Conspirator

by C. J. Cherryh

  It was still a pleasant venue. The room had a frieze of sailing ships. Many-paned windows gave a view of a small winter garden. A small rug covered the seating area of the tiled floor, deadening sound.

  The solar, Bren thought, had another advantage—being near the front doors. A quick session, and an early out if things turned awkward—if there was, for instance, any business about the debt to Najida merchants, which he truly did not want to discuss today, because he would have to say things that would not be auspicious.

  So they sat, himself, and Cajeiri, and Baiji, while their respective bodyguards stood in attendance on opposite sides of the room.

  Tea was ready with no delay at all: staff must have spotted them coming up the drive, and hastened now to bring forth the service. That provided a decent period of quiet and mental collection.

  So they sipped their tea, Cajeiri in very commendable silence, until Baiji asked his young guest how he found the district.

  “Very beautiful, nandi. Thank you.”

  Commendable brevity. And offering the suggestion, on Baiji’s side, that Cajeiri was not quite . . . as advertised . . . local.

  Hell, Geigi would have asked the facts at the front door. Baiji just insinuated bits and pieces of what he knew.

  So it was, Bren decided, on him to explain matters decently. That had been a diffident probe, at least, perhaps the man’s attempt at genteel inquiry. He took a sip of tea—his sips were scarcely enough to wet his lips, cautious . . . alkaloids were always a risk, in unknown hospitality. Then he said: “One must apologize, nandi, for the slight deception on the radio last night. You have clearly guessed by now that my young companion is not from Najida village. Let me introduce, nandi, nand’ Cajeiri, the son of Tabini-aiji, and his young staff.”

  “Nandi.” Their host immediately set aside his teacup and rose. Cajeiri, a properly schooled youngster, also rose, and there was a brief exchange of bows between Cajeiri and Baiji, then a resumption of seats.

  “One is extremely honored, young gentleman, and delighted to have rendered service.”

  Remarkable. Astonishing. Having already spent his allotted two sentences, Cajeiri merely inclined his head in acknowledgment, and said not a thing, asked not a single question—the perfect model of a young gentleman.

  “One should add,” Bren said, “that the grandmother referenced last night is the young lord’s great-grandmother, who is a guest at my estate.”

  “One is completely astonished by the honor paid this house.” Baiji had broken out in a sudden sweat, and actually reached for a pocket handkerchief to mop his cheek. “One is very gratified at your visit, nandiin.”

  “Security is tight,” Bren said with a calm nod. “We wish no attention to my guests. Nor should it be mentioned beyond staff until my guests have left the region. But as my neighbor, it is useful that you know.”

  “Indeed, indeed.”

  “Please,” Bren said, accepting another dose of tea into his cup, the servant late to provide it. “Please take my visit as gratitude for your assistance last night. As to your question, nandi, how we find the district . . . it is, of course, as I left it—except the roads.”

  “Ah! Nandi, one so deeply apologizes—one—”

  “If Kajiminda would accept a more substantive token of my gratitude for last night, Najida might mow the road from Najida up to the turnoff, so heavier traffic might be more convenient between our estates.” And I would like my people’s bills to be paid, he thought, but simply had a sip of tea.

  “One would be extremely gratified by that favor, nandi,” Baiji said. “We have been short-handed in the estate, and last fall, we let that matter slide far more than we should.”

  “Short-handed,” Bren echoed him.

  Another pass of the handkerchief. “During the Troubles, certain staff found the need to be closer to their families. And most regrettably, nandi, they have not yet returned.”

  “Ah,” Bren said. Not returned to their jobs, and it had been months since the restoration of Tabini’s regime. Odd. He declined, however, to say so, just letting his bodyguard sum things up.

  But he was not as easy now. Something unpleasant in the tea? One could become just a little anxious in their host’s continued nervousness, but there was a reason a lord’s bodyguard stood while the lords sat at tea—stood armed to the teeth, and did not drink or eat. It was his job not to drink much of the tea, and to find out what he needed to learn.

  And he could wish he had not brought the boy on this trip.

