“You should see to your own, Banichi-ji, you and all the staff. We are under the dowager’s roof. One trusts that Cenedi is well. And Nawari. And the rest.”

“A few nicks and bruises. But Cenedi—” Banichi made a little hesitation. “Cenedi-nadi is quite done in, and will not sit down, not for a moment, except the dowager has given him a firm order, which he is contriving not to obey.”

“He is a brave man,” Bren said, and added, relentlessly and with deliberation: “So are you, Banichi-ji.”

Banichi glanced at the floor. It might be the only time he had ever taken Banichi so far aback.

“Very brave,” Bren said doggedly. “And one will never forget it.”

Atevi could blush. One had to be looking closely.

“One had better see to duty,” Banichi said, making a move toward the chair arm.

“One should accept praise, Banichi-ji, where it is due,” Bren said.

“We are a quiet Guild,” Banichi said.

“All the same,” Bren said. And added: “Very well done. One will not inquire regarding the Guild. One is very grateful to all the staff.”

That seemed to be a poser. In another moment, Banichi lifted a shoulder. “Algini and Tano have a strong man’chi within this house.

Your bringing them back to the continent was a great favor to them. They express deep gratitude.”

Murdi. That gratitude word, different than man’chi.

“And man’chi?” Another small silence. In earlier years, he might have hesitated to inquire into that silence. Now he was relatively sure of the facts. And of Tano and Algini. “Will they be ours in future?” he did ask.

“They have never ceased to be of this household,” Banichi said, and folded his hands across his middle. “The Guild never discusses its internal matters. But Murini’s ally is dead, the old master has reasserted his authority. Algini is bound not to discuss it, but, Bren-ji, he and Tano are now free to continue assignment here.

They wish to do so. They are not able to answer questions.” A shrug. “But one doubts that the paidhi has many questions to ask.”

It was a shock, even so, to hear it stated. Bren cleared his throat of obstruction. “No,” he said. “No questions. They are welcome, very welcome.”

Banichi listened to that, seemed to turn it over in his mind, perhaps trying to parse what he knew of humans and one particular human, and the faintest look of satisfaction touched his face. “Algini is required to be here. Technically, he cannot have man’chi within our household, but he holds it to Tano. And we may discuss this in this house because Cenedi is very well aware of the situation. That the paidhi guessed—one is not utterly surprised. It will not likely surprise Algini.”

“You will tell him I know—at least I suspect—he has other ties.”

“One is constrained to tell him,” Banichi said. Guild law, one could guess, constraints of what he, too, was.

“One has no great concern for honesty. Tell him I have the greatest confidence in him.”

“Indeed,” Banichi said.

“But—” he began, had second thoughts, then decided to plunge ahead into what was not legitimately his business. “Tano. Man’chi to Tano, you say.”

That required some consideration on Banichi’s part, deep consideration. Finally: “Tano has become his partner.”

“Become.”

“They are old acquaintances, different in man’chi. They have acquired one, through Tano, to this house. They have become what they are, quite firmly so. One may have more than one man’chi, Bren-ji.”

Banichi had never spoken so directly about Guild business, about the household, about the extent to which the Guild held man’chi within the great houses. He wondered why this confidence now, except that perhaps it was only what another ateva would have known, or guessed, more easily. He had a slight reluctance to ask any more questions on the topic, fearing, for reasons he could not define, that he might learn more than he wanted.

“These are dangerous times,” Banichi said then, as if he had read his mind. “If Jago and I were ever lost, the paidhi should know these things. Consultation with the aiji’s staff or the dowager’s would produce good recommendations, but what surrounds you now has been very carefully chosen, and can be relied upon.”

The aiji’s selection, and the Guild’s, and, up on the station, he had Lord Tatiseigi’s man, Bindanda. Not to mention others presently out of reach. He had, Mospheiran that he was, failed deeply to analyze the politics of early recommendations to his staff, at first.

He had realized certain things on his own about later ones, sometimes having to be told—bluntly so, as Banichi had chosen to inform him now.

“One should rely on them, then.”

“Jago and I would recommend it.”

“Baji-naji.”

“Baji-naji.”

But it was not a pleasant thought, not at all. “You are not to take reckless chances, Banichi-ji. One earnestly asks you not take reckless chances.”

“This is our duty, paidhi-ji.”

“I am most profoundly disturbed even to contemplate it.”

“Nevertheless,” Banichi said calmly. “One must.”

It was like feeling his way through the dark. “Do you recommend taking on additional staff? Ought I to do that, to provide you assistance?”

“There is none I would rely on, except Taibeni, who would be willing, but quite lost and unhappy in the city. Best keep the staff small as it is. One is much more content inside the dowager’s establishment. Lord Tatiseigi’s is much more vulnerable to outside man’chi, even Kadagidi man’chi.”

“Not Madam Saidin.” Madam Saidin had been their own chief of domestic staff, when they lived in that apartment. Now she would surely manage for Lord Tatiseigi.

“Not that one. And one may trust she has looked very carefully into the associations of all persons on staff, and she will attempt to learn everything. But they are still a midlands staff. The dowager’s is all eastern, most from her own estate at Malguri, or thereabouts.

They would not be influenced by Kadagidi interests, or by southern, not in the least, no more than Jago or myself. If you ever must make a choice, listen to the dowager.”

It struck him he had no idea where Banichi’s home district was, or what his familial connections might be, and he had never asked.

He was not about to begin now to inquire into what Banichi had never deemed his business. Banichi he took on trust, absolutely, in a human way—having no other way to be, not really, not even after all these years. It remained a humanly emotional decision, not based on reasons Banichi himself could exactly feel.

It worked, however, Banichi being what he was. And he felt secure in that human judgment, for the satisfaction it gave his human instincts. Trust. Man’chi. Not the same, but close enough, however complex.

“One understands.” He picked up his teacup, discovered the tea gone ice cold and his hand incapable of holding the cup steady—fatigue compounded with far too many emotional confidences. He drank it to the lees and set it down before he spilled anything.

“The paidhi should take the chance to rest,” Banichi observed.

“The paidhi is dressed. The paidhi will by no means put the dowager’s staff to another change of clothes.”

“The dowager’s staff is accustomed to meticulous duty. Your own security staff believes you should rest, Bren-ji. Your staff insists, for all our welfare. Come. Into your suite.”

He had already begun to listen: It was curious how the very effort of getting out of the chair suddenly seemed all but insurmountable, and the legs he had taxed running the stairs had gone very sore. But he stood up. He went with Banichi back into his borrowed quarters, and there Banichi himself took his coat and summoned staff.

He let himself be undressed—made no protest, as he would have done with his own staff, that a once-worn coat need not be pressed.

The standards here were the dowager’s, and he offered no opinions, only sought the smooth, soft depths of a feather bed, soft pillows—utter trust that Banichi and Jago and his own people were somewhere near.