Divergence

by C. J. Cherryh

  5

  They were about to move. That much was evident. And it was going to be a long day and likely an anxious night. There was no information about their schedule or their expectations or whether the dowager had been in contact with Tabini.

  Just the warning whistle.

  “I have had no word,” Bren said to the company still present in the Red Car: Machigi, Bregani and his family, and Nomari. “The dowager has not told me her plans, but surely she will. We all should get to our compartments, I think—to be where we can be contacted, have security constantly around us, and do nothing to distract the Guild from their observations. That would be my advice, if asked. I shall try to get more specific information and deliver it to you.”

  “We are anxious to return,” Lord Bregani said. It was the dowager’s promise to him that was being honored, but there was no guarantee for any of them that it was safe to go down to Koperna despite the assurance of the Guild it was now quiet. They had to get down there, on a very chancy route. They might be about to turn around—Hasjuran had the means—and go the long way around.

  “Has the train that passed us,” Machigi asked, “met any difficulty?”

  “We have no idea, nandi. The timing suggests that the dowager waited only for the signing this morning. Matters are now proceeding with some plan in mind. It is possible we may uncouple, but since we have had no instruction to return to our respective cars, I do believe it is unlikely. Best, however, for our comfort, that we go back to our appointed places. I do promise that as I receive information the dowager will let me release, I shall send it to you. Let us all go before we get underway.”

  Machigi looked, if anything, unexpectedly agreeable to the idea of heading down through his neighbor’s province. Bregani had outright asked to go home; and Nomari, a railroad worker by training, simply stood there looking concerned—possibly because he had nothing whatever to win, and had seen enough of Marid politics, and possibly because he did hope they were going the long way around.

  In that position, the paidhi-aiji was in complete sympathy. The aiji-dowager could choose to sit and wait for events, could communicate her support for Guild forces by radio and then summon the principals to deal with her later, at Najida or at Hasjuran—granted things went well.

  But it was not Ilisidi’s style and he did not believe she would take the long and cautious route. She would not direct forces in the field when it came to a fight; but Cenedi could; and Banichi could also, before all was said and done.

  Had Ilisidi told Banichi what she was up to? Cenedi likely had known—perhaps. But he was reasonably certain Banichi had been left in the dark—about all of it.

  He went with his aishid, behind the other parties. He passed by the galley car, where people were at work cleaning up after breakfast or beginning preparation for lunch—one of his own staff was involved there: his personal cook, Bindanda, who had insisted on coming, along with Narani and Jeladi, to take care of him—faithful as his bodyguard, and handling all the details. He passed by Ilisidi’s door, half hoping for some signal to stop there, but the door was shut and sealed against view from the passage; and passed through Cenedi’s car, his last hope of information. It had its access open, but guarded, offering still no signal for a conference.

  Another horn blast warned of movement imminent, whether because Ilisidi had gotten an answer regarding that other train, or precisely because she had not and she was hellbent on having one.

  He reached his own compartment, the rest of the company, with their respective attendance of bodyguards, having gone on through the passage door.

  Narani met him at the open door of his compartment, and he and his aishid passed the door just as the train began to roll, still coupled, still the full complement of cars . . . moving forward, not backing up as they would need to do to reach the turnabout.

  “Well,” he said, “so we are going down, are we not?”

  “It would seem so,” Banichi said.

  “Is there anything yet of explanation?”

  “Not as yet,” Banichi said.

  Jeladi helped him shed the formal coat, and Bren reached for the fastenings of the vest, something he routinely shed in privacy.

  “Wear the vest,” Jago said, and he dropped the hand . . . resigned to the damned thing for the duration of whatever came.

  “Your aishid appreciates it,” Algini muttered.

  “Try,” he said, accepting the casual coat Narani held for him, “to get something out of Cenedi.”

  “Yes,” Banichi said, and, as the train rolled, went back out the door. Algini followed.

  * * *

  • • •

  Bren had time to sit down at his small table in the windowless compartment and accept a cup of tea, trying to arrange his memories of the session in the Red Car, while worrying about where they were going. The train gathered a moderate speed. The click of rail after rail confirmed it.

  Jago appeared to receive some communication, and quietly left the compartment. Of his aishid, only Tano remained, sitting quietly on the bench at the end of the car, likely listening to short-range messages. They operated cautiously and in internally-made codes, and ran physical messages for what was not routine. It was the way they had had to function ever since they had restored Tabini to the aijinate, in the likelihood even the purging of the Guild had not rooted out all the problems.

  Jago came back, and Tano stood up.

  “News?” Bren asked, as they both came near.

  Jago slid into the opposing seat. “We have heard from Homura.”

  That was unexpected. And the timing—was as worrisome as Homura’s background.

  “So is he coming with us, or have we left him?”

  “We have left him. The message, as we began to move, was a short unsecured signal, stating it answers Tano’s last question.”

  Bren looked up at Tano. “Which was?”

  “‘Where is your partner?’” Tano answered.

