Protector

And then he had a thought, how everything including himself was being turned over to the people his mother most objected to. He stopped and looked back, catching his father regarding him with a particularly thoughtful look. He bowed. Asked very cautiously: “What does Mother think about my going to Great-grandmother?”

His father let go a deep breath. “She will not be happy. But she would be far less happy at the attendance of three human children at close quarters. The baby is troubling her a great deal.”

“Is she all right?”

“She seems to be. In all honesty, son of mine, I do fear she is not going to be at her most gracious.”

Mother was his father’s deepest problem. He knew things had not gotten better. And he had the feeling that his father was taking fire for him on the matter of his guests. He did not know how to say that in words.

“Shall I go tell her about them coming early, honored Father? And about me going to Great-grandmother?” he asked. “I think she should know it before the servants happen to mention it.”

His father thought about it a moment with that look he used deciding serious, serious things. Then he nodded. “Go, son of mine. If you have learned anything of nand’ Bren’s art, use it.”

“Yes,” he said respectfully, and bowed, and left, back out into the hallway, where his aishid waited.

“I am to see my mother, nadiin-ji,” he said, feeling all the while he was not going to have any good reception, and walked down the hall as far as his mother’s door.

His mother did not like surprises. And he knew for certain that his great-grandmother having his birthday was the kind of thing that would have his mother and his father shouting at each other, the sort of thing that just tied his stomach in knots and scared the servants into whispers.

But he had said it: it would be far worse if his mother was surprised by a servant talking about plans she had no idea about. He gave a tug at his shirt cuffs and at the lace at his collar, took a deep breath and had Antaro knock before he tried the door—it was unlocked—and just went on in.

His mother’s suite, with that beautiful row of windows, and white lace curtains, and the crib where the baby would sleep, seemed an unhappy, lonely place at the moment.

It was one of Cook’s staff who came out to see who had come into in the nursery. That woman, and two of the girls who ordinarily washed the dishes and did sewing, were the only staff his mother had at the moment. His mother was not happy about it, and by their habitual faces, neither were the girls.

“Young gentleman,” the woman said.

“Please tell my mother I am here,” he said in as matter-of-fact a tone as he could manage, and waited to be let into his mother’s sitting room.

The door opened wide to admit him. His mother, wearing a pretty white lace gown, was sitting, reading by the light of a flower-shaped lamp. She folded the book, and looked at him, expressionless as if he were some servant on business.

He bowed. “One wished to tell you without delay, honored Mother. The shuttle schedule is changed. My associates are coming down early, three of them. One is not certain how much early, but very soon.”

“Indeed.”

“One knows you are not happy to have my guests here. Father says I am to go to Great-grandmother and let her and nand’ Bren take care of things and not be a bother to you.” The last part was his invention, which he thought was a good thing to say.

“Sit down,” his mother said, with no hint of expression, and he found a seat on her footstool, and sat quietly. “Are you pleased with this arrangement, son of mine?”

“Yes, honored Mother.” He sat on the very edge of the footstool. Mother was not as good as Great-grandmother about leading one into traps, but one had to be very wary. Great-grandmother just thumped his ear when she was angry. But his mother went on being mad for hours. Days. He really had rather Great-grandmother.

“You think your great-grandmother will be more patient than I am?”

That was a trap. “I think Great-grandmother is not having headaches.”

“One supposes the paidhi will be involved.”

“One thinks, yes.”

His mother frowned. “Could you ever even talkto these people, son of mine? How do you speak to them?”

She had never asked him that. He did not want to admit he was fairly good at ship-speak, though he supposed she was going to find out. “We use signs. They know a little Ragi. I know a little ship-speak.”

“You know it was illegal for them even to speak to you not so many years ago. It was illegal for them to know Ragi at all. And very illegal to speak it.”

He was amazed. “Why?”

She laughed, shortly and not very happily. And he had no idea why. “You arestill young. Ask nand’ Bren someday. He can tell you.”

“I am almost felicitous nine. And I shall be much smarter and not get into trouble this next year.”