Those who employed bodyguards, notably lords and administrators all over the continent, would have been waked out of sleep by their bodyguards, giving them critical news from the capital. Viewed from the outside, the Bujavid’s high windows probably showed an uncommon number of lights in the small hours tonight—the sort of thing that, in itself, would have the tea shops abuzz in the morning, if they had not had the stalled train for a topic. And a number of people would be both up late and rising early—not quite panicked, but definitely seeking information . . . which that Guild of all Guilds might not release, except to say that the leadership of the Guild was now the former leadership, with the former policies. One could almost predict the wording.
The damage within the Assassins’ Guild had been very limited—only three deaths in the whole operation, the target being one, and the other two, Algini said, died firing at a senior Guild officer who had identified himself.
Finesse. Banichi’s plan had gained entry into the heart of the building for the returning Guild. Cenedi’s had been the action in the administrative wing while the initial distraction was going on. And both had come off as well as they could have hoped.
“Juniors who have come up during the last three years,” Algini remarked, “will be finding out that the rules on the books and the rules in operation are now one and the same.”
“That may come as a great shock to some,” Banichi murmured, and moved one foot to the edge of the bed.
“No,” Bren said. “No, put that foot back, nadi. You are not to move, you are not to sit up, you are not to shift that arm, and you are not to take any more of those pills you have been taking.”
“The arm is taped,” Banichi said, “and I am well enough.”
Bren held up his fist—with the aiji’s ring glinting gold in the light. “This says you take nand’ Siegi’s orders. Do you hear?”
“One hears,” Banichi said. “However—”
“No,” Bren said. “You have your com unit. You have your locator. You may move your other arm, but you are not to lift your head, let alone sit up. When nand’ Siegi says so, then you may get up.”
Banichi frowned at him.
“I am quite serious,” Bren said, rising. “It is the middle of the night, the household is hoping for sleep, and there is no good worrying over details out of our reach. If the leadership you left in the Guild cannot lead after all this, we are all in dire difficulty, but one does not believe that will be a problem. We are certain they have some notion what to do next. So sleep. Well done, Nichi-ji. Very well done.”
“Nandi,” Banichi said faintly.
“So stay in bed,” Jago said, and reached for a glass of what was probably ice water. “Have a sip.”
“One cannot drink lying flat,” Banichi objected.
Bren left the argument, however it might come out, and made his way down the hall barefoot. His head hurt—it didn’t precisely ache; or maybe it did. His scalp certainly hurt. The repair held, however. And he was exhausted. Sleep—he was still not sure was possible. He didn’t think he’d sleep for the next week, his nerves were wound so tight.
But unconsciousness, in the safety of his own bed—he might manage that for a few hours.
There were so many things in motion, so much going on, still, that had to be tracked—over which the Guild did not preside. But Banichi was safe. Everybody was back, or on the way back.
He reached his room, not without the attention of his valets, who waited there.
There was one more piece of business, he thought, closing his fist—the heavy ring, washed clean now, tended to slide and turn and he would not take it off, not for an instant. He could not send it back by courier, even his most trusted staff.
But he could not rouse Tabini-aiji out of bed, either. The matter seemed at an impasse, something he could not resolve.
His valets saw him to bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, looked at the ring in the dim light, thinking . . . so many things yet to do, so many things so long stalled by the situation they’d just, please God, finally set in order, the last piece of what they’d needed to set right before the world would be back in the sane order they’d left when they’d gone off to space.
Better. They no longer had the Human Heritage Party to cause trouble on the other side of the strait.
And the man who’d been trying to run atevi politics on this side of the strait, from a decades-old web of his own design—was dead, tonight. The web would still exist. But the Guild leaders now back in power had every reason to want it eradicated—so it had stopped being his business. The Guild itself would take care of its own problem.
His problems centered now around Tabini’s problems, and the dowager’s. If they could now get certain legislators to move on those—and get those critical bills passed . . .
And get lords appointed in Ajuri and the Kadagidi territory who weren’t working against the aiji . . .
He became aware that he had not dismissed his two valets. They were still standing there, staring at him with concern.
“I shall return this in the morning,” he said of the ring. “Kindly tell Narani, nadiin-ji, that I have to do that in the morning, before anything else.”
Koharu and Supani said they would relay that message, and he simply put himself into bed face down, so his head would not bleed on the clean, starched pillow casing.
It was so good. It was so very good for everyone to be alive, and for them all to be home.
• • •
“One has finally heard,” Veijico said, “officially, what has happened—at least what Guild Headquarters is saying happened.”
They were all in night-robes—they had been trying to sleep when Veijico and Lucasi had slipped into the guest suite, so sleep was no longer in question. Antaro and Jegari had gotten up to ask what Veijico and Lucasi had learned. Cajeiri had heard that, and he could not stay abed: he had gotten up and asked them to tell him—
But they had gotten nowhere with that explanation, before Gene and Artur had come out of their room and asked what was going on, and then Irene had come out—so there they were, all of them, wrapped in over-sized adult robes, shivering in the lateness of the hour and the spookiness of the whole situation.
