Chapter 11
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The bus was running on the wheel rim on the left rear. Their driver, Iscarti, was not doing well, but they had gotten the blood staunched, and there was local help—the aiji-dowager never traveled without her personal physician: the man was a surgeon, and the best there was likely to be in the district. Banichi continually held pressure against the wound, and Bren had gotten up off the floor at least to look out the window and learn where they were.
Jago drove for all the bus was worth. They all kept as low as possible. Lord Baiji stayed in the well of the steps—under Banichi’s advisement that if he said anything whatsoever or moved from where he lay, he would be sorry he had.
Lord Baiji hadn’t budged.
But they were onto Najida Peninsula now. It was speed or it was caution, and right now, speed counted. Jago’s attention was all for the road—a good thing, at the speed she was driving, considering the condition of the bus—and a sharp jolt and bounce both drew no cry from the driver—in itself, ominous. Bren sat ready to spell Banichi at maintaining that pressure on the wound, but thus far Banichi managed without him.
Objections at this point were futile. They were where they were, headed for help, and that was all they could do. Questions he had aplenty, and knew most of them came down to him. He was the one who had left half his bodyguard in Najida. He was the one who had relied on a neighbor. And the one who’d valued stopping Barb from another embarrassment at a higher priority than Tano and Algini going with them.
Bad choice. Bad decision. And his call, totally. He was the one who was supposed to know the temper of the human side of his household and make the best decision—how in hell could Banichi and Jago figure how serious it was and wasn’t, with Barb and Toby’s situation? Jago had made her own heated recommendations regarding Barb not being under his roof, and he had dismissed her objections as personal jealousy. What more could she then say?
Wrong, he thought now. Wrong. Wrong. Impossible situation, for his guard. Absolutely impossible.
Second bad move, when he’d delayed them after he’d gotten an indication from Banichi that things weren’t right.
And at the doors, almost out of it, he’d turned his head to pay attention to Baiji and slowed them down—at which point everything had gone to hell. Somebody had had to get out of there alive—and his bodyguard had done exactlywhat his bodyguard was supposed to do, and grabbed him. He understood that now, intellectually, even if his gut hadn’t caught up to the situation. Man’chi drove Banichi and Jago: they’d go through fire to get to him. They had to. He understood that part. Intellectually.
What he didn’t understand yet was why Banichi had grabbed Baiji instead of Cajeiri.
Baiji was—he still thought—weak, a lord likely to collapse under anybody’s threat. He wasn’tlikely behind anything, unless Banichi read something entirely differentc
And that was always possible. There were times when the paidhi read atevi just very well; and there were occasional times he didn’t, and right now his confidence in his reading the situation was entirely shaken. Right now he didn’t know whatBaiji was, except related to a very major ally of theirs, and possibly involved in something very, very dangerous.
Banichi had made the gut-level choice to take Baiji with them. And Banichi didn’t make mistakes under fire, never had.
So what in the situation wasn’t he seeing?
He didn’t know, and he sat still and listened to Jago tell Banichi they were close to the house, and heard Banichi suggest they avoid any communications. That told him Banichi worried about a compromise in the house system, but that was a reasonable precaution, if they’d been caught by surprise. It was just a precaution, wasn’t it?
And what in hell was he going to tell the dowager?
Sorry? Sorry I misplaced the boy—again?
They made a turn, scraping brush on the side. “We are on the ridge,” Jago said. “We are going down the short way.”
“Bren-ji,” Banichi said, and indicated he should take over pressure. He did, and Banichi used his com at the last moment for a short, coded exchange, likely a heads-up for Tano and Algini, while Jago took them downhill, hard, and finally onto gravel.
Then he thought: a heads-up, maybe, or maybe checking to be sure everything’s all right at the housec God!
Final stretch. He turned the driver back over to Banichi and got up on his knee, elbows on the seat, to see where they were.
They made the final turn, came down the drive, onto the cobbles, and swerved under the front portico, so similar an arrangement to Kajiminda—but intact. Safe. Bren started to get up. Banichi seized his arm, said, “Hold it, Bren-ji,” meaning the compress, and got up, towering there, bloody-handed—he snatched Baiji unceremoniously to his feet as the bus came to a stop.
Jago pulled the brake, and opened the door.
Tano and Algini were there, and received Baiji when Banichi shoved him off the bus. So was the physician, who climbed aboard. Bren gladly surrendered the driver to the doctor, and stood up—his own pale clothes were as bloody as Banichi’s.
“Bren-ji,” Jago said, taking his arm and urging him up and to the steps.
Cenedi was outside. Bren didn’t know what to say to him, about the youngsters; and the ancient rule—one didn’t, in a crisis, ever discuss anything delicate with Guild not one’s own—seemed to cover the situation. He ducked his head and got down the steps, letting Jago guide him.
As her feet hit the cobbled ground, however, she stopped them both, and said, to Cenedi and Nawari, “One had no choice, nadiin-ji. The young lord is at lord Geigi’s estate—in what situation, by now, we are unable to determine.”
“Details,” Cenedi said shortly, and they stood stock still, facing the gray-haired senior of Ilisidi’s bodyguard.
What followed was what Bren called, to himself, Guild-speak, a lot of information freighted in a few words and a set of handsigns.
“Positioned at the door, bus coming. Shots from the right, wing of the estate roof, bus exposed. I took my Principal, Banichi took the lord, the young lord’s party moved apart, taking cover.”
Was thatit? Man’chi, in crisis, moved emotionally-associated elements together. What moved apart might be allied on a different mission; might be hostile. Man’chi was situated somewhere in the hindbrain, in the gut—Mospheirans would call it the heart. It moved people in certain directions, and Cajeiri’s man’chi hadn’t been to a human, never mind Cajeiri was a minor child. If he’d followed his aishid, that would have been a topsy-turvy response, a fault in his character; and if he’d led his aishid—he was emotionally in charge; but he’d instinctively leftthe paidhi and his guardc going in his own direction, getting under cover. It was crystal clear—if you were wired that way from birth.
He, personally, wasn’t wired that way. But his bodyguard was. Right now Tano and Algini were taking a man of his house to somewhere the doctor could work on him, and Jago was making sure Baiji stayed put, and Banichi—Banichi was facing down his old ally Cenedi’s justified anger, protecting the paidhi. Cenedi, their old ally in a hundred crises, was absolutely expressionless—not happy—and probably assessing what he and hiscould do about the situation that had developed.
He wished he had an answer. He wished he understood half the undercurrents in the situation he’d let develop.
“We stand ready to go back ourselves, Cenedi-nadi,” Bren said. “We shall get the boy back. We do not intend anything less.”
“In the meeting with nand’ Baiji,” Banichi said to Cenedi. “We were dealt half-truths and equivocations. This lord knows something more, and will tell it to us and the dowager’s guard.”