  “The answer he gave,” Jago said, “is ‘Koperna.’ “

  Momichi, the man’s name was.

  The missing one of the pair they had met—which left two of that four-man unit still missing, presumably in Shadow Guild hands, possibly alive, possibly not.

  And Homura and Momichi remained as doubtful a question as ever.

  “Implying there might be a contact from him?” Bren said. “One hopes—a contact not involving explosives.”

  This, with a glance at Tano, who, with Algini, had narrowly escaped the transformer explosion.

  “One read him then as very anxious,” Tano said. “Fearing discovery. And he maintains that mode.”

  “Anxious,” Jago said, not the most forgiving of his bodyguards. “And not advising us of problems in Hasjuran. We still do not know whether he set that explosion himself.”

  “Surely,” Tano said, “no one would expect to frighten the dowager. Or you, nandi.”

  “One is flattered,” Bren said, “but it does worry me. They worry me. But they may be an asset.”

  “If Momichi turns up,” Algini said, “we shall not meet him where one of ours can be a target—whether or not he might be the agent.”

  “Was it set off by remote?” Bren wondered.

  “With the weather, the snow, the hazard of searching out there—” Jago said. “No. We are not sure. Transportation investigated it. Cenedi ordered us all back.”

  “They say it might have been simply a power surge,” Tano said. “Or a small device, possibly with a short-range signal. The actual force of the blast would have been a coolant explosion, and the transformer building, being native stone, contained it.”

  Flying debris had broken many of the train’s windows, as one heard, none of which, fortunately were real windows. Had they been . . .

  “Homura was likewise at risk,” Tano said. “He may have been injured, for what
we know. It was his urging to break up the meeting, and it was a sudden change of tone. I think he saw someone.”

  Tano had said so before, and still spoke for Homura. Algini, who had also been in that meeting, took the more suspicious view.

  “So we still cannot say whether we are leaving Lord Topari a protection or a threat.”

  “We cannot,” Tano said, “except—”

  “Except,” Bren said, “he warned us about Murai-daja’s bodyguard.”

  Had Homura not sent that warning, Bregani and his family, and possibly the dowager herself would have been at risk. One bodyguard’s family had been kidnapped—the same tactic the Shadow Guild had used to send Homura and Momichi on a mission in the north, with their partners under threat. They would not have known about the bodyguard’s situation, except for Homura’s warning.

  “We owe him, Bren said, “But—”

  “Nevertheless,” Tano said. “Nevertheless. One cannot argue for him or anyone else. That is what they want. We do not know who is pressured, and how, and from what direction. But my sense says there was a turn in Homura’s expression. Algini says it was a pretense designed to break off the interview. I think it was real. But I could be too trusting.”

  Algini had come close, leaning, arms folded, against the woodwork of the car.

  “He may be an asset,” Algini said. “But things clearly are chancy up here. We have tried to warn Lord Topari’s guard, but I have no idea whether they understand what they may be up against.”

  “I still think Homura has not turned,” Tano said. “I cannot believe he would, if he is free. He has least reason in the world to trust the Shadow Guild’s word. And a strong grudge against them if their partners are dead.”

  “You two have opposite readings of the man,” Bren said. “And I must make certain decisions based on your combined advice. How did he find us? Have we ever discovered that? We expected him in Najida. Remotely, possibly he might have gotten word to us in Shejidan. Nobody who is not now on this train had any warning we were going to Hasjuran. Except Tabini-aiji and persons he would have told. Or the Guild itself.”

  “It is a question,” Tano said. “We are not beyond the possibility of sleeper agents still in the Guild.”

  “We asked him where he had come from,” Algini said, “and he went on to answer another question we had not asked. He evaded it entirely.”

  “He might,” Tano said, “have left from Koperna. He might actually have come up with the Red Train when it brought Bregani. It would take cold weather gear and determination, with nothing like the cold suits the Guild now has. But it would explain how he knows Momichi is in Koperna, and how he managed to arrive here.”

  “That,” Algini said, “is one theory we both share.”

  “It would explain a good many things,” Bren said. “And it would be his one means of getting a warning directly to us. But surely the Guild is on guard against such things.”

  “It is the only train that has come up here. And he is Guild, and still alive after resigning a Shadow Guild mission.”

  The scenario made sense. It certainly made sense. And if he had indeed braved that cold to get up here, solely to warn them against a security breach whose target might well have been the dowager’s offer—or the dowager herself . . .

  “Do you suppose, Tano-ji, that he is aboard now—so to speak?”

  “One would not entirely rule it out, Bren-ji. Security is designed to prevent it, and with the possibility that he came up that way, which we did discuss with Cenedi, we are doubly alert.”

  It was a very cold and snowy thought. A troubling one. The train was going at a steady clip now, headed for the notorious grade and the subsequent switchbacks.

  It was a way to die, if something went wrong out there. But Homura had not asked to come aboard.

