would you take?”

“I—assure you, nadi, my mother would never…”

“You’re not security. I don’t come under your man’chi.”

“No, nadi. I work for the Preservation Commission. I’m a caretaker. Of the estate, you understand.”

If there was one ateva in the world telling him the truth, he believed it by that one moment of absolute shock in Djinana’s eyes, that minute, dismayed hesitation.

He hadn’t phrased it quite right, of course, not, at least, inescapably. Banichi would have said, You’re within my duty, nand’ paidhi. And that could have meant anything.

But, caretaker of Malguri? One knew where Djinana stood. Firmly againstthe hanging of schedule boards and the importation of extension cords and the sticking of nails in Malguri’s walls. He knew that—but he didn’t know even that much about Banichi at the present moment. Certainly Banichi hadn’t been wholly forthcoming with him, either that, or Banichi had been damned lax—which wasn’t Banichi’s style as he knew it.

Unless something truly catastrophic had happened. Something like an attempt on Tabini himself.

That surmise upset his stomach.

Which, dammit, he didn’t need to happen to him when he had just gotten his stomach used to food again. No, Tabini wasn’t in danger. Tabini had far better security than he did; Tabini had the whole damned City to look out for him, while hisstaff was down at the airport, leaving himto Cenedi, who could walk in here and blow him and Djinana to small bits, if Cenedi were so inclined to disregard biichi-jiand stain the historic carpets.

“Appropriate paper and pen.”

“With your own scroll-case, nadi?”

“The paidhi doesn’t know where his staff put it. They don’t let him in on such matters. Try some appropriate drawer. If you don’t find it, it can go bare.—And if Banichi isn’t back by tomorrow morning, you’llgo with me.”

“I—” Djinana began a protest. And made a bow, instead. “I have some small skill at protocols. I’ll look for the scroll-case. Or provide one from the estate. Would the paidhi wish advice in phrasing?”

“Djinana, tell me. AmI frightening? AmI so foreign? WouldI give children bad dreams?”

“I—” Djinana looked twice distressed.

“Do I disturb you, nadi? I wouldn’t want to. I think you’re an honest man. And I’ve met so few.”

“I wish the paidhi every good thing.”

“You areskilled in protocol. Do you think you can get me there and back tomorrow unpoisoned?”

“Please, nand’ paidhi. I’m not qualified—”

“But you’re honest. You’re a good man. You’d defend your mother before you’d defend me. As a human, I find that very honest. You owe your mother more than you do me. As I owe mine, thank you. And in that particular, you could be human, nadi, which I don’t personally consider an outrageous thing to be.”

Djinana regarded him with a troubled frown. “I truly don’t understand your figure of speech, nadi.”

“Between Malguri, and your mother, nadi—if it were the ruin of one or the other— whichwould you choose?”

“That of my mother, nadi. My man’chiis with this place.”

“For Malguri’s reputation—would you die, nadi-ji?”

“I’m not nadi-ji. Only nadi, nand’ paidhi.”

“Would you die, nadi-ji?”

“I would die for the stones of this place. So I would, nadi-ji. I couldn’t abandon it.”

“We also,” he said, in a strange and angry mood, “we human folk, understand antiquities. We understand preserving. We understand the importance of old stories. Everything we own and know—is in old stories. I wish we could give you everything we know, nadi, and I wish you could give us the same, and I wish we could travel to the moon together before we’re both too old.”

“To the moon!” Djinana said, with an anxious, uncertain laughter. “What would we do there?”