Jade War

The Horn snorted—as much of a laugh as Hilo ever got out of him, though his broad shoulders rose in amusement. “The groundskeeper was discovered shot in the head near the gate. Over his debts, they say. Doesn’t seem all that important, but you know how some people are, crying bad luck over a fly in a cup of hoji.”

Hilo nodded. There ought not to be any negative news to taint the Torch’s funeral. “Talk to the cemetery manager and quiet it down.” He glanced reluctantly at the long line of well-wishers he had to face. He could no longer Perceive either Ayt or Doru anywhere nearby. “Tell Tar to give me an hour; then I’m going home, no matter how many ass kissers are still here.”

* * *

Two and a half hours later, Hilo arrived back at the Kaul estate. There were cars parked all the way up and down the long driveway and in the roundabout; the public funeral was being followed by a private reception reserved for family members and the highest-ranked Green Bones of No Peak. Through the half-open car window, Hilo could hear music and smell barbecue coming from the courtyard. Living into one’s eighties was supposedly a cause for celebration; it was considered as a sign of achievement in the Divine Virtues and a mark of the gods’ approval, guaranteeing admittance back to the fold of Heaven on the promised day of the Return. Hilo thought it was one of those beliefs that must’ve made more sense in a time of warfare and poor medical care, but nevertheless, now that the official mourning for Kaul Sen was over, the white drapery had come down and the more informal gathering had a somewhat festive air. It was bound to go on for some time.

Maik Tar drove the Duchesse Priza straight up to the front of the main house. Hilo’s Pillarman put the car into park and turned over his shoulder. “Those people you agreed to see today, Hilo-jen, they’re still here. You want me to send them in to you, or get rid of them?”

“Where’s my sister?” Hilo asked. “Did she come back already?”

“She’s waiting for you inside.”

Resigned, Hilo stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Send them in.”

Tar cast his boss a sympathetic glance. “I’ll save you a plate of food. You want anything in particular?”

“Some of the smoked pork.” Hilo got out of the car, walked into the house, and reluctantly went into the study. It had once been Lan’s favorite room, and Hilo still did not feel entirely comfortable in it. He had finally made some changes—removing some of the bookshelves and putting in a television and a larger minibar, bringing in more comfortable armchairs—but every time he used it, the officious room reminded him unkindly that he’d never been the intended Pillar of the clan.

So ordinarily, when he met with his own subordinates, Hilo preferred the kitchen or the patio, but those were not private at the moment, and he had to admit that the study communicated a sense of formal authority that made it more appropriate for meeting with the clan’s stakeholders and petitioners—people with whom he knew he needed to downplay his youth and street reputation and emphasize his family’s power and legacy.

Shae was already in the room, sitting in one of the leather armchairs. She’d washed off her face powder, redone her makeup, and changed into a dark skirt and beige blouse, but her eyes were sunken and tired, and seemed almost accusing. Didn’t you love Grandda at all?

“You don’t have to stay,” Hilo told her. “I can handle this myself.”

Shae said, “What if a Lantern Man asks you to pressure the Royal Council regarding the upcoming bill on limiting fuel surcharges?”

Hilo narrowed his eyes. “No one will ask me that.”

“You’re right,” she said. “There is no upcoming bill on fuel surcharges. I made it up just now.” Her smile was thin, and her needling held little of its usual thrust. “I’ll stay.”

Hilo frowned but refrained from replying, only out of consideration for her grief. It was true that he didn’t know the business and political issues of the clan as well as she did, but pointing it out was the sort of cutting unkindness that his sister must’ve inherited from Grandda.

Hilo had barely taken off his tie and unbuttoned his collar when Tar knocked on the door and opened it to admit a man accompanied by a woman with a baby in her arms. At the sight of them, Hilo brightened at once and went to embrace the man warmly. “Eiten, my friend,” he said. “Your daughter’s grown huge! Is she really only nine months old? She could wrestle a two-year-old to the ground.”

Eiten could not return the Pillar’s embrace, nor raise clasped hands to his forehead in the traditional respectful salute, but his eyes shone with pride at Hilo’s words and he tilted into a slight bow. He wore a crisp, white, short-sleeved shirt that covered the stumps of his missing arms, and soft, slip-on black sandals. “She’s a terror, Hilo-jen; she cries for hours and refuses to be put down for a minute.” He shook his head morosely but did not sound at all unhappy.