Pretender

by C. J. Cherryh

  A woman in Guild black came from the door, bowed. “The buses are coming up the drive now, aiji-ma. A crowd is following afoot and in vehicles.”

  “Let them in,” Tabini said, and Cajeiri, who stood at his father’s arm, said, in a slightly elevated voice: “That will be mama.”

  “That it will,” Tabini said, and in a few more minutes there was a general gasping and squeal of brakes outside, audible even in this thick-walled hall.

  And if only, Bren thought, finding his hard-used legs were going quite numb and tending to shiver on the cold stone, if only this arrival didn’t rattle a sniper or two out of the woodwork, they were home. Home, and Tabini was solidly back in power.

  His own apartment was upstairs, in whatever condition. As Tabini’s was. The halls of the legislative branch were just down the corridor. His imagination painted them dark, the lamps of democracy and debate momentarily gone out.

  He imagined a plane in flight, Murini’s people trying to decide where to go, if they had not picked out a landing site already. There was an airport at Mei, in the Kadagidi holdings, and that was the most logical, a pleasant enough town at the edge of the foothills…if he dared bring his growing trouble home.

  A hubbub came up the outer steps, came into the outer hall, stressed voices, voices calling out directions, but none raised in alarm. A clot of people pressed as far as the doors, demanding to be let in, and yet hanging back in fear or diffidence.

  Then, “We shall all see the aiji,” a feminine voice said in no uncertain tones, and guards at the door gave way to Damiri herself, entraining her young cousin, her sister, and her uncle and aunt and the lord of the Ajuri, all of whom swept into the hall in a wave of heraldic color and dynastic determination. Damiri walked ahead of them, left her uncle and grandfather to reach the steps, and to climb right past Bren to stand by her husband and her son.

  That reunion Bren turned his head to see from the corner of his eye, a restrained exchange of slight, sedate bows, a little touch of the hand, wife to husband, son to mother. There was no wild outward demonstration, nothing of the sort; but he knew beyond a doubt one young heart was fluttering hard, and youthful nerves were at their limits. Ilisidi would be ever so proud of her handiwork, Bren thought. Everyone in the hall had a view of the lad’s comportment, and it was formal and atevi to the last degree, even while other contingents from the buses were crowding and jostling their way into the hall.

  “Tabini-aiji!” someone called out, and other voices joined in, “Tabini-aiji!” It became a chant, an echo in the high hall, and it went on, and went on until Tabini shouted out, “We are here, nadiin-ji!”

  Which raised more cheers, rousing complete, aggressive chaos in the hall. Baji-naji, Bren thought, looking out over the tight-pressed crowd, in which black Guild uniforms mingled indiscriminately with the travel-worn colors of civilians from the central provinces.

  A happy event. A Ragi event dominated by Padi Valley ambitions, the return not only of the Ragi aiji, but the heir of their own blood, in a tumult that went on and on and on, became a contest, a rivalry precarious and dangerous.

  Bren felt the strength drain from his bones—was anxious for his own people, and most of all anxious for the impression he created for Tabini, this close to power. He was not popular in the Padi Valley, there was no question. He sat still, tried to look decorous, wishing he could just creep down the steps and see if he could gather his staff and get away to his estate. He presented a disheveled appearance, not to mention a sweaty and grease-stained one, black streaking his hands, smudging his coat, probably his face, God only knew. Pale colors meant he collected dirt.

  And if he lived to get out of this hall, if some Assassin didn’t take him out before the night was over, upstairs was his dearest ambition. He wondered if his own apartment still existed, if there could possibly be a bath, and his own favorite chair, and above all his staff, safe and intact.

  He didn’t let himself settle too deeply into that hope. Most of all he was worried for his bodyguard’s safety—knew that they were committed to the aiji’s survival at the moment, in which his own safety came second if not third, and he desperately wanted to get Jago within range to ask her about Banichi, whether he was safe. He saw her. But she stayed out of his reach, and spent her attention on the crowd, scanning faces, it might be.

  Then he spotted a conspicuous coat near the doorway, an ornate, too-small coat, and a second teenager with a handful of green-and-brown-clad Taibeni.

