“Nandi,” Veijico said, at Cajeiri’s elbow. “We are hearing—there are injured. They are bringing them in. Guild are injured as well. We do not know who.”
“Yes,” he said.
And a moment later: “Nandi, the mecheiti are in. The gate is shut and latched.”
He let go a breath, found his hands clenched. Great-grandmother would not approve. He relaxed his hands and his shoulders, relaxing his frown. “Did you hear?” he asked Nomari.
“Yes,” Nomari said quietly, as voices continued in the foyer. “Thank you, nandi.”
“I think Uncle would offer a brandy, if you wish.”
“I shall wait,” Nomari said. “I shall wait until I can drink it with Lord Tatiseigi.”
That was politely said. Cajeiri nodded. “One hopes Uncle will be here soon,” he said.
They waited. They had the number of the Ajuri, Rieni said, and their names, and they were identifying people in the foyer as rapidly as they could.
But still they had not had word about Uncle Tatiseigi.
Then Jegari came up from the stairs, alone, soaked and dripping. “All is well,” he said. “The pen is shut.”
“Uncle is all right.” He said it from hope.
“He seems to be,” Jegari said. “He took a battering.” He had a grayness about his face, and looked, at the moment, shaken. “Taro has a minor break, we think, her lower arm. She will come up as soon as she can.”
“She should go up to the suite,” he said, dismayed. “Eisi and Liedi should attend her. She should not try to be on duty.”
“She will argue, nandi,” Jegari said. He was bloodied, soaked, his cheek scraped. Drops of water that fell on the marble floor were tinged with mud and blood, and Jegari was still breathing hard. “Nobody was killed, that we know. I should like to sit, nandi.”
“Do! Please!” he said, Veijico and Lucasi both hastened to move a carved bench forward, and to urge Jegari to sit down, wet as he was. One of the house quietly came with a single cup of tea, and Jegari took it in his hands, sipped it, visibly shaking.
“Cold out there,” he said, breath hissing. “One regrets, nandi. I am quite in order, just winded. Thank you.”
“What happened?” Cajeiri asked, and Jegari drew in a deep breath, everybody listening, himself, Nomari, Veijico and Lucasi, the seniors, the servant standing close.
“We intercepted on foot,” Jegari said, “from the garden supply—we thought there would be rope. There was. We met them coming round—we could not stop the foremost. I managed to get a loop on one, managed to get him aside and haul myself up while he was backing like a fool. Taro’s shied into the garden gate, and next turnabout of my own, I saw she was up, and I thought she was all right. How she stayed on one-handed, I do not know, but there was not much choice. We chased after the herd. I had no quirt. I just used the rope end and tried to get up to the fore before they reached the tents. Lord Tatiseigi—he had ridden from the pen. He brought that little hindmost up with the leader. He outrode the grooms, and he shouldered the herd-leader—he stuck to him with heads swinging and dealing blows one could hear above the storm. I swear if he were a younger man he would have been on the leader, to cap all. As it was, credit to the grooms, he had a saddle under him and a quirt, they were behind him, and he drove that poor youngster, pushing the herd leader around and around. The youngster fought, gods, she had no choice, poor creature. I was afraid she would go down with him, and I know she will need stitches. A few Ajuri came out with flapping cloth—shirts, whatever, trying to keep the herd out of the tent row—but one mecheita ran afoul of a tent, which took down the tent and snagged the damned—excuse me—the rope.” Jegari drew in a large breath. “The tent was dragging behind that fool, confusing everything, cutting right into the herd. The herd-leader turned to run across the front drive, and we had them going. We chased them around the corner to the orchard, and we feared they might go on beyond the stable to come round again, but they took the shorter path past the stable pens, and we had them. The house staff had opened out the gate and set carts and kitchen tables, I know not what more in the gap, all the way to the house. The herd turned into the pen and we had them. Staff swung that gate shut, and we slid down and let our mecheiti go in, excepting Lord Tatiseigi—he is with the physician, nandi. He fell, getting off. He swears he is all right, and he ordered the grooms to tend that little youngster, but we carried him in. Taro walked in on her own—it was the first I knew she was hurt. One of the grooms also took a battering, thank the gods for the peace-caps, and thank the gods we did not have to go around the house again.”
“Nadi,” Nomari said, “thank you. Thank you.”
“It was a ride,” Jegari said, and looked up as the servant quietly handed him another cup of hot tea. “Thank you, nadi. Can you find a towel? I should not be sitting anywhere.”
“Stay seated,” Cajeiri said. Jegari was wet as if he had swum a river, and there were small puddles gathering under his feet and beside him on the bench. “The people from the camp are all inside, safe. It was well done. It was very brave.” He wanted Uncle to be all right, he wanted Antaro to be all right. He felt a chill himself, thinking that it had been a situation out there he could not possibly have helped—that he had not the strength or knowledge to have helped. Jeichido had surely been right at the head of it all, and he could not have done what others had done. “I should go see Uncle.”
“No,” Rieni said. “We can inquire from here. This is an established perimeter. Everything is in order. You are not to budge from here, young aiji.”
