Conspirator

by C. J. Cherryh

  Jago drove for all the bus was worth. They all kept as low as possible. Lord Baiji stayed in the well of the steps—under Banichi’s advisement that if he said anything whatsoever or moved from where he lay, he would be sorry he had.

  Lord Baiji hadn’t budged.

  But they were onto Najida Peninsula now. It was speed or it was caution, and right now, speed counted. Jago’s attention was all for the road—a good thing, at the speed she was driving, considering the condition of the bus—and a sharp jolt and bounce both drew no cry from the driver—in itself, ominous. Bren sat ready to spell Banichi at maintaining that pressure on the wound, but thus far Banichi managed without him.

  Objections at this point were futile. They were where they were, headed for help, and that was all they could do. Questions he had aplenty, and knew most of them came down to him. He was the one who had left half his bodyguard in Najida. He was the one who had relied on a neighbor. And the one who’d valued stopping Barb from another embarrassment at a higher priority than Tano and Algini going with them.

  Bad choice. Bad decision. And his call, totally. He was the one who was supposed to know the temper of the human side of his household and make the best decision—how in hell could Banichi and Jago figure how serious it was and wasn’t, with Barb and Toby’s situation? Jago had made her own heated recommendations regarding Barb not being under his roof, and he had dismissed her objections as personal jealousy. What more could she then say?

  Wrong, he thought now. Wrong. Wrong. Impossible situation, for his guard. Absolutely impossible.

  Second bad move, when he’d delayed them after he’d gotten an indication from Banichi that things weren’t right.

  And at the doors, almost out of it, he’d turned his head to pay attention to Baiji and slowed them down—at which point everything had gone to hell. Somebody had had to get out of there alive—and his bodyguard had done exactly what his bodyguard was supposed to do, and grabbed him. He understood that now, intellectually, even if his gut hadn’t caught up to the situation. Man’chi drove Banichi and Jago: they’d go through fire to get to him. They had to. He understood that part. Intellectually.

  What he didn’t understand yet was why Banichi had grabbed Baiji instead of Cajeiri.

  Baiji was—he still thought—weak, a lord likely to collapse under anybody’s threat. He wasn’t likely behind anything, unless Banichi read something entirely different . . .

  And that was always possible. There were times when the paidhi read atevi just very well; and there were occasional times he didn’t, and right now his confidence in his reading the situation was entirely shaken. Right now he didn’t know what Baiji was, except related to a very major ally of theirs, and possibly involved in something very, very dangerous.

  Banichi had made the gut-level choice to take Baiji with them. And Banichi didn’t make mistakes under fire, never had.

  So what in the situation wasn’t he seeing?

  He didn’t know, and he sat still and listened to Jago tell Banichi they were close to the house, and heard Banichi suggest they avoid any communications. That told him Banichi worried about a compromise in the house system, but that was a reasonable precaution, if they’d been caught by surprise. It was just a precaution, wasn’t it?

  And what in hell was he going to tell the dowager?

  Sorry? Sorry I misplaced the boy—again?

  They made a turn, scraping brush on the side. “We are on the ridge,” Jago said. “We are going down the short way.”

  “Bren-ji,” Banichi said, and indicated he should take over pressure. He did, and Banichi used his com at the last moment for a short, coded exchange, likely a heads-up for Tano and Algini, while Jago took them downhill, hard, and finally onto gravel.

  Then he thought: a heads-up, maybe; or maybe checking to be sure everything’s all right at the house . . . God!

  Final stretch. He turned the driver back over to Banichi and got up on his knee, elbows on the seat, to see where they were.

  They made the final turn, came down the drive, onto the cobbles, and swerved under the front portico, so similar an arrangement to Kajiminda—but intact. Safe. Bren started to get up. Banichi seized his arm, said, “Hold it, Bren-ji,” meaning the compress, and got up, towering there, bloody-handed—he snatched Baiji unceremoniously to his feet as the bus came to a stop.

  Jago pulled the brake, and opened the door.

  Tano and Algini were there, and received Baiji when Banichi shoved him off the bus. So was the physician, who climbed aboard. Bren gladly surrendered the driver to the doctor, and stood up—his own pale clothes were as bloody as Banichi’s.

