But, God, what could they really do? How fast could they realize it for a problem — and how thin could they stretch their confidence in him, when he'd gone step by step past the limits of their interests — at least, their interests as essentially supportive of the government.
His mother's letter the censors had reduced to lace. And his mother not returning phone calls. But Barb had talked to her. Barb said she was fine. Barb wouldn't lie to him about that. And his mother was as self-protective as Barb was. Took care of herself. First. Centrally.
Rely on her for that much, On friends in low places for the rest.
He lay down and pulled the covers over him, to look, at least, as if he were going to sleep.
Banichi, strange action, pulled the second coverlet up and lingered with a touch on his covered shoulder.
"Bren-ji," Banichi said, "over all, it was well done."
"I wasn't too stupid?"
"You did quite well, considering. Just — please leave things to your security personnel."
"If security personnel would keep me briefed in future where they are and what they're doing — it would relieve my anxieties, Banichi-ji. And make my targets much easier to identify."
"Not a bad notion."
"Please," he said, and let his head sink into the pillow, let his eyes drift shut to what he wished were a totally numb and night-lasting dark.
"In respect of security," Banichi said, "you should bear in mind that a chief suspect in the attack is Damiri herself."
The eyes came open. He couldn't prevent it.
"The aiji," Banichi said, "favors Damiri of the Atigeini. This doesn't mean he can rely on her."
The eyes still wanted to slide shut, as if he'd been slipped a tranquilizer he couldn't fight. On one level, Banichi could have said the building was afire, and he would have asked himself if he could possibly wait till the next alarm.
But the thinking brain said, Ask. There won't be another chance. Banichi wants to talk.
"So? Where does Tabini stand?"
"He doesn't rely on Damiri. In my own estimation, perhaps in his, Damiri-daja is testing the currents and trying to decide for her own association how powerful Tabini is and what an alliance with him is worth — pragmatically and historically. The Atigeini official position is against him."
"I know that — but this business of shooting in among your own servants —"
"The uncle she named, Tatiseigi, happens to be senior in the family and officially opposes her alliance to him. She, we think, favors it, being quite strongly attracted to Tabini, who is —" Banichi seemed to search for a word "— a man of some natural favor with various women."
"One understands."
"Tatiseigi might have decided that Damiri's gone much too far, and Damiri might be in extreme danger from within her own staff."
"And mine."
"Just so. In moving to Tabini's apartment she's abandoned her own security as a sign of affiliation with Tabini. On one level her personal security may back what she's doing. And certain ones might be offended. If she has offended her security — they'd immediately fall under Tatiseigi's man'chi, to her great danger. If they're not there already."
"Are they here?"
"At least one."
"An assassin? Of the Guild?"
"Saidin."
"Good — God." He was waking up faster and faster.
"One would have thought you'd suspect so."
In a lordly house. In the Bu-javid. In an apartment clearly under potential threat conspicuously lacking in Guild presence, except those Tabini provided. It wasa reasonable question to have asked, Banichi was right, and he — had no excuse.
"But you," he asked Banichi, "personally think Damiri to be telling the truth to Tabini?"
"What I think is little relevant. One doesn't know. I do believe someone exceeded orders in the destruction of the antiquities of that room. I believe Damiri's anger is real. I suspect Tatiseigi won't be pleased — whoever ordered the attack. The aiji's jet leaves within the hour, taking security to Taiben — and a lily porcelain on a side trip, to the Atigeini estates not so far distant."
"I appreciate the nature of speculation. And how little you dare do it, Banichi-ji. But what of Ilisidi's involvement?"
"One doesn't know. One frankly doesn't know whether you've persuaded her. That's a major point at issue. Clearly she leaned to your side once. Now one has to ask you where Ilisidi stands."
"I might have failed. I might well have failed."
"Even Tabini, who knows her very well, does not think he penetrates the dowager's reserve."
A clear enough warning — fora human astute enough to take it. "Emotionally speaking, Banichi, I confess I'd rather it not be Ilisidi behind this."
"Certainly a formidable individual."
"More than that, I think her a pleasant conversationalist. An antidote to my isolation. This is perhaps foolish on my part."
"Perhaps a human who flings himself down mountains for recreation could think her a challenge. But one cautions you, most earnestly, nadi, this is not without risk, this flirtation with the aiji-dowager."
"Oh — damn."
"Bren-ji?"
"I need to send her word about the attack and the landing. I promised her, Banichi, to keep her briefed. No matter what. This isn't a time to break promises to her. And I have."
"The dowager has left, nand' paidhi."
"Left?"
"An hour before the attack."
He felt mildly sick at his stomach. Mildly, numbly — chilled to the core. "Damn," he said again.
"It could be prudence," Banichi said. "But one can't rely on such gracious supposition."
"The ones who took Hanks — what do they likely want with her? Stupid question, Banichi, I know. But do you see something I might not?"
"Certainly no suitors for marriage," Banichi said dryly. "I'd say — the obvious things. Her skills. — Her computer."
"She's not a bad woman," he found himself saying — never would have credited he'd be pleading Hanks' case. But it wasn't Deana as a hostage: atevi didn't quite understand hostages in the human sense of personal value; the conservatives she most appealed to for reasons of opposition to Tabini were the very atevi not long on patience with human manners — some of them not long on patience with human existence.
If it was those, as best he could think, it wasn't a live human they wanted. It was information on human activities and on secrets Tabini might hold.
Or they wanted words from Deana that might inflame popular feeling against Tabini. God, he knew the position Hanks had gotten herself into. He felt it, personally, in the pain that nagged at his shoulder and his ribs.
Behind his eyes, another pain, a stinging, angry pain, that a man in his job shouldn't feel, shouldn't entertain — not — not regret for Ilisidi's behavior. Attaching affections to atevi was a foolish, personally and professionally dangerous mistake.
One could be like Wilson. One could forget how to love anyone. One could stop doing it.
Or one could take the pain, and try to stand it, and steadfastly, professionally, refuse to be surprised or self-accusatory when atevi answered to their own urges and ran roughshod over human sentiment.