Better. They no longer had the Human Heritage Party to cause trouble on the other side of the strait.
And the man who’d been trying to run atevi politics on this side of the strait, from a decades-old web of his own design—was dead, tonight. The web would still exist. But the Guild leaders now back in power had every reason to want it eradicated—so it had stopped being his business. The Guild itself would take care of its own problem.
His problems centered now around Tabini’s problems, and the dowager’s. If they could now get certain legislators to move on those—and get those critical bills passed . . .
And get lords appointed in Ajuri and the Kadagidi territory who weren’t working against the aiji . . .
He became aware that he had not dismissed his two valets. They were still standing there, staring at him with concern.
“I shall return this in the morning,” he said of the ring. “Kindly tell Narani, nadiin-ji, that I have to do that in the morning, before anything else.”
Koharu and Supani said they would relay that message, and he simply put himself into bed face down, so his head would not bleed on the clean, starched pillow casing.
It was so good. It was so very good for everyone to be alive, and for them all to be home.
· · ·
“One has finally heard,” Veijico said, “officially, what has happened—at least what Guild Headquarters is saying happened.”
They were all in night-robes—they had been trying to sleep when Veijico and Lucasi had slipped into the guest suite, so sleep was no longer in question. Antaro and Jegari had gotten up to ask what Veijico and Lucasi had learned. Cajeiri had heard that, and he could not stay abed: he had gotten up and asked them to tell him—
But they had gotten nowhere with that explanation, before Gene and Artur had come out of their room and asked what was going on, and then Irene had come out—so there they were, all of them, wrapped in over-sized adult robes, shivering in the lateness of the hour and the spookiness of the whole situation.
“There were a lot of Guild officers who had never come back to Shejidan since the Troubles,” Veijico said. “Your father and your great-grandmother brought them back tonight. The Guildmaster that has been in charge since your father came back to office is overthrown, the Director of Assignments is dead—”
“They got him!” Cajeiri said.
“They did, nandi. We are not supposed to name names of anybody. But that person is gone. And the people who have been high up in the Council have stepped down. Except two who are under arrest. The old officers have come back and they are in charge.”
“This is good,” Cajeiri said for his guests. “A good thing has happened.”
“But we are not supposed to say anything more than that,” Lucasi said, “because the Guild does not discuss its business.”
“But you are happy about it,” Cajeiri said.
“We believe it is good,” Lucasi said, “because of who went to change it.”
“Nand’ Bren and Cenedi-nadi.”
“Yes,” Veijico said. “They did.”
“And they all are back.”
“Now they are, nandi. Banichi is injured. He is home and doing well. Cenedi-nadi, Nawari, all the ones from your great-grandmother’s aishid, are all back and accounted for. We are under a continuing alert: there are a few individuals the Guild is actively hunting tonight, a few who were not in the building tonight, and some who may have gotten out and run or gone into hiding. We—being where we are, and assigned under the former leadership—one is certain all four of us will be up for review, nandi, regarding our assignment with you. Our man’chi will be questioned. We hope we shall not be removed.”
“What is she saying?” Artur asked—it was not the sort of conversation they had ever had, on the ship, and there were words Cajeiri was hardly sure how to translate.
“Everybody is back. There’s still an alert but everything’s all right. It’s still good.” He changed to Ragi. “My father will see you have no trouble, Jico-ji, and I shall remind him. And I shall remind mani, too. I shall by no means let them send you away!”
“We would be honored,” Veijico murmured with a little nod. “And your guests should not worry about this. We should not alarm them.”
“Good people run the Guild now,” Antaro said, little words their guests knew. “They are hunting the bad ones.”
Irene had said nothing, just sat listening, hugging her robe close and shivering a little. “I don’t think we ought to tell our parents everything,” she said with a little laugh, and they all agreed.
“Are you cold?” Cajeiri asked. “We can order tea. Even at night, someone is on duty.”
She shook her head. “Just scared,” she said. “I’m always scared of things.” Another little laugh. “I’m sorry.”
“Not sorry,” he said, and gave the old challenge. “Who’s afraid?”
She held up two fingers, just apart. “This much. Just this much.”
“We’re safe,” he said. “Are we safe, Jico-ji?”
“Safer,” Veijico said. “Definitely safer.”
“Good, then!” They had just a little light, sitting there around the table, in the dark. Human eyes were spooky, shadowy, and never taking the light. Veijico’s and Lucasi’s, Antaro’s and Jegari’s, theirs all did, so you could see their eyes shimmery gold, honest and open. But with humans, one had to trust the shadows, and know their intentions were good. Irene shivered, she was so scared, sometimes. Irene had said—she just was that way.
But who had stood there facing his mother without a hint she was scared at all?
Irene.
He understood Irene, he thought. There were two kinds of fear. There was facing bullets, which meant you had to do something. And there was the long slow kind of fear that came of knowing there were problems and there was nothing you could do right away except try not to make things worse. His associates had seen both kinds in their short visit, and not shown anything but a little shiver after it was all over. Even Irene. She was very bright. She thought about things. She thought a lot. And she was certainly no coward.
He was proud of his little household, and he was increasingly sure he could count these three as his. He had attracted very good people. Mani had always said that was the best proof of character . . . that one could know a person by his associates. He felt very happy with himself and them, overall.
And when they all went back to bed—who was it who had to go to bed alone, with all this going on?
Him. And Irene.
“We can all sleep in this room,” he said. It was a huge bed, and there was room enough, and they could just layer the bedding and make it all proper, the way folk did who had only one bed.
So they did that. His aishid got their proper beds for the rest of the night, and he and his associates tucked into various layers of satin comforters and settled down together, like countryfolk with visitors, in the machimi plays.
He had hardly ever felt so safe as then.
14
Getting up in the morning—was not easy. A splitting headache—did not describe the sensation.
Bren slid carefully out of bed, felt his way to the light, and rummaged in the drawer of the little chest for the pill bottles. The scalp wound had swollen. He had no desire at all to investigate it, for fear his head would come apart. He simply swallowed, dry, two capsules of the right color and crawled back into bed face down for a few more moments.