  “Do you, nandi, hear often from your esteemed uncle?”

  “Not often at all, to my regret, nand’ Bren. One hopes for his continued good health. One has been concerned.”

  “One has heard nothing at all distressing regarding his health. We dealt with him briefly on the station, and we have been in contact with him intermittently for months.”

  “Then one is glad to know so, nandi.”

  “Indeed. He frequently keeps a hectic schedule. I shall be sure to remember you kindly to him.” Banichi meanwhile, in the tail of his vision, had stepped outside the room to have a word, perhaps, with the major domo, maybe to pose his own questions of staff. One of Baiji’s men had likewise left the room. That would not be at all unusual, in two staffs establishing contact. And it was the lord’s job to smooth things over. But it was approaching time to cut the visit short, the gesture made, and the outcome offering more questions than answers. “One has little time in the schedule today, to let us pay a long visit, nandi, but later, should you wish, one might have that road mowed, and your reciprocal visit to Najida might meet no serious obstacles.”

  Baiji had looked a little askance at Banichi’s departure, his eyes flicking to that doorway.

  “So we must,” Bren said, “with greatest thanks, be on our way back to Najida, to attend to my other guests. Shall we see you in Najida?” Not while the dowager was there, for certain. But he could deliver her message. “Or perhaps in court, when the session opens?”

  “One hopes,” Baiji said fervently, “one hopes so. Please convey my earnest good will to the aiji-dowager, and, young gentleman, to your esteemed father.”

  Profoundly sweating.

  Not right, Bren thought. It was time to go. And Banichi had not come back in, but Jago had begun to move toward the door. So, with her, and looking just a little on edge, the Taibeni youngsters moved. Cajeiri might or might not have noticed that action. He was sitting at Bren’s right, and his expression was not readable—one hoped he was not fidgeting anxious glances toward the doorway, where Banichi was, perhaps using his old contacts in the house, Geigi’s Edi contacts, to ask some pointed questions.

  But it was his job to read the signals and get them out of here. He stood up.

  “One will be most anxious,” Baiji said, rising as Cajeiri rose. “Please convey our most fervent wishes for the aiji-dowager’s good will. We had sickness in the house this winter. Please assure the dowager missing the session had nothing to do with political opinion. We feared to bring a contagion to that august assembly . . .”

  “Certainly one will convey that information,” Bren said, laying a hand on Cajeiri’s shoulder, steering him toward the door. He put a little pressure on it, just a brief warning signal, trusting the lad not to flinch. “We shall, shall we not, young lord?”

  “Yes, nandi, indeed.” Cajeiri properly bowed toward their host, and Bren bowed, and turned the boy toward the door, where he hoped to God that Banichi was waiting. He didn’t like what he was getting from Baiji. Not in the least. Jago opened the door, and they exited into the tiled hall with the potted plants.

  “Nandi,” Baiji said, at their backs, hurrying to overtake them as they headed for the front doors. The servants were at the front doors. Banichi and Lord Baiji’s guard were engaged in conversation there, and Banichi had to have realized they were leaving.

  But overtake them Baiji did, just short of Banichi and the guards—but Jago turned suddenly and interposed her arm, blocking his
path.

  “Please!” Baiji protested. “Nandiin, let me escort you to your bus. We are so very pleased that you have come, and we hope to visit while the young gentleman and the aiji-dowager are in residence, if you would be so good, nandi, as to relay my sentiments to her . . .”

  “Excuse me, nandi,” Jago said, maintaining her arm as a barrier. Her other hand was near her holster—not on it, but near, and she kept it there. Cajeiri’s young staff were in danger of getting cut off by Baiji’s three remaining guards, who were behind Baiji. “Come,” Jago said sharply. “The paidhi has a schedule to keep, nadiin-ji. Come.”

  The youngsters hurried to catch up—inserted themselves right with Jago.

  “Please,” Baiji said, actively pursuing as they walked toward the doors. “Please, nand’ paidhi. Something has alarmed your staff. In the name of an old alliance, in the name of my uncle, your neighbor, allow me a word. Nandi! Nandi, I have met with the Tasaigi. I confess it!”

