Peacemaker (9 page)

He had alread
y called in political favors on the tribal peoples bill. He was going to be running low on favors, he feared, and he had already put allies at political risk. Lord Tatiseigi was going to have to help settle that one—at least on his side of the political divide.

The other messages at least proved mundane . . . a day-old question on the Ajuri succession was germane, but nothing he wanted to respond to—it was nothing
Tabini-aiji
wanted to respond to, he was damned sure of that.

There were, in the stack, two questions arising from the opposite point of the compass, the always-volatile Marid—questions involving the Scholars' Guild, and the controversy over how the Marid apprenticeship system was going to combine with a proposed northern-style classroom education—neither of which were pertinent to the mess they had on their hands.

There was a letter requesting Jase-aiji's appearance before the Transportation Committee, something to do with the port, one supposed, and about as remote from current business as it was possible to be. The committee had realized, through its own sources at the shuttle port, that a ship-captain was on the planet, and they wanted to talk to him directly, probably about technical issues and regulations . . . a set of technical concerns that also seemed from another universe, at the moment.

He finished the pile. He made a few notes about the birthday festivity, requesting advisement directly to him should anything unusual on that topic reach his clerical office.

And there was, yes, a query from his tailor, requesting a fitting.

God. Maybe he
should
see to that today, before anything blew up. Granted his wardrobe was stalled in transit . . . it could be a good idea.

At least the tailor and the looming birthday festivity posed a distraction from darker thoughts.

But then he caught, in the tailor's note, that slight change from festivity to Festivity, the elaborate form of the word, that set his heart to beating just a little faster.

Festivity as in . . .
national holiday.

Was that an error?
National holiday?

He rang for Narani, and when that gentleman arrived:

“Close the door. Rani-ji. Has there been a change in the aiji's plans for the birthday?”

The old man's mouth opened slightly, an expression of consternation. A deep breath. “Yes, nandi. Yesterday.”

Amid all the confusion.

“One apologizes. One apologizes profoundly.”

“Well, hardly a consequence to our plans,” he said, but thought then— “Did the announcement come before or
after
the news from the Kadagidi estate?”

“Before, nandi. Just after breakfast.”

Which meant the aiji had thought about it and changed his plans somewhat
before
yesterday morning and
before
the Kadagidi manor house had lost its local guard, its front porch and a corner window.

One last little message lay on the desk, one of those Bujavid announcements, by the distinctive cylinder: such usually regarded public hours, a restriction within the building, or a change in the museum exhibits. He reached for it, opened it, cracked the seal, expecting to see an official announcement of the change.

Running dark since the day before yesterday evening meant that they had not been getting news. They had been in Lord Tatiseigi's television-free estate. The last word they had gotten from the outside world had been information about Lord Ajuri's assassination, a rotten enough omen for the boy's upcoming birthday, omen rotten enough to have shut down the legislature on its own, despite strong forces pushing to get the tribal bill through . . .

Now
he understood Lord Dur's advisement about the suspension of the vote until after the boy's
birthday celebration,
which had seemed an odd sort of thing to send the legislature into recess. It wasn't just a birthday celebration. It was a
Festivity
that was going to shut down the city and cause a business holiday across the continent.

The memo, arrived from the Bujavid events office just this morning, said that the change in scope of the aiji's event required them to move the reception out of the Green Hall and into the larger Audience Hall. Now the event was to be preceded, during the day, by a private dinner in the aiji's apartment and an invitation-only tour of Lord Tatiseigi's display in the Bujavid Museum—some of his fabled porcelain collection. That necessitated a museum closure on that entire day. Due to expected crowd pressure, the usual distribution of souvenir cards would be on the third landing, and not inside the Bujavid hall.

Crowd pressure wasn't the half of the reason.

“This came yesterday?” he asked.

“Yesterday, nandi.” Narani gave a mortified little bow. “One is so very sorry not to have mentioned it.”

“I suppose the decree was on the news. There is a
public
celebration.”

“Yes, nandi.”

“We were somewhat preoccupied,” he said, with irony. “The matter could hardly have sat at the top of your report, Rani-ji, when we arrived as we did last night.
”

“You did mention the birthday, nandi. And one thought you knew,” Narani said. “One
very
deeply regrets the omission.”