  So did Cajeiri. “Taro! Gari!” the heir cried out, startling the assemblage to silence, and a boy who had learned some of his manners in the back corridors of the Phoenix starship went plunging down the steps to reach his young staff…

  Who had the planet-bred good manners to bow very deeply and bring the rush of enthusiasm to a quick halt. They bowed, Cajeiri bowed. The room—and startled security—let out a quiet exhalation and settled.

  Bren did not look back to see Tabini’s reaction, or Lady Damiri’s. The moment passed. The young rascal wanted to bring his staff right up onto the dais with him, as security staff had assumed positions near his parents, but the young people had more sense. Antaro shed the too-small coat, exchanged it on the spot for her own, outsized on Cajeiri, and if there was a witness present who didn’t realize what that exchange was about, his instincts needed sharpening.

  “Son,” Tabini said gravely, and with a single backward look, Cajeiri climbed back up the steps to stand with his parents.

  The youngsters were safe, Bren said to himself, feeling his legs gone numb. That business had gone right. The youngsters had gotten through, the decoy, if it had worked, hadn’t been fatal, and everyone had come through on that side. Was that Ismini, back there near the door? Was it Ismini and his team Tabini had sent with the decoy?

  For his own safety, however…there was no such easy answer.

  Then he saw one large and very welcome presence loom in the doorway—a little frayed, it might be, his uniform jacket cut and showing its protective lining, and even his hair stringing a bit about his ears, but Banichi had come in, and with him, Nali, one of Ilisidi’s young men, in no better form. They spoke a word or two to Jago, gave a little nod.

  A little shiver started, absolute chill setting into Bren’s bones, as if the final reaction had waited all this time to get a hold on him. He tried to keep his muscles warm. He heard Tabini’s voice above him, thanking his suporters, declaring Intent on anyone who aided Murini henceforth—documents would be filed; the Guild would function as it legally was supposed to function, a force for order, atevi order and law.

  “At a certain time, and before the hasdrawad and the tashrid, we shall have an accounting,” Tabini said. “The Bu-javid is in our hands again. Where is the master of the premises?”

  There was a little confusion. But a tall old woman, her hair completely white with age, came forward to the foot of the steps and bowed deeply.

  “I am here, aiji-ma, in my father’s place.”

  “Madam,” Tabini said, “take account of the staff, those in our man’chi and those unreliable.”

  “I have such an accounting,” the head of staff said, “and have kept it daily, in my head; and chiefly unreliable, aiji-ma, the head of house security and his immediate staff, who are no longer on the premises.”

  “We know where he has gone,” Tabini said. “There will be amnesty for minor faults. Do not mistake, madam, the names or the man’chi of those remaining.”

  A deep, deep bow. “To the best of my knowledge, aiji-ma, I have my list, and will give it.”

  “Do so,” Tabini said, with that curtness only allowable in lords. “Assume your father’s post, madam. Arrange the house, with immediate attention to our residency. My security will move in, immediately, expecting good order.”

  “Aiji-ma.” A third, and deepest bow, and the old woman turned and walked away—one sure power within the house. Bren knew her, long her father’s right hand, doing all those administrative tasks that kept the hal
ls clean and the priceless heirlooms of the people’s hall safe and maintained, down to the polish on the doors and the cleanliness of the carpets underfoot—not to mention the credentials of the lowliest sweeper and the most elegant arbiter of kabiu. Those eyes, however old, were very keen for minutiae, and that mind was sharp.

  And upstairs, doubtless at this very moment, whatever Murini might have left in the aiji’s apartment was being searched out, dismantled, rearranged. Very soon she would have domestic staff going through it.

  “Those of you who have residence within the halls,” Tabini said, “see to it. Those who have residency in the city, see to your own man’chi. Those of you who will house in hostels, we shall stand all charges: Apply to the master of accounts, with appropriate records, within prudent bounds. The aishidi’tat is intact and safe tonight. Go to your residences!”

  A cheer broke out, happier than the last, minatory expression—a cheer for being home, for being back in command of things—for the world being set right, dared one hope?

