Pretender

by C. J. Cherryh

  Something exploded then. Jegari popped his head up and stared out the window.

  “It blew up!” Jegari cried.

  “Down!” Bren yelled at him, and Jegari ducked.

  More fire from their roof, then. A dull, distant boom which there was no way to attribute.

  Silence, for the space of a few moments after.

  “We shall sit, now,” Ilisidi declared, her aged bones surely protesting this undignified business, and her young men assisted her to sit up on the tiles. Tatiseigi sat in his chair, meanwhile, with his security bodily shielding him; the more agile lord of Dur had taken to the floor with the rest of them.

  A thump forward, at the juncture of the car with the one forward, and Banichi came in, a little windblown, and carrying his rifle in his hand. Attention swung to him, and he gave a little bow.

  “The attempt has fallen by the wayside, nandiin,” he said. “There was a bus on the tracks, briefly, but the village of Cadidi has moved it, at some great risk to themselves and their property.”

  “To be noted, indeed,” Ilisidi said, and, “Get me up, get me up!”

  Cajeiri scrambled to join the effort—the aiji-dowager was a wisp of a weight to her young men, and Cajeiri was only able to turn the chair to receive her, and to assist her to smooth a wisp of hair.

  “Will someone shut that cursed window?” Ilisidi requested peevishly. Wind whipped through the gap, disturbing their hair.

  “One fears it is broken, nand’ dowager,” the head steward said, the stewards moving to sweep up glass and recover the flowers. The steward gallantly proffered one surviving blossom, and Ilisidi took it, smelled it, and remarked, with a small smile, “They tried to shoot us, nand’ paidhi.”

  “Indeed,” Bren said, on his feet, and knowing he ought to stay out of the way, but Banichi was on his way back to the forward door, and curiosity burned in him. “Banichi-ji. Are we all right?”

  “We have agents at the junctions and the way is clear,” Banichi said, delaying. “But it must stay clear, Bren-ji. This far, we are all well. The opposition is not.”

  “Well done,” he said fervently. “Well done, Banichi-ji.”

  “Our lord should not come up above to assist,” Banichi said, not without humor, and not without truth. Banichi knew his ways, and was reading him the law of the universe.

  “Go,” he said in a low voice, “go, Banichi-ji. And be careful! Trust that I shall be.”

  Banichi ducked out in a momentary gale of wind and racket, and was gone, leaving him to walk back to his seat and pretend the world was in order.

  “What did Banichi say, nand’ Bren?”

  “He reports they have cleared the tracks, young gentleman.”

  “That would have been that boom we heard,” Cajeiri said.

  “Do you think so, young sir?” Ilisidi said, grim and thin-lipped. “It may not be the last such we hear.”

  “We are still a target,” Tatiseigi said, “a large target, and damnably predictable in our course.”

  “Very much so, nandi,” Bren said, “as you made yourself on the way here, did you not?”

  “And paid dearly!” Tatiseigi declared, his face drawn with pain as he moved the injured arm in its sling. “This was a Kadagidi assault! They knew that I personally would travel by automobile. First they destroy my own vehicle, and now they have shot my neighbor’s full of holes!”

  “Shocking,” Ilisidi said dryly. “But more than the Kadagidi are involved.”

  “They knew, I say! They had every reason to know that their neighbor was in that vehicle, and ignoring all past neighborliness and good will, they opened fire!”

  “Perhaps it was the Guild instead, nandi,” Bren interposed, seeing his only window of opportunity, perhaps, to avoid a very messy feud between the Atageini and the Kadagidi—the burned stable, even the fatalities out on the grounds and the damage to the house might be accepted as the result of high politics, in which bloodshed was not unknown; but to think the Kadagidi, his neighbors, with whom he had such a checkered history of dangerous cooperation, had made a particular target of a vehicle they had every reason to think carried the lord of the Atageini—that, that had clearly offended the old man on a deeply personal level. “We might not have cleared all of them in the—incident.”

