Deceiver

by C. J. Cherryh

  They burst up into the main hall and saw only one of the servants, who exclaimed: “Young lord! The Guild is looking for you!”

  “Did someone just now go outside, nadi?”

  “Several people, nandi. Nand’ Toby, the lady, two of your young guard, and two of the aiji-dowager’s—”

  Disaster. Complete disaster. “Run, tell my great-grandmother we are safe, nadi!” He ran for the door, Antaro and Jegari with him. He flung up the floor lock. Jegari got the top locks. By then another servant had run up and started trying to keep the door shut, crying out that they were to stay inside.

  “Stand back, nadi!” he snapped, and they got one side of the doors open, enough to rush out under the portico in the dark. The walk led around beside the house, and down a series of zigzags in scrub and rock to reach the harbor.

  He stayed close by the front house wall and ran as far as the very top of that walk, cupped his hands about his mouth, and yelled down the hill at the top of his lungs: “We are up here, nandi, nadiin-ji! We are safe! Come—!”

  Shots erupted, flashes off in the dark to the right, shots from across the slope. Then shots banged out from off the roof, shots came from everywhere at once, and he and Jegari and Antaro all dived for cover against the house wall.

  The house door opened, throwing light and servants’ silhouettes out onto the cobbled drive.

  “Go back, nadiin!” Cajeiri yelled back from his hiding-spot. “We are safe here! Shut the door! You are lighting us up!”

  The door thumped shut. Dark fell on the portico again. One did not wish to be responsible for enemies getting into the house, into Great-grandmother’s vicinity. At least Cenedi would be with Great-grandmother, not leaving her for anything—which was good. So all he and Antaro and Jegari needed to do was just stay flat and not get into any more trouble until the Guild handled the problem.

  People shouted, far downhill. One was nand’ Toby, shouting in Mosphei’: “Barb, where are you? Somebody help! Somebody help! Barb’s not here!”

  Nobody could understand him. Cajeiri did.

  “Barb-daja is in trouble,” Cajeiri said, and wriggled onto the flagstones, but he could not see Toby. He decided to risk it. He yelled down the hill: “Veijio! Lucasi! Everybody! Help nand’ Toby! He cannot find Barb-daja!” And in the sudden thought that nand’ Toby might be carrying a gun: “Nand’ Toby, keep down! I have sent my guard down to help you!”

  Shots were still going off, sporadically.

  Then someone yelled out faintly, from far, far below: “Along the waterline! Someone is down there!”

  “Don’t shoot!” Cajeiri yelled out. “It could be Barb-daja!”

  It was a mess. It was a terrible, mistaken mess.

  And he had started it, making everyone think he had done something stupid—because that was what people always assumed he would do.

  More shots went off, all the same. On both sides.

  “Barb!” nand’ Toby yelled. His voice cracked. There was no answer. Guild were surely moving out there, and it was dangerous for Toby to keep shouting. “Barb!”

  Then there was quiet for a few moments, just the whisper of the wind and the sound of the water up from the harbor, the bump of something hitting wood, in the rhythm of the waves, from far, far down at the dock. It was that quiet for a moment. Several moments.

  Then somebody, one of Great-grandmother’s aishid, called out: “Nand’ Toby has been shot! Assistance here!”

  12

  Bren sighed into soft, cool pillows, next to Jago’s very warm company—after a session of what Jago called good exercise. It was blissful contentment—not without, however, the awareness that very many people were spending the night in somewhat less comfort, on guard around the estate, even on its roof. A little wind had started up, audibly whistling around the eaves, and there had been clouds in the west, good indicator of weather to come before morning.

  Bren sighed, rolled over, and rested his head against Jago’s shoulder.

  A knock came at the door.

  Jago rolled out of bed so fast his head hit the mattress. An atevi knock meant somebody was opening the door, and that didn’t exclude assassins. Jago met the opening door stark naked except for a gun.

  The intruder, limned in the dim light from the sitting room, had a Guild-uniform outline. And said, “Excuse me, nandi, but there is trouble at Najida.”

