Deceiver

Thatbrought a small instant of quiet.

A standstill. Bren drew very small breaths, wanting not to become involved, far less to become the centerpiece of that debate.

In point of fact, one had in the past been able to rely on the aiji’s being well-informed on every district, and one would have expected his proposal to go to the coast to have met an immediate advisory of local problems. But information since Tabini’s return to power was notwholly reliable, and there were small pockets of resentment in the aishidi’tat, where the brief accession of a Padi Valley Kadigidi to the aijinate had unsettled certain issues long dormant.

In point of fact, second, it was incumbent on anybodyapt to be a target of assassination not to make assumptions and not to rely blindly on old associations. He had certainly assumed he was safe, when he had divided his bodyguard—Algini had been nursing a sprained left hand that day; but now Jago had stitches and Banichi had scrapes and bruises to match, thanks to his judgment. His domestic staff had hinted of difficulty, but not been forward enough and had not managed to mention that the neighboring staff had left the premises months ago. That had been the epitaph of more than one lord of the aishidi’tat: domestic staff refusing to meddle in what they considered the Guild would know; and worse, with the Edi disinclination to discuss Edi matters with outsiders.

But the ones who would take this fingerpointing most to heart were precisely their respective bodyguards, his and Tabini’s, and the dowager’s, who no longer had ready recourse to what had been an excellent and constant fact-gathering organization, before the coup had totally fractured the network, and that lay at the heart of the problem. They were reconstituting it as fast as they could, but speed was no asset in establishing trusted sources.

So in twodestructions of records, one when Tabini’s staff had fled the Bujavid in the face of the coup, and one when the usurper Murini’s allies had attempted to cover their tracks when Tabini retook the capital, there were now distressing gaps of knowledge in some hitherto reliable places: Baiji’s flirtation with the Marid was a case in point. No one would ever have expected treason in staunch Geigi’s house—he certainly hadn’t—but there it was. The aiji’s forces had now taken possession of that estate and turned up new problems clear down in Separti Township.

The aiji-dowager, meanwhile, had not accepted the assignment of blame for bad intelligence. The cane thumped against the unoffending carpet and she levered herself to her feet, standing chest-high to her formidable grandson and scowling.

“We are perfectly settled here,” Ilisidi said, “in possession now of the intelligence we need. So you may go your way and let us manage matters.”

“Impossible woman!” Tabini flung up his hands and turned to leave. “I shall go reason with my son.”

“You will not take him! His presence here is to his benefit— and yours!”

Tabini turned about. “I shall reason with him, I say, since reason is oneart he is not learning from his great-grandmother!”

“Ha!” Ilisidi cried, and a wise human just stood very still, while Tabini peeled his bodyguard out of the row by the wall and headed out the door.

“ Where is my son?” resounded in the hall. The staff doubtless provided Tabini a fast answer. Bren hoped so, for the honor of his house.

As it was, he had inadvertently made himself and his guard part of the scene. Getting out of the dowager’s immediate area might be a good idea at the moment, but it was not that easy to accomplish.

“Are we unreasonable?” the dowager asked him, not rhetorically, turning a burning gaze on him, and either answer was treasonable.

2

« ^ »

“Your father is here,” Jegari had reported some time past, warning enough, and a wise son who did not wish to be flown back to the capital and confined to his father’s apartment with his tutor for the rest of his life had immediately taken the warning and improved his appearance.

Cajeiri had on his best brown brocade coat, and his shirt lace was crisp and immaculate. His queue was tied with the red and black Ragi colors—his father’s colors, politic choice of the four, even five heraldries he could legitimately claim. His boots were polished, his fingernails were clean, and he had, after the rush of preparation, quietened his breathless hurry and achieved a serene calm even his great-grandmother would approve of.

He had, besides, accepted his father’s choice of bodyguards: he had already had Jegari and Antaro, a brother and sister out of Taiben province in the Padi Valley—those two were not properly Assassins’ Guild yet, and could not wear the uniform, so they looked like domestic staff, but they were his senior bodyguard. He insisted so. And his junior staff, the ones his father had just sent—Lucasi and Veijico, another brother and sister, really wereGuild, and actually five years older. They were in their formal uniforms, black leather and silver, and looked really proper.

So he could muster a real household, and there was no laundry tossed over chair backs and no stray teacup awaiting house staff to pick it up (nand’ Bren’s staff never let things sit around) so the premises was immaculate, too. He was well ahead of his father’s arrival when he heard the commotion of an approach outside.

His father’s guard knocked once—ordinary procedure—and did not have to fling the door open themselves, since Jegari did a majordomo’s job and beat the man to it. The door whisked open, Jegari bowing, and there was the bodyguard, and his father.

The guard walked in and disposed themselves on either side of the door. His own bodyguard, official and not, came to formal attention. His father walked in and stopped, looking critically about the room—which actually looked like a real household, Cajeiri thought, bowing with particular satisfaction, even a little self-assurance at his own arrangements. Father had notcaught him at disadvantage. For infelicitous eight going on fortunate nine, he had not disgraced himself, or Great-grandmother, or nand’ Bren.

“Honored Father,” he said respectfully, completely collected.

“My elusive son,” his father said.

Bait. Cajeiri declined it, simply bowing a second time. Arguing with his father from the outset would notget what he wanted, which was to stay exactly where he was, in nand’ Bren’s house. He did notto be dragged back to the capital and locked away in his rooms with his tutor. He had made mistakes, but he had remedied them. He was in good order. Surelyhis father was not going to haul him off in embarrassment.

“Your great-grandmother thinks you should stay here,” his father said. “You have worried your mother, who is not pleased, not to mention you have set off your great-uncle, who has had to be restrained from coming out to the coastc need I say with whatdetriment to the delicate peace in this whole district?”

That wasa threat. Uncle Tatiseigi was not inclined to be polite to anybody who was not of very high rank, andattached to the clans and causes he personally approved. There was a long, long list of people Uncle Tatiseigi did not approve of.

“That would not help nand’ Bren or Great-grandmother, honored Father.” A third, smaller bow. “We understand. We are attempting to be quiet and useful.”

“By stealing a freight train and a sailboat?”

A fourth bow. “My honored father exaggerates the freight train. But we admit the sailboat. We deeply apologize for the sailboat.”

His father let go an exasperated sigh and walked over to the desk and the darkened window, which was storm-shuttered because of snipers, which were still a constant possibility. Out in the hall, and faintly even in here, one could still smell new lacquer, where they had fixed bullet holes.