Betrayer: Foreigner #12 (32 page)

Antaro made the correct move. He lost a district.

“Good,” he said confidently, as if he had been testing her.

Louder gunfire. A heavy boom that shook the walls.

“That’s out on the road,” Jegari muttered, looking up.

“I hope it was them and not us.”

“Hssst!” mani said, objecting to the turn of conversation. The cane thumped sharply. “Bad enough we are confined down here with the spare linens and the brooms. Shall we also endure pointless speculation?”

“One is extravagantly sorry, mani,” Cajeiri said, half-rising, with a little bow, and sat back down. He knew better than to chatter when Great-grandmother was upset and out of sorts. Great-grandmother truly hated fidgeting. And probably her back hurt. They had gotten pillows for her chair, and Great-grandmother, on principle, refused to fidget with them.

They went back to their chess game. “One apologizes, nandi,” Jegari said under his breath.

“One is not concerned, nadi-ji,” he murmured, and advanced a village lord.

Great-grandmother and Geigi continued talking quietly, about anything but what was going on outside.

The rifle fire up above became more frequent, and it sounded scarily closer.

T
he fueling station turned out to be a farming village. “One requests you get to the floor, Bren-ji,” Banichi said. “We are going right down the street as if we belong here.”

Getting down onto the floor was not a comfortable act, but Bren managed it, braced against the bench seat, familiar situation. Tano and Algini got down, too, along with Lucasi, in the theory, he knew well enough, that if enemy fire took out Banichi and Jago, it wouldn’t get all of them at once.

Little chance the villagers themselves would fire at them. Word would have gone out by radio that there was a Guild action proceeding, and it was against all common sense for a civilian to interfere in a Guild action. It was a law that kept civilians alive and kept their property undamaged. It limited return actions and
more
Filings. And for what these villagers ought to know, the law applied. If the Guild wanted to confiscate the local fuel supply, the village magistrate would complain to his lord, notably Machigi or Geigi, depending on which side of the border he felt they were on, or would apply to both, and request compensation. The lord who presided would supply the fuel for their farm machinery and then send the fuel charges to the Filing party, a modest claim that was incredibly bad form to dispute and fairly bad form to pad, though it happened.

So the village was not their worry: the village would just phone Tanaja and advise them of a problem. The villagers personally had nothing to defend, no worry about action coming at them except stray bullets or somebody deciding to interdict the enemy’s fuel supply by draining the tank, the stealthy option, or blowing it up, the attention-getting one, and entailing a much larger lawsuit once the dust settled.

In any case, if things went as usual, the villagers would always get their justice. And Guild in the field would not have to worry about some desperate and innocent amateur with a gun.

They stopped, Bren judged, somewhat apart from the pumps. Algini scrambled up and out the side door, which wasn’t usual—their explosives expert looked at the pump before they pulled up to it.

Which brought really uncomfortable thoughts. There were all sorts of nasty tricks that never should be used where civilians might stumble into them. And he worried about them until Algini thumped quietly on the fender, had them move up, and unscrewed the cap.

No booby trap. No explosives, no shots fired. Fuel was flowing. They could get out of here. They were within lands where law still applied.

Algini came back to the door while the fuel was running and put his head in. “We may get a full tank, Nichi-ji, but by no means certainly so. The last of it may be foul, and I hesitate to put it in. Local maintenance seems slipshod.”

“We should not risk it,” Banichi said. “Cut it off short.”

“Yes,” Algini agreed.

The local fuel delivery hadn’t been made; they were evidently on the short end of the month, a bit of bad luck, pure chance. Baji-naji.

Bren rested his forehead against his hands, on the floor. They might end up hiking the last bit to Najida. He didn’t look forward to that in the least. But he’d do it without objection. Getting safely out of Taisigi territory was absolutely paramount. If they could cut over to the airport or the train station—but those were likely targets.

Damn the luck that had moved the Shejidan Guild onto the offensive before they got clear.