  God. That was Tano. Bren bailed out of bed in no different condition than Jago and grabbed a robe. “What trouble, Tano-ji?”

  “An attack, nandi. Your brother is injured, and Barb-daja is missing.”

  His heart went leaden. “Did they get into the house?”

  “No, nandi. They were outside. They were driven off.”

  “How badly is my brother hurt?”

  “Seriously, nandi, not fatally, is the report. They are bringing him to the house. The dowager’s physician is standing by.” Tano’s voice trailed off slightly as he pressed a hand to his ear. “There is a phone call from the house. Ramaso is reporting. The house is secure.”

  Toby. God. Toby wasn’t his first duty. “The dowager,” he asked. “Cajeiri.”

  “—was thought to be outside, nandi, but turned up in the house. Lucasi and Veijico, however, are failing to report.”

  “Damn!” he said, and raked a hand through his hair. Complicitous? Tabini-aiji himself had assigned those two—they could not be working for the Marid. Tabini’s organization could not be that compromised.

  And Toby . . .

  They could need blood at Najida. Human blood. Barb was missing. He was the only human on this side of the strait. “I have to go there,” he said. “I am Toby’s blood type. I have to get there as soon as possible.”

  Jago nodded, once, affirmatively. “Yes,” she said, with no argument. And to Tano: “Wake Banichi. Safest we all go back, nandi. We must wake Lord Geigi.”

  All their plans were thrown upside down. It would look like retreat, which had its own impact on the situation for the whole region. But they had no choice.

  Banichi had shown up before Tano even cleared the room. Four or five handsigns flew between them, and Banichi said, “I shall wake Lord Geigi. Haste is paramount. Packing can wait.” Two more handsigns and Banichi was gone.

  “Algini will negotiate this with the locals,” Jago said, “and with the Guild. Dress, Bren-ji.”

  Dress. Fast. He couldn’t go over the emotional edge. He had Guild under his direction: he had Geigi’s plan for the situation left exposed and fragile. He couldn’t put them at risk by flying about in a mental fog. He had his professionals opposing other professionals who were intending to do all the damage they could, and he had to get his thoughts in order.

  Getting that bus back down that road in the dark was not going to be safe. But they’d made a mistake coming back here earlier than they’d expected, relying on the Edi irregulars to hold back Guild professionals—political decision in a military situation, which was still right, politically, but potentially, now, they had exposed a second target, depending on how many resources the Marid had left on the coast . . . and how far Tabini’s men had retreated.

  They’d expected the strike to come at Kajiminda.

  But Barb missing—and Cajeiri’s two new bodyguards with her—

  God, that was damned suspicious, no matter Tabini had appointed them; and he hoped that Algini, who had major clout with the Guild, and Banichi, who had major ins with Tabini, could give them some information.

  Which didn’t make damned sense. If they were infiltrators, why in hell go after Barb, and not the aiji-dowager, for God’s sake? Why not Cajeiri?

  No, it sounded more like Cajeiri’s two guards were themselves in trouble. And if that was the case, either the enemy had been very lucky, or Najida was facing somebody very, very good, and that didn’t augur well for the safety of anybody, here or there.

  He threw on his rougher clothes, sturdy coat, minimum of lace, and he put the gun in his pocket. More, over the lot, he put on Jago�
��s spare jacket—it was far shorter than his coat, and still weighed like lead, but he felt safer with that on, undignified as it looked. Jago ducked into the bedroom, helped him zip the jacket, grabbed up her own gear, and had him out into the front hall before Geigi and his majordomo arrived.

  “An outrageous situation,” was Geigi’s word for what had happened. “One is devastated, Bren-ji, devastated at the attack on your household.” And to his majordomo: “We must support our neighbors, Bara-ji. My bodyguard will stay here with half of nand’ Bren’s guard to defend this house and my staff. We are calling in support from Najida and the township, and we are going with nand’ Bren in the care of his bodyguard, as quickly as we can, to bring nand’ Bren to his brother-ofboth-parents. One asks, one asks fervently, Bara-ji, that you keep close, trust to your defense, and hold the house safe. Do not attempt to defend the grounds! Reinforcements are coming from the capital in a matter of hours. We are assured of it.”

