Except that targeting squares now flickered on shadows inside an apparently transparent building.
Another Guild unit came out onto the porch.
“Banichi!” that unit-senior shouted with no preface at all, swung his rifle up in a flicker of square brackets, and fired.
The scene froze. Stopped.
“I shall advance the image slowly at this point,” Jago said.
It was hard to watch. Banichi fired, clearly the second to fire. In a series of images, Haikuti went backward as Banichi spun and went down, bullets simultaneously hit the bus, and a flash of fire and white cloud obscured their view for a few frames.
“Grenade,” Jago said matter-of-factly. “Theirs.” A fiercer blaze of light enveloped the porch, lit by green brackets.
“Jase-aiji’s guard has fired,” Jago said.
Bren had not seen that happen. He had been on the ground, trying to pull Banichi into cover. Then everybody had poured off the bus, through the smoke still lingering. What the camera showed was appalling.
Shadows ran past the camera—his bodyguard, and the dowager’s men, headed for that porch, which was now a shattered, smoke-obscured ruin.
The image froze again, and went dark.
“This,” Bren said, a little shaken himself, recalling the shock that made the ground shake, the smell, the stinging haze . . . “This is the point of law, nandi, that everything was proceeding in an ordinary way, and the Kadagidi guard had not panicked at the appearance of the ship-folk guards. Everything was proceeding quietly except that that second unit was moving to the door, which none of my guard knew. The Guild senior of the Kadagidi unit exited the building and opened fire on me and my guard. My Guild senior took the fire and fired back. Someone on that porch threw a grenade, and at that instant Jase-aiji’s guard responded with their own weapons.”
Topari sat silent.
“We also extracted, from that house, nandi, evidence of a connection between that Guild unit and the recent upheaval in the south. In the confession of the two Dojisigi Guild involved in the same incident, we have their routing from Murini’s folk in the Marid through the Kadagidi house to attack the Atageini. We also recorded our interview with Lord Aseida, as we transported him to Lord Tatiseigi’s house to give his account to the aiji-dowager. All these records are to go to the Guild, and will be available to Guild members, and ultimately to members of the legislature. The aiji wishes to find a suitable resolution of this matter, as quietly and expeditiously as possible.”
“One sees,” Topari said after a moment, and did not look happy. Then: “For whom are you speaking, nand’ paidhi?”
Entirely civil question, entirely reasonable question.
“In this, I speak for the aiji, nandi. As for my own opinion, for what it matters, despite our differences, I deeply respect your leadership of the Cismontane, which has never acted except in reasonable protection of its natural interests. And, may I say, on the aiji’s behalf, you never accepted Murini as aiji, either.”
“We have not that enthusiastically accepted the aijinate,” Topari muttered, blunt truth, and certainly not to the man’s benefit. He was forthcoming with his opinions, one could say that. As to discretion—one was less sure.
“It is, alas, the old conflict,” Bren said, “the old division between north and south, the guilds and the principle of out-clan assignment.” One was very definitely conscious of the non-Guild status of Topari’s two bodyguards, standing over to the right, opposite Jago and Algini. “But then, the aiji’s maternal clan has only this month made peace with the Atageini after two hundred years of warfare—so the aiji does understand districts that, for some local reason, prefer local security and wish to settle their problems in their own way. Dissent from his administration will never be silenced. Likewise we have been assured that Assassins’ Guild will make a fair investigation. That guild’s former leadership, set aside by Murini, has returned, which is also not yet general knowledge, and you may now have at least as much confidence as you had in the Assassins’ Guild prior to the coup.” He shifted his hands to his knees, signifying an end to the interview. “I thank you for coming, nandi. You have been very courteous. And I shall not urge you to regard anything but what you have seen, which is the same as what others will see within a few hours. I know you have extreme reservations about me and my office, but you have met me courteously in the past and I hoped we could talk. You and I are bound to meet again in this Marid railroad affair—and I am encouraged to hope we can talk, then, too, and do so productively.”
“When you will represent the dowager?”
“She has her views. I shall represent them at her request. But likewise if you have any message for her, I shall certainly carry it. Or to the aiji, either one.”
“Then tell the aiji-dowager that the Cismontane is not pleased with her cursed self-serving agreement. The legislature never appointed her aiji, not in two tries!”
It was worth a diplomatic smile, a diplomatic nod. “I shall not remind her of that, nandi, but if you have observations on the railroad matter, I should be honored to represent you to her and her to you. That is my office.”
Lengthy silence, this time. Then a gravelly: “I shall consider it.” With which, Topari gave a parting style of bow. “Nandi.”
“Nandi.” Bren gave back the same, and Topari gathered his bodyguard and left . . . with Jago both opening the way for them, and escorting them out, because otherwise Topari and his guards could not get downstairs through the lift system . . . and that would tip the situation toward war.
Did we win or lose? Bren wondered, hearing the outer door open and shut. Did I accomplish anything—or open up a worse problem?
The adrenaline and the strength quite ebbed out of him with that thought, and the headache was—had been for several minutes, perhaps, ever since the lights had come back on—back in force. He thought about going to his bedroom, but the adrenaline of the interview wasn’t going to leave him alone. He sank down in the nearest chair, light-headed. “Tea,” he said. “The strong tea, nadiin-ji.”
Servants moved, quickly. Hot water and tea met over at the buffet. He could smell it. His senses felt sandpapered raw, at the same time the room seemed a little blurry.
“You are quite pale, Bren-ji,” Algini said.
“Tea will help. How did that go, Gini-ji? I have no good reading of him.”
“He is a suspicious man,” Algini said, “and verbally reckless. He went further than he expected to go. He was affected by what he saw—I was watching him. He saw your justification, and that, conversely, upset his resolve. He will likely try to reconstruct later how the railroad became involved in the discussion. But that mention has him thinking and wondering if it is a proposed trade. Now he will very likely want to test what you said and be sure he is not being led astray. He is a pessimist by reputation, never ready to assume he is being offered anything good. You have, one believes, made some headway with him.”
“I felt I was bouncing words off a stone wall. But his district has legitimate concerns. I shall see if the dowager can be persuaded about his railroad.”
“Dare you ever have the aiji-dowager and this man in one room?” Algini asked.
He opened his eyes and smiled—only slightly, because it hurt. Algini’s humor was rare, and occasionally irreverent. “I think we should confine that exchange to letters,” he said, and then had a clear thought. “Cenedi might be the logical point of approach.”
“Cenedi would, indeed,” Algini said wryly, “vote to keep those two apart.”
The servant came, with the tea, which was not yet settled in the cup. He sipped it anyway, and found the dark brew a good taste. He heard a door open, down the main hall, heard footsteps not of the household, and knew it was Jase before Jase appeared cautiously at the door.