Deceiver: Foreigner #11 (30 page)

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Authors: C. J. Cherryh

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Bren didn’t ask whether he should be on the floor. Banichi had set Geigi on the floor in the stairwell, ordered their erstwhile driver to the floorboards and crouched on the floor beside Jago, holding on to the rail with one arm and keeping a heavy rifle tucked in the other while the bus roared along the road.
They slewed around what had to be the turn onto the main road and Jago opened it up for all it was worth, no matter the condition of the road.
“We are not using the bridge,” she warned them. “Hold on!”
God, Bren thought. He knew why not. The little bridge was a prime candidate for sabotage—but he wasn’t sure the bus could make it across the intermittent stream below.
It did. It scraped, but Jago shifted and spun the wheel, and they bounced, but they cleared it and kept going, breaking brush and throwing rock as they rejoined the road and opened up wide.
Banichi said one word into his com. That was all Bren saw of communications between their bus and anywhere else, but at very least Najida’s defenders were not going to mistake the bus for any other vehicle—even the irregulars couldn’t make that mistake.
Nor could their enemies, unfortunately. Bren maintained a death grip on the seat stanchion nearest, tried to keep his foot from contacting Geigi, who was having as difficult a time maintaining his place against the door.
It was no short trip. And they were going where they
knew
the trouble was. Guild tactics were rarely those of pitched battle; but they were making racket enough it was likely to make their attackers think, one hoped, that they were coming back in full force, maybe with reinforcements, and leaving Kajiminda open.
It would not make it easier on Kajiminda’s defenders—but it would take their enemy time to change targets, overland. Few forces, but stealthy, preferring ambush if they could—that was Guild. And thus far the bus had met nothing to oppose them. Jago was risking herself, driving, but it was driving of a kind their village driver wouldn’t—probably couldn’t handle.
Jago slacked speed in a series of fast moves, took the bus around the turn onto the east-west road, the one from the train station, slewed it straight, and gathered top speed, just about as much as they could handle on the downhill.
“One thought the shuttle quite the worst,” Geigi muttered, from over his arm. “One is impressed with your bodyguard’s driving, Bren-ji. Quite impressed.”
They slowed again. This time it was the estate drive, and Jago made the corner without sending them into the culvert. They’d made it.
Shots raked the front windows on the driver’s side. Jago ducked and a dozen pocks erupted across the glass.
A fusillade of shots came from the other side, and Jago, upright in the seat and spinning the wheel with all her might in Bren’s upside-down view, pulled them into the yellow glare of the porch lights.
“Douse the porch lights,” Banichi snapped into his com, vexed. And nearly simultaneously shot to his knees and hit the door mechanism, sending it open onto the porch.
They had to move. Bren scrambled up to his knees, shoved at Geigi’s bulk to help him get rightwise around on the steps of the short stairwell, and helped steady him on the way down as armed Guild showed up to assist from outside. He thought he was going to descend the steps next. Banichi simply snatched him by the jacket and hauled him down—set him on his feet on the cobbles and shoved him toward the door.
Jago had to be all right. Bren couldn’t see her, but she had gotten them in—they had bulletproof glass in front. He hadn’t known they had. Thank God, he thought. Thank whoever did the details on the bus—
Banichi shoved him ahead. He was right with Geigi in passing the doors, past a small knot of the dowager’s men, all armed with rifles, and, Banichi letting him go, he turned half about to see Jago and their driver both inbound.
The door shut. Bars went into place.
“The dowager,” he asked on the next breath. “The young gentleman.”
“Safe, nandi,” Nawari said, “Toby-nandi is resting in the dowager’s suite. Siegi-nandi is attending him.”
That was the dowager’s physician. And in Ilisidi’s rooms. He heard with immense relief that Toby was alive—in what condition was not yet apparent, but alive. He began to shed the heavy jacket, and two of the staff assisted.
“Barb-daja?”
