Pretender

So Tano and Algini—and all Geigi’s staff, for that matter— hadn’t known; had likely known enough that they’d burned to get down here and find out, and any opposition to Murini had taken to the hills along with Tabini.

Like that staff his own didn’t trust.

God, there were a thousand questions he wanted to ask his staff in a give and take fashion, not this pecking at keys—but with Gegini’s crew ensconced in the building, and likely more conversant in Mosphei’ than he would wish, there seemed no— “Jago-ji,” he said, and launched into kyo, a language it was absolutely certain only those of them who had been in far space understood—and Tano and Algini were not themselves in that company. “Say.”

Her eyes sparkled. Kyo took a moment or two of mental adjustment. A deep breath, a refocus. Then: “They come to make war inside the house. Remove Tabini, the dowager, the heir and you, all at one time. No Tabini, no opposition. All this gathering dissolves. This man rules. Even Murini will not be safe in his bed.”

Their collective command of kyo was not that deep: They had had only weeks to gather vocabulary. But it served. And in a handful of words, he had the finishing touches on the whole disturbing picture.

Jago then went back to typing, specifically for Tano and Algini.

We must prepare for assault inside the house. The question is whether we shall take this opportunity to remove Gegini. He knows he is taking that chance, which is a point in favor of his survival: There is even the chance he is buttering both sides of his bread and hoping to test his power if he should shift to Tabini-aiji and let Murini fall. He will be reading the tides of public opinion. What the aiji said about the legislative disaffection has given Gegini pause.

This may cause him to attempt to contact and check his associates on the grounds. We must not misjudge such movements.

Bren shot her a look. Jago, offering mitigating opinions on this villain? He doubted itc though hers was a profession which routinely thought the unthinkable, did the undefendable, simply because it was, in the service of some house or other, reasonably practical. The Jago who shared his bed and the Jago who defended him could not be divorced from one another, but he had the most queasy thought that he had let himself slip into a reality of his own devising in that regard, that he did not understand what was going on within his own staff. Would they support this man, if he turned coat yet again?

“I am doubtful,” he said in kyo, and Jago looked at him— looked at him with what an outsider might judge as no expression at all, but which he saw very keenly: It was Jago completely on guard, Jago following the essentially ruthless line of thought that her Guild required. It was Jago as scary as hell in that moment, and he thought it was probably time for a wise lord to shut up, go read a book, and let his staff operate in their own way, bloodshed and all—it was beyond talk. They were in operational mode now, where the paidhi had absolutely no useful function except to stay alive.

Misjudge Gegini’s movements. That had a lot of meanings, too, not just that Jago thought they might have been wanting in charity toward the man. It might mean Jago was worried she didn’t know what the man was up to—a usurper in her own Guild, someone senior and clever enough to have taken out the Guildmaster.

Now, indeed, if Murini, under the threat of their return, was weakening, who knew what Gegini was up to in coming here, or even if—God help him, the brain had to spin in circles, dealing with the Guild—Gegini might be unwilling to support an ephemeral candidate. Who knew whose hand was steering this thing, or whether there was another lord waiting in the wings, ready to doublecross everyone? Clearly his own staff had a lot to think through.

Algini threw off a flurry of handsigns. Jago signed back.

It was not right. It just was not right. His staff was attempting to maneuver in an increasingly cramped set of alternatives, and assets—-assets which were unusable, except with the risk of an ungodly amount of bloodshed.

Risk. Hell.

He snatched the computer. If I went out on the steps tonight, if I went among the crowd and told them what we have to tell them, we could stir popular opinion, and maybe tilt the balance, if one is in question.

A quick, signed negative. Emphatic.

He typed: If I have any use in the world, Jago-ji, if I came back to any advantage, it rests within that computer. Tabini-aiji finds it inconvenient to hear my report. I do not understand why he refuses me. But perhaps the details may still help his case and explain things to the crowd out there. If they collectively petitioned the Guild— Second sign. Negative. Jago drew the computer back forcefully and typed: If the aiji hears you first, he ca

Legislative rules. A petitioner—Tabini—could not influence evidence to be presented before the legislature, not without greatly diminishing its value.

My God, he thought. He knew the rule. But himself, not Tabini, to stand and present the case for Tabini’s argument against Murini?

The master manipulator, Tabini, intended to bring his controversial human adviser right to the center of the debate, and let him give his report there, where they probably had enough Filings against him to paper these walls?

Jago had drawn that conclusion, at least, and if she was right, then Tabini had made up his mind to that course the moment he had gotten the staff reports from the dowager. The stu

“How, precisely,” he began aloud, all he needed to say, and Jago typed: This will have to be finessed.

Finessed. That lethal word. His fingers began to go numb, that sign of blood rushing to brain and body core. Oxygen seemed short even so, and he rubbed his fingertips together to remind himself of his physical body, so deep his dive into intellect and hypothesis. He recalled his own apartment in the Bujavid with such vividness he could see the pattern in the porcelains, the details of his own bedroom, the central hall, the foyer with its little filigree basket beside the entryc If there were messages waiting for him in that bowl, what would they say?

Traitor?

Foreigner, go home?

Your fault, paidhi, all the loss of lives?

The destruction of our traditions, our values, our way of life?

The outer halls, then, the residencies, marble halls with priceless antique carpets and room for the old families, the old houses, in all those suites of rooms—into whose midst Tabini-aiji had installed him—him, asking more and more from him. Tabini had lifted his human adviser out of his old modest apartment with the garden door, down across from the aiji’s cook, the aiji’s secretariesc the rank paidhiin had always held in the aiji’s court.

Years ago, the aiji had elevated not only him, but the chain of contact he represented, to a dizzying preeminence in the court, a preeminence that had gotten higher and higher, until it greatly offended essential supporters— Until it at last fractured the aishidi’tat and he had now to preside over what might become a catastrophe, one to equal the War of the Landing?

What was he supposed to do now? Stay alive long enough to bring his case before a legislature the majority of whom, even if denying support to Murini, sincerely wished him and his influence in the aiji’s family to fall, so that they could start warring among themselves?

“Does Banichi think this, too?” he asked in kyo, which drew a blank look from Tano and Algini, but not from Jago.