“One understands,” he said quietly. “Those people in the foyer. They probably need something warm. Tea. Blankets.” He knew they could not open the doors and admit all those people upstairs, throwing Guild precautions into chaos. Thunder was still rolling, though it seemed farther now. One question occurred to him above all others, a question at the center of everything. He did not believe Uncle’s grooms would have left that gate half-latched, with all the preparations they had made for the storm. “Three people missing, nadiin.”
“We are calling roll right now,” Rieni said, “of staff and guests. And checking surveillance. We are spread thin, given the situation. We have established zones and no one is permitted to move out of areas without notice. Light is not on throughout the house, and we understand it will not be on so long as we are on the generator, and the storm has some to run. We have no light in the upper floors or in the basement, none in the south halls.”
“Eisi and Liedi.”
“One is certain they are safe. There is a guard on that floor. We have advised Headquarters and we trust they will advise your Father that we are standing fast in a tenable position, and we will be much better once the power comes back on. Until information develops, we assume there was unlicensed intent in this, possibly aimed at disrupting your uncle’s Ajuri guests, possibly intended to create confusion in which they could do targeted murder. We are in contact with Shejidan and we know that whatever this is, it is not a licensed operation. This is the situation, young aiji. They have handed us chaos, but this was a very risky operation for the perpetrators, if fear is all they planned to generate. If there is something yet to come, it has yet to manifest.”
“Search the basement and storage,” Cajeiri said, recalling the last time Tirnamardi had seen a crisis.
“We are doing that,” Rieni said, “very particularly. Well-advised, young gentleman.”
Onami said something in verbal code, and Rieni looked interested. “Where?” Rieni asked, and Onami said, “Near the orchard.”
Then Rieni said, “We may be down to two unaccounted for. There is a body.”
9
“I’ve met the boys,” Kate Shugart said, over a late-hours brandy. They were alone in the sitting room, Banichi and the others being off in their bedroom with the thick lot of blueprints, making notes for their meeting with Mospheiran security. K
ate had her casted leg propped on a footstool, and sat in the depths of an armchair Banichi found comfortable. She was graying blond at the moment, wore a turtleneck and, uncharacteristically, a skirt, which one assumed was easier with the cast.
Mountain-climbing. Kate hated boredom.
And hadn’t hesitated at the job offer to oversee the entire Reunioner project.
“Your opinion of them?” Bren asked, in a chair opposite.
“Earnest lads. Whimsical. I’ve done a little inquiry of my own. They’re on notice from the University not to instruct outsiders in Ragi . . . threatened with expulsion and legal action, in fact. The contraband vids—with subtitles—have proliferated out of library control. And they’re really not happy about that.”
There were laws restricting communication in Ragi to licensed translators. Old laws, broken routinely on docksides where trade went on, at airports where atevi pilots landed and refueled.
“The University isn’t happy with them.”
“Not with the dress, not with the hair, not with the open meetings. Outraged about the stolen vids, but they can’t pinpoint a responsible party. Since their sponsor died, they’re officially no longer a club. They’re forbidden to put up posters. They’re forbidden to pass out flyers, but they’re still on the books as a University club, bound by University rules on pain of expulsion, and required to present member lists. Even if they’re no longer a club.”
“The University is going a bit over the edge.”
“Mostly about the vids. They’re requested those be turned in. It hasn’t happened.” A smile quirked Kate’s mouth. “Oh, come, Bren, you’ve noticed the hair, the manners. You have ardent admirers. Fans.”
He so hoped the heat in his face didn’t show. “They’re attracted to the atevi style. The art—”
“The organized teas and the dress,” Kate said with an arched brow. “They used to meet on University premises, in the library. Now they meet on their own, usually at private homes, and what’s the Port Jackson police to do? Raid a tea party? We have absolutely no official word that anybody from the original University club has ever been caught in such an indiscretion, and the police have visited, but all they see is people in fancy dress, and the organizers, or those alleged to be organizers, certainly not hanging about to talk to the police. They grow their hair long, they have their private dinners, they occasionally carry weapons, which the police does take note of . . . but no one has ever been caught with ammunition, so again—” A shrug. A smile. “The club sprang up during your absence. The Linguistics Department has, for some odd reason, set a hair standard for admission to higher studies. And disbanded the club officially, while requiring they go on providing their membership lists, which I’m sure aren’t inclusive of people not in Linguistics.”
“I suppose I’ll have created a controversy, taking on these three.”
“Has that ever bothered you?”
“I’ve tried to minimize my disagreements with the Department—well, generally. But in this case—better these three than somebody Wilson sends us.”
“I’d agree.”
“They’re not to host teas in Heyden Court. I made that clear. And for God’s sake don’t go to one.”
Kate grinned. “You know me.”
“I do.”
“Well, I’ll be busy. I’m pretty sure I’ll be too busy for that. Trust me.”
“I do that, too.”
“Have you heard from Sandra Johnson yet?” Kate asked.
“No.”
“I have. We’ve been in contact, this evening for a long call. She’s agreed. Says she’s calling you tomorrow.”
“That’s very good news. She’s had a concern about her family. About their future. Sensible fears. I have to put their welfare on your desk right along with those kids.”