“We have not found her,” Nawari said. “Toby-nandi says she ran up the walk. She did not arrive at the top of the hill. Local folk are attempting to track her, but thus far have no indication of her whereabouts. And the two of the young gentleman’s bodyguard are still missing. They may be trying to track the attackers. We are devastated, nandi.”
“You have done everything possible,” he answered. Damned sure the house was upset. But he was not assigning blame at the moment. He looked back at Banichi and Jago, who were debriefing two of Cenedi’s men—Cenedi personally attending the dowager, he was sure—and saw that Jago had blood running down her cheek, a chip off the windshield, almost certainly.
That made him mad. His brother’s being injured made him mad. Whatever decision had sent his people out of safety and on to the hill in the dark made him mad, and at the moment there was nothing he could do about it, except see to Geigi’s comfort as best he could and attend to his brother.
Ramaso had come, standing quietly by the side of the Guild, waiting for instruction.
“Please arrange everything available, Rama-ji, to accommodate Lord Geigi, whatever you must do.”
“Your brother will have more need of the room than I shall, Bren-ji,” Geigi said. “And I brought neither staff nor bodyguard with me. Please let me not discommode him. I should rather share quarters downstairs with my nephew.”
“Then take my suite, nandi. I shall not need it tonight. Ease my mind by accepting.” He stifled a gasp as the heavy jacket at last slid free. “Now I must go to my brother.”
 
Resting, Nawari had said, with the physician still in attendance. Bren swallowed hard as Ramaso knocked for him, and opened the door on the dowager’s sitting room.
It was not a pretty sight: they had appropriated a buffet and a side table for surgery, and Toby was unconscious, looking pale under the light the physician’s attendants held aloft.
With an upward glance the physician saw him.
“I am his blood type, nandi,” Bren said.
“Good.” The physician, nand’ Siegi, gave a jerk of his elbow, and said, to an attending servant: “Chair.”
A servant helped him with his coat and his shirt sleeve. He sat down, and nand’ Siegi’s assistant arranged the equipment, found a vein—he ignored the procedure except to follow instructions and to try to quiet the pulse that had hammered in his skull ever since he had heard the news. On the table, Toby looked like wax, very, very still—sedated, one hoped.
Didn’t need to be shooting Toby all this adrenaline, he said to himself. Calm down. They were linked now. Direct transfusion. It wasn’t optimum, he guessed, but it was what they had. It was at least doing something—when there was, otherwise, damned little he could do.
At some point, Ilisidi put in an appearance. He was at disadvantage, far from able to stand up, and a little light-headed. He just stayed still and listened.
“We are doing well, aiji-ma,” he heard the physician say to her. “His vital signs are improving. The transfusion will be helpful.”
That was good then. He relaxed over the next while, except for the persistent paths his brain took about Guild business, the security of the house, and of Kajiminda.
And the dowager came back a second time, this time with Cajeiri, who looked at him and at Toby gravely and with very large eyes.
“One is exceedingly sorry, nand’ paidhi,” Cajeiri said.
“You were not outside, were you, young gentleman?”
“I was downstairs. I was quarreling with my bodyguard all day. They were not paying attention, so I left them to teach them a lesson. Everybody thought I had gone outside and down to the boats. And nand’ Toby and Barb-daja went with them to help find me, but they could not understand well enough . . .”
“That is enough,” the dowager said. “The paidhi-aiji has other things on his mind. You will rest, nand’ paidhi!” Stamp went the cane. “Sweet tea for the paidhi! What are you standing there expecting? You, young gentleman, may go to your rooms. See you stay there! It is an indecent hour of the night!”
There was motion. In short order there was sweetened tea. He drank it down, and shut his eyes and listened to nand’ Siegi talking to his assistant. The dowager was safe. Cajeiri was. Nobody had gotten into the house, and if anything were going on, he thought his bodyguard would surely come in to advise him.
In time, nand’ Siegi pronounced himself satisfied, and turned his attention to Bren.
