Conspirator

  But they both were lagging back now, both were running to accommodate him, and he tried as hard as he could, harder than he thought he could, grass whipping at his shins and his breath coming like a locomotive.

  “Halt!” a man said out of the dark behind them, just right behind them.

  He ran harder, expecting to be shot at. But Antaro had stopped, and Jegari did, ahead of him, facing back toward him.

  He stopped where Jegari stood, and looked back past Antaro.

  A man rose out of the grass. He had what could be a rifle. He could have shot them, so things were not as bad as they could be—just stay alive, just keep himself and his companions alive. Mani was going to have to get them out of this one.

  It was over. At least this round.

  He stood still, panting hard. He could hear Jegari breathing. He saw Antaro tamely fall in beside that man as he walked toward them, and he figured that man had threatened to shoot him and Jegari.

  The man came right up to them. “Young lord,” he said, in an Eastern accent, and gave a sketchy, wary nod, and Cajeiri’s breath gusted out and didn’t come back for a moment.

  The young man’s name was Heien. He was one of mani’s youngest, from Malguri.

  “Come,” the young man said, “quickly.”

  “There are men, nadi,” Cajeiri said, pointing, “further that way, moving northwest, toward nand’ Bren’s estate. Four men.”

  “Hurry, then, young lord,” Heien said, and gathered him by the arm and dragged him into motion. “Quickly!”

  Cajeiri ran, gasping as he did so; and Jegari and Antaro kept pace, but it was not far, just over a slight elevation, and there was the double track of the road through the grass, and of all things, the battered estate bus sitting in the middle of the road, where another road branched off and this one just kept going.

  Had they even gotten beyond the estate road, with all their effort and their running?

  Even before they got to the bus, more men were getting out—Cenedi was in charge of them. His pale hair showed, when little else did but shadows.

  Cajeiri really ran, then, with all he had left.

  The dowager had gotten up into the aisle and Bren deferred to her intention. “Ha!” was all she had said, when Cenedi told her that Heien had just swept up the youngsters. She had gotten up, painful as that process might be, and showed every inclination to go to the door and descend the steps. Bren, behind her, with Tano and Algini, waited in the aisle.

  Some signal had passed, one of those prearranged sets of blips that the dowager’s guard used among themselves. And Bren ducked his head and asked, “Can you tell Banichi and Jago that we have them?”

  “We have done so, nandi,” Tano said.

  So Banichi and Jago did know the field was clear—the youngsters turning up was one of the eventualities for which they had arranged a code. How the youngsters had done it was something he was sure they were about to hear, in exquisite detail, once Ilisidi had given the princely ear a smart swat . . .

  Or maybe she wouldn’t, for this one. Precocious lad. And the Taibeni kids—were Taibeni: out of their element in a state dinner, but not in moving across the country, thank God.

  “Will Banichi and Jago come back now, nadiin-ji?” he asked Tano and Algini.

  “They likely will not, nandi,” Tano said, and Algini:

  “They are likely committed, now.”

  “To what?” he asked.

  “To removing these people from Lord Geigi’s estate, nandi,” Tano said. “The aiji’s men have likely moved up from the Township. The field is clear now. One doubts they will give up that advantage.”

  Two of Cenedi’s men had gone with them—not their accustomed team—so both sets were working at personal disadvantage, and four of them were going to probe into the estate and attempt—

  God. Bren bit his lip, knew he should not interfere in Guild operations, but, dammit—

  “I did not approve this, nadiin-ji, this—extension of the mission.”

  Algini said: “When the aiji requests it, nandi . . . we are not his; but he can request it.”

  Damn, he thought. He wanted them back. He couldn’t bear it if he lost them. Couldn’t—couldn’t even think of it.

  Cajeiri had come onto the bus to be shaken and thwacked by his great-grandmother on the bottom step—she was astonishingly mild in both. And then:

  “Mani-ma, nand’ Bren, Guild is going toward the estate—nand’ Bren’s estate. They passed us.”

  “On foot?” Ilisidi asked sharply, while Bren immediately thought of staff, of Ilisidi’s men—of the fact he had only half his bodyguard in a position to do anything about it . . .