  Tabini knew what had happened, then. It was word he had not had, but expected.

  And Tano and Algini were electing to stay at Kajiminda? It was a Guild decision. He didn’t meddle.

  “Yes,” the old man said, bowing. “No one of ill intent will cross this threshold, nandi.”

  Outside there was the sound of the bus engine, as it pulled up to the front door. Banichi and Jago were there, household servants had a small amount of gear, and there was no time for more farewells or expression of sentiment. They moved forward, the small party they had assembled. The majordomo opened one house door, and as it opened, Jago flung an arm around Bren, and hurried him for the bus door—which this time faced the house door at very short range. He scrambled up the tall steps at all the speed he could muster, Geigi boarded with Banichi, and Jago herself took over the driver’s seat while the assigned driver, a Najida man, took the seat behind.

  The door shut. They rolled. Immediately. The bus whipped around the U of the drive, gathering speed as they headed down the long estate grounds road for the gate.

  Bren didn’t ask whether he should be on the floor. Banichi had set Geigi on the floor in the stairwell, ordered their erstwhile driver to the floorboards and crouched on the floor beside Jago, holding on to the rail with one arm and keeping a heavy rifle tucked in the other while the bus roared along the road.

  They slewed around what had to be the turn onto the main road and Jago opened it up for all it was worth, no matter the condition of the road.

  “We are not using the bridge,” she warned them. “Hold on!”

  God, Bren thought. He knew why not. The little bridge was a prime candidate for sabotage—but he wasn’t sure the bus could make it across the intermittent stream below.

  It did. It scraped, but Jago shifted and spun the wheel, and they bounced, but they cleared it and kept going, breaking brush and throwing rock as they rejoined the road and opened up wide.

  Banichi said one word into his com. That was all Bren saw of communications between their bus and anywhere else, but at very least Najida’s defenders were not going to mistake the bus for any other vehicle—even the irregulars couldn’t make that mistake.

  Nor could their enemies, unfortunately. Bren maintained a death grip on the seat stanchion nearest, tried to keep his foot from contacting Geigi, who was having as difficult a time maintaining his place against the door.

  It was no short trip. And they were going where they knew the trouble was. Guild tactics were rarely those of pitched battle; but they were making racket enough it was likely to make their attackers think, one hoped, that they were coming back in full force, maybe with reinforcements, and leaving Kajiminda open.

  It would not make it easier on Kajiminda’s defenders—but it would take their enemy time to change targets, overland. Few forces, but stealthy, preferring ambush if they could—that was Guild. And thus far the bus had met nothing to oppose them. Jago was risking herself, driving, but it was driving of a kind their village driver wouldn’t—probably couldn’t handle.

  Jago slacked speed in a series of fast moves, took the bus around the turn onto the east-west road, the one from the train station, slewed it straight, and gathered top speed, just about as much as they could handle on the downhill.

  “One thought the shuttle quite the worst,” Geigi muttered, from over his arm. “One is impressed with your bodyguard’s driving, Bren-ji. Quite impressed.”

  They slowed again. This time it was the estate drive, and Jago made the corner without sending them into the culvert. They’d made it.

  Shots raked the front windows on the driver’s side. Jago ducked and a dozen pocks erupted across the glass.

  A fusillade of shots came from the other side, and Jago, upright in the seat and spinning the wheel with all her might in Bren’s upside-down view, pulled them into the yellow glare of the porch lights.

  “Douse the porch lights,” Banichi snapped into his com, vexed. And nearly simultaneously shot to his knees and hit the door mechanism, sending it open onto the porch.

  They had to move. Bren scrambled up to his knees, shoved at Geigi’s bulk to help him get rightwise around on the steps of the short stairwell, and helped steady him on the way down as armed Guild showed up to assist from outside. He thought he was going to descend the steps next. Banichi simply snatched him by the jacket and hauled him down—set him on his feet on the cobbles and shoved him toward the door.

