Cajeiri’s heart went thump. They had come on the very sort of surveillance they were afraid of. But the sensor was aimed out the windows: it shifted from one window to the other, whirr-click, left to right, right to left, watching out in the woods. Towers like this one were all along the wall— there were several in view just from the orchard, and probably every single tower had something similar inside. But the machinery was all dusty and rusty, even if it was working. There were big cracks in the wall, starting from two of the windows, the outermost and the innermost cracks which nobody had fixed. It was not the best maintenance that kept this system.
On their knees, peering through the crack beneath the garden-side window, they had a good view of the house from here, and a lot more of the orchard. They could see where the portico had collapsed in front.
Worse—much worse, there was somebody in Guild black just coming over the house roof.
They all dropped down, and Cajeiri kept his eye to the crack.
“Guild!” he whispered, with a chill going through him. There was an enemy, they were still hunting for them, and in a little while, as he watched through that crack, two more Guildsmen came around the corner of the house. They opened the alarmed gate, and shut it, and started methodically looking through the orchard.
Cajeiri knelt there, watching the search go on, watching that solitary black presence on the roof, out of sight of those below, and he shivered a twitch or two, which embarrassed him greatly.
Not good. Not good at all. Nand’ Bren was going to come back, and there was a trap, and they were already in it. These people, however, were standing around and pointing, more than searching. Pointing at the roof, and pointing at the front gate.
One could almost imagine them laying plans for exactly such a thing as an attack from Bren’s estate. They were devising traps.
They might come up here to check the security installation.
That would not be good. They might need to be out of here. They might urgently need to do that.
Chapter 11
« ^ »
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.