Protector

It occurred to him, too, that Lady Adsi, of the Marid Trade Office, might have some useful suggestions on that problem. The Marid had its own difficulties trading with three local currencies, plus barter, and conducting commerce with the rest of the aishidi’tat.

Time being of the essence, he penned a small note to that effect, rolled both letters together, slipped them into one of his white message cylinders and took it directly to Narani to be couriered to the dowager wherever she was at the moment.

Satisfied that he’d done all he could on that front, he returned to his office and three letters from companies seeking a recommendation to Mospheira. He still handled trade cases, mostly by routing them to the appropriate office on the island. He attached notes for his clerical office, and turned to the final cylinder, one in a style he knew well: Ramaso, his major domo at Najida.

Ramaso reported on the construction on the estate, on the road improvement, and on the arrangements for a village wedding he had promised to occur at the estate if they could get the new dining room, hall and sitting room in order fast enough. And the news was good, very good indeed. The work would be completed on time. The wedding was going to happen. That lent cheerfulness to the day.

Ramaso reported as well on the order for wine and food, for his approval.

Granted. It made him particularly happy to keep that promise.

And finally Ramaso wrote that the framework for the new wing was not only up, the paneling was being shaped and carved in situ, and stonemasons were at work.

Excellent news. All of it.

He answered Ramaso, and in the same train of thought, thinking of his last visit to Najida and a particularly painful, several-day cross-country trek in court-dress footwear, he dashed off an order to a shop on Mospheira. He imported his boots, by preference, from an old-fashioned bootmaker up by Mount Adams. He requested another three pairs of boots, one for indoors, one for court . . . and oneof them the stoutest hiking boots possible. Witha metal shank.

After that, he was at leisure to draft routine letters to several of the guilds, official letters to certain legislators regarding personal meetings. . . .

He was actually glad to be back to the routine of his office, even with the tension over the vital tribal bill.

Statistics and statistics. Stacks of financial reports—those were not his favorites . . .

But there were far worse ways to spend an afternoon, and lately, he had seen all too many of them.

9

Life was very much better now, in Cajeiri’s estimation. He had his aishid for company and conversation, and the imminent prospect of his guests and his party.

Training for his aishid in the gym or on the firing range was daily, it turned out, and the place was very quiet when they were gone. But in the evenings, on their little private dining table, Veijico and Lucasi were doing a lot of interesting instruction with the equipment they had brought in.

It was supposed to be just Antaro and Jegari. Cajeiri was not really supposed to hear the lessons, they said, because some of it was classified and it was Guild regulations—the Guild was being very strict about regulations, since the Troubles. But he still heard a lot that was going on, and he already knew how the locators worked, and about wires, and explosives, which he had learned mostly from Banichi, aboard the ship.

Finally they said he was,after all, his father’s heir, and the aiji couldoverride the lesser rules, so they said it was probably all right for him to hear, so long as he did not talk about it with anyone but them.

Electricity became a very fascinating subject—he understood now a lot of things it could do besides turn on lights.

His tutor was willing to tell him a lot about electricity, things which were notclassified, but he began to see how those theories might relate to things that wereclassified.

He had had Banichi and the exploding car in mind, when he had first asked his tutor about circuits.

He really learned about explosives, now, and how Banichi had known how much to use. And he came to realize that explosives were very good if you had a big target, or room enough, but that electricity was more subtle. That was Great-grandmother’s word: subtle.

And most subtle of all were the wires, which could do terrible damage and which atevi were not supposed to have, but they did. They were illegal for anybody but Guild, and that only under very special circumstances and with Guild approval.

He’d known about wires before, but now he knewabout them. He was excited about that.

Lucasi was kneeling on the floor in the bedroom doorway, showing him, with a real wire that was not powered up, how to detect such a trap, telling him where they were most often used, and why—when a knock came at the door.

Cajeiri ignored it, trusting Antaro to see to whoever it was.