Betrayer

by C. J. Cherryh

  It explained a lot. The renegades had penetrated the lower levels of Machigi’s guard, but his personal guard were old-school, Taisigi, out of touch with the Guild but not of the breed that had gone to the renegades.

  Renegade Guild were operating nearby. There might have been records. There might have been interrogations. One had no idea what had gone on in the night.

  So Machigi had just been informed, perhaps, under what doors the threads were running. But he might not know just what deals with the devil his own bodyguard had been prepared to make to keep him alive.

  Had Ilisidi known any of it? Some of it . . . likely.

  Ask how long ago the central Guild had decided a Guildsman at a very high level should be guarding the aiji-dowager.

  God, that was a cold thought. What had they brought back to the planet when they had arrived from space with Ilisidi’s aishid, and with those of his, who had been on the station, absorbing information but incapable of reaching the planet.

  The note had gone to Jago and last of all to Tano. Tano glanced over the note, then took the deadly piece of paper to the fireplace, where it quickly became ash.

  Bren moved back the chair at the table, took pen and paper himself, and wrote, with his aishid gathered at his shoulders:

  One understands.

  One fears that Machigi himself will turn in the hand, if used as a weapon. Whatever his real intentions at the outset of our talks, have I offered him inducement enough to consider that his best prospect actually does lie in our direction? Yet if there is a chance of peace in the Marid, the dowager is correct: it lies in this isolated young man.

  That also went into the fire. Banichi bent to take a piece of paper and wrote, standing beside him:

  Machigi is dangerous in his intelligence and his determination, but his aishid has found in us their only chance of saving him. He stands to win or to lose everything. The question is whether his guard has made him understand that, and whether he sees with your vision.

  Bren wrote, in reply:

  I have to convince him.

  There were sober looks, nods. That note in its turn became ash.

  Then Algini took up pen and paper again, and wrote:

  I can call on the Guild, using channels available through Machigi’s guard, to protect Machigi, and to operate with immediate prejudice against Lord Tori of the Dojisigi. That will bring Tori’s son Mujita to power. Loss of Tori will drive the Farai back to man’chi with the Senji and restore the former situation, if the lord of Senji survives this.

  Operate with immediate prejudice. Assassinate. Within hours.

  The paidhi-aiji didn’t order assassinations. He tried to stop them.

  Algini had confided in him, an extraordinary trust. Algini had exposed his own position, to get leverage on Machigi’s guard.

  All the Guild might be for hire, in a certain sense: its individual members took lifelong service with various lords and fought each other at need, limiting warfare as humankind had known it. But the Guild also took self-interested actions on its own, to preserve its power and even, one expected, occasionally to sway the course of atevi politics in a direction it liked better. It had been directly attacked. A section of its membership had peeled away in a major schism . . . half for the aishidi’tat, for the course of spacefaring advances Tabini-aiji and the paidhi-aiji had hammered out, and half dead-set against them.

  Could the paidhi then say he had no responsibility for the fracture of the Guild—or for it now taking extreme action to deal with its problem?

  Tori’s whole line had been a problem—his father Badissuni had tried to overthrow the aishidi’tat, Tori had backed the coup that had temporarily unseated Tabini, and incidentally killed very many innocent people. Tori had assassinated Machigi’s predecessor—and his father—and his brothers and sisters. Tori’s hands were not clean, far from it.

  There was nothing to say. Except . . .

  He took the pen and added his own note of misgiving. Tori’s daughter Tiajo is a child.

  Algini wrote: Tori alone will be the target. Better Mujita live to be a problem to his clan, until one of his advisors removes him. Tiajo is unproven, for good or for ill. But she will not be grateful.

  God, how did he get into this situation, bargaining for lives? And he hoped to hell his plea for a kid’s survival didn’t have a bloody cost later.

  He took paper and wrote: Are we dealing with an organization of these renegades? Is there a leader?

  He looked straight at Algini, and Algini just nodded.

  He wrote: Does Cenedi know this?

  Algini took the pen and wrote: By now he does.

