It would be a great relief if that happened and it all became quiet.
It would be a great relief if the Lord Aseida matter would drop like a stone and sink out of sight. In the old system, lords who were disposed to support Aseida, for whatever reason, ideally would simply get advice to the contrary, that the Guild, having deliberated, was going to rule against Aseida . . . and life would go on, while Aseida would probably get a quiet retirement in a town where he could live reasonably and settle disputes about hunting rights or tannery fumes, granted he stayed out of trouble.
But the Guild couldn’t straighten its internal business out fast enough in this instance. Tatiseigi could talk to others who would be disturbed by the incident, and persuade them on the strength of his own reputation. But Tatiseigi was not likely to make headway with the man he had publicly embarrassed, and as for the dowager meeting with him—
Not a good idea . . . especially when the real thing at stake was not Lord Aseida’s future, but the Cismontane Association and a few critical kilometers of privately-owned railroad that crossed a vital mountain pass.
So the best he could do was to try . . . and hope that Topari would just let the Aseida matter drift off and talk to him about the thing he really wanted.
Algini eventually came in, saying that Topari was now in the lift system with Jago, and with his own bodyguard. The two Guildsmen from Tabini’s staff had arrived, and were being briefed so far as they could be: they were simply to stand by the door in the event the rural bodyguard caused a problem.
There was no need for the paidhi-aiji to be waiting in the sitting room, looking anxious. Let Narani employ his skills and soothe the gentleman with attentions. Let Topari absorb the hospitality of the fairly traditional household, and be treated as a proper guest. It was not a bureaucratic office, or the legislative waiting room: it was a high court official’s private home, and business would indeed wait while the traditional formalities were played out, and anger settled in the traditional way.
He heard the door open, and heard the arrival. Algini was out in the foyer, standing guard by the office, a convenient place to meet Jago and learn the gentleman’s temper in a handful of discreet signals. The gentleman’s attendants would politely split up, two to attend the gentleman and two to stand in the hall with the aiji’s pair. Weapons? Oh, undoubtedly there would be weapons . . . God only knew what sort—likely hunting pieces—but that was why Tabini’s men were in the hall.
He gave it a little while more, until Narani would have time to see the gentleman seated, time enough to have the servants busy preparing tea, and time to for Narani to intone, in his best formal manner, “I shall inform the paidhi-aiji you are here, nandi.”
He heard the door open and close. He waited.
Jago and Algini let Narani in, Narani said, as cheerfully as if he had not just dealt with an irate country lord, “Lord Topari, nandi, is in the sitting room.”
“Thank you, Rani-ji.” He got up, albeit gingerly, as he was doing things today, and walked into the hall and past the two Guildsmen and the two rural bodyguards, to enter the sitting room by the formal, proper door.
Lord Topari was as he remembered the man, a portly fellow, a little reminiscent of Lord Geigi, except he stood shorter and wider, and he entirely lacked Lord Geigi’s genial manner. Lord Topari had one expression, set like concrete, and his eyes shifted hither and thither as if he expected ambush in this place of antique furnishings and delicate manners. He was dressed in a moderate fashion, a good green twill coat with leather trim, with a little lace at cuffs and collar, decidedly not in current fashion and decidedly not trying to be.
Jago was there already. So was Algini. And the viewer was set up.
“Nandi,” Bren said, paying a painful and absolutely correct little bow as he reached his intended chair. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, let us have a little tea.” He signaled. Servants moved, and absolutely Narani, his master of kabiu, had thought of everything. It was not his most elaborate tea set, in case of breakage, but a very traditional one, about fifty years old; and immediately behind the tea service came a servant with a plate of teacakes and small pastries, the aroma of which complemented the tea. “The hour being such,” Bren said, “one thought the cakes might be welcome.” He took one himself, and took a little bite—should the gentleman have any notion there was any mischief about the cakes.
And if anyone could resist Bindanda’s tea cakes he had no appetite for perfection. Topari did not have the look of a man who disdained fine food, and there was, indeed, a milder expression on that face once the orangelle sweetness reached Topari’s senses.
That cake vanished, rather quickly, and two gulps of tea. The servant with the teacakes offered more.
“I have not been to Halrun,” Bren remarked by way of small talk, naming Topari’s house and village. “Is it high in the mountains?”
“The highest of all capitals,” the man said immediately.
And the coldest, it was reputed.
“One is told it is quite beautiful in the southern mountains.”
“We are not enthusiastic about strangers.”
“Ah. Well, then to the loss of all the world, certainly. I have always enjoyed the snow. And one understands winter never quite leaves Halrun.”
“We do, indeed, keep snow on the peaks in midsummer.”
“But Halrun itself is not at such a height.”
“No,” Topari said shortly, and took another teacake, which disappeared in two bites and a gulp of tea.
“Well, well,” Bren said, seeing that the man was not settling, nor likely to if they wandered too far from the topic. He set his cup down, as host, the signal that business conversation was now in order.
The other cup, minus a last gulp, went down. Curious little gesture. Not quite city manners. The cup clicked onto the table.
“I do again thank you for coming, nandi,” Bren said quietly. “And I shall not waste your time. Sources inform me that you are quite perturbed about the situation of Lord Aseida.”
“I shall not argue it here.”
“One entirely understands, nandi, but I have an utterly different motive in asking you here. I am no authority within the aishidi’tat, merely a voice, but I do know that your district has become very important, or will be so, in the future. Your strong leadership is important, and my principals have no wish to see political damage occur . . .”
“Is that a threat, nandi?”