“One is a
little
startled to hear it,” he said. A national celebration was the sort of thing one did, besides the four seasonal festivals of the year, for a felicitous event, such as the launch of an important national program. There were lesser, city functions—the appointment of a lord to high office, the opening of a new public facility. These were minor, an excuse for some businesses taking a holiday, bars and restaurants doing good business . . . but nationwide?

The timing was infelicitous . . . right over the assassination of the boy's grandfather . . .

Or it was to
cover
an infelicity.

“One suspects,” he said to Narani, “this is not
unrelated
to the assassination. Is there
any
word who was behind that?”

Narani answered very quietly: “Absolutely none, nandi.”

He would not have said what he had just said about the timing to anyone on domestic staff
but
Narani.

“Incredible to me that the aiji would have done it,” he murmured, “so close to the boy's birthday.”

“One concurs, nandi.”

The shift from private to public event, however—likely
did
relate to the grandfather's assassination . . . a determination
not
to have that infelicitous event overshadowing his son's fortunate ninth birthday. It was a fast decision, if that was the motive.

And depending on where one placed responsibility for the assassination, paving over it with a national festivity was either deprecating the importance of Ajuri clan, or it was fiercely deploring the event, the person that had done it, and
supporting
Ajuri clan. There was a word for it. Bajio kabisu. Overturning the odds. For the traditional-minded, for the marginally superstitious, it met adversity with a tidal wave of good omen. It overpowered a setback, in effect—wiping it out, as only a very powerful lord could do. It said: we are more than that. We cannot be affected.

This time it said,
my son
is more than this.

It put the boy in the political spotlight. In a political context.

And a slap in the face of whoever had assassinated Komaji became, by sheer chance, a slap in the face of the Kadagidi, since there was no way Tabini was going to cancel his gesture in the face of fate . . . to mourn the downfall of a much more impotant clan . . . that had happened to birth a traitor and house a problem.

Omens?

They had a boatload of omens. And there was going to be a real political to-do over the Kadagidi matter,
especially
with a boy's birthday used to plaster over it.

But Tabini was solid in public opinion since the success in the west. Unshakeable. And he was acting like it.

Well, it just took a moment to readjust one's plans.

“It requires some change,” he said. “One sincerely hopes our crates from Tirnamardi arrive in good order. Whether I shall have time for the tailor—no, no, I had better not take the time. If the crates do not arrive, I shall wear the pale green—” It was a shade off from Tatiseigi's heraldry—“and lend Jase my blue suit. Those will do.” A thought came to him. “One has no idea, however, how the young gentleman's guests may manage wardrobe, with or without the crates. One fully expects they
will
attend, in some capacity.”

“One has not heard, nandi, but one would expect so, yes.”

“One might drop that word in Madam Saidin's ear. The guests have not come prepared for such a major event. If I can assist, I shall.”

“One is very sorry not to have mentioned the change earlier.”

“By no means, Rani-ji. The aiji
himself
neglected to mention it last night. In retrospect, one believes he was preparing to mention it, when the consort arrived in the room—but let us not assume the aiji-dowager or Lord Tatiseigi knows this, either. Send Jeladi down the hall to advise both households. This may constitute a small emergency.”

“Absolutely, nandi.”

A
national
Festivity.

It had to be the shortest notice
he
had yet seen. And absolutely it was the aiji's response to the assassination of the boy's grandfather. The other . . . Tabini could not have anticipated the paidhi-aiji, of all people, would launch an attack on the Kadagidi.

But the city would manage. and the city would manage, as most other cities and towns and villages would manage . . . well-oiled procedures that with very little to-do could close down most work for a day, bring out the licensed vendors—most of whom were carts operated by regular restaurants—and declare the city trains free of charge for the day.

Booths would blossom. The Bujavid would ordinarily open the lower floor to visitors and have all the lights on, down the grand stairs that ran down the hill—those stairs had used to be a severe trial of endurance, a test of will to reach the aiji—but nowadays a tram served, and the several landings became only another gauntlet of small colorful stands on festival days. The Bujavid Museum
was
usually open for such events. The crowds traditionally had access all the way into the lower hall, to gain the prize of official cards and ribbons for the event, whatever it was . . . the lines posing another contest of endurance.

The museum was to be closed, however. Cards would be distributed outside, on a landing.

