That secured, Tano sat down again.

“It is not entirely effective, nandi. One asks you stay as you are.”

It was uncomfortable. It was oppressive. It deprived him of all information about where they were. “Perhaps if we cut cross-country toward the village and came up to the estate from there,” Bren said, and then told himself just to be quiet and let people who knew what they were doing do their jobs.

“We may well do so, Bren-ji.” Tano was the gentlest of souls, given his profession; his voice relayed calm, even while the bus was bouncing along over unkept road and apt to come under automatic arms fire at any moment. “When we do exit the bus at the estate, kindly stay between us.”

“I have my gun, Tano-ji.”

“Rely on us, nandi.”

They had enough to worry about. He laid a hand on Ta-no’s knee. “Tano-ji. One relies on you both with absolute confidence.”

“One hopes so, nandi,” Tano said, and then there was an added energy to his voice. “We shall defend the house. Or take it back, if we come late.”

“One has every confidence,” he repeated. He didn’t want, either, to think of that historic residence occupied by persons bent on mayhem, its staff threatened and put in the line of fire. These were not fighters, the staff he had dispersed to this estate. They were brave; they had stayed by him during the worst of things, and taken personal chances rescuing his belongings, they were every commendable thing—but they were not fighters. They had nothing to do with the Guild.

Bounce and crash, potholes be damned. The speed their driver got from the overloaded bus was the very most it could do. It roared along with no care for the racket it made, bouncing over rocks and splashing through the remnant of rain puddles in the low spots, scraping over brush at the next rise, and rumbling over an ill-maintained bridge at the next low spot.

But at a certain point, after Bren’s knees had gone beyond pain from being bounced on the hard decking, and after the chill of that decking had migrated upward into his bones, they began to encounter brush that raked the side of the bus. One did not remember the brush being that close, and Bren twisted about, trying to see out the windshield, wondering whether they were still on the road at all.

Horrid jolt, and crash, and then the bus ran over something, multiple somethings that hit the undercarriage.

They were noton the road, and Cajeiri had flung himself over to assist the dowager.

“What did we hit, nandiin?” Cajeiri asked in distress.

“A stone wall, by the racket,” the dowager said. God knew— there was a hill out in the fallow land. There was the old road, where now only hunters ranged—but the wall had been timber railing.

“We have dropped out of contact with the house, nandi,” Cenedi said. “We are not going to the por—”

The nose of the bus suddenly tilted downward. No one of this company cried out, but Bren swallowed a gasp and grabbed the seat as they took the hard way down, through more brush.

He lost his grip: his head and back hit the seat in front, and Tano grabbed his coat and hauled him close to the seat.

“What are we doing?” he had time to ask.

“The estate road is a risk,” Cenedi said, holding himself braced in the aisle. “Get to your seat, young lord. And get down!”

“Yes,” Cajeiri said, and went there, handing himself across the aisle, and obediently ducking, with his companions.

They took another neck-snapping bounce, crashing through brush in the dark, scraping the underside of the bus, and when Bren looked around at the windshield, they had lost the headlights, or the driver had shut them down, never checking their speed.

My God, Bren thought, holding on, telling himself that atevi vision in the dark was better than his.

Another plunge, a hole, a fierce bounce and then a skid. He cast another look to the windshield.

The road. Even his eyes could pick up the smooth slash through the dark. They had swerved onto it—were ripping along it at fair speed. But where the hell were they?

Suddenly they turned. The bus slung everything that was unsecured toward the other side—Cenedi intervened, standing in the aisle, and supporting the dowager.

They hit a wooden wall, scraped through brush or vines or structure, and came to a sliding halt. There were lights— outdoor lights, from somewhere. They had stopped. The engine died into shocking silence, leaving only the fall of a board somewhere.

And then he realized they had just crashed through the garden gate of his estate, the service access at the back.

The bus door opened. Two shadows—Ilisidi’s men— immediately left the front seat and bailed out to take position.

Then people came running out of the housec notarmed, people in house dress, people he recognizedc

“They are ours, nadiin!” he shouted out, getting to his feet, as staff all innocent and alarmed, came to a halt facing leveled rifles.

“Quickly,” Cenedi said. “Disembark!”

“Go, paidhi,” Ilisidi said—practicality, perhaps, it being his estate, his staff: he steadied himself on Tano’s shoulder, and Algini’s arm as they sorted themselves out and headed for the bus steps.

“Nadiin-ji,” he said, descending.

“Nandi!” Ramaso’s voice. “Are you all right?”

“Everything is all right,” he saidc as boards went on creaking and settling. The stout pillars and vines of the arbor had withstood the impact. The garden wall and shed were not so sturdy. He found himself a little shaky getting down the steps and into the midst of dismayed staff.

“Rama-ji” he said. “We are a little ahead of possible attack on the house. Has anything happened here?”

“No, nandi. Nothing!”

“Get men down to the harbor, phone the village, and if you have not yet thrown the shutters, nadi-ji, do it now, as quickly as you can. We have the young gentleman safe, with his companions. Did nand’ Toby and Barb-daja get away?”

“Yes, nandi,” Ramaso said. “They have sailed.”

“Excellent,” he said. Thatproblem was solved. “Go. Quickly!”

“Nandi,” Ramaso said, and as Cenedi helped the dowager down from the bus, gave the requisite orders on the spot, distributing jobs, ordering guns out of locked storage, and telling three young men to get down to the dock, take the remaining yacht out to deep anchor and stay with it.

“Nadi.” Algini intercepted Ramaso as they walked, to give him specific orders for the securing of the house, the emergency bar on the kitchen door, Ilisidi’s men to have absolute access; and Tano said, urgently, seizing Bren’s arm.

“Stay under the arbor, Bren-ji.”

“We left men in charge here,” he protested.

“They are still there,” Tano said. “But take nothing for granted, Bren-ji.”

“Cenedi-ji,” Algini said. “If you will take the northern perimeter of the house, we shall take the main southern and center.”

“Yes,” Cenedi said, and hastened the dowager and Cajeiri along toward the house. Jegari and Antaro had caught up, and hurried. Bren lost no time, himself, with Ramaso keeping pace with him, along the main part of the arbor, into the house, the doors of which stood open.

They had not thrown the storm shutters. Those were going into place, one slam after another.

“Is there any dinner?” Cajeiri’s voice, plaintively. “One is very sorry, but we missed dinner.”

“We allmissed dinner, boy,” Ilisidi said peevishly.

“One can provide it,” Ramaso suggested, at Bren’s elbow, “in very little time.”

“For the guards stationed on the roof as well,” Bren said to him.

“So,” Ilisidi said with a weary sigh, as they reached the indoors, the safe confines of the inmost hall. “So. We shall meet at dinner, nand’ paidhi.”

“Aiji-ma.” He gave a little bow, half distracted, home, but not home: Banichi and Jago were still out there, at risk, and he wanted to know more than non-Guild was going to be allowed to know about what was going on out there.