“There were a lot of Guild officers who had never come back to Shejidan since the Troubles,” Veijico said. “Your father and your great-grandmother brought them back tonight. The Guildmaster that has been in charge since your father came back to office is overthrown, the Director of Assignments is dead—”
“They got him!” Cajeiri said.
“They did, nandi. We are not supposed to name names of anybody. But that person is gone. And the people who have been high up in the Council have stepped down. Except two who are under arrest. The old officers have come back and they are in charge.”
“This is good,” Cajeiri said for his guests. “A good thing has happened.”
“But we are not supposed to say anything more than that,” Lucasi said, “because the Guild does not discuss its business.”
“But you are happy about it,” Cajeiri said.
“We believe it is good,” Lucasi said, “because of who went to change it.”
“Nand’ Bren and Cenedi-nadi.”
“Yes,” Veijico said. “They did.”
“And they all are back.”
“Now they are, nandi. Banichi is injured. He is home and doing well. Cenedi-nadi, Nawari, all the ones from your great-grandmother’s aishid, are all back and accounted for. We are under a continuing alert: there are a few individuals the Guild is actively hunting tonight, a few who were not in the building tonight, and some who may have gotten out and run or gone into hiding. We—being where we are, and assigned under the former leadership—one is certain all four of us will be up for review, nandi, regarding our assignment with you. Our man’chi will be questioned. We hope we shall no
t be removed.”
“What is she saying?” Artur asked—it was not the sort of conversation they had ever had, on the ship, and there were words Cajeiri was hardly sure how to translate.
“Everybody is back. There’s still an alert but everything’s all right. It’s still good.” He changed to Ragi. “My father will see you have no trouble, Jico-ji, and I shall remind him. And I shall remind mani, too. I shall by no means let them send you away!”
“We would be honored,” Veijico murmured with a little nod. “And your guests should not worry about this. We should not alarm them.”
“Good people run the Guild now,” Antaro said, little words their guests knew. “They are hunting the bad ones.”
Irene had said nothing, just sat listening, hugging her robe close and shivering a little. “I don’t think we ought to tell our parents everything,” she said with a little laugh, and they all agreed.
“Are you cold?” Cajeiri asked. “We can order tea. Even at night, someone is on duty.”
She shook her head. “Just scared,” she said. “I’m always scared of things.” Another little laugh. “I’m sorry.”
“Not sorry,” he said, and gave the old challenge. “Who’s afraid?”
She held up two fingers, just apart. “This much. Just this much.”
“We’re safe,” he said. “Are we safe, Jico-ji?”
“Safer,” Veijico said. “Definitely safer.”
“Good, then!” They had just a little light, sitting there around the table, in the dark. Human eyes were spooky, shadowy, and never taking the light. Veijico’s and Lucasi’s, Antaro’s and Jegari’s, theirs all did, so you could see their eyes shimmery gold, honest and open. But with humans, one had to trust the shadows, and know their intentions were good. Irene shivered, she was so scared, sometimes. Irene had said—she just was that way.
But who had stood there facing his mother without a hint she was scared at all?
Irene.
He understood Irene, he thought. There were two kinds of fear. There was facing bullets, which meant you had to do something. And there was the long slow kind of fear that came of knowing there were problems and there was nothing you could do right away except try not to make things worse. His associates had seen both kinds in their short visit, and not shown anything but a little shiver after it was all over. Even Irene. She was very bright. She thought about things. She thought a lot. And she was certainly no coward.
He was proud of his little household, and he was increasingly sure he could count these three as his. He had attracted very good people. Mani had always said that was the best proof of character . . . that one could know a person by his associates. He felt very happy with himself and them, overall.
And when they all went back to bed—who was it who had to go to bed alone, with all this going on?
Him. And Irene.
“We can all sleep in this room,” he said. It was a huge bed, and there was room enough, and they could just layer the bedding and make it all proper, the way folk did who had only one bed.
So they did that. His aishid got their proper beds for the rest of the night, and he and his associates tucked into various layers of satin comforters and settled down together, like countryfolk with visitors, in the machimi plays.
He had hardly ever felt so safe as then.
14
Getting up in the morning—was not easy. A splitting headache—did not describe the sensation.
Bren slid carefully out of bed, felt his way to the light, and rummaged in the drawer of the little chest for the pill bottles. The scalp wound had swollen. He had no desire at all to investigate it, for fear his head would come apart. He simply swallowed, dry, two capsules of the right color and crawled back into bed face down for a few more moments.
The rest of him was amazingly pain-free. Usually when he and his aishid had been in a situation, he emerged sore in amazing places. But the back of his head paid for all.
And he had to find out how Banichi was doing. That thought, once conceived, would not let him rest. He crawled backward off the high bed, felt after his robe, and padded barefoot down the hall toward the security station and his aishid’s rooms.
The door was open, and there were servants about in the back halls, being relatively quiet. He heard nand’ Siegi’s voice, and Banichi’s, which was reassuring. He reached the little inner corridor, nodded a good morning to Algini and Jago, who were there in half-uniform, and asked, as he stood in the doorway, “How is he?”
