Peacemaker

by C. J. Cherryh

  He parsed that oblique statement for a second or two, and he understood it better than Algini might think he did. Banichi was stubbornly staying on his feet, trying to operate normally, because Banichi thought he had jumped the wrong direction under threat, in a process too fast for rational thought.

  And Banichi was taking, he very much feared, a heavy dose of painkiller.

  Handling luggage, for God’s sake, when they’d left the train. Tano had gotten the damned equipment bag away from him and carried double when they headed for the lift. He’d marked that little transaction.

  He should never have opened his mouth about his personal feelings in the situation, not with a mission pending. He was sure of that, at least. “I have nothing more to say. I am determined not to endanger the rest of you. Take care of yourselves in your own way. Do what you have to do, and please ignore my emotional foolishness, nadiin-ji. I am not expressing myself well at all this evening.”

  “You are not alone in your concern, nandi,” Tano said. “We have tried to keep him still. And though we will benefit by his presence in the mission and his advice is clear-headed . . . we have misgivings, too.”

  “Then tell him—if it is useful—that I said be careful with his life, nadiin-ji.”

  “One will try the utmost, Bren-ji,” Algini said, and with that, Tano and Algini went on down the inner hall.

  He stood there. Narani and Jeladi waited, quietly, at one side. Jase had appeared in the door of the sitting room, and heard enough to make him stay there, saying nothing.

  Jase wasn’t linked in—but Jase knew enough to worry. He’d just heard enough to worry considerably, one was quite sure.

  “Brandy,” Bren said quietly, and went to join Jase in the sitting room, tea-stained shirt and trousers and all. He motioned Jase toward a chair; he took one.

  “How did it go?” Jase asked.

  “Well enough. The aiji is aware what happened. Not what is happening. And I have to sleep. Have to. By any means. We’re going to need all our wits about us in very short order.” In a surreal fog, he was aware of Jeladi moving about the buffet, quietly pouring two brandies. He didn’t even want one—but he knew once his head hit the pillow, as it was, his brain would start trying to work, and no sane or useful thought was going to come of it. “The boy and his birthday have gotten lost in the transaction—at least—at least right now. At least being here—until whatever happens, happens—we can guarantee the kids’ safety.”

  “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

  He took the brandy Jeladi offered, took a sip, shook his head. “Not really. Not that I anticipate. But I’ll understand if policy makes an official displeasure necessary. That’s also part of the job.”

  “Understood,” Jase said, took the offered brandy, and shuddered. “Strong stuff.”

  “Effective,” Bren said, and took his own. Unconsciousness was the objective. After two sips he didn’t even taste it. “Have Kaplan and Polano made it in?”

  “In,” Jase said. “They’re out of the armor, and glad of it.”

  “That video record.”

  “Copied. Three copies, in fact. On the train. And the record uploaded to station, should anything happen to the original down here—that’s our policy, in a situation like this. They’ve given them to Jago.”

  “Good,” he said. One worry down. At least one. He gave one critical thought to ambient security, and the effect of the brandy, and who he was talking to, and what staff was in the room: Jeladi was, like Narani, somewhat adept in ship-speak, but absolutely loyal. “I think we’re going forward, soon. I can’t swear to any promises we’ve made you or the captains. It’s a situation we didn’t intend to deal with until you and those kids were back aloft. But once things blew up with the Kadagidi, not to mention what’s going on in the Marid, now—we have a problem. The birthday, the festivity . . . means crowds. Means access. And an occasion the opposition will want use.”

  “An incident, you mean.”