  Damn, he thought, certain that Algini had just bent Guild rules a second time. Something was going on between Algini and Tano and Machigi’s bodyguard. God only knew if any information had gotten to Tabini’s men before the bus left.

  He didn’t like their situation now—sitting in a target zone, with information coming to them mostly from Machigi’s guard. He looked toward Banichi and Jago, longest with him, closest of his bodyguards, and had an idea they understood the situation to a depth he didn’t, even yet.

  Tano and Algini themselves would act for the Guild, when it came down to it—he was becoming convinced of it, and he didn’t begrudge them that loyalty. Banichi and Jago, he was equally sure, would act for Tabini-aiji, who had sent them to him in the first place.

  Tabini was ultimately where his allegiance still lay. He reached that personal conclusion. When all sums were totaled, despite his own attachment to the aiji-dowager, logic ultimately held him to Tabini’s interests, and thus far he thought those interests remained congruent with the dowager’s.

  But hadn’t Tabini warned him at the outset that his grandmother was a dangerous individual, a power to be reckoned with—and not always on his side? She knew at least some of what was going on—if not all—and played her own side of the chessboard, always, always with her loyalties in the East, and not necessarily congruent with the rest of the aishidi’tat.

  Hadn’t the dowager once made her own bid to rule and to shape the aishidi’tat according to her design?

  And he was trying to save a young lord who could keep the Marid from falling apart in chaos. The Marid being in good order hadn’t, historically, been an asset to the aishidi’tat.

  Collective wisdom of the paidhiin before him had said, Don’t interfere, when it came to atevi dealing with atevi.

  What the hell else had he done in his whole career but interfere?

  He’d become a Lord of the Aishidi’tat and advisor to three rulers. Four, if you counted Shawn Tyers; and five, if you counted Jase, up on the ship.

  Maybe he should have said flat no when Ilisidi had ordered him here. Maybe that was where his judgment had failed.

  No.

  No second-guessing at this point. They were in the mess, things were in motion, and there was no way back from here, no way that he and his bodyguard could arrange. They had to survive and see to it Machigi survived.

  For that, the question was: how good was Machigi’s bodyguard?

  And what could they do to keep either the Guild or the renegades from killing him?

  He watched Tano burn the last note and stir the ashes.

  The bus came in from the road with a cloud of dust and a rumble of tires on the portico cobbles, just narrowly making the turn of the drive: even Guild backed up, just in case. It was a wild arrival, and mani’s guard was watching the bus with weapons in hand, even being assured by radio by Lord Geigi’s own guard that it was Lord Geigi himself aboard.

  Veijico had gotten out to the fore where she could see—she was tall enough, and so were Antaro and Jegari.

  But Cajeiri was stuck behind a row of black-uniformed bodies, not supposed to be here, he was sure, the way the Guild was acting. So he tried to stay inside the threshold. He was behaving his best, so as not to be noticed and sent inside.

  He had been in a good position until the black wall closed between him and the bu
s, just when the doors were opening, and that was just too frustrating. He ducked out for a fast look between Veijico and Antaro, and he saw, indeed, Lord Geigi’s guard getting off and then Lord Geigi right behind them—it was amazing so fat a man could move so quickly, but Lord Geigi set his feet on the ground right behind his guard.

  Immediately Lord Geigi had thanks for Cenedi, for the welcome, and then his eyes lit on Cajeiri.

  Spotted. Cajeiri froze, expecting to be in trouble. But Geigi immediately moved from Cenedi to come and lay a hand on Cajeiri’s shoulder—which he was entitled to do, because he was a lord and an adult and an intimate associate of Great-grandmother’s.

  “How is nand’ Bren’s brother, young gentleman? And has your great-grandmother spoken lately to her grandson?”

  Lord Geigi lived among humans up on the station: his questions came fast and several at once, and maybe there was a reason Lord Geigi seized on him instead of Cenedi, who was immediately busy talking to Lord Geigi’s bodyguard and who had noticed him; he was sure, now.

  “Nand’ Toby is well, nandi. Barb-daja is here, and mani talked to my father yesterday.”

