The cane thumped the carpet. “Where, nandi, is my great-grandson?”
“A good question,” Rodi said in a thready voice. “A question he could not answer.” This with a nod to the dead man by the grouping of chairs. “The boy escaped.”
“Escaped.” Few things drew such startlement from the dowager.
“How, escaped?”
“That was never clear,” Rodi said, and gave a wave of his hand, gathering breath. “Murini-aiji arrived with his staff, and the boy had disappeared. One has no idea.”
“Where?” Drien asked. “Ro-ji, answer!”
“Dri-daja?” Rodi blinked up at the lady of Cobesthen. “Odd company you keep.”
“Answer,” Ilisidi said, “and you may survive this.”
“Oh, I think I shall not survive,” Rodi said. “I know I shall not survive.”
“Poison, aiji-ma,” Cenedi said. “He had taken it before we arrived.”
“Damned slow,” Rodi said. “Too damned slow.” He drew his knee up, and winced, as at a cramp. “Caiti believed he had the answer, believed he could take Murini. But that depended on having the boy for a pledge. On persuading Murini.” Rodi’s knuckles showed white, where they clutched the top of the footstool. “Hold the boy for Murini, assassinate you, and rule all the East, while Murini took on the aiji in Shejidan. But he could not produce the boy. So Murini shot him.”
“I say again, where is my great-grandson? What happened here?”
“Murini arrivedc to negotiate with Caitic he was supposed to.
But he came in force, to take the house.”
“Did Caiti expect otherwise? Where is he?”
Rodi was having difficulty holding his head up. One hand had begun to shake. “One did not expect—one did not expect— he would attempt thisc”
“Fool, then! Which airport?”
“Caidienein-ori.”
“And has taken him there?”
“If he has caught him.”
“Caught him.”
“Murini expected—expected Caiti had double-crossed him—tried to get from Caiti—from me—where Caiti had taken him. No knowledge. Murini ordered—all in pursuit. Bus—bus to go—”
“Where, damn you?”
“The north road—to meet him overland. One decided not to wait—to be shot. Your landing—in Malguri Township—is known. I took my dose—damn the man. Damn Murini and damn Caiti and that woman.”
“Agilisi,” Bren muttered, out of turn.
“She left us. She ran. That was the beginning of unraveling. We knew she had gone to Malguri.”
“She did not,” Ilisidi said shortly. “The bus, the bus, Rodi. Did they leave that way? Did they find my great-grandson?”
“One does not think— Caiti’s men—Caiti’s men went in pursuit—leaving the house. Murini arrived—believing Caiti had taken him away. Not believing—the escape. They shot Caiti. Went to track—went to track where Caiti had hidden the boy. But it was a lie from the start. All a lie. Murini meant to take him away.
Never any negotiation. He was smarter than Caiti.”
“There was a room on the next level,” Cenedi said. “A great deal of digging, and a wire rigged to the light socketc one assumes the young gentlemanc”
“Nand’ paidhi,” the dowager said sharply.
“Aiji-ma.”
“Send your guard. Find him.”
“Banichi,” he said. Aiji or not, it was impossible to order another lord’s guard. He had to do it. And he had his own conditions. “Jago.
Let us go.”
Banichi looked sharply at him, at the dowager, as if hoping Ilisidi would order otherwise.
But the dowager was on one agenda: finding the boy before Murini did. And anything less was not acceptable.
Bren, for his part, headed out of the room, for once ahead of his bodyguard. Ilisidi had Drien’s men and her own headed in, on mecheiti. If there was any attack from Murini’s lot, they had help coming, not to mention communication with Malguri, from this house.
He and his staff were the most experienced in tracking the heir, no question about that. Two years of practice, tracking the boy through the bowels of the ship.
“You should stay, Bren-ji,” Jago said. “You will slow us. Protect the dowager.”
“She has Guild to call on and Drien’s lot besides. Where does the trail start?”
Banichi and Jago were on the same area link as Cenedi. They knew. They headed down the hall at their traveling stride, and a human had to exert himself to keep up even before they reached the stairs.
Two of Ilisidi’s young men were in the lower hall, by an open door. “The young gentleman was held here,” one said, and pointed back down the hall, the way they had come. “Tracks in plaster dust, one smaller and many larger, go down the side hall.”
“The aiji-dowager is upstairs, nadiin,” Banichi said, already in motion down the hall in the indicated direction. “We shall find him.
Lock this door after us.”
Down the side hall, then, out into the dark, and into a view of the courtyard, and icy dark steps. The traces inside, in plaster dust, were faint. Out here it looked like a mass exodus, down the steps and out across the snow, obliterating any trace of the boy, but giving clear evidence of very many men exiting the building and heading out across the courtyard, straight for the gate.
Banichi headed out at a jog, Jago with him—trying to dissuade him from going along, Bren said to himself, and sucked in air and outright ran, as hard as he could, keeping pace all the way to the open gate.
There, a second set of tracks came clear, where a man had gone through the bars. The rest of the pursuers had opened the gates, and headed out on foot, trampling the trail beyond.
Bren stepped through the bars of the open gate. Banichi and Jago looked at him.
“The young gentleman,” Banichi said. “In thick boots.”
They had to go to the end of the gate.
“Five, ten men,” Jago said, as they rejoined him. “A bus left here.”
“Down to the north road,” Bren said, still hard-breathing. “To rendezvous with the others. Overland. To get back to Cadienein-ori Airport. With the young gentleman. Agilisi leaving—so scared Lord Rodi—Caiti. Murini shot Caiti to finish off—untidy business. Left Rodi to his suicide.” He ran out of air. “Can that be what happened?”
“It would seem reasonable that it did,” Banichi said. “Bren-ji, go back now. One asks you go back.”
“One asks,” he said, trying to ignore the pain in his side, “that we make all safe speed from here, nadiin-ji. I shall not slow you down.
Caiti’s men—are likely out tracking—Cajeiri. Murini’s, too. Your Guild does not negotiate. I can. I may help.”
“We cannot carry you where we may go, Bren-ji,” Jago said. “You must keep up.”
“Shall,” he said, and gestured the direction the tracks went. “Go!”
Banichi and Jago lit out at a ground-devouring run; and then he was glad he had the jacket on and not the coat, glad he had zipped pockets, too, and good boots, because the broad trampled trail lay uphill, along a ridge of evergreen and up among the rocks, rising, constantly rising, a long, long climb in which he began to think, no, they were right—he could not do this, he was a detriment to everyone’s safety. Including the boy’sc His feet slipped on snow. Jago grabbed his arm and bodily hauled him up, shoved him up, hand on his backside, to the next ragged level among the rocks, and said not a word doing it. He put his head down and just ran, making up time, whatever time—God knew.
They hadn’t asked Rodi how long since the boy’s escape, how long since Murini left. Possibly a dying man wasn’t that sure of schedules. Possibly Banichi and Jago knew that detail. There was no leisure to ask questions. No use in it either. Not his job, to catch them. Just to talk.