Peacemaker

“That arm must not move,” Tano said to Banichi. “Must not, Nichi-ji, do you hear? Do not try to get up yet.” Tano was securing his own communications earpiece, which had fallen out, and voices were coming through it, fainter than the bell and the firing and shouting going on in the adjacent hall. There was more than the smell of gunpowder. There was smoke in the air—smoke the source of which they couldn’t see, as yet, but this had the smell of woodsmoke. Something was afire.

Tano didn’t move from where he was. Algini and Jago were on their feet, but not crossing that open doorway, just watching, with guns in hand, Jago still keeping the guard unit with the wounded partner quiet and out of the way. Bren knelt there with his body-armor between Banichi and whatever traffic passed them . . . not of much use, but at least he could keep an eye on Banichi, be sure he was conscious, and be ready to get up and invoke Tabini’s name if any problems rebounded in their direction.

Gunfire, acute for a moment, had tapered off. And the bell stopped ringing and the lights that had survived the barrage stopped flashing. In that sudden, absolute silence, Bren felt the world quite distant and himself gone shaky, whether from contributing to the bloody puddle on the floor or from a sustained expectation of dying—he was not sure.

Tano got to his feet and spoke to someone on com. Bren stayed tucked low, one knee under him, the briefcase right by him, one hand on Banichi’s arm. He wished he had a medical kit with him . . . but that briefcase could have no illicit weapons, offer no signs to anyone who would examine it that it was anything other than a paidhi’s proper business. That briefcase was their justification and their protection—that briefcase, and himself, bearing the aiji’s ring, the legal equivalent of Tabini’s presence.

For some few minutes that eerie semi-silence in the halls went on. Across the perilous gap of the shattered doorway, Jago and Algini maintained their watch in two directions. Tano remained standing, watching that side hall, but things were much quieter. The trapped guard unit had stayed very still, concentrating on their own wounded, and now and again exchanging quiet words with Jago. Then quietly she got up, and under her armed watch, that unit laid their weapons on the floor, got up, lifted their wounded partner to his feet, and went on through that shattered doorway, apparently to seek medical help inside.

Dare we move? Bren wondered. But he noted flashes from Jago’s bracelet, across the hall; and from Tano’s and Banichi’s, near at hand, and Algini and Tano were listening to something.

“We have secured the Council chamber,” Tano said.

“Up,” Banichi murmured then. “We are not done here. Bren-ji. The papers. The Council.”

That was the plan. The papers—ultimately—had to be proven for what they were. The justification for their action had to be laid down in official record.

“Can you?” he asked. “Banichi? You could stay here with Tano and Jago. Algini and I can go.”

“Half this blood is yours,” Banichi said, and drew a knee up and put his other hand down. “I can walk.”

“Stubborn,” Jago said. “Stubborn, unit-senior.”

“Let us have this done,” Banichi said. “Let us see this happen. Up, Bren-ji. Tano. Lend a hand.”

Bren stood up, watched uneasily as Tano gently assisted Banichi to his feet, providing most of the effort. For a moment Bren thought, He can’t do it, and Banichi leaned against the wall, light-headed. But Banichi shook them off then, obstinate and setting his own two feet. Algini joined them. Lights sparked on bracelets.

“Briefcase, Bren-ji,” Banichi said, leaning against the wall, and Bren bent quickly and picked it up—feeling a little dizziness in that move; and the knee and shin of his trousers were dark and soaked. Banichi was right. Between himself and Banichi, they were a bloody mess.

They were in sole possession of the outer hall, except a guard the incoming forces had set at the ruined front door. Shouted orders reverberated from i

The splintered door beside them had long since stopped swinging, jammed in a way that had provided protection for Jago and Algini. Jago stood in that doorway now, pistol in both hands, got a look in one direction, nodded to somebody unseen, and a man walked into their hallway: Nawari, who frowned in concern at the sight of them.

“Nand’ paidhi,” Nawari said with a little nod.

“The office,” Banichi asked immediately. “The problem.”

“Settled,” Nawari said. “There was some burning. An incendiary. He is dead, apparently a suicide, considerably burned, but recognizable. The records—suffered, but were not destroyed. And we intercepted one man with several notebooks from that office.”

So Shishogi was dead, unable to be questioned. But notebooks, removed under such circumstances . . . that might be a very fortunate find.

“One expected such a device,” Banichi said. “The bill?”

“Two of ours out of action,” Nawari said, “counting yourself. Two of the resistance dead, three, counting the target. Fourteen in the building wounded, one hundred forty-seven voluntarily standing down pending a resolution. Sixteen under arrest, undergoing sorting now, testimony to be taken: they are suspect. A new Council is about to meet to declare a quorum, record the change, and close the meeting. Yourself, nadi-ji, and especially the paidhi-aiji . . . are needed there as soon as possible.”

Banichi said, “Bren-ji.”

The aiji’s documents. The justification. The legalities. “One is ready,” Bren said. “Banichi, if you can do this—then you are to have that seen to. Immediately.”

“Agreed,” Banichi said. Bren found his aishid around him—his head was begi

They walked with Nawari into the foyer on the other side of that splintered door, an area overhung with gray smoke, splinters from the door, dust-filmed puddles of water, and an amazing number of brass casings lying about—not to mention the leaking skein of gray fire hoses deployed through the open door of the left-hand hall. That one door, amid all the chaos, was relatively untouched.

The Office of Assignments—Cenedi’s target—lay in that direction. But their own business was straight ahead, down the blood-spattered stub of a corridor to the open Council chamber. They just had to get to the heart of that chamber, just had to stand up that long.

Bar the paidhi-aiji, carrying no weapon but the aiji’s ring and bringing a briefcase with nothing but the aiji’s and the aiji-dowager’s legitimate demands for an investigation? That was actionable.

Shoot at him? Wound his aishid? That was a shot fired at Tabini-aiji.

They had the bastards. They had them, legally. He just had to drive the last nail in. Had to stay on his feet. They all five had to hope there wasn’t some holdout, somewhere—but self-protection wasn’t their business any longer. Nawari opened the doors, gave orders to those guarding them. They entered the chamber, walked down the descending aisle, past tiers of desks, where a gathering of Guild, some with wounds, all heavily armed, filled the space around the long desk that dominated the speaker’s well.

Their entry held universal attention from below—eyes tracking him and his aishid, and their progress down the steps and levels that split the chamber’s seating.

The long desk at the bottom belonged, one understood, to the Guildmaster and his two aides. The less conspicuous desk to the side, obscured by the crowd, belonged to the recording secretary.