But it was not luck. It was a reaction to the dowager’s move. He had no doubt about it. And Ilisidi was probably having a quiet fit about the situation. And planning next actions.

Which the paidhi-aiji hoped to God wouldn’t involve sending him immediately back to Tanaja to mop up and settle what the Guild had upended, but he was relatively sure either she would or Tabini would. He had that to look forward to.

One bath, a good supper. A day to rest up.
Then
he’d go. Once the shooting stopped.

If Machigi was still in charge.

Likely Machigi was on a boat somewhere—maybe headed out to Sungeni territory, in the Isles, allies he could rely on.

The nozzle was withdrawn; the fuel cap went back on. Thump. “How much do we have?” Jago asked, and Banichi answered : “Three quarters. Our next source is the airport, if we go that direction.”

“Dangerous,” Tano said.

“We have one choice,” Banichi said, as Algini joined them and shut the door. “There is the hunting lodge.”

A small silence. That evidently was not a popular choice. “We could divert toward the township south road,” Jago said. “Time taken, but safer. There is that fuel stop midway.”

“One can walk if need be,” Bren said, from his position on the floor. “If we have to, nadiin-ji, I shall do it. Or one can take cover and wait.”

“We shall attempt the airport, Bren-ji,” Banichi said as he put them in gear. The dialogue was truncated, dropping courtesies, the Guild in mid-operation. “From these roads, there should be an indirect approach.”

For now. Depending on what they met. If they could once reach the airport road, it was a straight shot to Najida.

From Lucasi, throughout, there had been not a sound, nor any now, as Banichi restarted the engine. The young man, lying on the floor opposite Bren, was the picture of exhaustion, head pillowed on his arm. He actually slept while the van sped through the village and onto rougher road.

There was something to be said for being horizontal, even on a dirty floor mat. Bren stayed put, and Tano stretched out on the seat, doing much the same above him, eyes shut; Banichi was driving as fast as the roads allowed. In places grass had grown up and whipped the undercarriage—lying with his ear near the floorboards, Bren was well-aware of the ground under them. In places they scattered gravel, and once they drove through water. A road on the continent and especially near an uneasy border region, was an approximation of a driveable route, not a guarantee. In disputed territory, particularly, nobody did road maintenance.

It suited their purposes, so long as the wheels and tires held out.

But his bodyguard were still discussing the route and a branch in the road ahead. He caught the edge of it, which involved passive reception of some signal and the possibility of encountering legitimate Guild at the airport. Or the enemy. Legitimate Guild would, the consensus was, move on the airport and the train station. They would take those as a priority.

“But,” Tano said, “we cannot produce the right codes for either side.”

That was a problem, Bren thought, beginning to grasp the nature of the debate. He had been halfway to sleep like Lucasi, but now he slowly levered himself up to a sitting position in the aisle, against the seat.

“Perhaps, nadiin-ji,” he said, resting an arm on the seat edge, and speaking above the engine noise, “perhaps
I
should be the password. My voice is reasonably distinctive on the continent, is it not?”

“Far too great a risk, Bren-ji,” Tano said.

“As great a risk if we are all shot at because we have the wrong codes?” he said.

“That is a point,” Tano said.

There was silence from the front seats.

“It is, however, illegal for you to use Guild communications,” Algini said, from the other side. “We are almost certainly within a Declared zone.”

Rules. Regulations. It happened to be what the fighting was about. Guild communications were Guild communications.

He couldn’t say it wasn’t important. “Then
you
tell them. The Guild would hesitate. Our enemies would not. They would come after us. That would sort it out.”

Banichi said, “We do not have fuel enough or speed enough to outrun a pursuit.”

Silence from the front seat.

“The hunting station,” Tano said then. “There will surely be some local communications. As well as fuel.”

“Dead-reckoning to Najida low on fuel is not my preference, either,” Banichi said, and suddenly turned the wheel, waking Lucasi, who sat up in alarm and grabbed at the seat back ahead of him to save himself from sliding under Banchi’s seat. “The middle road. There is no connection here to there but a hunting plain. We are about to start some game, nadiin-ji.”

