Conspirator

by C. J. Cherryh

  Banichi and Jago—

  He hoped they weren’t taking chances out there. Lord Geigi’s Edi staff was on their side: they well knew that; but that was another question. They had seen no one they recognized from Lord Geigi’s tenure. If there were Edi about, where were they? What had become of them?

  Banichi and Jago were still obliged to be careful about collateral damage. So were Tabini’s forces. If there was one solitary thing he could think to comfort himself, it was that there would not be random fire incoming in that situation . . . but it made it doubly dangerous, necessitating getting inside. Finesse, Banichi called it.

  God, he didn’t want even to think about it.

  He left a soaked pile of dirt-smeared towels in the tub and headed out to his rooms to dress, with staff help. It was surreal. Attack was likely coming, and so far, everything stayed quiet, quiet as any night in the house.

  But he tucked the gun into his coat pocket when he had finished dressing, dismissed Supani and Koharu to go get their own supper, and, going out into the hall, suggested to the few younger members of staff who stood about looking confused and alarmed, that they might usefully occupy themselves by removing porcelains and breakables to the inner rooms. “Just put them in the cellar, nadiin-ji. One cannot say there will be disturbance inside the house at all, nadiin, but one hardly knows. And at the first alarm, go immediately to the cellar and stay there with the door shut, one entreats you. I would sacrifice any goods in this house to preserve your lives.”

  “Nandi,” they said, and bowed. He headed for the dining room.

  In fact, he and the dowager arrived at the same moment, himself alone, the dowager accompanied only by two of her youngest bodyguards; and Cajeiri and the two Taibeni youngsters, who had almost matched the paidhi in dirt, immaculately scrubbed and dressed, likely having used the servants’ bath.

  “Aiji-ma,” Bren said, bowing to the dowager. Staff had laid the table for three, the two Taibeni to stand guard with the two senior guards. Only the paidhi was solo—absolute trust for the security that was on duty; and a lonely feeling. Tano and Algini were in quarters, likely trying to monitor what was going on while the dowager’s men, under Cenedi’s direction, took defensive precautions.

  And still no word from Banichi and Jago. He wished he could haul them out of wherever they were, whatever they were into, and let the aiji’s guard handle the mess at Lord Geigi’s estate. He was too worried for appetite. Given his preferences, he would have paced the floor. Sitting down to dinner was hard—but at this point necessary—besides being a demonstration of confidence for the staff.

  The before-dinner drink, a vodka with fruit juice—that came welcome.

  Supper consisted of a good fish chowder and a wafer or two, warm, filling, and quick. He took his time, somewhat, in general silence, in pace with the dowager, while Cajeiri wolfed his down with a speed that drew disapproving glances.

  “Such concentration on one’s dinner,” Ilisidi remarked.

  Cajeiri looked at her, large-eyed. “One was very hungry, mani-ma. One sat in that tower forever.”

  “Tower,” Bren said.

  “In the garden, nandi. We went over the wall and through the woods. We hid in a tower on the wall.”

  “You have gotten quite pert,” Ilisidi said. “Have we heard an apology, boy?”

  Cajeiri swallowed a hasty mouthful and made a little bow in place. “One is very sorry for being a problem, mani-ma, nand’ Bren.”

  “How did you separate yourself?” Ilisidi asked. “Why did you separate yourself.”

  “One—hardly knows, mani-ma. May I answer?”

  At the table, there was properly no discussion of business. And the dowager’s table was rigidly proper.

  “Curiosity overwhelms us,” Ilisidi said dryly. “You may inform us. We shall not discuss.”

  “There was the bus, and Jago, and nand’ Bren, and Banichi; and the shooting started, and the bus was hit, and one just—we just—we just—the bushes were closer. We thought they would fight.”

  It was a fair account. And contained the missing piece. We thought they would fight. He’d assumed Banichi would go for Cajeiri; and the kid had equally assumed Banichi wouldn’t. And the kid had assumed they were going to stand and fight, so he’d taken care of himself.