“By no means, nandi. I have asked you here because I have consulted with others of the Conservative Caucus on the matter of the Kadagidi lord, and clearly you are part of that caucus, equally deserving of the information the others are being given, or may already have. Guild administration has changed. Information is being passed from the Assassins’ Guild to various houses regarding that change and other matters. And realizing that your own bodyguard may not be tapped into that source, and that you have expressed concern about various events, I called you here to give you that information, for fairness’ sake. Appearances will be preserved, I swear to you, and there will be no news of the topic of our meeting. That we two have business could involve a dozen things—the railway and the southern route, among others—perfectly logical for us to discuss.” There was bait on a string. “But most urgently, nandi, let me state the real business, which you need to know—to have proved to your satisfaction: the action at the Kadagidi estate was entirely lawful. My bodyguard was fired upon and wounded. My Guild senior is at present lying abed injured, and as you see, I was not exempt from attack.” He lifted a hand toward the cut on his cheek. “A minor scrape. There were, however, six holes in the bus in which I was standing.”
“That is no proof. It says nothing as to who provoked the incident.”
“I agree. It is no proof at all. But proof exists. First, a document delivered to the Guild last night contains the confession of t
wo members from the Dojisigin Marid, who were coerced to lie in wait for Lord Tatiseigi, in an unFiled assassination which provoked our visit to the Kadagidi—since, at the time of the incident, Lord Tatiseigi had guests who were put at risk: the aiji-dowager, the aiji’s son and heir, myself, one of the ship-aiji and three young folk from the space station.”
“Humans!”
“Indeed, the three innocent human children, nandi, guests of the aishidi’tat, in a diplomatic maneuver important to the aishidi’tat. In the thought that perhaps Lord Aseida, who aided the two Dojisigi to gain access to the Atageini house, might not have known about the foreign guests, who were indeed under deep security at the time—I and a ship-aiji, a former paidhi-aiji—undertook to go personally over to the Kadagidi estate to advise Lord Aseida privately of the situation, and to ask for an apology, in the name of the dowager, and the heir, and Lord Tatiseigi. Had Lord Aseida appeared, heard me, and simply given a verbal apology, that would have settled the matter and relieved Lord Tatiseigi’s honor and his of the burden in private, in such a way that would have ended the incident. The ship-aiji and his bodyguard were there to witness the Kadagidi response in the interests of their aijiin. And whenever a ship-aiji’s guard deploys in a situation, they make a recording to prove what happened in the exchange. That is their custom. And that recording, which I am prepared to show you, shows our action and the Kadagidi response.”
Expression touched Lord Topari’s face, difficult to read: skepticism, one was certain.
“And this will be entered in evidence?”
“Nandi, it is to be filed with the Guild today. The confession of the two Assassins is already filed. And being informed that you are first to ask into the facts, as someone should ask—I have asked you here to see what happened, to see exactly what the Guild Council will see, should you wish to do so. I do not say you will be the last to see it—but you will be the first.”
A suspicious look.
“It will be relatively brief, nandi.”
“Television.”
“Not precisely television, nandi,” Jago said, moving forward, “but this viewer.” She pushed a button and an image flashed up on the bare wall to the left, larger than life. Algini immediately dimmed the lights, and without Lord Topari precisely consenting—the images appeared.
Bren watched Lord Topari, whose face, in the reflected light, was grim and apprehensive, not pleased by what was simply a confusion of shadow at first, then the interior of the bus. It was the moment Jase’s guards had put on their helmets.
“We are beginning,” Bren said, “at the point at which the aiji’s guard commenced recording.”
On the wall, the view swung about, became the driveway, the still-distant house, the porch.
“Those are ship-folk notations superimposed on the image,” Bren said, regarding the numbers at the edge.
That drew a sharp look from Topari.
“What do they say?”
“They are a signature, indicating the name of the guard, indicating the date and time. This is from a camera inside the armor of Jase-aiji’s guard. Jase-aiji’s bodyguards were on duty, as of this point, wearing protective armor.”
Action proceeded. The bus stopped. Banichi got off and hailed the house.
“The paidhi-aiji and the ship-aiji have come to call on Lord Aseida,” Banichi’s voice said distantly, addressing the Kadagidi guard. “They are guests of your next-door neighbor the Atageini lord, and they have been personally inconvenienced by actions confessed to have originated from these grounds. These are matters far above the Guild, nadi, and regarding your lord’s status within the aishidi’tat. Advise your lord of it.”
“That is my Guild senior,” Bren said quietly, “advising the Kadagidi of our approach and our request.”
Kaplan and Polano got off, a confusion of images of the bus door and the side of the house, then a jolt resolving to a steady image of the house door, which had opened. A knot of armed Kadagidi Guild held the porch.
“This is the point at which I exited the bus,” Bren said. “I descended behind the cover of the two ship-folk bodyguards and in the company of my own aishid, hoping to speak to Lord Aseida.”
Banichi stepped again into camera view, rifle in the crook of his arm.
“Are those alive?” the other side called out; and now bright squares flicked here and there and showed shadow-figures within the walls, and one square flicked to the movement of a weapon, on the porch.
“These are the ship-aiji’s personal bodyguard,” Banichi answered. “And the ship-aiji is present on the bus. Be warned. These two ship-folk understand very little Ragi. Make no move that they might misinterpret. The paidhi-aiji and the ship-aiji have come to talk to your lord, and request he come outdoors for the meeting.”
“Our lord will protest this trespass!”
“Your lord will be free to do that at his pleasure,” Banichi retorted. “But advise him that the paidhi-aiji is here on behalf of Tabini-aiji, speaking for his minor son and for the aiji-dowager, the ship-aiji, and his son’s foreign guests, minor children, all of whom were disturbed last night by Guild Assassins who have named your estate as their route into Lord Tatiseigi’s house.”
“We will relay the matter to our lord,” the Kadagidi said. “Wait.”
A man left, through the door to the inside of the house. And thus far there was absolutely nothing wrong with the proceedings.
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 a
nd 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.”