“Take more tea, a little nourishment. Rest a few hours, nand’ paidhi. Nand’ Toby is doing well, much assisted by your effort.”
“One is very grateful, nand’ physician. One is extremely grateful. How will nand’ Toby be?”
“He has been fortunate—fortunate to have had medical assistance at hand; fortunate in your arriving. We have repaired the damage. One foresees a good recovery. Tell him he should not exert, should not lift, and he will have no impairment. He should rest. My assistant will remain with him until he wakes. If you wish to stay with him to rest, that would not be amiss. He is greatly concerned for the lady.”
“One understands,” Bren said, and started to get up to bow, but Siegi prevented him with a gesture.
“Stay seated. Rest, nandi. If you wish to walk, use caution.”
“Yes,” he said. It was all there was to say, except, “My profound thanks, nandi.”
So all there was to do was sit there, wondering. Siegi left. The assistant sat beside the light, and Toby rested very quietly.
A servant came, offering more tea, which he declined.
His eyes grew heavy, though his mind continued to race. Then Cenedi came in, quietly, and went into the interior rooms to speak with the dowager, doubtless to report. Bren wanted desperately to know what was going on.
And in a little time Cenedi came out to the sitting room.
“There is no sign of the lady, nand’ paidhi,” Cenedi said. “Two of my men have been attempting to find a clear trail, which is greatly obscured by the passage of the young gentleman’s guard.”
Both hopeful—and grim. “How do you read those two, Cenedi-ji?” he asked.
“We cannot read them,” Cenedi said, “except in their man’chi, which is considerably in question. The aiji’s men are investigating. These two were often in the operations center. We are not pleased, nandi, with that combination of circumstances.”
Things were in an absolute mess. If there was now question about the loyalty of the two young Guild, there was no knowing how much those two could have overheard, with application of effort—and Cenedi, one could read between the lines, was beyond angry at the situation.
“I shall consult with Banichi, Cenedi-ji. One believes we must make some decisions this morning, and make them quickly.”
“If we had the mecheiti we could find them,” the dowager said grimly. She had arrived silently in the doorway, having gotten no more sleep than he had. “You should have a stable of your own, nand’ paidhi. Someone in this benighted region should have a stable.”
“One wishes we did, aiji-ma,” he said, and stood up, gingerly, fully awake now, and only a little light-headed. It was true. Mecheiti could have tracked them. But the nearest were up in Taiben, near the capital, and bringing them in would take a day at least. “We can send to Taiben,” he said, “but one fears delay under these circumstances.”
“Speed is of the essence,” Ilisidi said grimly, and lowered her voice as Toby stirred, responding to the voices. “Lay plans, paidhi-aiji. Talk to your aishid and talk to Lord Geigi. We
must
not only react to their moves.”
“Yes,” he said. Press them back, the dowager meant. And move to get firm control of the region
before
they could receive any ransom demands—even if it meant Geigi taking control of the Maschi clan. Damned sure it was not a time for retreating and waiting with hands folded for their enemy to dictate the next move—he agreed with that agenda.
Moving into questionable territory to do it—that wasn’t so attractive, but the dowager was absolutely right. They could not back up and wait.
“I shall speak to Lord Geigi,” he said, and went outside, where Banichi was talking to Ramaso and gathered him up, Banichi with a finger to his ear and likely in touch with operations, bringing himself current with what Cenedi might have relayed to ops. “We may need to draw in Tano and Algini, Banichi-ji. We are going forward with our own agenda. Immediately.”
“Yes,” Banichi said. “They will not likely have killed Barb-daja. They would be fools.”
“They will have to find someone who can speak to her,” he said. “And then she knows very little of interest to them. Her main value is in exchange.” When he had started his career he had been practically the only bilingual individual on the continent. That had changed—partly, he was grimly aware, because of
his
work. He’d built the dictionary. He’d taken it from a carefully prescribed permitted word-list to a self-proliferating, autocross-referencing file that had gotten wider and wider circulation and contribution.

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