  “Bren-ji,” Jago said, taking his arm and urging him up and to the steps.

  Cenedi was outside. Bren didn’t know what to say to him, about the youngsters; and the ancient rule—one didn’t, in a crisis, ever discuss anything delicate with Guild not one’s own—seemed to cover the situation. He ducked his head and got down the steps, letting Jago guide him.

  As her feet hit the cobbled ground, however, she stopped them both, and said, to Cenedi and Nawari, “One had no choice, nadiin-ji. The young lord is at lord Geigi’s estate—in what situation, by now, we are unable to determine.”

  “Details,” Cenedi said shortly, and they stood stock still, facing the gray-haired senior of Ilisidi’s bodyguard.

  What followed was what Bren called, to himself, Guild-speak, a lot of information freighted in a few words and a set of handsigns.

  “Positioned at the door, bus coming. Shots from the right, wing of the estate roof, bus exposed. I took my Principal, Banichi took the lord, the young lord’s party moved apart, taking cover.”

  Was that it? Man’chi, in crisis, moved emotionally-associated elements together. What moved apart might be allied on a different mission; might be hostile. Man’chi was situated somewhere in the hindbrain, in the gut—Mospheirans would call it the heart. It moved people in certain directions, and Cajeiri’s man’chi hadn’t been to a human, never mind Cajeiri was a minor child. If he’d followed his aishid, that would have been a topsyturvy response, a fault in his character; and if he’d led his aishid—he was emotionally in charge; but he’d instinctively left the paidhi and his guard . . . going in his own direction, getting under cover. It was crystal clear—if you were wired that way from birth.

  He, personally, wasn’t wired that way. But his bodyguard was. Right now Tano and Algini were taking a man of his house to somewhere the doctor could work on him, and Jago was making sure Baiji stayed put, and Banichi—Banichi was facing down his old ally Cenedi’s justified anger, protecting the paidhi. Cenedi, their old ally in a hundred crises, was absolutely expressionless—not happy—and probably assessing what he and his could do about the situation that had developed.

  He wished he had an answer. He wished he understood half the undercurrents in the situation he’d let develop.

  “We stand ready to go back ourselves, Cenedi-nadi,” Bren said. “We shall get the boy back. We do not intend anything less.”

  “In the meeting with nand’ Baiji,” Banichi said to Cenedi. “We were dealt half-truths and equivocations. This lord knows something more, and will tell it to us and the dowager’s guard.”

  Cenedi glanced toward Baiji with the first gleam of inner heat in his impassive facade, but said nothing.

  “One needs urgently to speak to the dowager,” Bren said, “if she will see me.”

  Cenedi gave a jerk of his head, said: “Nandi,” and turned and led the way.

  Toby had showed up at the door. Barb, thank God, had not. Toby made a sudden move to grasp his arm that sent hands to pistol butts—a motion restrained as Bren lifted a hand and then laid it on Toby’s shoulder, sweeping him along with him. “Toby, this is very serious. Get back to your suite and stay there. With Barb. Assassins made a try at us. Cajeiri’s missing. Go. Nobody’s in the least patient here. Ask house staff if you need anything.”

  “Any way we can help,” Toby began.

>   “There isn’t. Not at the moment. Just go. Stay low.”

  Toby had that basic sense; and he trusted Toby, at least, to stay put—even to sit on Barb, for her own protection.

  One of Cenedi’s men, Kasari, had now moved in to take charge of Baiji. Bren headed down the hall as far as the door of the dowager’s suite of rooms, and Cenedi and Nawari, in the lead, opened the door.

  The dowager was on her feet, waiting, leaning on her cane. Her eyes flashed sullen gold as they took in the bloody spectacle that confronted her.

  Bren bowed his head, met her eye to eye with: “Our driver was shot, aiji-ma.”

  “Cajeiri separated himself from the paidhi, aiji-ma,” Cenedi said in a flat tone, “seeking cover. He was left behind.”

  “How?” Ilisidi snapped, and the cane hit the floor. “What occasioned this?”

  “We were about to board the bus,” Bren said, having gathered the atevi-wise salient facts from Jago’s initial explanation. “Shots from the roof, the driver fell, Jago grabbed me and took the wheel. Banichi took Lord Baiji into keeping, aiji-ma. He is here. Cajeiri is there.”