  “But not today.”

  “Not today, nandi.” Lord Geigi was propelling him and his bodyguard right back through the doors, on his way probably straight to see mani. Nand’ Bren’s majordomo, Ramaso, showed up, trying to be polite on behalf of the staff, but Geigi scarcely noticed the attention. He fired another set of questions:

  “Has your great-grandmother spoken to nand’ Bren himself, young lord? Has she any intelligence from the Guild? Has there been any trouble here?”

  “She has, yes, she spoke to nand’ Bren, nandi, yesterday, herself. One has no idea about the Guild. We just got up. Mani will be going to breakfast. And everything has been quiet here in the house.”

  “A condition which will not last, one is very certain. At breakfast, you say, young lord.”

  Lord Geigi notoriously had a great appetite, and he had been traveling from long before the sun was up. “Gari-ji!” Cajeiri said, glancing around, where Jegari was keeping up, along with Antaro and Veijico. “Run tell Cook that Lord Geigi will join mani and me in the dining room. And probably everybody on the bus will want breakfast. Tell him lots of eggs!”

  “Excellent, excellent management, young gentleman.” Geigi’s hand had never left his shoulder, which was odd, but now Geigi squeezed it hard and let go, setting his own fast pace, leftward, toward the dining room hallway, giving no attention to his luggage, or settling in, or changing clothes from the trip, or anything of the sort. He was in that much of a hurry, and definitely had news that he had to get out either before or after breakfast. Lord Geigi might break all the rules, but mani never did.

  Usually when it was a formal breakfast, Cajeiri would have his bodyguard go by turns and get breakfast in the backstairs instead of waiting to eat, but they all went into the dining room, and the three of them lined up in formal order in the dining room, while Lord Geigi’s bodyguard had stayed with Cenedi.

  They waited. One would lay a bet that a message had flown to mani, to advise her Lord Geigi would be at breakfast. It might change how she dressed. Cajeiri hoped with everything in him that mani would arrive as curious as he was and not tell him to go get his own breakfast so adults could talk.

  Outside, the halls echoed to the sort of noise a lot of people made finding a place to be, and there was a lot of coming and going on the servants’ stairs, just beyond the wall—usually one could not hear that at all, but the servants were in a great hurry.

  Then it got quiet all of a sudden, so it was clear mani had left her room without any delay and was coming in this direction. The quiet went on, and outside, in the main hall, people would be stopping what they were doing and bowing.

  Cajeiri stood up from table. Lord Geigi did. And his bodyguard came to attention. One heard the cane first: tap. Tap. Tap. Then mani came in, with only Nawari in attendance.

  “We rejoice to see you safe, Geigi-ji.” That was as informal as mani ever was. Nawari moved her chair for her and took the cane for a moment as mani sat down, then Nawari took his place along the wall. They were three at the table. Fortunate three, without Cenedi. Mani could not send him away.

  “So speak, Geigi-ji, speak!” mani said, as servants arrived out of the back entry and quickly arranged the final table settings with very little fuss and then began to provide hot tea. “Tell us everything in order!”

  That was how close an association mani had with nand’ Geigi. Cajeiri made himself very quiet and hoped Cook would not break in with breakfast too soon.

  “You will be aware, aiji-ma, that an order has come down from the Guild,” Lord Geigi began.

  “We are well aware,” mani said, leaving Cajeiri frustrated and unable to ask what that order was.

  “How much do you know, aiji-ma?”

  “My grandson spoke to Bren-paidhi this morning. He has Filed against the entire Farai presence in Sheijidan. He is offering them three hours to exit without conflict. This is the sum of things in Shejidan.”

  “One is not surprised. The region is fast headed for extreme difficulties, aiji-ma, and Targai is being reinforced at this hour, to prevent any spillage of the conflict toward Najida. Your grandson will try to hold the trouble there.”

  “So the reinforcement has arrived,” mani said.

  “Some of your grandson’s forces have arrived at Targai,” Geigi said, “while four have insisted on providing security to me on the road here and intend to reinforce Najida. Reinforcements—”

  “—Are moving up from Separti Township,” mani said with a wave of her hand. “We are aware of it.”