That was uncommon. People would be disappointed in that.

It might be an ordinary security concern—counting the priceless exhibits—counting that someone
had
assassinated a clan lord in the last few days.

So if the museum was closed and there were no ribbons and banners on the steps to lure celebrants up farther than the third landing . . . they would have very few citizens disposed to come up the hill, even for the chance to catch a distant view of human children or a visiting ship-captain. That was fortunate.

“Go,” he said to Narani, and added: “Advise my aishid, too. Be sure they know about the changes.”

Narani left. Bren sat, rubbed his eyes and tried to figure if there was any other loose end of correspondence he needed to attend or any precautionary contact he ought to make—anything that could, for one thing, do any good for the tribal peoples bill at this point.

There was none that he could think of.

And that was the old mail. One feared to know what
today's
letters could bring.

A
half hour later a little rap came at the door. Jago entered the office and closed the door behind her.

“Bren-ji,” she said, with an I'm-on-business directness.

“News?” he asked, remembering his aishid had been in conference with Cenedi's lot. He turned his chair, expecting information from that meeting.

She stood in front of him, arms folded. “We have a plan,” she said, “of sorts.”

“One hears.” He stood up, courtesy, where it came to his aishid. And her. “You did receive my message from Narani.”

“Indeed,” she said. “The change does not interfere. In fact—it may be a useful distraction.”

He
thought
he was relieved to hear so. “What is our situation?”

“We have a twofold problem,” Jago said. “First is safeguarding the aiji and the young gentleman from counter-attack. Securing the service passages—we have done that. But this enemy may be on staff in the Bujavid, or in the Bujavid guard, or maintenance, and more—certainly for a time, and if things go wrong, permanently so—
we
will not be here to protect this floor.” Jago held up a thumb. “We need to order the Bujavid guard and civilian personnel not to access this floor at all. Only Tabini-aiji can give that order. We ask that you obtain that, in the aiji's own defense.” Index finger. “We need you to ask Jase-aiji to enforce that security with his guard tonight.” Next finger. “We need you to ask Jase-aiji to be prepared, under the direction of the dowager or Lord Tatiseigi, to take Tabini-aiji, the young gentleman,
and
his guests down to the train station.”

“The train station.”

Third finger. “At need, Lord Tatiseigi's bodyguard will seize control of the Transportation Guild office in the Bujavid station long enough to commandeer a train. This is Lord Tatiseigi's part of the plan, with our modifications: it will not be the Red Train, but a freight. It will have clearance to the spaceport, and it will be defended by the dowager's own bodyguard. Once inside the spaceport perimeter, Jase-aiji will defend the spaceport, pending the shuttle's preparation to take them to the space station.”

Evacuate the ruling family? God. The port, given warning, was now a defensible area—especially with Geigi in possession of the other shuttles and no few ground installations which themselves could pick up and move.

But at no time had Jago said where
he
would be during all this maneuvering. He ached to ask. Disturbing Guild in laying down instructions, however, was not a good idea. He understood the part of the plan he had heard thus far: the port was as secure an onworld position as they could achieve.

And beyond that—with Tabini and his son in orbit, inside Geigi's protection, and unassailable—their enemies would have no chance of staging another coup, no matter how extensive their plans.

With the spaceport on the continent in the aiji's control, and with an adequate landing field and service facility at Port Jackson Airport on Mospheira—loyal forces could come and go. They could take key units up to the station and send them back down again for whatever operations they wished to undertake. His aishid had talked about that before now.

Militarily—it was a good idea. The Shadow Guild would not be able to reach them. Politically—it had serious problems. They had discussed that, too.

Were they down to that?

Last finger.
“That,”
Jago said, “if things go wrong.”

If
things go wrong. He was vastly relieved to hear that she was laying down a contingency. And they all knew the problems with it. Doing that, lifting the aiji off the planet, would weaken the aijinate. For him to run, for him to shelter himself with humans, for him to abandon his people in a crisis and shelter behind human weapons—would say things about the world's situation, and about the relations between atevi and human . . . that they never, ever wanted to have happen.

And to
what
is this the contingency? he wanted to ask. But he waited.

