He wished he had any other team to throw into it besides Banichi and Jago, besides Tano and Algini. He didn’t want to risk their lives this way—all for a pack of damned conniving scoundrels, and a clan too weak to say no to bad neighbors, too self-interested to have seen what kind of a game they were playing. He seriously considered, truly considered for the first time, Filing Intent himself and seeing if political influence could speed the motion through the Guild without it hanging up on regional politics.

But the paidhi didn’tFile Intent: that was the point of his office—he was neutral. He hadno political vantage.

Until Tabini made him a district lord. Dammit.

Geigi didn’t want to File on his own clan lord—even if he outranked his clan lord in the aishidi’tat. It was a point of honor, a sticky point, the long-held fiction of Geigi’s being insidethat clan. Bringing that fiction down would rebound onto clan honor—or make Tabini haveto inquire, officially. And the plain point was—when there was a quarrel insidea clan, things were supposed to be settled, however bloodily, without recourse to the Assassins’ Guild, except those already serving within the house.

So they were going in, with Geigi’s aishid running the operation. They were going to geta provocation, or get a resignation, or get a direct appeal from Lord Pairuti for Geigi’s support against the neighborsc and the matter was so damned tangled it was hard to predict from here just what they’d get from the man.

Things echoed back surreally. He had a feeling of being momentarily out of body, looking down on him and Jago, at a point of decision that he could critique, from that mental distance. From here, he knew how dangerous their situation was, and how they could make mistakes that would cost their lives, cost the aiji the stability of the aishidi’tat, and leave the whole atevi civilization vulnerable. Civil war was the least of the bad outcomes that could flow from the decisions he was making—on too little sleep, too little information, and with deniability on the part of Tabini-aiji. Cenedi had talked about calling in certain forces under his own command: but Cenedi’s focus was, when all was said and done, the dowager, and the heir.

The most important thing right now was Tabini’s survival, Tabini’s power. There was, God forbid, even a second heir. Or would be. The aishidi’tat would survive losing anybody— the out-of-body detachment let him think that unthinkable thought— anybodyexcept Tabini, because in this generation there was no leader butTabini that could hold the aishidi’tat together.

So Tabini had to survive.

All the rest of them were expendable, on that terrible scale. He was exhausted. His mind was spinning into dire territory. He was scared, but he was so far down that path he didn’t see an alternative.

Maybe it was a failure of vision. Maybe he should go to the phone, shove it all off on Tabini and let him deal with it. But he couldn’t see that ending productively. And Geigi couldn’t go in alone. Geigi was willing to do it, but hellif they could afford to wave that target past the attention of their enemies.

So there they were. They had to go in, hoping to frighten Pairuti into cooperating.

He leaned his head back on the towel-cushioned rim and shut his eyes, wondering if his mind and Jago’s were on the same grim track. The water was going a little cold. He moved finally, reached, and turned on the hot water. The current flowed in, palpably warm.

“Has one been a fool, Jago-ji, to get into this situation?”

“Not a fool,” Jago said. “Banichi does not think so.”

“Do you?”

“No, Bren-ji. One would not think so—even if it were proper to think. This is overdue.”

“On this coast?”

“In the whole quarter of the aishidi’tat—this is overdue.”

“What is the Guild’s temperature? Can you say?”

“Favorable, in this,” Jago said. He had half expected she wouldn’t answer. But she did. And he felt better.

“I have ceded our bed to Lord Geigi,” he said apologetically. Jago had gotten no more sleep than he had—less, if one counted falling asleep in the bathtub. “But this is comfortable.”

“I have located a place,” Jago said. “A solitary place. In the servants’ wing.”

That was clearly a proposition. A decided proposition. He smiled wearily and decided maybe—maybe both of them could benefit from distraction.

So he shut down the hot water and looked for his bathrobe.

16

« ^ »

The bus was loaded with luggage and gear. It waited under the portico, sleek and modern, pristine except the track of bullet holes across its windshield. Lord Geigi’s four bodyguards had caught a little sleep before breakfast—and Cook had scrambled to feed them handsomely, not to mention the rest of the household. The Lord of Najida and his guest would not go off unfed.

And, after breakfast, there were calls to make: on Toby, to be sure he was well. Cajeiri, poor lad, had argued to have his breakfast at his appointed post, and now was fast asleep in his chair, his bodyguard tiptoeing about to avoid waking him or Toby.

For Toby he left a note—in Ragi, in care of Antaro, for Cajeiri to read, since Mospheiran script was not one of Cajeiri’s many skills. It said: Brother, Ragi cannot truly express all the sentiments I have this morning. Please take care and follow instructions. We believe that the move we are making will turn up information on Barb’s whereabouts and lead to finding her, though it may not be simple. We are sparing no effort and we expect eventual success. Think of me as I shall be thinking of you.

He had a last look, in case Toby should have waked—he had not—and left quietly.

Last—a call on the aiji-dowager and Cenedi.

He walked alone into the dowager’s sitting room, where the dowager was having an after-breakfast cup of tea, and bowed very deeply.

“Aiji-ma,” he said, and received, uncharacteristically, a gesture to approach closely. He did so, and knelt down at the side of Ilisidi’s chair as if he were a second grandson. Cenedi stood up, by the mantel.

“This is very vexing, paidhi-ji,” Ilisidi said. “Cenedi argues against my going with you and unfortunately his reason prevails, since that equally unreasonable great-grandson of mine will be entirely on his own if we both should go on this venture.”

“I am only sorry to have been selfish, aiji-ma, in refusing to lend you Tano and Algini, but should one truly need them—”

A flick of the hand. “Pish. You are being sensible. Cenedi is the one being unreasonable, are you not, Cenedi-ji? He worries too much.”

“Always, in your service, aiji-ma.”

“One begs,” Bren said, “that you will listen to Cenedi-nadi and take very great care. I leave my household and my trusted staff in your hands, hoping they may be of service. Your great-grandson has been in constant attendance on my brother. Both were asleep when I looked into the room, and one hopes you approve the young gentleman’s absence. He has been very good.”

Ilisidi arched a brow. “Your brother will be in our care, nand’ paidhi, under all circumstances. Have confidence in that.”

“One is extremely grateful.” He bowed, hearing the implication of dismissal in that tone, and knowing he was delaying a busload of people. He bowed again, and with a little nod to Cenedi, took his course out the door and down the hall to the door, where Ramaso stood in official attendance.

Supani and Koharu were there, too, his valets, who bowed, and followed him to the bus. He had asked Ramaso, quietly, whether someone from the Najida domestic staff might volunteer for what might be a dangerous venture—servants were always exempt from assassination, but finding their way home could be lengthy and difficult; and shots strayed. It was, however, a great advantage for him and Geigi to have their own staff with them, those who would be closest and most intimate—an extra set of eyes and ears.