  “Yes, mani-ma,” Cajeiri said on a gasp for breath. “One is sorry. We were running. We were going there . . . and they were going . . . ahead of us. East of the road.”

  “Cenedi, did you hear?”

  “Shall we move, aiji-ma?”

  “Yes,” Ilisidi said sharply. “We shall.” She gave a shove to Cajeiri. “Get back there and keep quiet, boy. You and your companions are to stay low and stay quiet.”

  Bren started to move. The knob of the dreaded cane came gently against his chest. “Paidhi-ji, we have resources, but this may entail damage to your estate.”

  “The staff and villagers are my concern, aiji-ma. I told my brother to leave. One trusts he has done so.”

  “Good,” Ilisidi said, and the cane dropped. Bren headed back to his seat, Tano and Algini preceding him, and he knelt with one knee in that seat as he reached it, facing them.

  “How much can you advise them?”

  “Nandi,” Algini said, “we can signal ‘base compromised’ and ‘base open.’ That is the best we can do.”

  “They need to know that much,” he said. The bus engine started, the bus started to back and turn around, and he dropped to the seat and sat down. Tano moved up with him; another of Ilisidi’s men, in the scarcity of seats, sat down with Algini.

  “Bren-ji,” Tano said, “one begs you will get down to the floor. We may take fire.”

  It was an eggshell of a bus. There were already bullet holes perforating the door and sniper fire was a distinct possibility. That was true; and doubtless Cenedi, who still on his feet in the aisle, leaning over the seat behind the dowager and Cajeiri, was intensively debriefing the youngsters regarding what they had seen—how far back, how long ago.

  Meaning what were their chances of the bus outracing a group of attackers moving in on foot?

  Quite good, if the attackers hadn’t been moving for several hours. He thought about his assessment of more and higher-level Guild coming into the situation.

  Bren dutifully got down on his knees, elbows on the seat, not a comfortable way to ride, but safer, considerably. Algini and the man behind, meanwhile, passed a heavy blanketlike affair forward, which Tano stood up to hook into the window frame. Small wonder the baggage they had brought had weighed considerable. Another blanket was going into place on the far side. Not bulletproof, but certainly bullet-resistant, and protecting several rows of seats, notably the dowager and the youngsters, and him.

  That secured, Tano sat down again.

  “It is not entirely effective, nandi. One asks you stay as you are.”

  It was uncomfortable. It was oppressive. It deprived him of all information about where they were. “Perhaps if we cut cross-country toward the village and came up to the estate from there,” Bren said, and then told himself just to be quiet and let people who knew what they were doing do their jobs.

  “We may well do so, Bren-ji.” Tano was the gentlest of souls, given his profession; his voice relayed calm, even while the bus was bouncing along over unkept road and apt to come under automatic arms fire at any moment. “When we do exit the bus at the estate, kindly stay between us.”

  “I have my gun, Tano-ji.”

  “Rely on us, nandi.”

  They had enough to worry about. He laid a hand on Tano’s knee. “Tano-ji. One relies on you both wit
h absolute confidence.”

  “One hopes so, nandi,” Tano said, and then there was an added energy to his voice. “We shall defend the house. Or take it back, if we come late.”

  “One has every confidence,” he repeated. He didn’t want, either, to think of that historic residence occupied by persons bent on mayhem, its staff threatened and put in the line of fire. These were not fighters, the staff he had dispersed to this estate. They were brave; they had stayed by him during the worst of things, and taken personal chances rescuing his belongings; they were every commendable thing—but they were not fighters. They had nothing to do with the Guild.

  Bounce and crash, potholes be damned. The speed their driver got from the overloaded bus was the very most it could do. It roared along with no care for the racket it made, bouncing over rocks and splashing through the remnant of rain puddles in the low spots, scraping over brush at the next rise, and rumbling over an ill-maintained bridge at the next low spot.

  But at a certain point, after Bren’s knees had gone beyond pain from being bounced on the hard decking, and after the chill of that decking had migrated upward into his bones, they began to encounter brush that raked the side of the bus. One did not remember the brush being that close, and Bren twisted about, trying to see out the windshield, wondering whether they were still on the road at all.