  Ilisidi simply nodded, thoughts flickering quickly through those gold eyes.

  “Indeed,” she said. “Indeed. One expected a sensible boy would then find his way down the road.”

  It was more than the paidhi had expected of a boy. A lot more.

  “One did, mani-ma. As soon as it was dark.” Cajeiri’s brows knit. There was something more to say, something unpleasant, but he didn’t say it.

  “May one ask, young gentleman,” Bren said, “what you have just decided not to say?”

  A flash of the dowager’s eyes, which quickly settled on Cajeiri.

  “One fears one may have caused a serious accident to a man on the roof. One hopes they were the enemy.”

  “What time was this?”

  “Right at dusk, nandi. He was on the roof. He probably fell off.”

  “Good,” the dowager said, taking a drink. And added: “Hereafter, you will have your own security.”

  “Antaro and Jegari, mani-ma—”

  “You are beginning to think independently. These young people will benefit from senior Guild constantly attached to you, young man. This should have been done before now.”

  “Not Great-uncle’s! One asks, not Great-uncle’s!”

  “No,” Ilisidi said, “not Atageini. Nor Ragi. Malguri.”

  Oh, that was going to be an explosion, once Tatiseigi heard his great-nephew was dismissing his Atageini guards; and once Tabini and the Taibeni heard that the senior pair in his son’s bodyguard was not going to be Ragi atevi, from the center of the aishidi’tat, but Easterners—that explosion would be heard end to end of the Bujavid, and Ilisidi’s opinion might not, for once, prevail.

  The paidhi was going to stay well and truly out of that argu—

  Quick footsteps sounded in the halls. One of the serving staff came in, breathless, bowed once to the dowager and once to him. “Nandiin. Movement is reported across the road.”

  He cast a worried look at Ilisidi, whose face remained impassive. He swallowed the bite he had and with a little bow, got up from table.

  The dowager likewise rose, Cajeiri offering his hand beneath her elbow as she gathered up her cane.

  “Aiji-ma,” Bren said, “one would suggest the office, which has no windows: there is a comfortable chair, and the staff might provide an after-dinner brandy.”

  “An excellent notion, paidhi-ji.” One earnestly hoped the dowager would provide sufficient psychological anchor for her great-grandson to keep his burgeoning personality from flaring off down the halls to help them out. Clearly, the paidhi had not been adequate to keep him from picking his own course. Cajeiri had been looking for cover when the shooting started, not looking for direction from the paidhi-aiji. So write the paidhi off as a governance. Write off the boy’s most earnest promises: one suspected he was hitting an instinctdriven phase.

  “Go,” Ilisidi said as he lingered, ready to assist her. “Go, nand’ paidhi. We are just moving a little slower this evening.”

  “Aiji-ma.” He bowed, then left with the anxious servant, asking,

  “Where are Tano and Algini at the moment, Husa-ji?”

  “In the security office, nandi, one believes.”

  In most houses, that was near the front door. In this one, by revision, it was a comfortable nook in the suite his bodyguard used, a left turn at the intersection of halls.

  “Carry on, nadi,” he said to the servant, “with thanks. Check the garden hall locks. Put the bar down.”

  “Nandi,” the servant murmured, and diverged from his path.

  That beautiful glass window offered a serious compromise to house security. That was why there was a very stout mid-hallway set of doors to close the garden hall,
with deep pin-bolts above and below and a sturdy cross bar that resided upright in the back of the right-hand door. The two doors that led off that hall, one to the kitchens and the other to the staff rooms, had equally stout single doors, as solid as if they were opposing the outside world . . . which, being next to more fragile sections, they were counted as doing.

  The last of staff was on their way to defensive stations or to cover. Those last doors were about to shut. Kitchen would not be gathering up the dishes. They would be sealing themselves in from both sides.

  He turned his own way, his bodyguards’ door being wide open. He entered without knocking, into the little security office where Tano and Algini had set up their electronics, black boxes of all sorts, and a low-light monitor screen.