  Jago had to be all right. Bren couldn’t see her, but she had gotten them in—they had bulletproof glass in front. He hadn’t known they had. Thank God, he thought. Thank whoever did the details on the bus—

  Banichi shoved him ahead. He was right with Geigi in passing the doors, past a small knot of the dowager’s men, all armed with rifles, and, Banichi letting him go, he turned half about to see Jago and their driver both inbound.

  The door shut. Bars went into place.

  “The dowager,” he asked on the next breath. “The young gentleman.”

  “Safe, nandi,” Nawari said, “Toby-nandi is resting in the dowager’s suite. Siegi-nandi is attending him.”

  That was the dowager’s physician. And in Ilisidi’s rooms. He heard with immense relief that Toby was alive—in what condition was not yet apparent, but alive. He began to shed the heavy jacket, and two of the staff assisted.

  “Barb-daja?”

  “We have not found her,” Nawari said. “Toby-nandi says she ran up the walk. She did not arrive at the top of the hill. Local folk are attempting to track her, but thus far have no indication of her whereabouts. And the two of the young gentleman’s bodyguard are still missing. They may be trying to track the attackers. We are devastated, nandi.”

  “You have done everything possible,” he answered. Damned sure the house was upset. But he was not assigning blame at the moment. He looked back at Banichi and Jago, who were debriefing two of Cenedi’s men—Cenedi personally attending the dowager, he was sure—and saw that Jago had blood running down her cheek, a chip off the windshield, almost certainly.

  That made him mad. His brother’s being injured made him mad. Whatever decision had sent his people out of safety and on to the hill in the dark made him mad, and at the moment there was nothing he could do about it, except see to Geigi’s comfort as best he could and attend to his brother.

  Ramaso had come, standing quietly by the side of the Guild, waiting for instruction.

  “Please arrange everything available, Rama-ji, to accommodate Lord Geigi, whatever you must do.”

  “Your brother will have more need of the room than I shall, Bren-ji,” Geigi said. “And I brought neither staff nor bodyguard with me. Please let me not discommode him. I should rather share quarters downstairs with my nephew.”

  “Then take my suite, nandi. I shall not need it tonight. Ease my mind by accepting.” He stifled a gasp as the heavy jacket at last slid free. “Now I must go to my brother.”

  Resting, Nawari had said, with the physician still in attendance. Bren swallowed hard as Ramaso knocked for him, and opene
d the door on the dowager’s sitting room.

  It was not a pretty sight: they had appropriated a buffet and a side table for surgery, and Toby was unconscious, looking pale under the light the physician’s attendants held aloft.

  With an upward glance the physician saw him.

  “I am his blood type, nandi,” Bren said.

  “Good.” The physician, nand’ Siegi, gave a jerk of his elbow, and said, to an attending servant: “Chair.”

  A servant helped him with his coat and his shirt sleeve. He sat down, and nand’ Siegi’s assistant arranged the equipment, found a vein—he ignored the procedure except to follow instructions and to try to quiet the pulse that had hammered in his skull ever since he had heard the news. On the table, Toby looked like wax, very, very still—sedated, one hoped.

  Didn’t need to be shooting Toby all this adrenaline, he said to himself. Calm down. They were linked now. Direct transfusion. It wasn’t optimum, he guessed, but it was what they had. It was at least doing something—when there was, otherwise, damned little he could do.

  At some point, Ilisidi put in an appearance. He was at disadvantage, far from able to stand up, and a little light-headed. He just stayed still and listened.

  “We are doing well, aiji-ma,” he heard the physician say to her. “His vital signs are improving. The transfusion will be helpful.”

  That was good then. He relaxed over the next while, except for the persistent paths his brain took about Guild business, the security of the house, and of Kajiminda.

  And the dowager came back a second time, this time with Cajeiri, who looked at him and at Toby gravely and with very large eyes.

  “One is exceedingly sorry, nand’ paidhi,” Cajeiri said.

  “You were not outside, were you, young gentleman?”

  “I was downstairs. I was quarreling with my bodyguard all day. They were not paying attention, so I left them to teach them a lesson. Everybody thought I had gone outside and down to the boats. And nand’ Toby and Barb-daja went with them to help find me, but they could not understand well enough . . .”