Peacemaker

From where? Cajeiri desperately wanted to know.

But mani went in, and he and his guests and Great-uncle and their bodyguard just walked on.

“Great-uncle.” Cajeiri had no hope of an answer, but he tried. “May one ask?”

“Everything is very well,” Great-uncle said, and added: “The Assassins’ Guild has just changed leadership, young lord. The guards are precautionary, since there may still be individuals at liberty in the city. But one rather supposes the Guild will sort out its own very quickly. This is a former administration of the Guild, and they will set things to rights as we have not seen in at least three years.”

He was in awe. Great-uncle had never been so forthcoming, as if he were someone, instead of a child. “Great-uncle,” he said very respectfully. “One hears. One is grateful to know.”

“Do your guests understand?” Great-uncle asked. “One rather thinks they know something has been amiss.”

“I shall tell them,” he said. “They are worried. But I shall explain, Great-uncle, so they will understand.”

“Indeed,” Great-uncle said, and they arrived at their own door, which Madam Saidin opened for them.

Will Kaplan and Polano stand there all night? he wondered. Perhaps they would.

But things were going to be set to rights, Great-uncle had said.

And the Guild that protected everything had changed leadership—

And what about the old man who had caused everybody so much trouble?

Was their enemy in the Guild now gone?

He wanted to know. It seemed major things had gone on and nand’ Bren was somewhere in it, and so, he guessed, was Cenedi. The whole world had been in some kind of quiet commotion tonight—and how much he and his guests had been at risk in it, he was not sure, except that they were still being taken care of and kept safe and he had most of all to keep from scaring his guests—and most of all, their parents.

Maybe the world was really going to change. Things set right, Great-uncle said, and he could not quite imagine that. People could always turn up hunting them—and clearly nobody was taking chances in this hall, tonight.

But nand’ Bren was coming back, and Cenedi was reporting in, so he decided, as Great-uncle’s doors closed behind them—that he really could tell his guests everything was all right.

 · · ·

The Red Train was back in its berth, no longer blocking rail traffic. Mail was moving again. Freight deliveries were happening. Day-shift employees were finally able to take trains home, those who had not given up and walked. Night-shift employees could get to work in the city.

But the councils of other guilds in all those other buildings—Transportation, the Merchants, the Scholars, were reportedly in emergency session, trying to inform themselves what had just gone on in the Assassins’ Guild.

Nobody of a certain rank was getting much sleep tonight.

Neither, Bren reflected, was the paidhi-aiji or anybody around him. They reached the apartment, bringing Banichi with them, medical gear and all, bound for the comfort and safety of the security station in the depths of the apartment.

Jase’s men were still on watch out in the hall, with Guild beside them to watch with ordinary atevi senses—and with the ability to recognize anybody who had reasonable business on the floor. Jase had made it back to the apartment before him, exchanged court clothes for a night robe—and met them coming in.

“Good God,” was Jase’s comment, seeing their bedraggled condition, and Banichi, on the gurney they had borrowed, with the ongoing transfusion: “How bad?”

“It could have been far worse,” Bren said. “Nand’ Siegi’s patched him up again—he’s to stay quiet.” His voice was breaking up . . . too much smoke, likely. “How did it go with the di

“Very well, actually. Better than you had . . . clearly. Can I do anything?”

“We’re just good for rest, letting Banichi just rest and stay quiet. Maybe a cold drink. A sandwich.” He said the latter as Narani stood by, awaiting instructions, and the delivery of his ruined coat. He shed it—shed the stained vest and even the shirt. It was an impropriety in the foyer, but they were not standing on ceremony, and their garments were shedding a powder of dried blood, too filthy even to let into the bedroom. “Forgive me,” he said, “Rani-ji, I think everything I have on is beyond rescue. I shall shed the rest in the hall. I shall try not to touch the furniture. One believes the crates with our wardrobe will arrive tonight, or tomorrow.”

“I shall draw a bath, nandi.”

“Draw it for my aishid. For me, the shower will do very well.” Jago had done a field repair on the rip in his scalp—loosed a few hairs about the cut and knotted them together, closing the wound, and Tano had poured astringent on it. That had hurt so badly he had all but passed out—quietly, however, with dignity. He had managed that, at least, a nice, graceful slump that had not ended on the Council Chamber floor only because Algini had held him up. His aishid had wanted nand’ Siegi to have a look at the patch job before they left—but he was sure it was, despite their worries, enough for tonight. He had his own little pharmacopeia in a dresser drawer, including an antibiotic he could take. He dreaded the thought even of trying to shower the blood off his hair, but he had to: it was a mess. And he was sure Jago’s repair would hold.

“My aishid,” he said to Narani. “They should have—whatever they want. Anything they want, nadi-ji.” He changed languages, for Jase. “We did what we went in to do. The old man’s dead . . . he tried to take out the records, but we’ve got most of them. The returnees have control of the Guild. They’re going to be sorting the rank and file for problems, and we’ve probably got a few ru

“Go get that shower,” Jase urged him. “Go sit down. If there’s anything I can do—let me know.”

“Thanks,” Bren said, and headed down the corridor toward his bedroom, and the chance to shed the rest of his clothes in some decency.

But sleep? He didn’t think so.

 · · ·

“Has he waked?” he asked Tano, who had, with Jago, sat by Banichi the while.

Banichi’s eyes opened a slit, a glimmer of gold.

“He is awake,” Banichi answered for himself.

“Good,” Bren said, and sat down on the chair Tano snagged into convenient proximity for him. “How are you doing, Nichi-ji?”

“One sincerely regrets the distraction in the Council chamber,” Banichi murmured faintly. “And the general inconvenience to the operation.”

“We did it, understand. We took down the target.”

“So one hears,” Banichi said. “Cenedi has come back?”

“Cenedi is on his way back to the Bujavid,” Tano said. “The Council is in session, probably at this moment. Other guilds are meeting to hear the reports. They are not waiting for morning.”

“The city is quiet, however.”

“The city is entirely quiet,” Jago said from her spot in the corner. “The city trains are ru

“One believes,” Banichi said, “the rumors will be out and about.”