  Bren ventured to get to his feet, to find his legs again, sore and weary as they were, and after a few tries, made it up. Tabini had gathered his staff about him, Ismini and his men with them. The lord of the Ajuri pressed forward, asserting his presence and his influence; the Taibeni, Keimi himself, with Deiso, moved in, asserting the rights and presence of their clan. Several others that had been marginally involved pressed close, including the head of (Bren recognized the woman, but the name escaped him) a major shipping company, in one of Shejidan’s notable houses, vying for her share of attention. No few of Shejidan’s powers had come in, and pushed their way into the approaches to power.

  Reshuffling of the deck. People who had supported Tabini and those who had hedged their bets on both sides, all pressed hard to make sure they had the aiji’s ear at the earliest, and offered their support, now that the balance had tilted so strongly toward a resumption of Ragi clan rule.

  Bren took a careful step down, onto the floor, child-sized and not seeing over the crowd. But Tano was there, quickly, and immediately after came Algini, who gave a little bow, his face as grave and sober as ever.

  “One apologizes, nandi, for actions taken without consultation.”

  Algini, who so rarely spoke, who never had admitted that he might have a man’chi higher than the paidhi, higher, even, than that to Tabini-aiji. And if he did hold such a man’chi, then, presumably, his partner Tano might hold the same. But there was no graceful way to ask. Dignity consisted in accepting what Algini offered, and doing it with good will.

  “One has never doubted your duty, Gini-ji, or your goodness.”

  That last addition seemed to startle Algini, whose eyebrows lifted just a little, whose mouth took on a rueful—was it humor? Or something else, from this man of many man’chiin?

  “One has never doubted the paidhi’s qualities,” Algini said, and bowed deeply. “In any event. Excuse us, nandi. One fears Lord Tatiseigi has taken residence. There are arrangements made.”

  Taken residence. Taken his residence, that was.

  Well, damn! The old lord had survived, for which the paidhi could be very grateful; but he had also, always the double-edged good news, taken his apartment back, reclaimed the premises that Lady Damiri had graciously alloted to the paidhi-aiji, along with its staff, and he had nowhere to go, tonight.

  “The dowager is well?” he asked Algini.

  “Well, indeed, and she asks the paidhi and his staff take residency in her quarters.”

  That was a shock. He was ever so relieved to know Ilisidi had made it through—but the invitation was another double-edged item. “One would be very grateful,” he murmured.

  “We should go there, nandi,” Algini said, and he obediently went with Algini, as far as Banichi and Jago, who stood near the door. The lot of them were relieved of all responsibility, one supposed, for the heir and his staff.

  So they were home, and relatively safe. Concern for his secretarial staff occurred to him, but his security staff already had its hands full, just seeing to him, and the domestic staff that would have seen to domestic details and relayed messages for him had just been reappropriated by Lord Tatiseigi. He might call in staff from his coastal estate—assuming it was still standing—but he had no residence to call them to; he needed urgently to inquire after the safety of those people as well. Ten thousand domestic things needed attention, and the staff he did have was exhausted, likely as distressed as he was to learn that they were to be dispossessed of their place in the Bu-javid, that familiar beds and baths were not going to be available.

  “It seems we are to lodge with the dowager, nadiin-ji,” he said to Banichi and Jago, finding his voice unexpectedly hoarse. “One hopes we can have a few hours’ rest tonight.”

  “Those premises will be secure, at least,” Jago said—that was a plus, no question, the premises in question being those of a district no other lord would want to offend. The place was a veritable museum of fine carpets and heirlooms of Eastern origin, and those had surely stayed intact, whatever the troubles.

  In the meanwhile, one could guess where Lord Tatiseigi would choose to lodge for a number of months, certain damages having occurred to his estate.

  God, he had so wanted his own bed tonight, his own bath—his own staff. But they had never been truly his. And unwelcome as the news was, it had come in advance of any awkwardness, since the principals never had to negotiate the situation. No need, therefore, to be told at his own door that he could not come in, no need to sit miserably in a hallway until someone noticed his plight. Algini had arranged things. Ilisidi had.

  So, well,” he said, hoping that external demands on his staff now were satisfied, and that he might get a message or two through to various people, not to forget a phone call to the Island, if he could manage it. “Nadiin-ji, one hopes that we all may go upstairs.”