  “And we can’t move the date. That’s the problem. Numbers. We can’t violate the numbers. The opposition didn’t mean to trigger what they did at the Kadagidi estate, but they did. We had to answer the attack on Tatiseigi—you don’t just let an incident like that slide. And we hurt them—we hurt them so badly that under normal circumstances they might even lie low for a year or so. But we have documents we haven’t had a chance to read yet. We don’t know how sensitive, or how desperate it might make them. Our enemy has one date, one public exposure, one really good chance at hurting the administration and looking powerful—there may be plans already in motion. And he has to worry what we may be able to make public—since he can’t be sure what’s in Haikuti’s records. We have a chance to address the situation in the Guild, the only chance at this man we’re likely to have; and somehow we have to prevent him hitting us first. I think my aishid is right.”

  “Can you maneuver this problem of yours into leaving Guild Headquarters? Can the aiji order him in?”

  “I don’t know. The aiji’s not supposed to know his name. No one is. I don’t know how they plan to get at him. But I think it’s imperative we do it. Soon.” He declined a second drink. The first was hitting hard. “I think my brain is fuzzing.”

  “Mine’s no better,” Jase said. “Whatever help I can be—”

  “Appreciated,” Bren said. He set his glass down, rose, went through the bow, the proper motions that weren’t automatic with Jase any longer. Jase bowed, belatedly—started to lay a hand on his shoulder in passing, and stopped in mid-motion, caught between cultures. “Your being here,” Bren said, “is a very good thing. I only wish the kids weren’t.”

  “They’re safe on this floor, though.”

  “They’re safe on this floor. Of that, at least right now, we’re sure.”

  7

  Uncle Tatiseigi’s staff had made them tea on their arrival, and his kitchen had sent out piles of little pastries while the rest of the household staff hurried as fast as they possibly could to make everything right in the guest quarters.

  Cajeiri had only once ever been in Great-uncle’s apartment—really he was twice-great-uncle, but it was too long to say, and even Mother said just “uncle.” And it was no great surprise that Uncle’s Bujavid apartment was so much like Tirnamardi, full of fancy vases and hangings and antiques of which one had to be very, very careful, from the chandeliers overhead to the carpets underfoot, and the lighting was gold and so dim it always looked like oil lamps. Great-uncle had invited them there in spite of his antiques, and they were all on their best manners.

  He was so glad he was not being shunted off to his parents’ apartment tonight.

  The one who had to handle the surprise of their arrival and find room for them was Madam Saidin, who was the major domo for the apartment staff. Cajeiri knew her. She was a very kind, very good, very proper lady. She had taken care of nand’ Bren when Great-uncle had lent his apartment to nand’ Bren.

  And she was just exactly the way he remembered her—graying and tall and thin and very solemn, with a little quirk of a smile when one least expected it. She was very good at running a staff, and seemed not at all disturbed by three human guests with a big parid’ja cage—the most unlikely combination any major domo had ever had to deal with, he was very sure. She immediately asked him very good questions, very quickly and privately—questions such as what was the human custom about where Irene should sleep, and did they wear nightclothes and would they be bathing together? And when he told her how they had arranged things at Tirnamardi, she gave quick, quiet orders and sent the staff into action just as if it was all the most ordinary thing in the world to have all this happen, with a very high security alert going on.

  “One promises that we shall never, ever leave Boji out with just his harness,” Cajeiri told her. “He got out, at Tirnamardi. That was our mistake. He chewed right through his leash and we never even sa
w him do it. And there was a window open.”

  “A light chain would prevent that happening, one would think, young gentleman,” was Madam Saidin’s quiet reply. “We shall see if one can be found.”

  A chain made ever so much more sense than that thin leather leash, once he thought of it. It was brilliant. If Madam Saidin had been in charge at Tirnamardi, Boji never would have gotten away from them . . .

  But then, if Boji had not escaped, then people might have gotten killed.

  Baji-naji, they had been very fortunate in the way that had turned out.

  Only a fool would expect, however—mani had always said it—to be fortunate twice.

  “A chain would be excellent, Saidin-daja. Thank you.” He gave an appreciative little bow, and off went Madam Saidin to pass a word to one of the servants who might even find such a thing somewhere in the Bujavid.