  Tatiseigi gave a noisy cough, a clearing of his throat, and one could see that new thought passing through his head: Tatiseigi was above all else a political creature. He had likely had a dose of painkiller, not to mention the discomfort, and he might not be at his sharpest at the moment. It looked very much as if he had given Tatiseigi a thought worth weighing: Not the Kadagidi, but an ambitious would-be Guildmaster who had made one overconfident move, brought Assassins into his lands, and failed. There was a situation of national scope, from which he could mine far more than from a local border feud.

  “The paidhi is not a fool, is he?” Tatiseigi asked Ilisidi.

  “Never to our observation,” Ilisidi said. “Why else do we favor him?”

  “We have the means to claim that it was Guild,” Tatiseigi observed, “when we appear in the tashrid. That has value.”

  “Indeed,” Ilisidi said, “granted we can proceed that far down this track.”

  Cenedi had arrived back in the car, looking satisfied, his graying hair blowing a little loose from its queue in the chill gust from the window.

  “Report,” the dowager said, and Cenedi, still looking uncommonly pleased, gave a little bow.

  “The way is clear, aiji-ma. Towns have turned out patrols on their own, to guard the switch-points at Modigi and Cadai-Hadigin. The enemy has made another assault on the convoy, but to no great effect. Two vehicles have had their tires shot out, but those responsible did not linger in the area, and appear to have taken damage as they left.”

  “Hurrah!” That human word, from Cajeiri, drew the dowager’s cold look.

  “More,” Cenedi said, with a glance at the lord of Dur, “the young gentleman from Dur has landed safely, refueled, and taken off, after dropping his petrol bombs in assistance of the village of Cadidi.”

  “Excellent news,” the dowager said. The lord of Dur simply inclined his head, relieved and proud, beyond a doubt.

  “The best is last,” Cenedi said. “Shejidan has turned out in the streets, and word suggests that Murini has gone to the airport to seize buses and fuel.”

  Dared one hope? Dared one possibly hope that Murini was going to leave the capital without a fight?

  “Sit down,” Ilisidi said. “Sit down, ’Nedi-ji, and have a cup of tea.”

  “Aiji-ma.” In days previous, Cenedi might have demurred, disliking to inject himself into a privileged gathering of lords; but days previous had worn on him very hard. He sank into a chair and waited while the staff brewed up the requisite tea.

  Bren got up for a quiet word of his own with the staff. “Our bodyguards have been working without cease for over twelve hours, nadiin. Might one request any foodstuffs you have directed to those assuring our safety?”

  There were bows, assurances of earnest compliance that he did not doubt. He returned to his seat and sat, unease churning in his stomach, despite the good news from Shejidan. All they had been through was preface to trying to sneak an entire train into the city, up the line that led to the Bu-javid…and all the population in Sheijidan turned out in their support could not deflect a well-aimed bullet.

  If he were Murini, attempting to defend the city, he would bend every effort to stopping that train, knowing damned well where it was going.

  If he were Murini, he would bring all force, all ingenuity to that effort. He would blow up track.

  That said something of what the young man from Dur was doing up there in his airplane, flying ahead, tracing the track, making certain of their route and communicating with their security as best he could. There were no bridges between here and Shejidan: there was that to be thankful for—he by no means wanted to imagine explosives waiting for them.

  Gone to the airpor
t, however. Within reach of airplanes. And buses. Buses might have a dozen uses—perhaps to make a blockade. Perhaps to be sure the populace of Shejidan was limited in their resources.

  Perhaps, please God, to board a plane and get out of town…Kadagidi territory had nothing but a dirt strip to receive him, and possibly—just possibly—the Kadagidi themselves had their doubts about Murini, whose rise within his own clan had been checkered with double-dealing and a far greater affinity for the politics of the south coast than those of the Padi Valley. The south coast was where Murini would have most of his support, and there were city aiports down there that would receive him, no matter if Sheijidan was in revolt.

  Sandwiches were going around. Cajeiri took three, but his grandmother made him put two back. They were not that well-supplied.

