“Then we realized Lord Tatiseigi had come home without calling for his car–that the aiji‑dowager was in the house. That was the point at which we decided we were in something so far beyond our understanding–it could bring the whole north and East down on the Marid. We thought–we even thought of simply calling on the house phone and reporting ourselves. But we thought–the rebels would get the news. So we opened the same access and tried to leave. Going straight forward, we immediately set off an alarm on the premises. We had used up our only defense against the mecheiti–to keep them from finding the access. We decided to make a second try, but we knew we would never make it on foot if another alarm sounded and the mecheiti were let loose. We thought of taking the car–but doubted we could ram the gate. We thought then–if not afoot–then we might use the mecheiti native to the grounds. If we could bridle two of the leaders while they were settled for the night, we could loose the herd, ride for the east gate and hope the mecheiti would create enough confusion with the Taibeni riders for us to get through the gate. Well, it was a foolhardy idea.” Momichi sighed and shook his head. “We no more than opened the door when some night creature bolted across the rails setting up a racket, the mecheiti all rose up in a panic–and a shot went off. At that point–we ran. We just ran.”
Boji, Bren thought. Boji. Of all damnable things.
“We expected,” Momichi said, “the Atageini would immediately loose the herd on us. We headed for the trees. We made it a distance into the woods, and since we had not had the Atageini herd behind us–we were expecting the Taibeni riders. They cut us off. We climbed for it. We had our rifles. They had theirs. We shouted back and forth a while. We exchanged views–they were upset about the black powder. We granted their point. And we knew the danger should the report about us get out to the south–we told them about that. They said that we could present our case to the aiji‑dowager and Lord Tatiseigi, and you, but that they had no sympathy. So we said–if we could talk to you, nandi, we would surrender. And we did.”
If there was bad luck to be had, Bren thought, these two had found it at every turn–bad luck their security had arranged, true. But bad luck that had come full about. These two had come back alive.
And, damn, the expressions looked sincere. They were exhausted, they had spent days in a situation progressively going to hell, and their story made sense, step by miserable next step, so that he was almost inclined to believe them. They’d had rifles. They’d had a chance to use them. They said they’d come for one target, only one–strictly regulation, give or take the lack of a Filing. They had not harmed anybody on staff. At the end, they hadn’t shot it out with the Taibeni or aimed at the mecheiti–which had probably persuaded the Taibeni to stand back and talk them down.
He hoped his aishid could figure them out: he looked at Algini, and at Jago, who gave no offender any grace.
“You posed us quite a difficulty,” Algini said to the pair in an easier tone. “You are not village‑level.”
“No, nadi.” No hesitation in that answer. A little return of spirit.
“Where assigned?”
“We served in Amarja, nadi,” Momichi said. “In the citadel.”
“In whose man’chi?” Algini asked.
“In the aiji’s,” came the curt answer. “But not this aiji.”
This lord of Dojisigi clan, and aiji of a quarter of the Marid at the moment, was a fifteen‑year‑old spoiled brat of a girl, who had once expected to marry Tatiseigi’s nephew. She was twice lucky–first that the nephew had been packed off to the East, and second, that she was alive, and thus far getting her own way, where it regarded personal comforts and the illusion that she was in charge of the district.
But was young Tiajo likely to remain in office another year? Bets inside and outside the Marid ran counter to that. She was lord only because she was next in line, though under house arrest. She might have been a convenient rallying‑point for the remnant of the Shadow Guild, but evidently even they had found her more liability than asset.
“Does your partner have a voice?” Banichi asked.
“Nadi,” Homuri said. “Yes.”
“ Why were you in your village?”
“We were dismissed from the citadel,” Homuri said, “when the Shejidani Guild took over. We were told, all of us, to go separately back to our home districts, our own villages, and maintain order. We went to Reijisan. We both came from there. Our partners went another direction. To Meitja.”
“And with your skills, you could not protect this village?”
“Nadi,” Homuri said, “we could not. They took our weapons.”
“Who took them?”
“The Shejidani Guild. They confiscated all our weapons, all our equipment. When they sent us out, we went afoot, with nothing, nadi, from the point the truck dropped us, a day’s walk from our village. We had no communications, no weapons, no equipment, not even a canteen or a folding knife.”
“In the night,” Momichi said, “when the rebels drove this truck into the center of the village–we were called out. They said in the hearing of the whole village that it was full of explosives, and that if we did not come meet with them, they would set it off. So we did. They gave us their proposition, that we undertake an easy, limited mission, one man, and when they had news Lord Tatiseigi was dead–they would leave the village and we would never see them again.”
“Did you believe that?” Algini asked.
A hesitation. “No,” Momichi said. “But we still have to believe it.”
That, Bren thought, had the sound of a man who had actually made that decision.
“Where is your man’chi?” Bren asked them outright.
“To our village, now, nandi,” Momichi said.
“And to which Guild?” Algini asked shortly.
That brought silence, a careful consideration, and for the first time, Bren thought, they were going to hedge on the answer.
“Not to the rebels, nadi,” Momichi said.
There had to be an attachment, Bren thought. Man’chi had to go somewhere, it always was somewhere, or there were dire psychological consequences.
“Where?” Bren asked again, and drew their attention back. “If you want my help–start with the truth.”
“We are Amarja Guild. We are not these new people. We are not these people who take hostages and threaten villages. We are not the Shejidani Guild, dispersing us, confiscating our equipment, and leaving the countryside open to our enemies.”
“You followed the old rules,” Algini said.
“We are Guild, the same as you, nadi. This was a mission we were given–and we would do it honorably. We would observe the mission limits. Honorably. We have no personal grudge against Lord Tatiseigi, but if he died, it would throw everything in the north into chaos, and the Shejidani Guild holding Amarja might even be pulled back. We thought that might be their plan. But if that happened, we might come back, too: we had had our assignments, under the old lord–if the rebel northerners set Tiajo free, we might take up guard in the citadel again. But they lied to us about the mission. Or they had no idea what was going on up there. We found ourselves in deeper and deeper trouble, and a situation the meaning of which we did not know, except that it involved the aiji‑dowager and the heir and humans–which could bring down the powers in the heavens into it all. So we decided to abort the mission and get out.”