“We talked about that. She says her husband’s a bit worried. But they’re excited. Big opportunity for the kids. And actually more security. They’ve had brushes with problems from your past before—a little scary for them at times, and they’re definitely a soft target.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. She’s never told me.”
“Well, you weren’t at hand when the major problem really came up. And they got through it. Two ways to react to that. Try for obscurity, or take an official position, with actual power. Ms. Johnson’s not that much on power-wielding. But I’ve assured her I’m not at all shy of it.”
He let go a long breath. “She’s not shy when it comes to getting to responsible people. She’s smoothed my path—gotten the unreachable out of the University and the State Department more than once. On the other hand, she is uprooting her family; and her husband and kids can’t suffer for it.”
“I know what she wants. She’ll be inside the shell of normalcy. She’ll create it. She’ll be well ahead of kids’ pranks or outside nastiness from outside the perimeter. She’s dealt with your situation long enough to have very good antennae for what’s not right, and she’s not shy of acting on a suspicion. Her husband’s no fool, either. Good choice, Bren.”
“I hoped so. I very much hoped so.”
“The remaining question is that trio of University rejects who’ll be inside her security bubble.”
He grinned at her. “I told her if they get out of line, turn them over to you.”
“It’s going to be a—”
The phone rang.
“Hold that thought,” Bren said, stood up and picked up the phone.
“Bren,” Toby said, an entirely unexpected voice out of the night. “Bren, we’re coming into dock, number 20. Can you send a car?”
Toby. On Brighter Days. Coming in to dock. It was not planned. It was nowhere in the plans.
God, was the instant thought, with a cold chill. Something untoward had happened on the mainland. There had been weather out there—damage was possible—but he thought it had stayed to the south . . .
“Absolutely,” he said, asking no questions over the phone. Toby broke the contact and he simply cleared the call from his end and called the desk. “A car, immediately to berth 20 on the dock. Number of passengers uncertain. Armed security, for their safety.”
“When, sir?”
“Now,” he said. “Also send a team to remain with that boat until it leaves, no one to board without the owner’s clearance. And a third unit to escort the car.”
“Fifteen minutes, sir.”
Fifteen minutes, for Mospheira? His complaints had not gone unheeded. He might be gossiped about as an unreasonable and self-important autocrat, but they were moving on it.
Late, well into dark. Toby might have wanted the secrecy. But coming at all was a change in plans. And there was no way to ask what was going on until Toby came through the door.
“Advise the President that my brother’s boat is coming in. It is not expected to be here. I’ll talk to him. I’ll call the President myself once I know the reason.”
He hung up, and turned to see Kate limping her way to the exit.
“You know where to find me,” she said, opened the door and closed it behind her.
• • •
“That woman,” Uncle said, having settled in his chair, and his voice shook with rage. “That woman is behind this. I have no doubt. We are Filing Intent. We are Filing Intent against that disgraceful woman. See it done!”
Great-aunt Geidaro, Cajeiri thought. He had never heard anyone declare those terrible words, not seriously. They made a little knot in his gut and nested there, chilling as the thunder and the storm outside.
Uncle had arrived in an dreadful state: he had no coat, only a shirt cut up the sleeve, because his right arm was bandaged and in a sling, with blood seeping through the wrapping. His hair was wet and hanging in strings, the ribbon all draggled. The knee of his trousers was torn and likewise bloody, the side of his trousers stained with mud. Uncle was c
learly in pain, the lines of his face gone deeper and in no pleasant set.
“Nandi,” Nomari said—he had risen while Uncle’s bodyguards saw Uncle seated and comfortable. “I offer most profound regret for the situation. Let me go to the foyer. My people—”
“Sit, sit, nadi. I insist you sit! Trust us to care for them. The less moving about the halls, the safer for everyone. The Guild has divided the house, and people moving between their zones on any authority might distract from things we should be watching. Guild is still searching the grounds, despite the weather. We are providing blankets, warm water, food, and drink, hot tea and brandy, all the comfort we can muster for your people. We will not turn anyone back out into the camp tonight. We are clearing the lower hall: staff are giving up rooms and beds for them tonight. Be content with that.”
“Nandi.” Nomari had already sunk into the nearest chair. “One is extremely grateful.”
“We are obliged for our guests’ understanding.” Uncle was clearly in pain. The servant provided brandy, and Uncle took a left-handed sip and exhaled a long breath. “We have a dead man by the stable fence and two tents trampled into the mud, with their contents. We do not know the dead man’s name, but we believe it was one of our three missing. How the herd got him, we may never know, but that latch can be stubborn at first encounter. They would have pressed that gate if they found a stranger working at it. His misfortune, to be sure.”
The latch was shielded above to prevent clever mecheiti from working at it through the rails, and if the herd had detected someone out there, anybody working with it had better make the right moves fast. If that gate gave way, if one did not jump to the right, and get up the rails to the ladder that led up the stable wall, the only refuge else was the house entry, which was of course locked. The rails were not high enough, and the orchard was too far if he had not gotten a head start with a specific tree in mind.
If he had been knocked down at the gate—there was no chance.