  Bren took a sandwich and a precious bottle of fruit drink, more welcome than tea. And iced. Folly to eat any sandwich without knowing the contents, but a cursory investigation between the layers turned up none of those garnishes he should fear for toxins…he took small bites, savoring them, enjoying the fruit drink that had been so far from the menu during their voyage—and, being modern, not on Tatiseigi’s very proper menu, either. Sugar insinuated itself into his bloodstream, and unhappily produced nothing but the jitters: He was that tired.

  The plane roared over their heads and came back. Cajeiri’s young bodyguard, near the windows, got a look and exclaimed: “There he is! The plane is rocking from side to side!”

  A visual signal. Just what it signaled, one had no idea.

  Cenedi had excused himself and left the car by the connecting door, in a gust of wind and rush of noise from the rails. As the forward door shut, a sandwich wrapper escaped Cajeiri’s lap and swirled about madly. It fell among the seats, disregarded, as Cajeiri got up to go to the windows himself.

  Bang! went the cane. Cajeiri stopped as if shot, and came back to his seat, never a word said.

  Meanwhile his two surrogates continued to peer out the broken window, windblown and intent on something in the sky.

  “There is another plane!” Antaro cried. “They are flying side by side.”

  “That,” said the lord of Dur, “might be young Aigino, from the coast. My son’s fiancée.”

  Fiancée, was it? And a second plane, coming to their support? That gave them much broader vision over the countryside.

  “They have flown off,” Jegari said, kneeling on the seat by the window, and putting his head out. He quickly drew it back. “Toward the south.”

  Toward the capital.

  “Keep your head inside, nadi,” Jago said to the young man, and to Bren himself: “Your staff would be easier in their minds, nandi, if you would also move slightly to the interior.”

  “Indeed.” He gathered himself up and settled again in a more protected position, next to the dowager, with an apologetic and deferential bow. “Aiji-ma.”

  “Sit, sit. We should be extremely angry should some chance shot carry away the paidhi-aiji.”

  “One is greatly flattered, aiji-ma.” The change of seats put him equivalent to, notably, Dur, who looked unaffected, and the Atageini, who looked at him with disapproval, but he bowed especially to Tatiseigi, who seemed a little mollified.

  Another boom, somewhere near them, and in a little time Antaro called out that there was a plume of black smoke on the right of the tracks.

  More, a report came from forward that persons had attempted to blow up the tracks between Esien and Naiein, and that this attempt had been thwarted, no agency specified—which argued that Guild was involved…on their side.

  Sweets went around, little fruit pastries, and another round of tea, while the train ran full-out, blasting its whistle on two occasions, once when it passed through the outskirts of Esien. People there lined the trackside, waving handkerchiefs at them.

  Then—then they puffed up a rise and began to gather speed on the downhill. Bren could not resist getting up from his seat and taking a look out the window beside Jegari, as the track made a slight curve, one he so well remembered.

  A city lay in the heart of that valley, a sprawling city of red tile roofs—Sheijidan. The red tile was all grays and blues at this distance, but his heart knew the color, and the wandering pattern of the streets, and the rise of the hill in the center of the city, on which sat the Bu-javid itself, the center of government.

  Jago interposed her shoulder, getting him away from the windows, but others had stolen a look, too, and the word Shejidan was in the air.

  “We may meet opposition here, Bren-ji,” Jago said. “Or we may not. Word is that Murini has taken nine buses from the airport and headed south. But one is not certain Murini is with that group.”

  Buses, was it? Not toward Kadagidi territory, not toward his own clan, definitively, but toward the Taisigin, his allies on the coast?

  “Presumably,” Jago said to him, “we are to believe the Kadagidi have some internal dispute.”

  “Dares one hope it might be true?”

  “One has no idea one way or another,” Jago said. “But the action, the buses going toward the coast, is not what one would expect if the Kadagidi were firmly supporting him. He might have taken a plane. He may yet. We believe nothing until we have better confirmation.”

  He took his seat. He saw Tano and Algini with their heads together, and Algini talking on a pocket com to someone. Shortly after, Cenedi, who had been absent for perhaps a quarter of an hour, came back from forward, and consulted with them and with Banichi, while Jago talked with one of the Atageini bodyguards, with a grave and interested look.

