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Arrogance had expected Tatiseigi was underequipped, and hadn’t reckoned on the heavy weapons and explosives Tatiseigi’s house had accumulated over the years, in its proximity to Kadagidi provocations. Tatiseigi’s antique equipage and old-fashioned notions had doubtless occasioned scorn and derision in the Guild, and despair in his own staff. But a shed full of explosives, as one could easily imagine existed in a rural, forest-edge estate, where the occasional stump had to be removed. (Had the aiji not wanted such caches registered, in those early, i
And met Guild members who hadn’t been present for whatever underhanded maneuver had set Gegini in a position of authority.
A woman in Guild black came from the door, bowed. “The buses are coming up the drive now, aiji-ma. A crowd is following afoot and in vehicles.”
“Let them in,” Tabini said, and Cajeiri, who stood at his father’s arm, said, in a slightly elevated voice: “That will be mama.”
“That it will,” Tabini said, and in a few more minutes there was a general gasping and squeal of brakes outside, audible even in this thick-walled hall.
And if only, Bren thought, finding his hard-used legs were going quite numb and tending to shiver on the cold stone, if only this arrival didn’t rattle a sniper or two out of the woodwork, they were home. Home, and Tabini was solidly back in power.
His own apartment was upstairs, in whatever condition. As Tabini’s was. The halls of the legislative branch were just down the corridor. His imagination painted them dark, the lamps of democracy and debate momentarily gone out.
He imagined a plane in flight, Murini’s people trying to decide where to go, if they had not picked out a landing site already. There was an airport at Mei, in the Kadagidi holdings, and that was the most logical, a pleasant enough town at the edge of the foothillsc if he dared bring his growing trouble home.
A hubbub came up the outer steps, came into the outer hall, stressed voices, voices calling out directions, but none raised in alarm. A clot of people pressed as far as the doors, demanding to be let in, and yet hanging back in fear or diffidence.
Then, “We shall all see the aiji,” a feminine voice said in no uncertain tones, and guards at the door gave way to Damiri herself, entraining her young cousin, her sister, and her uncle and aunt and the lord of the Ajuri, all of whom swept into the hall in a wave of heraldic color and dynastic determination. Damiri walked ahead of them, left her uncle and grandfather to reach the steps, and to climb right past Bren to stand by her husband and her son.
That reunion Bren turned his head to see from the corner of his eye, a restrained exchange of slight, sedate bows, a little touch of the hand, wife to husband, son to mother. There was no wild outward demonstration, nothing of the sort; but he knew beyond a doubt one young heart was fluttering hard, and youthful nerves were at their limits. Ilisidi would be ever so proud of her handiwork, Bren thought. Everyone in the hall had a view of the lad’s comportment, and it was formal and atevi to the last degree, even while other contingents from the buses were crowding and jostling their way into the hall.
“Tabini-aiji!” someone called out, and other voices joined in, “Tabini-aiji!” It became a chant, an echo in the high hall, and it went on, and went on until Tabini shouted out, “We are here, nadiin-ji!”
Which raised more cheers, rousing complete, aggressive chaos in the hall. Baji-naji, Bren thought, looking out over the tight-pressed crowd, in which black Guild uniforms mingled indiscriminately with the travel-worn colors of civilians from the central provinces.
A happy event. A Ragi event dominated by Padi Valley ambitions, the return not only of the Ragi aiji, but the heir of their own blood, in a tumult that went on and on and on, became a contest, a rivalry precarious and dangerous.
Bren felt the strength drain from his bones—was anxious for his own people, and most of all anxious for the impression he created for Tabini, this close to power. He was not popular in the Padi Valley, there was no question. He sat still, tried to look decorous, wishing he could just creep down the steps and see if he could gather his staff and get away to his estate. He presented a disheveled appearance, not to mention a sweaty and grease-stained one, black streaking his hands, smudging his coat, probably his face, God only knew. Pale colors meant he collected dirt.
And if he lived to get out of this hall, if some Assassin didn’t take him out before the night was over, upstairs was his dearest ambition. He wondered if his own apartment still existed, if there could possibly be a bath, and his own favorite chair, and above all his staff, safe and intact.
He didn’t let himself settle too deeply into that hope. Most of all he was worried for his bodyguard’s safety—knew that they were committed to the aiji’s survival at the moment, in which his own safety came second if not third, and he desperately wanted to get Jago within range to ask her about Banichi, whether he was safe.
He saw her. But she stayed out of his reach, and spent her attention on the crowd, sca
Then he spotted a conspicuous coat near the doorway, an ornate, too-small coat, and a second teenager with a handful of green-and-brown-clad Taibeni.
So did Cajeiri. “Taro! Gari!” the heir cried out, startling the assemblage to silence, and a boy who had learned some of his ma
Bren did not look back to see Tabini’s reaction, or Lady Damiri’s.
The moment passed. The young rascal wanted to bring his staff right up onto the dais with him, as security staff had assumed positions near his parents, but the young people had more sense.
Antaro shed the too-small coat, exchanged it on the spot for her own, outsized on Cajeiri, and if there was a witness present who didn’t realize what that exchange was about, his instincts needed sharpening.
“Son,” Tabini said gravely, and with a single backward look, Cajeiri climbed back up the steps to stand with his parents.
The youngsters were safe, Bren said to himself, feeling his legs gone numb. That business had gone right. The youngsters had gotten through, the decoy, if it had worked, hadn’t been fatal, and everyone had come through on that side. Was that Ismini, back there near the door? Was it Ismini and his team Tabini had sent with the decoy?
For his own safety, howeverc there was no such easy answer.
Then he saw one large and very welcome presence loom in the doorway—a little frayed, it might be, his uniform jacket cut and showing its protective lining, and even his hair stringing a bit about his ears, but Banichi had come in, and with him, Nali, one of Ilisidi’s young men, in no better form. They spoke a word or two to Jago, gave a little nod.
A little shiver started, absolute chill setting into Bren’s bones, as if the final reaction had waited all this time to get a hold on him.