  And meanwhile there began to be little sandwiches—safe little sandwiches, the servants assured him, because the staff had served nand’ Bren and knew all about alkaloids and humans and what things humans liked.

  Everything was running amazingly well. Great-uncle was not in evidence—perhaps he had gone off to his own suite in the apartment, well apart from the guest quarters. But someone had left the premises—Cajeiri had heard the door open and close—and it was possible that it was not a servant looking for a chain, but Great-uncle going off to talk to Great-grandmother or maybe to his father.

  One thing did worry him: that right down the hall, mani, so the servants whispered, had the two Dojisigi Assassins and the Kadagidi lord lodging right in her apartment. That was no good thing for Lord Aseida: that was sure. Mani was not in a good mood with him.

  But mani was not worried enough about the two Assassins, in his opinion. He was so worried he went to ask Madam Saidin what she thought, because Madam was Guild, herself, and very sneaky if she had to be.

  Madam said: “One is quite certain your great-grandmother and our lord are taking proper precautions. Cease to worry, and trust your great-grandmother. If you do not worry about these things, you cannot worry your guests.”

  That was still a worrisome answer. He gave another little bow.

  “Saidin-daja, I am almost nine. Please inform me. We were together on the train. We were at Tirnamardi. We understand that we must keep Boji very carefully and that we must stay in the apartment, but we also understand there is danger to my father with these people, and my great-grandmother has them in her apartment just down the hall, and one wishes she would just send them to the Bujavid guard.”

  Madam’s face showed just a little frown. “Well, trust that they will not quite be lodged in her apartment, young gentleman. You may recall she does have servant passages, and a number of storerooms, some of which can be made comfortable—and quite secure. Lord Aseida is reputed only for indolence and self-indulgence: one doubts he will pose any personal threat. The two Assassins are, one understands, indebted to your great-grandmother, but one is certain they are just as securely guarded.”

  “Please do not keep secrets from us, nadi—my guests knew about the Assassins and the Kadagidi when everything was going on. Mecheiti ran past our windows and they had to clean up the bus before they would let us board.”

  “A distressing situation, indeed, young gentleman. One hopes to spare your guests more such sights.”

  She was very old. And very smart. And a bad person to lie to.

  “We are not stupid, Saidin-daja, and we will not do things if we know they are dangerous to the household. Please warn us when threats are going on! My guests’ man’chi is to me. They will not tell their parents.”

  She gazed down at him a moment, wise, and very senior, and nodded slowly. “Then you should know the security alert continues, young gentleman. The lord has gone to talk to your great-grandmother, and they will compose a report for your father on the matters you mention. Guards are posted at various places on this floor, including servant corridors below, and we are informed that, should any attack within the Bujavid aim at this floor, we are to bar the servant accesses and contain you and your guests in this apartment. And should any outside threat reach this floor, young gentleman, staff is instructed to gather you and your guests in the sitting room and take certain actions. In any alarm, please make that possible as quickly as possible. You may omit your parid’ja from the plan—he would be in no particular danger from Assassins. Only see you and your guests come immediately to the sitting room. That is what you can do. Now I have entirely violated my lord’s instruction to keep this information from you. And I have given you a plan to follow. You are indeed a wise young gentleman. Please honor my confidence.”

  A grown-up said such a thing. It required a bow, a deep one.

  “And put on a calm and pleasant face, young gentleman. You know how to do that, if your great-grandmother has been your teacher.”

  “Yes,” he said, and managed it. “One will. One can do that.”

  “Excellent. You have asked for the burden, young gentleman. Now bear it. And make your great-uncle and your great-grandmother proud of you.”

  “Saidin-daja.” One more bow, this one the formal dismissal, and he stood and watched Madam walk away, thinking . . .

  But what about mani, and nand’ Bren? What about my mother? And my sister that my mother has? And my father?

  It was his birthday. It was his birthday, and they were talking about going to war again. The ’counters said everything happened because of the numbers.

