Intruder

Two more, and the numbers might make him safe from the impending baby. And he could not think where to get them, in the heavens or on earth.

Right now the numbers were unstable: fourteen was fortunate sevens, multiplied and divisible by two: the omen was bad, especially counting the second offspring due in the house.

But his relationships covered all the continent and extended onto Mospheira and clear up to the space station, including humans and two tribes and six clans. The new baby was going to have Ajuri and Taiben and Atageini by birth, but the rest were not so easy to get.

He might get the Atageini even more to his side if he was particularly nice to Uncle Tatiseigi. A younger brother was bound to make mistakes that would make Uncle mad. He had begun badly with Uncle, but he was sure he looked better to Uncle Tatiseigi right now than any ru

And he could put adult ma

He put in white pins for the baby’s sure interests. Taiben, for Father; Ajuri for Mother; Tirnamardi for Uncle; and a white one in Malguri, too, he supposed, which made an infelicity of fourcand then he thought: the baby will not have grown up being taught by Great-grandmother. So she will always prefer me.If she ever has to choose, she will prefer me.

There is his first infelicity. I am first, I was on the ship with mani, she thumped me on the ear—a lot—and Mother and Father will never let her teach him in anything like that way.

There were many, many more black pins than white. Both counts ended on infelicity—but the baby’s far more so.

Could the baby possibly get a five, for nand’ Bren? That was a worry. Nand’ Bren was softhearted toward everybody. But nand’ Bren would not prefer the baby: nand’ Bren did not turn away from his associates. That meant no fifth pin. He was first.The baby would be born with only four.

He was much, much happier with that thought.

And he had no fear anyone was going to come in here and read the calculations of his map. It was not that evident what it represented, that was one thing, and he had just secured his rooms, with the loyalty of two servants whose future—it was not stupid to think—lay most securely with him,even if he was only infelicitous eight.

He was so soon to be nine, probably before his sib was born; he absolutely refused to share his birthday.

The plane touched down and rolled to a stop in the dark, the blue field lights obscuring any view of Shejidan. They were almost home. For luggage, there were only the carry-bags for classified Guild equipment, a little extra luggage of Bren’s, and the two fair-sized crates Machigi had sent. Airport security staff and workers under their supervision moved up carts to manage the crates and get them into the waiting van. Jago carried Bren’s bag as well as her own, and they all descended from the plane and boarded the van with the efficiency and speed of a routine arrangement.

It was a fast trip across the field, over to the open-air airport train station, then into a small enclosed platform where a Special waited—only one passenger car was attached, this trip, and plus the baggage car, and Guild security held both ready for their boarding.

The crates had to be loaded to baggage; Algini stayed to supervise that, while the rest of them climbed aboard the passenger car—Tabini-aiji’s own car, with dark red velvet curtains making the inside much nicer than the all but windowless outside. It was the same bench seat at the rear that Bren always took, and it was like any return from Mospheira. Any visit to Malguri. Any visit to Taiben—going back for years and years of service to Tabini-aiji.

At the start of it, he’d flown where they could find room for him and hung about reading and doing work in a cubbyhole, waiting for some train from the Bujavid hill to pick up groceries and afford the paidhi-aiji a seat somewhere.

Bren let go a slow sigh, as, without even asking, Jago handed him a fruit drink from the well-stocked little fridge this luxury car afforded. It was i

And he was finally past the point of needing his wits about him. That was a relief. His wits had had all the exercise they could stand.

He felt he was already home as the train began to move. He knew every turn in the track from here on, and he saw relaxation slowly set into his bodyguard as well, everything became as predictable and as safe as it ever could be.

Not to depend on, however. The news was probably leaking out about the Marid contact. Thatwould racket through the rumor mill. It would touch off crazy people. And animate sane ones who had opposing interests.

The bullet-shield curtains were drawn on the one window that actually was a window; they almost always were drawn. If they hadn’t been, at about this turn, one could have seen the Bujavid on its hilltop, rising up and taking with it some of the mazy tiled roofs of the city. At the bottom, one would see one little spark of outrageous neon at the limit of the classic Old City neighborhoods—and he’d just as soon not see it. He’d been wanting to get that neon display in the hotel district outlawed for years, but he’d never quite found it worth the fight with the very party that generally supported him—the i

Another familiar turn about the hill and the train diverted onto the track that only a few trains, and mostly this engine, ever took, the line which led into the tu

Still more turns—he was down to the bottom of the fruit juice now. One could tell by the sound and by the reduction in speed, exactly where they were, every detail of the system as they slowly climbed toward the Bujavid train station.

Algini and Banichi silently got up and went back to the hand baggage. Tano, one arm still somewhat impaired, made a move in that direction, pure habit; but Jago got up, put a hand on Tano’s good shoulder, and went back in his stead to help Algini and Banichi. Tano settled again, looking a

“How is it, Tano-ji,” Bren asked him, “after the flight? Was the pressure change a problem?”

The frown persisted. “Nothing of consequence, Bren-ji.”

“Hurts, then.”

“Not much,” Tano said, moving the shoulder. “It needs exercise.”

“Prescribed exercise,” Bren said staunchly. “And sleeping in your own bed tonight, Tano-ji.”

“Indeed,” Tano said more cheerfully. “And you in yours, Bren-ji. Well-deserved, in your instance.”

The train slowed and slowed further, coming to a halt at a platform Bren could see in his mind. They stopped. The door of the car opened.

Bren took his case in hand and got up. Tano did. They walked back to the door as Banichi opened it, and, behind Algini and Jago and Banichi handling the baggage, Bren stepped down to the platform—a fair hop for a tired human. Just as automatically, Tano reached out his good hand and steadied him in his landing beside the baggage.

“To the lift,” Banichi said, indicating he should not wait about. It was an area crowded with idle carts, offering only freight lifts, not the ordinary passenger siding. Freight had come in recently on another train; crates of seasonal vegetables, probably eggs, and sacks of flour sat on the other side of the platform, at the other freight dock. Their own engine would be in motion again once it had given up its last baggage, moving to stand ready, though reversed on the track, for Tabini’s own occasional use. There was no other inbound traffic at the moment, just a stack of personal crates on the passenger platform indicating that someone else had arrived in the residencies, bringing furniture with them, by the size of the crates—not an uncommon event with the legislature about to go into session.