  Ilisidi actually, astonishingly, relaxed a little, hearing that set of facts. “In their hands?”

  “Uncertain, nand’ dowager,” Banichi said. “One saw no such thing. Nand’ Baiji was addressing nand’ Bren, pleading to go with us to Najida. Shots met us outside. And the young people separated from us in the confusion of motion.”

  The cane hit the floor much more gently, twice. The dowager was thinking, and her jaw was set.

  “You have Baiji,” she said.

  “The young gentleman moved toward cover,” Banichi said. “The young companions were between me and him.”

  The Taibeni youngsters—an untrained guard—had moved between Banichi and their young lord: Banichi would have had to flatten them to reach Cajeiri. That might have taken one precious second, and two more to bring Cajeiri back to the bus—a time in which Jago might have been shot and the whole situation unraveled. Their bus in jeopardy, unknown man’chi around them, and Cajeiri and him to protect . . . Banichi had saved what he could, and picked him.

  The dowager nodded slowly, grimly. “The paidhi is the more valuable,” she muttered.

  He understood it all right down to the point Ilisidi said that, regarding her precious great-grandson. He was appalled. Didn’t know what to say.

  And Ilisidi turned and walked away into the inner hallway of her suite.

  “Cenedi-ji,” he said. He thought maybe, under the circumstances, Cenedi might not favor the familiar address, but he knew the man, and did it anyway. “I will personally move the heavens and the earth to get Cajeiri back safely. One begs you let me and my staff assist you in what we do next.”

  Cenedi nodded shortly in the affirmative. “We shall begin,” Cenedi said, “by asking nand’ Baiji what he knows about this. Will the paidhi wish to question him? The paidhi heard his prior responses.”

  “Yes,” he said, and looked at Banichi and Jago, who gave him no sign to the contrary. “Nadiin-ji, I shall have to call the aiji.”

  “One believes ’Sidi-ji is doing so at this moment,” Cenedi said. “There will be reinforcements within a few hours, asked or unasked.”

  “Baiji’s household is suspect,” Banichi said grimly. “We did not recognize the men with him. Not a one. And we did not see all of them. Nor do we know about the servants.”

  “Number?” Cenedi asked.

  “Four uniformed, downstairs. The shots came from the roof.”

  Crack. Tap. Ilisidi came back out of her room down the hall and said, with perfect and terrible calm, “We shall have a personal word with Baiji. I will spare half an hour. Come dark, we shall go get my great-grandson.”

  Diplomacy might be his job. But security was wholly Guild business, and Guild was going to be in charge when they moved tonight. Dangerous enough, that they’d apparently just called Tabini to respond to the situation. Communications were a leaky business ever since the new technology had taken hold; and the Messengers’ Guild, in charge of the phones, had never been wholly reliable. The matter had gotten noisier and noisier, and if the lines were compromised, there might be more moving than a handful of Assassins over in Kajiminda.

  Jago left quickly and quietly, and a very short time later came back in with two of the dowager’s security and Lord Baiji between them.

  Baiji immediately bowed, a deep, deep bow, an apology, with: “I am innocent, aiji-ma.”

  Thump! went the cane on the carpet. “I care nothing for your innocence or guilt or competency, man! I care for the whereabouts of my great-grandson! Where is he?”

  “I—do not know, aiji-ma.”

  Ilisidi flung up a dismissive hand. “Then you are useless! Why are you breathing?”

  “I know who is behind this, aiji-ma! I am sure—I am certain—I am relatively sure I know—”

  “Gods less fortunate! Make up your mind, man!”

  “His guard,” Banichi said ominously, “left him under fire. They were new men attending him, not born to the house. And one is not certain we met a single Edi on the premises.”

  “There were,” Baiji protested. “There were. My staff served you! And those Assassins on the roof—my guard—my guard was as stunned as all of us.”

  “Splendid!” Ilisidi’s voice was like the damning crack of the cane. “Splendid. His guard was stunned into retreat, and there may or may not have been Edi! Give us your wisdom, lord of Kajiminda, while we have any patience left!”

  “They might have known Lord Bren would visit . . .”

  “They might have known,” Ilisidi said, and now her voice had sunk, silken soft. “Are you a total fool, boy?”

