Which was what he was supposed to feel, he supposed. It was what everybody expected of him. But in a way, it made him sad and upset.
Because he had much rather be out on the boat fishing, and not feel like that at all.
“Go back,” he told Antaro, “and keep listening. I want to know everything going on.”
15
« ^ »
It was the small hours, and with the house overburdened with guests and packing for what could either be a civilized argument or a small war prefacing a bigger one, there was, in a hot bath, one quiet refuge for the lord of the house. A folded, sodden towel on the marble tub rim became a pillow. Bren drowsed, was quite asleep, in fact—and wakened to a gentle slop of water and the awareness he was no longer alone in the ample pool.
He wiped his eyes with a soggy hand, and ran it through his hair. “How are things going, Jago-ji?”
Jago sighed, arrayed her arms along the tub rim, and tilted her head back, eyes shut. “One is satisfied, Bren-ji. Your cases are packed. As are ours. The bus is loaded. Tano and Algini have just come in, with Lord Geigi’s bodyguard. And we now have eight of the aiji-dowager’s own guard going with us.”
Eight. That was a considerable deployment of that elite company. But a worrisome one—depleting the dowager’s protection. The Edi might be an adequate backup over at Kajiminda, which had no attractive targets, but not at Najida, where the aiji-dowager andthe aiji’s heir were situated. “One is astonished,” he said moderately, “and honored. But what about provision for the aiji-dowager’s force?”
“Discreetly placed. They are here about the house, Bren-ji, is all we should say. Even here.”
He drew a deep breath. He had run on too little sleep. The cavernous bath seemed to echo with their voices. Or they were ringing in his head.
He had a dread of this venture upcomingc this venture specifically designed to provoke an attack from somebody— and they weren’t sure who.
He wished he had any other team to throw into it besides Banichi and Jago, besides Tano and Algini. He didn’t want to risk their lives this way—all for a pack of damned conniving scoundrels, and a clan too weak to say no to bad neighbors, too self-interested to have seen what kind of a game they were playing. He seriously considered, truly considered for the first time, Filing Intent himself and seeing if political influence could speed the motion through the Guild without it hanging up on regional politics.
But the paidhi didn’tFile Intent: that was the point of his office—he was neutral. He hadno political vantage.
Until Tabini made him a district lord. Dammit.
Geigi didn’t want to File on his own clan lord—even if he outranked his clan lord in the aishidi’tat. It was a point of honor, a sticky point, the long-held fiction of Geigi’s being insidethat clan. Bringing that fiction down would rebound onto clan honor—or make Tabini haveto inquire, officially. And the plain point was—when there was a quarrel insidea clan, things were supposed to be settled, however bloodily, without recourse to the Assassins’ Guild, except those already serving within the house.
So they were going in, with Geigi’s aishid running the operation. They were going to geta provocation, or get a resignation, or get a direct appeal from Lord Pairuti for Geigi’s support against the neighborsc and the matter was so damned tangled it was hard to predict from here just what they’d get from the man.
Things echoed back surreally. He had a feeling of being momentarily out of body, looking down on him and Jago, at a point of decision that he could critique, from that mental distance. From here, he knew how dangerous their situation was, and how they could make mistakes that would cost their lives, cost the aiji the stability of the aishidi’tat, and leave the whole atevi civilization vulnerable. Civil war was the least of the bad outcomes that could flow from the decisions he was making—on too little sleep, too little information, and with deniability on the part of Tabini-aiji. Cenedi had talked about calling in certain forces under his own command: but Cenedi’s focus was, when all was said and done, the dowager, and the heir.
The most important thing right now was Tabini’s survival, Tabini’s power. There was, God forbid, even a second heir. Or would be. The aishidi’tat would survive losing anybody— the out-of-body detachment let him think that unthinkable thought— anybodyexcept Tabini, because in this generation there was no leader butTabini that could hold the aishidi’tat together.
So Tabini had to survive.
All the rest of them were expendable, on that terrible scale. He was exhausted. His mind was spinning into dire territory. He was scared, but he was so far down that path he didn’t see an alternative.
Maybe it was a failure of vision. Maybe he should go to the phone, shove it all off on Tabini and let him deal with it. But he couldn’t see that ending productively. And Geigi couldn’t go in alone. Geigi was willing to do it, but hellif they could afford to wave that target past the attention of their enemies.
So there they were. They had to go in, hoping to frighten Pairuti into cooperating.
He leaned his head back on the towel-cushioned rim and shut his eyes, wondering if his mind and Jago’s were on the same grim track. The water was going a little cold. He moved finally, reached, and turned on the hot water. The current flowed in, palpably warm.
“Has one been a fool, Jago-ji, to get into this situation?”
“Not a fool,” Jago said. “Banichi does not think so.”
“Do you?”
“No, Bren-ji. One would not think so—even if it were proper to think. This is overdue.”
“On this coast?”
“In the whole quarter of the aishidi’tat—this is overdue.”
“What is the Guild’s temperature? Can you say?”
“Favorable, in this,” Jago said. He had half expected she wouldn’t answer. But she did. And he felt better.
“I have ceded our bed to Lord Geigi,” he said apologetically. Jago had gotten no more sleep than he had—less, if one counted falling asleep in the bathtub. “But this is comfortable.”
“I have located a place,” Jago said. “A solitary place. In the servants’ wing.”
That was clearly a proposition. A decided proposition. He smiled wearily and decided maybe—maybe both of them could benefit from distraction.
So he shut down the hot water and looked for his bathrobe.
16
« ^ »
The bus was loaded with luggage and gear. It waited under the portico, sleek and modern, pristine except the track of bullet holes across its windshield. Lord Geigi’s four bodyguards had caught a little sleep before breakfast—and Cook had scrambled to feed them handsomely, not to mention the rest of the household. The Lord of Najida and his guest would not go off unfed.
And, after breakfast, there were calls to make: on Toby, to be sure he was well. Cajeiri, poor lad, had argued to have his breakfast at his appointed post, and now was fast asleep in his chair, his bodyguard tiptoeing about to avoid waking him or Toby.