Peacemaker

There was no answer. They knew he knew.

“I rely on you,” he said. “I rely on all of you. I ask that you think of your own value—to the aishidi’tat.” That didn’t half state it. “To me. You know that. Losing any one of you—I would be—I could continue to function in office, and I assure you I would do so, nadiin-ji, but—”

“He understands,” Algini said, a rescue.

“I am not expressing myself well, Gini-ji. Do not fear I could not function in my office. But I am worried. And I value all of you. Extremely.”

“We know. He knows. Understand, nandi—he knew that Haikuti would react to his presence. This troubles him. He knew if Haikuti did bring his lord out to parley, he would be maneuvering for position, with no regard for his lord’s safety. He knew that before we left the house. Banichi moved to protect you, and he moved to a defensive posture to secure your legal position; but in his own judgment he put himself in that position because he wanted Haikuti stopped and he left cover because he intended to withstand Haikuti’s fire to take him down definitively and legally. It served your interests and the aiji’s, too, but he strongly questions which motive was foremost in his mind when he did not turn and protect you with his body. I say this because he will not. He is determined not to operate at any disadvantage now, in consideration of what he sees as a lapse of man’chi—a failure of character. We have told him we would have done the same, on the simple logic of the situation, but he considers his action, however proper, was tainted by his personal feud with Haikuti, and he is determined not to be put out of action now because of his choice. That would give Haikuti some bearing on the outcome. And he will not tolerate that thought, either.”

He parsed that oblique statement for a second or two, and he understood it better than Algini might think he did. Banichi was stubbornly staying on his feet, trying to operate normally, because Banichi thought he had jumped the wrong direction under threat, in a process too fast for rational thought.

And Banichi was taking, he very much feared, a heavy dose of painkiller.

Handling luggage, for God’s sake, when they’d left the train. Tano had gotten the damned equipment bag away from him and carried double when they headed for the lift. He’d marked that little transaction.

He should never have opened his mouth about his personal feelings in the situation, not with a mission pending. He was sure of that, at least. “I have nothing more to say. I am determined not to endanger the rest of you. Take care of yourselves in your own way. Do what you have to do, and please ignore my emotional foolishness, nadiin-ji. I am not expressing myself well at all this evening.”

“You are not alone in your concern, nandi,” Tano said. “We have tried to keep him still. And though we will benefit by his presence in the mission and his advice is clear-headed . . . we have misgivings, too.”

“Then tell him—if it is useful—that I said be careful with his life, nadiin-ji.”

“One will try the utmost, Bren-ji,” Algini said, and with that, Tano and Algini went on down the i

He stood there. Narani and Jeladi waited, quietly, at one side. Jase had appeared in the door of the sitting room, and heard enough to make him stay there, saying nothing.

Jase wasn’t linked in—but Jase knew enough to worry. He’d just heard enough to worry considerably, one was quite sure.

“Brandy,” Bren said quietly, and went to join Jase in the sitting room, tea-stained shirt and trousers and all. He motioned Jase toward a chair; he took one.

“How did it go?” Jase asked.

“Well enough. The aiji is aware what happened. Not what is happening. And I have to sleep. Have to. By any means. We’re going to need all our wits about us in very short order.” In a surreal fog, he was aware of Jeladi moving about the buffet, quietly pouring two brandies. He didn’t even want one—but he knew once his head hit the pillow, as it was, his brain would start trying to work, and no sane or useful thought was going to come of it. “The boy and his birthday have gotten lost in the transaction—at least—at least right now. At least being here—until whatever happens, happens—we can guarantee the kids’ safety.”

“You’re not in trouble, are you?”

He took the brandy Jeladi offered, took a sip, shook his head. “Not really. Not that I anticipate. But I’ll understand if policy makes an official displeasure necessary. That’s also part of the job.”

“Understood,” Jase said, took the offered brandy, and shuddered. “Strong stuff.”

“Effective,” Bren said, and took his own. Unconsciousness was the objective. After two sips he didn’t even taste it. “Have Kaplan and Polano made it in?”

“In,” Jase said. “They’re out of the armor, and glad of it.”

“That video record.”

“Copied. Three copies, in fact. On the train. And the record uploaded to station, should anything happen to the original down here—that’s our policy, in a situation like this. They’ve given them to Jago.”

“Good,” he said. One worry down. At least one. He gave one critical thought to ambient security, and the effect of the brandy, and who he was talking to, and what staff was in the room: Jeladi was, like Narani, somewhat adept in ship-speak, but absolutely loyal. “I think we’re going forward, soon. I can’t swear to any promises we’ve made you or the captains. It’s a situation we didn’t intend to deal with until you and those kids were back aloft. But once things blew up with the Kadagidi, not to mention what’s going on in the Marid, now—we have a problem. The birthday, the festivity . . . means crowds. Means access. And an occasion the opposition will want use.”

“An incident, you mean.”

“And we can’t move the date. That’s the problem. Numbers. We can’t violate the numbers. The opposition didn’t mean to trigger what they did at the Kadagidi estate, but they did. We had to answer the attack on Tatiseigi—you don’t just let an incident like that slide. And we hurt them—we hurt them so badly that under normal circumstances they might even lie low for a year or so. But we have documents we haven’t had a chance to read yet. We don’t know how sensitive, or how desperate it might make them. Our enemy has one date, one public exposure, one really good chance at hurting the administration and looking powerful—there may be plans already in motion. And he has to worry what we may be able to make public—since he can’t be sure what’s in Haikuti’s records. We have a chance to address the situation in the Guild, the only chance at this man we’re likely to have; and somehow we have to prevent him hitting us first. I think my aishid is right.”

“Can you maneuver this problem of yours into leaving Guild Headquarters? Can the aiji order him in?”

“I don’t know. The aiji’s not supposed to know his name. No one is. I don’t know how they plan to get at him. But I think it’s imperative we do it. Soon.” He declined a second drink. The first was hitting hard. “I think my brain is fuzzing.”

“Mine’s no better,” Jase said. “Whatever help I can be—”

“Appreciated,” Bren said. He set his glass down, rose, went through the bow, the proper motions that weren’t automatic with Jase any longer. Jase bowed, belatedly—started to lay a hand on his shoulder in passing, and stopped in mid-motion, caught between cultures. “Your being here,” Bren said, “is a very good thing. I only wish the kids weren’t.”

“They’re safe on this floor, though.”

“They’re safe on this floor. Of that, at least right now, we’re sure.”

7

Uncle Tatiseigi’s staff had made them tea on their arrival, and his kitchen had sent out piles of little pastries while the rest of the household staff hurried as fast as they possibly could to make everything right in the guest quarters.