  Tasaigi. The front doors had opened. But at that name out of the hostile South, Bren stopped, cast an astonished look back.

  “But one refused them, nandi! Your presence has lent this house strength! Please! Do not desert us!”

  He had stopped. Jago had stopped. Banichi held the doors open. And he needed urgently to get the boy out of here.

  “Please, nand’ paidhi! Nandi, be patient, please be patient and hear me out! They are gone now, they are gone! I sent them off. It is all safe!”

  “We cannot wait for this.” The door remained open: Jago held Baiji back; and now Jago did have her hand on her pistol, and quietly, deliberately drew it. The two Taibeni youngsters were as helpless as Cajeiri, caught in the middle, trying to figure out where they should be, which turned out to be against the wall. And he hesitated two breaths for a look back. “We can discuss it when you visit Najida.”

  “Nandi, it may be too late! My uncle—my esteemed uncle—the position he occupies. He protects us. But he draws attention. Oh, favorable gods!” The fellow was sweating, and looked altogether overwhelmed, perhaps about to collapse on the spot: but his bodyguard had frozen in place behind him. “Oh, good and auspicious gods . . .”

  “Out with it!” Bren said, with a worse and worse feeling that they were dealing with a fool, and one that might not survive, left alone in this house, having named that name. “I shall hear you, nand’ Bajji, for your uncle’s sake, and for your service to the aiji’s house. I shall hear you at length and reasonably, for your uncle’s sake, when you visit us in Najida.” Take him with them? Be sure that they heard whatever truth he had to tell, before Tasaigi agents caught up to him? “The truth, nandi, only the truth will serve you at this point—only the truth, and do not delay me further! In two words, tell me what I should hear. Tell me what you know Lord Geigi himself would wish to hear, because I assure you he will hear it.”

  “Nandi, your great patience, your great forbearance—”

  “Have limits. What have you done regarding the Tasaigi, nandi?”

  “Nandi, please hear me! I—dealt with the South during the usurper’s rule, that is to say, I dealt with them in trade, I received them under this roof, I encouraged them—I did shameful things, nand’ paidhi, because we were, all of us on this peninsula, under threat! It was rumored, nandi, it was greatly rumored at one time that Tabini-aiji might have come to your estate!”

  “He did not.”

  “But it was rumored! And we were all in danger, your estate, most of all.”

  News. He had not heard anything about a Tasaigi intrusion here. “And?”

  “And we—we feared every day that the Tasaigi might be encouraged to make a move against the township, and this whole coast. We expected it. Instead—instead—they wrote to me requesting I visit.”

  “And you went to them?”

  “If I refused them, it would be a matter of time before they sent assassins, nandi, and without me . . . not that I in any way claim the dignity or honors of my uncle—but without me—nandi, I was the only lord in the west, save Adigan up at Dur, to hold his land safe from invasion. The northern peninsula, that went under: the new regime set up new magistrates . . .”

  “You are wasting my time, nandi. All this I know. Get to it! What have you done?”

  “So I met with them, nand’ paidhi, being as good as a dead man otherwise, and hoping—hoping to negotiate some more favorable situation for this district. I reasoned—I reasoned as long as I was still in power here, it would be better than one of their appointed men, would it not?”

  “Undoubtedly.” Taking him with them to Najida might indeed be the best thing. If there was a problem on staff, it might find Baiji before nightfall.

  Or find them, if they didn’t get the hell out the door Banichi was holding open.

  “So I met with them.”

  “We have been to this point three times, nandi. Get beyond it!”

  “They offered me—being without an heir—they offered me an alliance. They—offered me the daughter of a lord of the South, and I—I said I wished to meet this young woman. I did anything I could think of and objected to this and that detail in the contract—”

  “You stalled.”

  “Nandi, I—ultimately agreed to the marriage. Which I did not carry out. But I know that I have put this young woman—a very young woman—and her family—in a difficult position. Which they urge is the case. So—”

  It could go another half hour, round and round and round with Baiji’s ifs and buts. “They have put this young woman in a difficult position, nandi. You are not morally responsible. And one will discuss this at length in Najida. Order your car, nandi, and join us there, should you wish to discuss it further. I will not stand in the hall to discuss this.”