  Horrid jolt , and crash, and then the bus ran over something, multiple somethings that hit the undercarriage.

  They were not on the road, and Cajeiri had flung himself over to assist the dowager.

  “What did we hit, nandiin?” Cajeiri asked in distress.

  “A stone wall, by the racket,” the dowager said. God knew—there was a hill out in the fallow land. There was the old road, where now only hunters ranged—but the wall had been timber railing.

  “We have dropped out of contact with the house, nandi,” Cenedi said. “We are not going to the por—”

  The nose of the bus suddenly tilted downward. No one of this company cried out, but Bren swallowed a gasp and grabbed the seat as they took the hard way down, through more brush. He lost his grip: his head and back hit the seat in front, and Tano grabbed his coat and hauled him close to the seat.

  “What are we doing?” he had time to ask.

  “The estate road is a risk,” Cenedi said, holding himself braced in the aisle. “Get to your seat, young lord. And get down!”

  “Yes,” Cajeiri said, and went there, handing himself across the aisle, and obediently ducking, with his companions.

  They took another neck-snapping bounce, crashing through brush in the dark, scraping the underside of the bus, and when Bren looked around at the windshield, they had lost the headlights, or the driver had shut them down, never checking their speed.

  My God, Bren thought, holding on, telling himself that atevi vision in the dark was better than his.

  Another plunge, a hole, a fierce bounce and then a skid. He cast another look to the windshield.

  The road. Even his eyes could pick up the smooth slash through the dark. They had swerved onto it—were ripping along it at fair speed. But where the hell were they?

  Suddenly they turned. The bus slung everything that was unsecured toward the otherside—Cenedi intervened, standing in the aisle, and supporting the dowager.

  They hit a wooden wall, scraped through brush or vines or structure, and came to a sliding halt. There were lights—outdoor lights, from somewhere. They had stopped. The engine died into shocking silence, leaving only the fall of a board somewhere.

  And then he realized they had just crashed through the garden gate of his estate, the service access at the back.

  The bus door opened. Two shadows—Ilisidi’s men—immediately left the front seat and bailed out to take position.

  Then people came running out of the house . . . not armed, people in house dress, people he recognized . . .

  “They are ours, nadiin!” he shouted out, getting to his feet, as staff all innocent and alarmed, came to a halt facing leveled rifles.

  “Quickly,” Cenedi said. “Disembark!”

  “Go, paidhi,” Ilisidi said—practicality, perhaps, it being his estate, his staff: he steadied himself on Tano’s shoulder, and Algini’s arm as they sorted themselves out and headed for the bus steps.

  “Nadiin-ji,” he said, descending.

  “Nandi!” Ramaso’s voice. “Are you all right?”

  “Everything is all right,” he said . . . as boards went on creaking and settling. The stout pillars and vines of the arbor had withstood the impact. The garden wall and shed were not so sturdy. He found himself a little shaky getting down the steps and into the midst of dismayed staff.

  “Rama-ji” he said. “We are a little ahead of possible attack on the house. Has anything happened here?”

  “No, nandi. Nothing!”

  “Get men down to the harbor, phone the village, and if you have not yet thrown the shutters, nadi-ji, do it now, as quickly as you can. We have the young gentleman safe, with his companions. Did nand’ Toby and Barb-daja get away?”

  “Yes, nandi,” Ramaso said. “They have sailed.”

  “Excellent,” he said. That problem was solved. “Go. Quickly!”

  “Nandi,” Ramaso said, and as Cenedi helped the dowager down from the bus, gave the requisite orders on the spot, distributing jobs, ordering guns out of locked storage, and telling three young men to get down to the dock, take the remaining yacht out to deep anchor and stay with it.

  “Nadi.” Algini intercepted Ramaso as they walked, to give him specific orders for the securing of the house, the emergency bar on the kitchen door, Ilisidi’s men to have absolute access; and Tano said, urgently, seizing Bren’s arm.

  “Stay under the arbor, Bren-ji.”

  “We left men in charge here,” he protested.