  But what were the numbers of his birthday that made these things always happen on that day?

  He stood there, thinking that, and his face was not at all the face his great-grandmother would approve. He put the pleasant look back on, the way mani could, in the blink of an eye.

  A pleasant face hardly helped what was inside, but it would, mani had said, give him time to think.

  And he thought about what he had promised Madam, about his associates not talking to their parents, and if it was not precisely the truth, he knew now he had to make it the truth. If someone slipped, if someone said a wrong thing to the authorities in the heavens, some report that would take his associates away from him, he would still get them back, even if all the aijiin in the heavens were against them associating—even if his father was against it.

  He had gotten them down here with all this going on.

  He surely could do it twice, no matter what.

  But it would be a lot easier if he could be sure his associates were careful what they said in the first place.

  8

  The aroma of breakfast was in the air as Bren dressed. Yesterday had not produced any regular meal, and brandy with Jase had sent him straight to bed. It didn’t count as supper, not in any regard. “How is Banichi this morning?” he asked, with the intention of having breakfast sent to his bodyguards in their quarters if they were slow getting up—God knew they’d deserved it. “Is my aishid up and about?”

  “They were up an hour ago, nandi, taking breakfast with Cenedi-nadi in the aiji-dowager’s apartment.”

  “Banichi too?”

  “Indeed, nandi.”

  The Guild did not observe such niceties as no business over food. And business did not half describe what that conversation might entail.

  So he didn’t invite his aishid to breakfast. He headed for the dining room alone and took his seat at a table that could seat felicitous thirteen. He was grateful that his servants, Bindanda’s staff, appeared instantly to pour tea. He usually drank it without sugar, in consideration of his waistline, but he loaded in two spoonfuls, then a third, stirred it and took a sip.

  Bindanda appeared in the doorway. “Nandi. Will there be any requests?”

  “Whatever you have this morning, Danda-ji. Toast. Simple toast would do very nicely.”

  “Eggs and toast, nandi,” Bindanda said.

  “Excellent.” He n
odded to Bindanda’s departing bow, took a sip. His ordinary breakfast. His staff. People were solving at least some of the problems. They were home. Home was a very good place to wake up.

  Someone left or arrived at the apartment. He was not sure which. Such often happened during the course of the day, the arrival of messages, or orders from staff—but less often, when the whole floor was shut down.

  Mail, likely. Letters were going to start pouring in once the Bujavid knew they were back. And though only one lift had access to the third floor when it was under lockdown, and that lift normally sat at the third floor, operating only by key—mail and deliveries would reach them.

  Letters were going to ask questions. They were going to ask questions he could not answer. He worried about what he could say. He worried about what his aishid was doing. He ate the toast and eggs, swallowed a cup of tea, acknowledged Bindanda, who showed up for his polite appreciation . . . “Thank you very much, Danda-ji. I am fortified for the day. One cannot predict when one may be in the apartment or out. One apologizes. It depends on the aiji and the aiji-dowager, from moment to moment. I shall be in my office this morning, at least until I know differently.”

  “Nandi,” Bindanda said with a little bow, and Bren waited only until Bindanda had gone back into his own realm before getting up, shedding the napkin, and heading for the foyer.

  Message cylinders, yes, were already standing in the bowl.

  • • •

  Boji was upset. Cajeiri waked, rubbed his eyes, astonished for the moment at the gilt and ornate curves of the curtained bedstead, and at the vases and bric-a-braq around him and Boji’s ornate filigree cage—on the one side of the bed-curtains he had left open—

  Until he remembered he was in the guest bedroom in Great-uncle’s apartment.

  All of them were. Because they had all wanted to be together, and Irene had not wanted to be apart from everybody, Madam Saidin had put his guests in the very fine two little bedrooms a visitor’s aishid was supposed to use, and his aishid had kindly volunteered to bed down in the sitting room beyond. It was a very large guest suite.