“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— nottheir 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, nandic we are not his, but he can request it.”
Damn, he thought. He wantedthem 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 itc
“Yes, mani-ma,” Cajeiri said on a gasp for breath. “One is sorry. We were running. We were going therec and they were goingc 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 beenmoving 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 wonderthe 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 Ta-no’s knee. “Tano-ji. One relies on you both with 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 noton 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?