  They were going to have a war?

  But what about nand’ Bren? Cajeiri wondered, biting his lip. What about everybody with him? What about Banichi and Jago and Tano and Algini?

  But then Cook, doubtless proud of his efficiency, sent in the servants with the first course of breakfast.

  And that meant there was no answer until after breakfast, and no sulking about it, either, or one would be sent from the table. Mani and Lord Geigi went on talking about the seasons over near Targai, and the two representatives from Targai who had come here with Geigi to make contact with the Edi—they were Parithi clan, a subclan of the Maschi.

  Which was close to talking business at breakfast, except that everything else that was going on was very much too serious even to think about over food.

  Cajeiri picked at his breakfast and had only one egg, and nobody noticed; so mani was upset, too, or she would have pushed another egg on him. Things were serious. Terribly serious.

  She, however, said, at the end of breakfast: “Wari-ji, keep us apprised.” Which meant tell her anything that had happened or was going to happen. And then: “Geigi-ji, attend me in my parlor.”

  Breakfast was over. Mani and Lord Geigi were going to talk in private.

  But was she going to get nand’ Bren out of the Marid?

  Cajeiri wished he were big enough and his guard were old enough.

  He said to Veijico, under his breath, when they left the dining hall and were headed to mani’s apartment, to see if they would let him in for a felicitous third: “Jico-ji, go stand around security and learn things.”

  “Yes,” Vejico said crisply and headed off at a tangent as they reached the hall.

  Probably, given her partner was missing, the security station was where she very much wanted to be, to learn any detail she could.

  And he had called her by the familiar, which he never had. She was adult, mostly. She was a weapon, the way Cenedi was, and in all that was going on, he was not going to turn loose any protection they had.

  Especially a bodyguard who really knew how to use a gun.

  The world was getting scary. That was the truth. And it was moving fast. And it wasn’t a good morning. Not at all.

  “Poisoning us,” Bren said, faced with what was a truly attractive service, and with the servants still in the room, “is a process o
f inconveniently many steps, though conservative of the furniture. One believes we may just have breakfast this morning, nadiin-ji. One believes your lines of communication with the kitchen are either accurate, or they are not.”

  “Still,” Jago said.

  But Bren sat down, and Machigi’s servants hastened to pour tea, the first time they had admitted the servants to serve a meal: Machigi said they were handpicked. It deserved, in Bren’s estimation, acknowledgement of that fact. “Sit with me,” he asked his own guard. “Provide me your company. We have done all we can do, or at least I have, nadiin-ji, and at this point I can only wait. If we are so far misreading things, there is no help for us.”

  Which was not altogether disingenuous, since it was a deliberate bravado and utter suspension of their discretion. At this point their best protection was Machigi’s belief in their frankness, and too much quiet in the suite was an indication things were passing hand to hand—as they had.

  It was a fine breakfast, probably Machigi’s own ordinary menu, and with warnings from the servants: “The green dishes, nand’ paidhi, are those your staff has listed as unpalatable to you.”

  “One is grateful,” he said. So nice to have the poisons inventively labeled, in very lovely emerald green dishes that were probably from another, equally elegant, set. “Such a graceful solution to the difficulty. My compliments to the staff, and I shall recommend it to my own household.”

  “One will relay the sentiment, nandi,” the senior servant answered.

  It tasted as good as it smelled, a plethora of eggs and smoked fish—not originally to his taste, but over the years he had come to appreciate good preparations, and this was the best. The bread was hot and fresh from baking. The fruit jelly was delicious. He overdid a little, having lived mostly on tea and toast until now. Best take food when one could. A lot of it.

  After breakfast, the hall was full of Machigi’s guards, and God knew what was afoot elsewhere—phone calls and radio were flying hither and yon, mostly southward and shore to ship, one could imagine. Machigi had two allies, the southern clans and those ships that plied the harbor; and if he could rely on them, he would be advising them in whatever terms and codes he had at hand.