  No need to tell them what was going on. And if they had wanted that door shut yet, they would have shut it.

  They acknowledged his presence with nods of the head, that was all, eyes fixed on their equipment, and he slipped into the nearer vacant chair and watched the monitor. He didn’t see anything but shrubbery and a small tree. The view changed to the front door. The garden, and the damaged arbor.

  “Have you contact, nadiin-ji, with the aiji’s forces?” he asked.

  “Cenedi has,” Tano said, and added, after a moment, “Banichi has now missed a report, Bren-ji. We are not greatly alarmed, but we are obliged to say so.

  He didn’t want to hear that. He bit his lip in silence for a moment, and forbore questions. Their eyes never left the equipment, with its readouts and its telltales.

  “The roof still reports all quiet, but movement on the perimeter,” Algini said. “We remain wary of diversionary action. Two of Cenedi’s men are interrogating Lord Baiji. And names are named.”

  “Report as you find leisure,” Bren murmured, meaning he would not ask for a coherent report, busy as they were. He was in the nerve center of their defenses. Some of those lights represented certain points of their defense. The monitor showed a view of the stone walkway that led down to the harbor and the boat dock.

  Movement somewhere, though it didn’t show at the moment.

  “Where is the dowager, Bren-ji?” Tano asked.

  “The office,” he said, “with Cajeiri. Staff hall doors, garden doors, front doors, all shut and secured.”

  “Tano-ji,” Algini said sharply, calling for attention. Both brows furrowed, and the pair exchanged looks, a shake of the head. Bren sat very still. Didn’t ask. They were busy, both of them, at their specialty, and Cenedi’s men were out and about, including on the roof, including down toward the dock, and some likely in the village. Right now, having been left in charge of his safety as well as their regular duties, they needed no divided attention: needed to know where he was, and that he wasn’t in need of their help. That door to the hall was open, but it, like the other secure doors, was steel-cored, capable of being shut and security-bolted.

  What they had in that console, whether it was officially cleared, he had no personal knowledge, didn’t technically understand, and frankly hadn’t asked—deliberately hadn’t asked. Tano and Algini had spent the last couple of years on the space station. While the planet below them had broken out in chaos, they’d spent their time becoming familiar with equipment the paidhi, who was responsible for clearing new tech to be generally deployed on the planet, had never cleared . . . and under the circumstances of their return from space, he hadn’t asked.

  Hypocritical? He had no question it was. But maybe he should have—considering that Captain Jules Ogun, in charge of the space station, had decided to drop relay stations on the planet. Maybe he should have asked what part Tano and Algini had played in that decision, whether they had advised Lord Geigi, governing the atevi side of the station, that this communications system was a potential problem.

  Mogari-nai, the big dish, had been their sole contact when they’d left for deep space: now, with the proliferation of satellites—God knew what was going to be loose in the world.

  Things that threatened the operation of the Asassins’ Guild, which hadn’t had to worry about locators. Or cell phones. There was a time they hadn’t had night-vision, or a hundred other items he suspected his own security staff and Geigi’s now had—and he hoped no one else did.

  But he had been out in space for two years, leaving the job of determining what technology ought to go to the planet largely to Yolanda Mercheson, essentially an emissary of Captain Jules Ogun. More, once the coup had happened, she’d interfaced—not even between Mospheira and the atevi—but mostly between the humans of her own ship and Lord Geigi, whose eagerness to snatch whatever tech he could lay hands on was only surpassed by that of Tabini-aiji himself.

  The paidhi had not been doing his job for two critical years. The paidhi had come back to find the world girded by satellites, a grid laid out, and relay stations—armed and mobile relay stations—dropped into strategic areas, satellite phones, cell towers on the Island, and all the preparation to loose, even worse, either cell phones or far less restricted wireless on the continent. The Assassins’ Guild was the worst, the very worst affected. Keeping the aishidi’tat, the Western Association, together—meant keeping each member of the Association sure that his advantage was exactly the same as everybody else’s; or at least sure that if somebody else cheated and got an advantage, the aiji in Shejidan was going to come down on them fast and hard. Guild members didn’t talk about Guild business, but the Assassins’ Guild itself had had one internal power struggle, only last year.