Jago folded both arms. “The plan.” A deep frown. “All this last year, not knowing what enemy we might face, but knowing there was at least one individual we needed to reach, we—and the dowager's aishid—have had a list of individuals who are not in good favor with the Guild Council. We are now in contact with individuals in the central district and on the west coast—and this is, for political reasons, the best idea. We should not appear to rely solely on the East.”

The East—being the aiji-dowager's territory. He clearly understood the politics so far. And he suspected which “list of individuals” Jago meant. The Missing and the Dead . . . who were no longer counted loyal, or reliable.

“Member access to Guild Headquarters has been severely restricted,” Jago said, “since the aiji's return to office. Ordinary Guild members no longer have routine access beyond the entry hall and the offices there. The Council Chamber is now restricted to those
on
the Council agenda—and the Council, of course, controls who gets on the agenda. The administrative hall adjacent to the Council Chamber has been declared off limits to anyone except very high ranking Guild on official Guild or state business. All these measures are new, all since the coup. They call it security. It is an inconvenience. Ordinary members have simply worked around it.”

He still listened. Clearly enough—they were talking about Guild Headquarters, on the other side of the city. They needed to get inside. And it wasn't easy.

“If we assault Guild Headquarters head-on,” Jago said, “and break down the doors—there will be key personnel inside that we cannot contact safely, persons who would join us if they knew what we know—but who, if they do not, will obey Council orders until the end. It will mean the loss of innocent and important people, a loss to the Guild—and assuredly the loss of records we need. If Assignments has any warning at all—those records will certainly go.”

Records detailing the whole pattern of personnel assignments, Bren thought.

“You know,” Jago said, “that certain of the senior Guild went underground when Murini came in. Some that were listed as dead—were not; and are not; and among them are those who operated the network to bring Tabini-aiji back. The seniormost have claimed retirement. Others have stayed dead—for the record. They have now watched the Guild purge itself once, and twice. The current Guild leadership has repeatedly ordered them back to duty, and they have not come in. This war of wills has been going on since the coup ended. Personal issues are certainly at work. These people are not in agreement with current leadership. What I am about to tell you, even the aiji has not heard—and is not to hear; but you need to know, Bren-ji.”

“Whatever I should hear, Jago-ji, I shall keep even from the aiji.”

“This, then. Three individuals head the current Guild Council. One of them is compliant with the other two and more a failure than a problem. The other two have a pattern of action we question. They have pushed through, with a rapidity that admits no debate, whatever the Office of Assignments has recommended—including the recent assignment of chief officers in the Dojisigin Marid. During the trouble in the west, when we needed assistance, they were slow in moving forces, so much so that Tabini-aiji himself took the field, because his presence trumped the process of querying Guild Council. And at a critical time when the retired Guild
might
have been willing to assist the aiji's action in the south, the Guild diverted itself from assisting Tabini-aiji and us, as we had requested—and instead sent a mission to arrest the two seniormost retirees—an extended distraction that ended with one unit dead and the retirees officially outlawed. It is an outlawry without effect, since there is no other Guild in the area where they are—but it is on the books, and will justify whatever Shadow Guild can eventually reach them. The Missing
still
ignore the Council's orders. But they do not ignore us. We—Cenedi—and we—have been in contact with them since we returned from Najida, since the Council's attempt to arrest them. We sent a message yesterday morning, before we went dark, using your name, requesting a boat sent to Najida. This was code. We have had one contact since, a contact face to face, in the lower corridors, directly with us . . . with us, because they will not deal with Cenedi in this matter.”

“Because he is Eastern Guild.”

“Exactly so.” Jago drew a deep breath. “Neutrality in disputes is the cornerstone of our guild. And there has been a cascade of events breaching that tradition: unFiled attacks on civilians, violations of code, Council refusal to bring charges in several cases, Haikuti among them. The Missing have seen the whole world change, Bren-ji. They did not approve of the space program; they fear Lord Geigi. They do not so much distrust Cenedi as they do not want the appearance of relying on the Eastern Guild. The decision they themselves made, long before the coup, to back Shishogi's quaint demands and reject computers as a human gift—they know now that was a serious mistake. They have reconstructed, with far more names than we know, what decisions set certain individuals in charge of certain offices that arranged the coup that set up Murini. And they know that Haikuti
was
involved in the attack on the aiji at Taiben, and that he remained, until yesterday, untouched and his location known—they gave us names to watch. We checked them out. We reported back information—both gave and received it. The fact that Tabini-aiji had banned the Kadagidi lord—also isolated Haikuti in safety from arrest. And the Guild has kept Haikuti's records as secret inside its files as it does any other unit's records. But the Guild in exile knew what he had done. And what information they gave us greatly troubled Algini, and troubled Banichi most of all. Tano and I—we had no idea of it. But when we went there—when we went to the Kadagidi estate—Banichi expected trouble. He and Algini expected trouble. And he did not tell you. He was held between a good idea—a chance to build a clear case against the Kadagidi—and the fact that he and Haikuti had come to blows before. He was also preserving the secrecy of our information source—and he was caught between that necessity, and the fact that even yet there was no proof, absolutely none, of what he and Algini had learned from our sources.”

