There must have been a phone call gone out to the village, too, because in not too long a time, people came walking up the road, meeting old acquaintances with a great deal of bowing and politeness. Some of the villagers had brought small gifts, packets of, perhaps, food; or items they thought might be in scarcity at Kajiminda, like tea, and pressed these little packets on the Kajiminda staff.

Geigi was quite moved by it all. And came to present his elderly majordomo to the dowager and to the young gentleman, and to Bren: “I remember you, Peisi-nadi,” Bren said, and did. The good will was palpable, in all present, and made all their precautions seem excessive.

One recalled it was exactly the mood evoked in the machimi plays—before the last act. They now had to get back on that bus, he and everyone involved.

He had not—God!—remembered to tell Toby where he was going. He had been in the atevi world, lost in it, and he had outright forgotten. But it was too late. Barb and Toby had not come out. They were probably back in the basement, oblivious to what was happening above, until some servant might inform them they now could move back upstairs.

And with a certain misgiving, and a look back at his own front door, Bren paid his parting respects to the dowager and Cajeiri, bows.

“One anticipates,” he said, “at least a stay overnight.” The baggage compartment of the bus was open, and staff was loading on his baggage, including supplies, and his entire aishid’s gear, and Geigi’s four, which took some shoving. “One regrets to withdraw any support from your safety here, aiji-ma. But—”

“We shall manage,” the dowager said. “Take care, nand’ paidhi.”

And to Cajeiri he said: “Bend all your energies to protecting your great-grandmother, young lord. See that the doors stay shut and people stay within the house. And one asks a personal favor. Go downstairs and explain to nand’ Toby that I shall be gone just overnight and that nothing is wrong. One absolutely relies on you.”

“Yes, nand’ Bren,” Cajeiri said soberly. And: “We so wish we were going.”

“The young gentleman knowsc”

“We know,” Cajeiri sighed. And added helpfully: “We jammed the surveillance in the second tower. Perhaps my father’s men have fixed it. But it could still be broken. You should check that!”

“We shall indeed, young lord,” Bren said, and took his leave and went to escort Lord Geigi up onto the bus.

He had all four of his bodyguards going with him; Geigi had his four, and his four domestics, and that meant many of the younger returning staff had to stand in the aisle, but it was all in good, if solemn, cheerfulness. People carried aboard their gifts, tied with colored string, and, wrapped in colored tissue, even a bouquet of seasonal household flowers and some stones and a small winter branch, a token of alliance, no matter the season, for display in the house.

Their Najidi driver got on board and started up the engine, closing the doors. Villagers and staff cleared away slowly from the path of the bus.

The village truck was waiting out on the road, loaded with such bulky things as flour, preserves, and other foodstuffs and basic necessities from Najida estate—there was no likelihood the aiji’s men would have allowed anything to remain in storage from the prior resident when they were clearing the place, for fear of poison, and just as a matter of policy. The search and clearance would have taken the pantry down to bare shelves, Banichi said, and so the truck would go on back to the train station, not down to Separti, and pick up a double supply of groceries they meant to order in, some for Kajiminda, and others for Najida and its village. It might be slightly short commons this evening, give or take what Najida sent, but supplies would be coming in tomorrow.

There was a load of lumber coming in, too, on the train; not to mention Lord Geigi’s new truck—that was already ordered. And a bus. Kajiminda would need its own bus, and fairly soon.

Kajiminda was coming back to life, and took all manner of supply. It wasa cheerful prospect they had.

And somewhere out there across the meadows and small woods, Edi were out doing their own survey of sites, which would mean more building supplies coming in from the south. Businesses down in Separti and Dalaigi were going to be happy about that—without quite figuring, yet, perhaps, that the way politics had run on the west coast for two hundred years was about to undergo a sea change.

The truck traveled ahead of them, too, for a very practical reason—it protected the bus. Though Ilisidi’s young men had kept a very close eye on the district, one never forgot there were some very good Guild doubtless under orders to infiltrate and cause harm of various sort. Guild rules protected non-Guild from involvement; but one had, Algini had once said, no confidence that the Guildsmen in Marid employ were going to be as observant of the rules.

“Some Guild in Southern employ now are outlaws,” Algini had said on that occasion, a rare revelation about internal Guild operations, “who did not report in to Guild headquarters after the aiji’s return. Some are reported dead, which the Guild very much doubts. We have been quietly hunting these people. Some are suspect of crimes and illegal tactics.”

Chilling memory, on this occasion.

But thus far the Guild was handling the whole district with tongs—because of the Edi.

He would bet a great deal that Algini had communicated personally with Guild headquarters, to relay to Guild leadership certain very unpleasant observationsc and possibly to receive certain orders from Guild leadership. Algini had said he was no longer operating at that level of the Guild, but the fact was that those who didoperate at that level of the Guild were inclined to develop a cover story, so no often meant no, but it sometimes meant one was not talking.

Geigi had settled opposite him, with his security standing just behind, as his own sat and stood near him; and the bus moved quite slowly, pacing itself behind the truckc which had not yet run into any undermined culvert, or other such illegal trick.

“I am nerving myself for what I shall see, Bren-ji,” Geigi said. “The devastation of my grounds, my orchardc my collections. I wish this were a happier moment in that regard. But I have recovered my people. Mypeople.”

“Be assured about the orchard,” Bren said. “One has just read part of your nephew’s account, and he claims to have planted new trees in the west of the orchard.”

“Gods know what he planted,” Geigi said with a deep sigh. “But that does offer some hope. And my boat. I hope it has survived intact.”

“When last my staff was there, it was riding securely at anchor, and they handed matters directly to the aiji’s men. One hopes they have checked it out.”

“Baji-naji,” Geigi said. “One hopes so, too.”

Bump. Even the modern bus springs had trouble with that one.

The road had seen a bit more traffic since their last visit— the Najida truck traveling back and forth had actually worn down the grassy track here and there. The bumps, however, were little improved.

But when they came to the turn off toward Kajiminda estate, and when they had reached the gates, the view of the harbor showed Lord Geigi’s yacht riding serene and safe on the dark water. That heartened Geigi no end, enough to lift his spirits even in the face of conditions inside the estate grounds: the neglect of paint and edgings about the walls, the sad state of the gates, hanging crooked on their hinges, and notably the portico being completely missing—except two and a half pillars with the beginnings of a timber frame between two of them.

“Najida is doing a grand job, Bren-ji,” Geigi said. “You are a most excellent neighbor.”

“One will relay the compliment to Najida village,” Bren said, himself heartened to see what progress the carpenters had made. The estate at least had the look of a place being improved, not a place in complete ruin: they had done that much for Lord Geigi.