  “They are still there,” Tano said. “But take nothing for granted, Bren-ji.”

  “Cenedi-ji,” Algini said. “If you will take the northern perimeter of the house, we shall take the main southern and center.”

  “Yes,” Cenedi said, and hastened the dowager and Cajeiri along toward the house. Jegari and Antaro had caught up, and hurried. Bren lost no time, himself, with Ramaso keeping pace with him, along the main part of the arbor, into the house, the doors of which stood open.

  They had not thrown the storm shutters. Those were going into place, one slam after another.

  “Is there any dinner?” Cajeiri’s voice, plaintively. “One is very sorry, but we missed dinner.”

  “We all missed dinner, boy,” Ilisidi said peevishly.

  “One can provide it,” Ramaso suggested, at Bren’s elbow, “in very little time.”

  “For the guards stationed on the roof as well,” Bren said to him.

  “So,” Ilisidi said with a weary sigh, as they reached the indoors, the safe confines of the inmost hall. “So. We shall meet at dinner, nand’ paidhi.”

  “Aiji-ma.” He gave a little bow, half distracted, home, but not home: Banichi and Jago were still out there, at risk, and he wanted to know more than non-Guild was going to be allowed to know about what was going on out there.

  Footsteps overhead.

  “They are ours,” Cenedi said. “We are in contact.”

  “Good,” he said. He worked a hand made sore by gripping the seat. “Good, Cenedi-ji. Aiji-ma, if you need anything—”

  “We have all we need,” Ilisidi said, with her hand on Cajeiri’s shoulder. “We shall be in communication with my grandson once we dare pass that message, nandi.”

  That was dismissal. Bren left them, headed for his own suite, as Ramaso turned up at his elbow. Tano turned up on the other side, staying with him.

  “See to the dinner, nadi-ji,” Bren said to Ramaso. “If the enemy is moving out there, they will probably try us before morning. Four were spotted. There may be others. Let us take advantage of what leisure we have.”

  “Yes, nandi,” Ramaso said. They reached the door of his suite, and even before
the door had closed, Supani and Koharu turned up, solemn and worried-looking.

  He still had the blood from the early event sweated onto his hands and under his nails, the mud from the bus floor on his trousers—he was, Bren thought, a mess, the clothes were irrecoverable, and he was, despite the rapid movement getting in, cold to the core. A bath would be the thing, he thought; but he was not about to be caught in the bath by an enemy attack.

  “Tano,” he said, “I shall be all right here. Go see to yourself. Help Algini. Be ready if Banichi and Jago need you. And have staff bring you something to eat. I shall be all right: I shall stay faithfully to this area of the house, excepting supper.”

  “Yes,” Tano said. “But, Bren-ji, in event of trouble, take cover. Do not attempt to fire. Rely on us.”

  “Always,” he said with a grateful look, a little instinctively friendly touch at Tano’s arm: he was that tired. “One has no idea how long this night may be. One promises to be entirely circumspect.”

  “Bren-ji,” Tano said, and made a little bow before leaving.

  Bren peeled off the coat. The lace cuffs of his shirt were brown and bloodstained.

  “Hot, wet towels, here, to wash with in the bath,” he instructed the two domestics. “For Tano and Algini, too, if they can find time. Moderate coat and trousers.” He walked on to his bedroom and took the gun from his pocket, laying it on the dresser. “This I shall need.”

  “Yes,” they said, and Supani went on toward the bath while Koharu helped him shed his boots and peel out of his hard-used clothes.

  Appearances mattered. The staff was possibly going to be at risk of their lives, and their lord was obliged to look calm and serene, no matter what was going on.

  He bathed not in the tub, which would have taken time to fill, but within it, with running water and a succession of sopping towels, had a fast shave—he did that himself, with the electric—and flung on a dressing gown, trusting the pace Koharu and Supani had set to get him to the dining room in good order.

  Somewhere out in the rocks and bushes, somewhere near the intersection of roads they had dodged, coming overland, or maybe up toward the train station, and on Lord Geigi’s estate, action was probably already going on—action was too little a word. The first moves of something far, far larger, if he read it right.