If our suspension holds up, Bren thought, holding on to the seat. If our steering holds out.

“Where are we going?” Lucasi asked faintly, getting to his knees and up to the seat.

“There is a hunting station,” Tano said, “and another road. The place may be shut down for the season. It
may
be in hostile hands.”

Comforting thought. Bren had the most confused notion of which direction they were going, but it seemed to be generally away from Najida—not due south, which would have backtracked, but southwest.

There had been a road on the Taisigi side of the border. There was some sort of road that led down through the hunting ranges. He wasn’t even sure it continued to the border. If it did cross the border, it would do so nearest Kajiminda.

Except—

“The renegades staged their operations against Kajiminda from somewhere, did they not, nadiin-ji?”

“There is that possibility,” Tano said.

“We shall need to find out,” Algini said.

 

The shooting had died down for a while. Cenedi came downstairs to inquire how mani was getting along and to report that there had been contact with intruders but no casualties on their side, except one villager who had reported in for medical treatment for a cut from a rock chip.

Mani and Geigi had both slept, and Cajeiri had, too, at least a little nap before Cenedi came in. Now it felt like breakfast time, and Cajeiri’s stomach was empty.

“Well, well,” nand’ Geigi said, when he mentioned it, “do not wake Cook at this hour, but is there anything in the kitchen?”

“There are sandwiches and tea, nandi,” Cenedi reported, in the dining room. “Shall I have staff bring it down?”

“Staff has enough to do,” mani said. “If we are quiet, let these young rascals bring us a tray.”

Something to do. In great relief Cajeiri instantly got to his feet, and so did Antaro and Jegari.

Mani snapped, “Not
you,
young gentleman.”

“But three of us can bring enough down for everybody, mani.”

“Then no diversions. Go straight to the dining room and straight back. No nonsense! Do you hear?”

“Yes,
mani-ma!”

One lost no more time for fear Great-grandmother could change her mind. Cajeiri headed for the door with Cenedi, and Jegari and Antaro came right behind him.

It was down the hall and up the servant stairs. Cenedi took the door to the dining room hall, but they kept going the back way to the kitchens and on through to the dining room, where it was spectacularly true: There were stacks of sandwiches, and an urn of hot water for tea, and and tea sets and carryingtrays. They piled up good helpings on three trays, filled a big teapot that had seven cups and then took the route out into the hall, because the kitchen, with its ovens and cabinets, was a cramped space to be carrying big trays through.

There was a sudden strange sound, far off from the house, hard to figure.

It seemed to be an engine, a powerful one. And all of a sudden there was shooting from off the roof.

Cajeiri stopped. Antaro and Jegari stopped. They were in a hallway right in the heart of the house, with thick walls between them and any trouble, and Cajeiri delayed to look around the corner to the main hall, to find out what was happening—thinking maybe it was his father’s men coming in and that that was covering fire he heard.

The vehicle was coming right to the front door, right under the portico. And the shooting was still going on. Somebody was trying to reach them, Cajeiri thought. Trouble outside was trying to stop them.

Then an explosion banged through the main hall, like thunder breaking, and a wind came with it, and things were breaking and splintering, and the wind threw him sideways, with trays and hot tea and sandwiches spilling everywhere. Cajeiri hit flat on his back and hit his head, and before he could get up, he heard shooting going on in the main hall, just a few feet away.

Then shooting came back from the garden hall, near the bath, and there they all were in the middle of the dining room hallway, and his head really hurt.

“Nandi!” Jegari scrambled over to him through puddles of tea and started helping him up, dragging him to his feet. Antaro grabbed his other arm.

The tea, Cajeiri thought foolishly. They had broken one of nand’ Bren’s teapots and most of the cups. He was on his knees in the hall, and his ears were still ringing so it was hard to get his knees under him.

“Enemies,” Antaro said, pulling at him, “in the house.”