“Is there any doubt now?”

“None,” Jago said. “None in my mind. But, Bren-ji, be warned: the people we are dealing with, the Guild in exile, are
not
people who favor humans. They are, however, and always have been, immaculately loyal to the law. And, being Guild, they have
no
reluctance to take a pragmatic approach. To restore the law, during Murini's rule, they
were
working with humans on Mospheira. They never favored Tabini-aiji
because
of his association with humans, but to restore the Guild to what it was, they will now support us and support
him.
We have their word. As of last night, we have their word. They are leaving their identities for the second time. Leaving families. Breaking off marriages. They are coming in—to take back the Guild, delve into records, and restore the law.”

“What are the odds?”

“As things stand—we face a bloody confrontation with innocent members that could see the wrong side win, or at best, rob us of proof. Shishogi, if he sees himself apt to be dismissed, will destroy records. The
law
depends on proof. The Guild enforces the law. We administer the law. We support the law. And if those of us against the current Council cannot prove our case to the membership, if Tabini-aiji has to uphold us only by decree, and by the power of the aijinate—the Guild will never again
be
what we
were.
We need an authority and a legitimacy that can only come by us standing
in
the Council Chamber and proving our case, that the Council itself has broken the law.”

“Can you do that?”

“Under the charter, and under current Guild rules, there are only two individuals who can enter that building and demand attention from the Council, whatever its agenda. Tabini-aiji can. The aiji-dowager can. And
she
wishes to do it. She is Eastern, however. The Guild in exile will balk at that thought.”

Ilisidi?

Good God. She walked with a cane. She was fragile. Walk in there, into a fortress and demand the Assassins' Guild leadership politely resign in favor of their enemies?

Only
two
individuals could get in there.
Legally
speaking.

He suddenly knew what Jago was working toward.

“I
can be either of those persons,” he said.

“Your aishid has very reluctantly entertained that thought, Bren-ji. If
you
can get through the front doors of Guild Headquarters, officially,
we
can get in with you. If Cenedi also happens to be inside the building on the dowager's business, with a small attendance of the dowager's men . . . as he can do on his own, being head of a regional Guild—and if several other units currently active happen to be there, on other business on the floor above . . . we can open the building from several different points at once. Baji-naji, we can prevent the records being destroyed.”

“So.” He drew a deep breath. Force his way into Guild headquarters?

He'd worried a great deal, on that train ride, about his aishid eventually deciding to take on Assignments themselves—entering the Guild's headquarters, trying to penetrate the defenses of the whole rest of the Guild . . . because he could not see the Assassins' Guild turning over records at anyone's asking, even Tabini's.

He'd not remotely thought they'd ask
his
help. But it made sense.

“So—” he asked. “What would we have to do, Jago-ji?”

“Pass the doors all the way to Council, while it sits in session. If it will admit us, and hear you, well and good. If not, we set ourselves in a single critical doorway, between the hallway straight ahead, which is the Council, and the hallway to the left, which leads to Assignments, and we keep that door open, preventing them from sealing the heart of the building. Likely—most likely, Bren-ji, the Council will refuse to hear you—considering the situation with Lord Aseida.
That
would actually be desirable. Outright refusal would be
quite
acceptable. Hearing you have arrived, they will view you as, if nothing else, a move by Tabini that they do not want to deal with, and that they will want to stall—especially if they get wind of any physical movement by the old Guild in the city. But should they actually let us into the Council chamber, we will be in position, and we will be armed.”