Intruder (5 page)

The fortress had fallen, and Dojisigi clan had taken over the Taisigi lands until the Dojisigi lord had injudiciously eaten a dish of berries a Taisigi serving girl had provided.

A cannon shot from a heaving deck and a dish of berries: both had caused the city to change hands.

A Taisigi lord of that day had then built the Residence out of the rubble
and thrown a great chain across the harbor, from the breakwater to the treacherous midharbor rock, that bane of careless captains, and then to the promontory that ended the harbor deep. That had saved them from the second Dojisigi attempt.

The Residence had stood safe on the hill from that time. Taisigi clan had prospered, in Dojisigi’s decline. They had had Sungeni and Dausigi and Senji for allies and were bidding fair to take Dojisigi clan as well.

Then humans landed from the heavens, and the north had accepted human technology, which left the Marid in the dust.

Worse, a war had started that had ultimately caused the evacuation of atevi from the island of Mospheira and the ceding of the whole island to humans.

And the settlement of those displaced island clans on the west coast had changed everything. The aishidi’tat, with its capital up at Shejidan, had fought the war and now controlled the west coast. The Marid had no strength to oppose the united strength of the North. And the Dojisigi and Senji snuggled closer to the aishidi’tat, playing politics for all they were worth.

The attempt to unify the Marid fell apart. The Taisigi, pent up in the bottle of a smaller sea that was the Marid, joined the aishidi’tat, in name at least.

Every generation replayed that struggle, in one form or another—Dojisigi and Taisigi, with Senji clan rising to partner, generally, Dojisigi, and the impoverished southern clans of the mainland faithfully allying with Taisigi, knowing that Dojisigi and Senji would swallow them up in an instant, if it were remotely convenient to do so.

That was the last two hundred years of history in a nutshell.

It was an ambitious undertaking, to try to shoulder history out of a deep, deep rut.

Bren folded up the notes which proposed to do exactly that and tucked them into his briefcase as the view in the front windshield became buildings and city streets.

The streets were sparse with rain-soaked foot traffic, a few trucks were out and about. One truck stopped in midturn at an intersection, doubtless to get a look at the huge red and black foreign vehicle rumbling through the ancient streets of the harbor district, causing a little delay and causing Jago and Banichi both to come forward in the bus, with Tano and Algini behind. But the truck went on, and the bus no more than slowed.

Bren drew an easier breath, and his bodyguard went back to give orders.

The Assassins’ Guild had come into Taisigi district in force a handful of days ago, with none of its usual finesse…protecting Machigi, who hadn’t been in town to be protected, but never mind that. The Guild had taken over Taisigi territory. It removed several high-ranking officials in the first hours.

It had landed far, far harder up in Senji and Dojisigi territory, taking out the lords and several others and now controlling the capitals of those districts while operatives went down into Dausigi and Sungeni clans with far more finesse.

The Guild here in the Taisigi capital were nominally under young Lord Machigi’s authority now—they had declared themselves in support of him, at least. But they had very little to restrain them should another objective occur to them.

Lord Machigi could not be easy with the situation. Neither could the citizenry of the capital and the countryside. The whole damned situation was a house of cards of the dowager’s construction.

And what was supposed to stabilize it rested in that briefcase Bren folded up and set beside him.

He breathed shallowly—hadn’t realized he had been doing it until the bus began the slight climb to the Residence hill. He watched as the bus pulled into the circular drive where it had sat the last time. Rain positively sheeted down, hammering the potted plants along the driveway, veiling the front doors. Nature was not cooperating.

Banichi and Jago came forward, and Banichi settled into the opposing aisle
seat—a golden-eyed darkness against the pale grays of the rain.

“We are in contact, Bren-ji,” Banichi said. “We have spoken reasonably with Lord Machigi’s aishid, as well as the Guild. They indicate you will be asked to stay the night here. Shall we offload baggage?”

At least they had the surface elements of courtesy. “Yes,” he said. He didn’t ask whether the ten juniors with them had their orders: that was Guild business, and Guild would arrange whatever they would do out here while he and his bodyguard were inside. But they were going to go into that doorway, at the mercy of whatever situation was inside, and they were going to settle business and drive back tomorrow, given good luck.