  “I—”

  “—you have no idea how they would know this? And you are not sure? Do you know to whom you are currently speaking? Do you imagine we will be taken in by lies and maybes, considering the offense against our house and the breach of man’chi with your own uncle?”

  “My guard—”

  “Your guard is dead, incompetent, or in collusion! Where are the Edi?”

  “My staff is there, aiji-ma, they have always been there.”

  “But some have gone to Dalaigi Township,” Bren muttered. “Tell her.”

  “They are there! Some left—long ago. But the faithful ones, the ones that know I am a good lord . . .”

  “And your bodyguard?” Banichi asked. “Why did they desert you?”

  “They—they were confused . . .”

  “They have no man’chi!” Ilisidi’s dreadful cane extended, upward, and rested on Baiji’s shoulder. “They are not yours, or they would not have retreated.”

  “They—they—are mine. They just—”

  “The truth, man! Out with it!”

  Baiji bowed, hands on knees, and came upright again, waving his hands desperately. “Aiji-ma, the Tasaigi of the Marid came to me, Lord Bren knows, during the Troubles. I temporized with them regarding a marriage—a marriage, a marriage which kept this peninsula safe, nand’ dowager! I—”

  “So. The Marid. The Marid.”

  “You assisted the search for nand’ Cajieri yesterday,” Bren said. “With what motive? To find him yourself? To kill him?”

  “No! No. One had no idea—no idea of who the boy was. No idea. One only wished to be neighborly.”

  “Kill this man,” Ilisidi said.

  “No!” Baiji wailed, lifting his hands, then bowing. “No, aiji-ma. I can tell you—I can tell you everything!”

  “Why did you search for my great-grandson?”

  “It was the paidhi, it was the paidhi-aiji, aiji-ma, one knew—one knew he was here, one wished to warn him . . .”

  “We were in radio contact, nandi,” Bren said. “Why did you not?”

  “You left,” Baiji stammered. “You left. One—one thought of sailing into Najidama Bay, but—they might have come here. They might have come here and we all would die.”

  “Tell us,” the dowager said qui
etly, “tell us the details of this, tell us once, and be accurate, as you hope for my patience. My great-grandson is in danger. Is he not?”

  “He is in great danger, aiji-ma. The Tasaigi came a few days ago. They came with new proposals—regarding—regarding the wedding. One has—one has not wanted to trouble those waters. One had hoped—they would simply go away and not renew their offer.”

  “A few days ago,” Bren said, “notice came that made them move. Some in the Bujavid knew I was coming here. Some at Tirnamardi knew. My staff here in Najida knew. But one would wager on someone within the Bujavid.”

  “The Tasaigi flew in, we take it?” Ilisidi snapped, looking at Baiji. “They arrived in the district, you met with them. Where did you acquire your personal guard?”

  “They are—they are a—”

  “Gift from the proposed in-laws?”

  Again the deep bow. The appeal with the hands. “No. No, nand’ dowager. My guard vanished—in the Troubles—greatly mourned. The Guild itself sent these two. One has never, never, nand’ dowager—one would never be so foolish—they are not Southern! I would know if they were Southern.”

  “Central district,” Ilisidi said sharply. “Let me guess. The traitor Murini himself sent them.”

  “No, aiji-ma. The Guild in Shejidan.”

  Ilisidi looked ceilingward and turned away.

  Then looked straight at Bren.

  “One bears blame for this, aiji-ma,” Bren said with a bow. “I divided my staff. I trusted our old relations with Kajiminda.”

  “We trusted Kajiminda,” Ilisidi said bitterly, “trusting an old ally, trusting in those two children who attend my great-grandson, besides . . .” She spun on her heel and looked straight at Baiji. “Elaborate, man! The nature and extent of this contact. Now you may go into detail and meander as much as you like.”

  “I—”

  “And use nouns! They, they, they! No more they! Give me names!”

  “Aiji-ma—”

  “Sit down,” Ilisidi said sweetly. “Nand’ Bren, send for tea. And no, nephew of our esteemed Lord Geigi, ambitious nephew of our Lord Geigi, we do not intend to poison you. Let us sit down and talk reasonably. We lack some time until dark, when we shall take action.”