“Arguing,” Jago said. “Nand’ Siegi will not permit him to sit up until afternoon.”
“Nor will we,” Algini said, and cast him a look. “You are next, nandi. Nand’ Siegi will deal with that.”
He truly was not looking forward to that. “Cup of tea,” he said, thinking hot tea might steady his stomach. The headache remedy was not sitting well.
He did not, however, get that far. Nand’ Siegi turned in his direction, saw him, and came his way with business in mind.
And treating it did hurt. God, did it hurt! Nand’ Siegi graciously informed him that it would scar somewhat, that he was very lucky it had not fractured his skull, that there were certain symptoms he was to report immediately should they occur, and that he should sleep on his face for several days. He was out of the mood for tea, after that, but by that time Jase was up, breakfast was about to be served, and Supani and Koharu were asking him whether he would dress for breakfast, or have it informally.
He was not sure he could keep toast down, his neck was stiff from tension and he did not want to tilt his head out of vertical. But he advised his valets that he would be paying a visit to Tabini-aiji as soon as the aiji wished. And he got up carefully, trying not to tilt his head, and made it to the little breakfast room, where Jase was having morning tea.
“How’s the head?” Jase asked.
He sat down, staring blankly at the out of focus door, and took about a minute to say, “Sore. Damn sore.”
“Tea?”
The door was still his vision of choice. It was uncomplicated. It didn’t move. And he didn’t have to turn his head to look at it. “Did Kaplan and Polano ever get any sleep?”
“You’re white. Here.” Jase reached across the little breakfast table. A cup of tea thumped down in front of him. “Drink.”
He picked it up and tried, gingerly, without looking at it. It was strong, sugared, and spiced.
“Nand’ Bren needs toast and eggs,” he heard Jase say.
He was far from sure about that. He was not sure about the spice in the tea. He blinked several times, and brought the door completely into focus. That was a start.
“We’re doing fine,” Jase said. “The kids got some sleep, I understand. I did. Algini says he’s been in touch with the Guild periodically during the night, and they’ve run down one of their fugitives. They have three others holed up in a town to the south.”
“Trying to run for the Marid,” Bren murmured, turning his head slightly, trying his focus on Jase’s face, which was a shade blurry. “No surprise. But that won’t be as ready a refuge now.” Two more sips of tea. “Anything else?”
“Nothing that’s reached me,” Jase said.
He was sure there would be messages. The message bowl in the front hall was likely overflowing since dawn. He remembered the bundle of post-mortem letters he had put in Narani’s hands. Retrieving those and destroying those was absolutely urgent.
He said, “Anything from Geigi?”
Jase shook his head. “Nothing. But I don’t expect anything. We haven’t advertised the problem. It’s really been rather quiet until this morning.”
“Last night,” he said, “last night in your venue. How did it really go?”
“Amazingly well,” Jase said, and the eggs and toast arrived. The youngest of the servants spooned eggs onto Bren’s plate, scrambled, thank
God, nothing requiring such focus as cracking a shell and eating a soft-boiled egg without spilling it. “Sauce, nandi?”
“Thank you, Beja, no. —The kids,” he prompted Jase. “Damiri-daja. The dowager.”
“Damiri-daja said very little,” Jase said, “except at the last. Irene had a little speech, thanking the household. Damiri-daja asked Irene if her mother approved her being here, remarked how small she is, and told Cajeiri he’d done very well. It was an odd string of questions.”
It was odd—on an evening when her son’s guests were sheltering with her because her husband’s closest allies were out assassinating her elder cousin, who had probably just assassinated her father.
She was about to have a daughter of her own. Was it some maternal impulse?
Or had it been a political statement, intended to annoy her husband—from a woman very close to a politically-driven divorce?
Never forget, either, that her uncle Tatiseigi had been there as witness. God, he wished he’d been there to parse the undercurrents.
“Was Cajeiri upset?”
“Puzzled.”
“Small wonder, that.” He had a bite of toast, and the egg, and with the hot tea, his stomach began to feel warmer and a little steadier. It was awkward to eat, wearing the heavy ring, but he would not take it off. “At least it wasn’t outright warfare.”
“It wasn’t that,” Jase said, “I’m reasonably sure. Irene didn’t seem upset at it. She’s a shy kid. Timid. But she held her ground. We had to translate a question. She answered in very good Ragi, with all the forms I’d have used.”
“Good for her,” Bren said. “Good for Cajeiri. He’s done all right.” He shifted a glance up, as Narani appeared in the door, looking apologetic.
“The aiji wishes your presence, nandi,” Narani said. “At your convenience, the message said. He is in conference with the aiji-dowager.”
God. That meant—show up. Now. Possibly even—rescue me. Fast. He frowned, and those muscles hurt, right along with his neck. “Koharu and Supani,” he said to Narani. “Immediately, nadi-ji, thank you. Tell Algini.” He used the table for leverage to get up, not inclining his head in the process. “Best I get over there,” he said. “He means now.”
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