  9

  A bath, at last—a deep, soaking bath. And if nothing else,

  Madam Saidin, chief of staff in what had been his apartment, had sent his personal belongings to Ilisidi’s premises—coats now surely out of style, clean shirts, clean linens—trousers that were not the snug fit they had been. He had dropped weight, not an unwelcome notion. The shirts and coats might fit, but strained the shoulders a little.

  And there were Ilisidi’s servants to help, servants expert at putting a wardrobe in order, in dealing with ragged, grimy nails and bodily cuts and bruises—not to mention providing an array of unguents and salves, providing a good shave, and, thanks to Jago, a deep massage on the broad dressing bench. He might outright have gone to sleep in the course of that process, but he fought the urge, and gathered himself up dutifully to be dressed and combed and fussed over, all in deference to the dowager, who, it turned out when he presented himself in the library about two hours before midnight, had made the other decision, and taken a lengthy nap.

  For once staff information had failed him. It certainly would not be proper for a guest to be found asleep in the dowager’s library, and he had no wish to crush his clothes, this first time a borrowed staff had dressed him. He thought of going to sleep, then decided someone in the household should stay awake a little longer to see if any emergency turned up.

  So he called for tea and sat and shut his eyes between sips, in the selfsame library, swilling cup after cup of fairly strong tea, while he hoped his own security had found the chance for a little sleep, leaving matters to people Cenedi could call on.

  Not so. Banichi turned up, washed, newly uniformed, but looking unaccustomedly tired. “Nandi,” he said, in that formal way which indicated business.

  “Sit down, Banichi-ji,” he said, indicating a substantial chair, wishing not to have to strain his neck to see Banichi’s face, and Banichi, unaccustomedly, sat down to give a report.

  “Your staff and the dowager’s have been gathering information,” Banichi began, “and we have a list of unreliable persons, none of whom reside here, but Madam Saidin has undertaken to remove two maids
to the country.”

  “Indeed.” Removal, with the redoubtable Madam Saidin, could be more extreme than that, if she were entirely convinced of treasonous acts.

  “More,” Banichi said, “we have a reasonably accurate tally of Bu-javid general staff, and are acquiring others.”

  “One regrets the necessity of such measures,” Bren murmured.

  “Regrets, but your staff does not hesitate, Bren-ji. Nor shall we permit any of these persons to come into your vicinity or the aiji’s, or the dowager’s.” A breath. “One regrets to say, too, that certain lords have retreated to their estates, there to reconsider their man’chi and perhaps work their way back into favor.”

  “Word of Murini, Nichi-ji?”

  “His plane has indeed landed in the south, in the Taisigin Marid, but he has disappeared from view—only to be expected, nandi. He may already be dead. It would be prudent of that clan. But he may also have decided to go into hiding until the wind settles.”

  “That man,” Bren said, considering every syllable, “has deserved no pity.”

  “He has not,” Banichi agreed. “Nor is he likely to obtain it from Tabini-aiji. There is too much bloodshed. The Filing has been made. Any Guild member can carry it out.”

  “Our staff on the coast,” he began, in the curt manner of ship-speak, and decided, weary as he was, he had to amend that two-year-old habit.

  “We have attempted to contact the coast,” Banichi said before he could draw his next breath, “and have spoken to Saidaronadi, who says that they have suffered some attacks, but no losses. A number of persons attempted to steal your boat, but were frustrated to find a chain across the inlet. They abandoned it against the shore and fled, after doing internal damage and attempting to set it afire.”

  One could only imagine the scene. And damn it, he loved that boat. “Brave Saidaro.”

  “The boat is completely repaired,” Banichi reported. “The house dared not venture as far as market, and has sustained itself by fishing and by digging shellfish, and by frequent gifts from Lord Geigi’s staff, which fared very well in the crisis. Your staff would take the boat up the coast at night and load on supplies from Lord Geigi’s estate—Lord Geigi’s estate remained unassailable, since it is an Edi estate on an Edi shore, in an Edi district. One understands there was some shooting between the Edi and their neighbors to the southwest, and there were some Guild movements, all privately directed, nothing of Guild orders for the duration.”