  “One shall, one shall, with great gratitude, nandi, but let me go with you!”

  “This is enough,” Jago said in the kyo language, which no Guild could crack—but which all of them who had been in space knew. “Nandi! Go!”

  “Good day to you,” Bren said, and with his hand firmly on Cajeiri’s shoulder, steered him out the door, where to his great relief Banichi closed in behind them all and let the door shut.

  It immediately reopened. “Nandi!” Baiji called at their backs, and Jago half-turned, on the move. “I shall go with you. Please.” Baiji ran to catch up.

  “Stay back!” Jago said, and Bren glanced back in alarm as Jago’s gun came up, and Baiji slid to a wideeyed, stumbling halt just this side of the doors, none of his guard in attendance.

  Bren turned, drew Cajeiri with him, and Cajeiri looked back. The Taibeni youngsters were trying to stay close.

  Meanwhile their bus, parked out in the sunlight of the circular drive, rolled gently into motion toward the portico.

  A sunlit cobblestone exploded like the crack of doom. Bren froze, uncertain which direction to go.

  A whole line of cobbles exploded, ending with the moving bus—which suddenly accelerated toward the portico with a squeal of tires. Fire hit it, stitched up the driver’s side door, and it braked, skidding sidelong into the right-hand stonework pillar with a horrendous crash.

  The whole portico roof tilted and collapsed in a welter of stones and squeal of nails, the collapsing corner knocking the bus forward. In that same split-second Banichi turned and got off three shots up and to the left.

  An impact hit Bren from behind—hit him, grabbed him sideways as if he weighed nothing and carried him the half-dozen steps to the bullet-riddled side of the bus—then shoved him right against it. It was Jago who had grabbed him, Jago who yanked the bus door open while the portico resounded with gunfire.

  “Get in,” Jago yelled at him, and shoved him inside, and he didn’t argue, just scrambled to get in past the driver’s seat, and down across the floor. Their driver was lying half over the seat in front. Jago had forced her way in, and threw the man onto the floor, as Banichi got in. Bren got a look past his own knee and saw Banichi lying on the steps holding someone in his arms.

  Jago ja
mmed on the accelerator and snapped his head back, tumbling him against the seats. The bus lurched forward, ripping part of the bus roof and pieces of the portico ceiling, tires thumping on cobbles as they drove for sunlight and headed down the drive.

  Glass broke. Bullets stitched through the back of the bus, blew up bits of the seats and exploded through the right-hand window.

  Jago yelled: “Stay down!”

  They hit something on the left and scraped along the side of it—the bus rocked, and Bren grabbed the nearest seat stanchion, sure they were going over, but they rocked back to level, on gravel, now, three tires spinning at all the speed the bus could manage and one lumping along with a regular impact of loose rubber.

  But they kept going. Kept going, and made it to the gate.

  Bren looked back, then forward, trying to figure if it was safe to move yet, trying to find out was everybody all right.

  Banichi had edged forward, on his knees, and the person he had was . . . Baiji.

  Baiji. Not Cajeiri.

  “Where is Cajeiri?” Bren cried, over the noise of the tires on gravel, one flat, and past the roar of an overtaxed engine. “Where is Cajeiri, nadiin-ji?”

  Banichi was on his knees now, trying to staunch the blood flow from their wounded driver, whose body only just cleared the foot well. Jago drove, and as a disheveled Lord Baiji tried to crawl up the steps and get up, Banichi whirled on one knee, grabbed the lord’s coat and hauled him down, thump! onto the floor, with no care for his head—which hit the seat rim.

  Baiji yelled in pain, grabbed his ear. His pigtail having come loose, its ribbon trailed over one shoulder, strands of hair streaming down beside his ears.

  But no view, before or behind, showed the youngsters aboard the bus.

  “Banichi!” Bren breathed, struggling to both keep down and get around to face Banichi, while the bus bucked and lurched over potholes on three good tires.