  Lords derived none of this information, to be sure. Bren sat and watched the passing of trees and hillsides, familiar places, a route he had used numerous times in his tenure in Shejidan. He held the memory of the city in his inner vision…his own apartment, and most of all its people, his staff, who might or might not still hold their posts—he could not imagine they were still there. He hoped they were all still alive.

  “Nandi.” Tano came close, and squatted down to eye level. “The rest of our number, in the buses, are somewhat behind us. The rail has taken us by a more direct route, and attempts to sabotage the rail have not succeeded—the Guild itself has acknowledged the restoration of authority.”

  “Extremely good news, Tano-ji.” It was. He burned with curiosity to ask whether Algini’s return from space might have precipitated something on the ground within the Guild and he longed to know precisely where Tabini was. But the one he would never know, and the other he would learn in due time; he would not corner Tano with demands for information on operations. “One is gratified.”

  “Indeed,” Tano said. “Now the word is, from Cenedi, that the dowager’s intent is to invade the Bu-javid itself. Those who do not wish to take this risk may take the opportunity to leave the train. It will stop at Leposti to let any such persons off, if there is a request.”

  “Will she take the young gentleman into this venture?” He was appalled to think so, but he very much thought, by all he knew of custom and the demands of leadership, that for the boy to back away now might be something he would have to explain forever.

  “It is a service the paidhi might do,” Tano said, “to take charge of the young gentleman in whatever comes. My partner and I—we would ask leave to go with the dowager, if matters were in that state. Banichi and Jago would go with you; and Nawari would go with the young gentleman, to assist.”

  “You would assist the dowager.”

  “As much as we can, Bren-ji. We must.”

  Curious, curious choice at this crux of all events—Banichi and Jago, whose man’chi was with Tabini, departing with him; Tano and Algini, whose man’chi was much shadier, going on with the push inside. “I shall never hold any of my staff against their better judgment,” he murmured. “But what shall we do, if that is a choice?”

  “There will be a car,” Tano said, “at Leposti.”

  Which could not be far, if his reckoning of position was at all acc
urate. Leposti was a suburb of Shejidan, almost absorbed in the growth of the capital, but outrageously independent; oh, he knew Leposti and its delegates, who had been violently insistent on a troublesome separate postal designation…a world and a way of life ago.

  “We shall do what seems wisest, Tano-ji, with all hopes for the dowager’s success.”

  “Baji-naji,” Tano said. “I shall tell Banichi to prepare.”

  He was on the verge of losing Tano and Algini both to a danger where his staff, against all his wishes, couldn’t stand together, couldn’t work together. He felt desolate—didn’t want to withdraw his small force, didn’t want to leave the train.

  But he didn’t want an innocent boy in the direct line of fire, either; and he understood the thinking that had brought Cajeiri this far—the inexorable demands of the office he might hold, the appearance of having come as far into the fray, for his future, as a boy could; and having done so, to lay back just a little and stay alive, while others took the risks.

  He understood that. He understood what his own job was, and what the dowager was asking of him—survive. Report. Support Tabini and Tabini’s heir.

  He sat there, the computer’s carrying strap hitched high on his shoulder, and Banichi came to him, leaned over him, a shadow between him and any view of the countryside.

  “Tano has spoken to you, has he?” Banichi asked.

  “If my staff thinks this move wise,” he said, “I understand the reasons.”

  “Excellent,” Banichi said, and gave a little bow of his head. “We are approaching the meeting point. The train will stop briefly. Come with us.”

  “The boy—” he began, but Banichi was already walking away, leaving him to wonder whether to make a formal withdrawal, and say good-bye to the dowager, or just to get up and leave.

  It was a Guild operation. He decided on the latter course, and got up and quietly followed Banichi to the front of the car.

  Jago had drawn Cajeiri and his young staff with her; Nawari had joined them—no question now that the dowager was aware of the operation, and that her whole staff was.

  “We do not wish to leave mani-ma,” Cajeiri said, as firmly as any adult. “We refuse.”