So, yes, he said, about the baggage, and he did. Banichi stood up, Tano and Algini came forward from the back. Bren put on his brocade coat, court garb, taking care to arrange the lace at the cuffs. Jago had taken a rain cloak from the overhead and helped him put it on, protecting his clothes. His bodyguard was due to get soaked—but cloaks on Guild made other Guild nervous, so Guild habitually endured such situations, that was all. The uniforms shed water—up to a point.

Bren took his briefcase under the cloak and got a firm grip on the cloak edges as his bodyguard talked to someone not present. It was, of course, blowing a gale out there, just for their arrival.

Black-uniformed Guild came out to meet them, themselves getting wet, and with no great desire to linger long, it was sure. The bus doors opened. Banichi and Jago descended first, rifles in hand, and Bren followed, with Tano and Algini at his back. Guild-signs flew one side to the other, indecipherable, generally, as they headed directly for the doors. His aishid was fully armed. Not so the Guild who met them, as he noted. But he was the traveler, so that was allowed.

Like the rain cloak, with its hood. The lord was not supposed to be armed. And he wasn’t—this time.

He kept himself as dry as possible on the way into the building, as contained
as possible within the living wall of his bodyguard. Servants were waiting, one to take the dripping cloak, others hastening to mop the water off the marble entry. A lightning flash illumined the foyer from the open door as servants hastened to shut those heavy doors.

Then they stood safe from the wind and the tail end of the thunderclap—just a little clatter of rifles being shifted and the busy noise of mops.

“Welcome, nandi,” the receiving Guild-senior said, dripping water. “Lord Machigi is expecting you.”

It was a few steps up from the entry, through other doors and onto the dry, polished main floor. His bodyguard still shed rain as he walked among them, dry now, and clad in court finery, brocade and lace.

And he was very glad to see the historic hall had not suffered in the recent upheaval. The two great pillars of porcelain sea-creatures towered serene as if nothing had ever happened here.

More uniformed Guild opened the doors between the pillars and let them into the gilt-furnished audience hall. Guildsmen across the room immediately opened the polished burlwood doors on the far side, those to the map room.

That was a good omen. Machigi had chosen the more intimate setting for the meeting.

Bren walked on through. Tano and Algini stayed outside, within the audience hall. Banichi and Jago went with him.

The far walls of the map room were massive gilt-arched windows with a view of the storm, the dark clouds, the rain-battered harbor below the heights. The opposing walls supported huge framed maps, and shelves and pigeonholes were full of map cylinders, many of evident antiquity.

Machigi rose from a chair before the massive windows. Near those windows, Machigi’s personal bodyguard stood in attendance on him, men they knew.
That
was a great relief to see.

Bren bowed on arriving in that area. Machigi bowed slightly. He was a handsome young man. The scar of an old injury crossed
his chin and ran under it. He wore a subdued elegance—dark green brocade and a sufficiency, but not an excess, of lace. By such things, one measured a man and his circumstances. Machigi was a lord. A ruler in an occupied house.

And he did not look delighted.

“So,” Machigi said, doubtless taking Bren’s measure, too, the attitude he struck, the degree of humility—or lack of it—in the bow. “Whose are you
this
time, paidhi?”

“In this venture,” Bren said quietly, “I now represent the aiji-dowager.”

Not the aiji. The aiji-dowager. That was perhaps the answer Machigi had hoped to hear. The nod of his head revised suspicion into acceptance, and he waved a hand at the opposite chair, offering Bren a seat, and sat down himself. Bren set his briefcase on the floor and took the chair, a practiced effort that placed him somewhat gracefully in furniture crafted to atevi stature.

“Tea,” Machigi said to the servants, and beyond that, there could only be polite talk, a ritual settling of minds, before serious conversation.

“Your old rooms are prepared, nand’ paidhi,” Machigi said. “One trusts you came with luggage.”

“One did not presume to bring it in from the bus without direction, nandi, but it is ready.”

“Have it brought to the rooms,” Machigi said, and Bren said, quietly, “Nadiin-ji.”