  * * *

  • • •

  Things still were not right in the world. Cajeiri was sure of that as the rest of the world waked. And adding to the questions that troubled his morning, the four seniors of his bodyguard had reported themselves as not requiring breakfast.

  Staff did not always tell him things. He knew that. His own staff did not have seniority enough to keep him informed, because their clearance was not high enough to know what his high-level senior guard knew. His domestic staff, including the oldest, Eisi and Liedi, did not have seniority enough to be told where his high-level senior guard was, or what they were doing.

  But his younger bodyguard had left their own breakfast unfinished to find answers.

  Cajeiri had an unappreciated piece of toast and another cup of tea, and waited.

  The tea had gotten cold in the pot by the time Antaro and others—Jegari, Veijico and Lucasi—came back into the apartment, by the front door.

  “Couriers came in from the Guild,” Antaro said, resuming her seat, while Liedi put on a new pot of tea. “Early this morning, before the sun was up. We have found that out. We think—that they may have come from Headquarters. They met with your father’s guard.”

  “Did they come on their own, or were they sent for?” He was a little shocked that he had not heard any coming and going.

  But something besides worry might have awakened him. Something entering the premises stealthy enough not to wake Boji was hard to imagine, because the doors made noise, but then—they were Guild.

  “We have asked senior domestic staff,” Veijico said, meaning, likely, Father’s major d’. “And there is no refusal to answer. Only a claim not to know what the business was. By that, we assume your father has ordered extreme secrecy.”

  That was understandable, and such comings and goings were not that remarkable by day, though most inquiries were to Father’s downstairs office.

  But major movements in the house, in the dark of night?

  “Where are the seniors?” he asked. “Talking with Father’s guard?”

  “They have left the Bujavid. One believes they may have gone to Headquarters.”

  That was scary. He was half of a mind to put on his better coat and go to Father personally. He kept trying to think of other reasons somebody might come in secret, things to do with the legislature, or some investigation, or an emergency somewhere—Father had no hours when it came to matters he could solve from the top faster than it could climb up the chain of responsibility. Those were the orders for all the Guilds, were they not? If it needs to be solved at the top, start at the top.

  But the greatest problem right now was off in Hasjuran.

  And his own source of restricted information was out of the Bujavid and across town, possibly talking to the Guild Council.

  “I shall want to know,” he said, “when Rieni and the rest are back.”

  “Shall we attempt to contact them?”

  “No, we shall wait.” Inquiries distracted people who needed to be doing important things; and they told staff he was upset, which became gossip.

  And suggested to Father that he was apt to do something he should not. He had tried to mend the impression people had of him. He had been given freedoms, and information.

  Only right now information was across town, Father had not called him in, and he knew he should not bother people actually dealing with problems.

  He stayed a time, letting his aishid finish their interrupted breakfast, after which he rose from table, at a loss, then finally decided that work, even lessons, offered the only possible distraction. He settled to homework, while staff removed dishes, composed the table to its smaller form. The new servants, Tariko and Dimaji, were understandably quiet. But even Eisi and Liedi went about with hushed voices, and his bodyguard settled to their own reading.

  It was quiet. All quiet. Eisi and Liedi clearly knew something was going on. The other two were not exchanging looks, either, or asking questions.

  Things definitely were not right.

  * * *

>   • • •

  Bren sat at his table. He wrote, while the tempo of the rails decreased and the slope of the car increased, not quite to the point that he felt the need to steady his teacup, but he glanced at it with some concern. The Red Train would descend to a flat stretch, its full length accommodated by that length of track, one understood—while intrepid Transportation Guild crew got off the moving train, in the weather, to work the switch as the train then came back toward them. As it passed the switchpoint in this forward-and-back process, it would pick up the switchmen and descend again until it reached another level.

  One acquired a new respect for Nomari’s simple statement as to his occupation in the Transportation Guild: a switchman on the Marid run.

  The grade did not at any point exceed six percent, so one understood. It was all under control. They were a long train for this route, but not that heavy a load. That was good. One should not be nervous. It had been, Algini informed him, four years since they had lost a train on the descent.

  Bren tried not to think too closely about that statistic, and meanwhile attend to the inkwell and the teacup, while doing his notes and correspondence. There was no view. He tried to imagine the mountain range beyond the windowless walls—a vista that looked out on a great flat floodplain and salt marsh, hazy in the distance—and not to imagine the descent in all its technical details.

  He made an addendum to his notes for Tabini, while the train slowed further. There was a metal squeal, and then a much, much slower pace to the clicking of the rails.

  His aishid was at the other end of the car, as were Narani and Jeladi, engaged in a game of poker, a game and a set of cards acquired during their visit to Port Jackson. They were quite good at it. All of them.

  And the slow click of the wheels and the low rattle and occasional squeal of brakes continued. One tried not to think about ice on the tracks and the switches. One had no expertise to know whether that was a problem, but it was no good asking and less good to worry about such details. One had to trust the Transportation Guild to solve it.