  The aiji’s side had won, but what was going on tonight out in the bushes around the estate contested that conclusion.

  He’d been coasting along since his return trying to catch up on what had happened, what technology had come in, what atevi had invented themselves, or modified. He’d been writing letters, answering queries, trying to find out what was a fait accompli and what he could still get a grip on, and possibly stop—

  He’d been coasting . . . in the technology questions since his return . . . and now he had a growing, sinking feeling that he might utterly have lost the war.

  They had aliens out there that were promising to come calling, atevi wanted their share of the situation . . . and that meant technological advance.

  They had one hell of a problem in the world, was what they had. He had a problem. The Guild certainly had—and wouldn’t be happy about it. The aishidi’tat had a problem—manifested in a coup, a counter-coup, and God help them if things went wrong tonight—possibly a civil war . . . in which the technology he’d delayed banning was likely to turn up, full-blown, possibly inciting certain factions, possibly giving advantage where it hadn’t been and meaning all bets were off on the outcome.

  It was the paidhi’s fault—at least in the sense he hadn’t been able to prevent it.

  And Cajeiri was going to have it all in his lap, if he survived his childhood.

  The dowager was right. Time they did get the boy full-time, technologically sophisticated security to keep him alive, considering the world he’d been born into, and not Great-uncle’s socially impeccable but less than adaptable old men. They needed two very young Guild, somebody who’d keep ahead of the boy, and train the two Taibeni practically in situ. Thank God, he thought, the Taibeni youngsters had come in with some natural advantages of their upbringing. But it wasn’t enough.

  Something had to change. Soon. It wasn’t a safe world. And the boy’s tendency to go off on his own wasn’t going to get handled if Tabini, Uncle Tatiseigi, and the dowager started quarreling about the ethnicity of the guard.

  God. His brain was wandering. The upcoming cell phone speech seemed suddenly so little, so small an issue. He was trying to stop a flood with a teacup. It couldn’t be another regulation. It had to be an attitudinal accommodation in the society. They’d accommodated tech on ship. Why couldn’t they adjust—?

  They’d handled phones. They’d handled trains crossing provincial and associational boundaries. They’d adjusted. They’d taken computers, and
done things their way, that the paidhi couldn’t even have conceived of. That had been a dicey step. And they’d survived it.

  If he could just explain to them—

  Something happened. Tano gave that sign that meant trouble, and then said the code word for intruder, getting up from his chair and reaching for his pistol as he did so.

  Bren got up out of the way immediately and reached for his own gun, while Algini kept his attention fixed on the equipment.

  Tano got into the doorway, angled to the left, fired up at an angle, and fired again as a shot came back; then dived out across the hall. Bren stayed where he was, in the vantage Tano had had, safety off the gun and the gun at the ready, eyes scanning not only Tano’s position, but things up and down the hall. It wasn’t just Tano’s life at risk. He was Algini’s protection, and Algini was busy relaying their situation to other units of their team.

  Maybe, he thought, he should shut the door—barricade himself and Algini inside. Don’t rely on the gun: his security had told him that more than once.

  But Banichi had given him the damned thing. What was it for, but for backup?

  Tano, meanwhile, moved out and down the hall toward the servants’ wing and the dining room corridor, moved, and moved again, not without looking at ground level for traps. He reached that nook, tucked in against the slight archway, and held position.

  The dowager, with Cajeiri, with her immediate guard, was just beyond that intersection, in the office. Bren personally hoped that door stayed shut. They were all right. Nobody was in sight.

  Scurrying movement from right over his head, beyond the ceiling.

  “Tano!” Bren cried. “Above!”

  Shots broke out, up above the ceiling, breaking through the paneling. Tano suddenly eeled around the corner he was holding. Fire came back from the direction of the dining room.