Banichi, in the edge of his vision, nodded, and it was a certainty it would be done.

“You will share dinner tonight, of course,” Machigi added. “One rejoices to see you fully recovered, nandi.”

“Indeed,” Bren said. “And the same, nandi, one rejoices to see you safely recovered, as well.”

“As fully recovered as we may be, with a foreign occupation in our streets.” That verged uncomfortably on business, before tea was done. “And how does Najida fare?”

“In less happy state than this house,” he said, “but repairs are in progress.”

“And Kajiminda?”

“Has its porch now restored and is busy inventorying its collections.” A sip of tea, a slight shift of topics. “One is certain Lord Geigi’s nephew sold certain things.”

A shift Lord Machigi declined, with: “And Lord Geigi himself? How does he fare?”

That was no easy interface: Geigi and the Taisigin Marid were old allies turned enemies, now turned allies again.

“Well. Quite well, nandi.”

“And does he approve your venture here?”

“He needs not, but in fact he views it quite favorably, nandi. He has, one assures you, no wish to continue hostilities which were largely fomented by others.”

The fact that Machigi had actually been in charge of the agents who had fatally poisoned Geigi’s sister—it was questionable, since those agents had betrayed Machigi, as to which authority had ordered it. It was one of those sorts of questions which, for the peace, had to be set aside, no matter Lord Geigi’s personal feelings. Or Machigi’s innocence, or lack of it.

Thank God tea was about to be served.

The servants had brought a tray, offering a beautiful tea service of the historic, irreplaceable blue porcelain. Courtesy dictated silence while tea was poured and served, and Bren received the atevi-sized cup in both hands, finding the warmth comforting after the rainchill and a conversation that had veered toward a dangerous, dangerous edge.

“One is extremely honored,” he said. “One is honored even to
see
this beautiful service.”

Machigi saluted him with his cup and took a sip, as Bren did, from a porcelain that could no longer be made. “One was glad to find it intact,” Machigi said, in the former vein, and then, in wry irony, as lightning from the windows cast everything in white, “Lovely weather for a visit, is it not? Do we take it for an omen?”

“Spring in the west,” Bren said with calculated lightness. “But one enjoys the storms.”

“And did you seriously propose to take the bus back to Najida tonight in such weather? One would hope not.”

“Worse,” Bren said, “my destination is the airport, and one would be glad to have better weather.”

“You will go to Shejidan? Or Malguri?”

“Indeed, Shejidan. For the legislative session. One hopes the weather will have blown past by tomorrow and that we will not be delayed by weather.”

“You mean to leave from Separti?”

“No, no, once we are on the road, we will call for the plane, and it should be there long before we are. We shall be in Shejidan faster by small plane than going from Separti. It is enough.”

Sip of tea. “Then one wonders the more at your determination to visit today, in a deluge.”

“The legislative session, nandi. Not to mention our own business. And the necessity to move residence. I shall have my old apartment back this session. They inform me it is ready.”

“Just so.” A little grim amusement. “You are avenged, nand’ paidhi. The Farai lord is dead.”

“One regrets—” It was disingenuous to say that one regretted the Farai lord, who had usurped his apartment, among other offences, was gone. “One regrets the loss to his relatives, at least. But not that he is removed from my premises. Had he not been there, nandi, I would never have come to the coast and we would not be sitting here. So things worked to our mutual advantage.”

“You are leaving, however,” Machigi said, then set the teacup down. “And the aiji-dowager?”

Business. Short and sharp. Bren set down his own cup.

“One hopes you have at no point doubted the dowager’s will to stand by agreements, nandi. The dowager has stated that she will deal with you once you are lord of all the Marid. To her observation, you
have become that, or are on the verge of becoming. She will be extremely pleased to deal with you.”

“And where is she? We have information the dowager has left Najida and not landed in Shejidan. That she is at this hour flying on to the East. And we
still
have no agreement on paper.”

“It is no impediment to the agreement, nandi. She will be back in Shejidan for the session.”

“In
Shejidan
and as good as on the moon.”

“Realistically, nandi, it would be very awkward to host the signing of so important an agreement at my estate, which is in disarray at the moment—we are in no position to manage security. So—”