And for about two breaths the light-headedness took away all rational faculties, for a moment of panic. He knew he had to level with them. All of them. His declaration to Machigi had dragged them into a damned difficult conflict of man’chi—that toward Tabini-aiji, in the case of Banichi and Jago and, God only knew—to the Assassins’ Guild leadership, in the case of Tano and Algini. He was no longer sure. Everything had been neatly vertical while he served Tabini. His service to Ilisidi hadn’t upset a thing: she was attached to Tabini. Algini’s attachment to the Guild couldn’t be an issue: the Guild served Tabini. It was all one happy package.

This declaration to Machigi, however, upset everything. And they were still bugged, so he couldn’t talk to them. He wanted them to know he feltloyalty to them and that he was doing what he had to do—but that wasn’t the way things worked, in man’chi. Theirs was upward.

He was the focus. And he’d just affected the way it was aimed, in everything. He saw worry in their faces. They gave him that, at least. They let him read them.

And he couldn’t.

Maybe it was something he’d never felt with them: a sense of shame.

Did he wish he had done differently than he had done with Machigi? No. He didn’t. He’d had to do what he had done. The same as he had hadto trust Machigi’s staff.

But hurt one of his bodyguard? He couldn’t do that. And he had.

For the first time in all the time they’d been together, he didn’t know what to do. What to say.

“Would you care for tea, Bren-ji?‘ Jago asked him, and he just froze, thinking, no. He couldn’t. He couldn’t just go back to life as normal. He didn’t want it. But they had their listeners, constantly watching for signs of upset. Listeners who’d want to know what they did and said in the wake of the committment he’d given.

“Please,” he said. Activity. Any normal activity. Something to keep the eavesdroppers guessing. And not even the bath with the water running was guaranteed to mask a conversation.

He headed for the table. For writing paper. He sat down there, a little dizzy, his thoughts trying to fog on him, and wrote.

Tano came and brought the tea. And a pill. “This should be safe, Bren-ji.”

“Not yet,” he said in a low voice, and wrote another sentence. A necessary sentence. He handed the paper to Tano first.

Machigi has called on me to operate as his mediator, he had written, and I have declared man’chi to Machigi. Therefore I must give fair advantage to him and to the aiji-dowager. I feel pain, however, if I distress my aishid. I will not betray you. That I am compelled to say so with all evidence to the contrary is very painful to me. But that declaration is all I can give at this point. Please let the others read this, and let the last burn it.

Tano read it and solemnly went over and gave it to Algini. Algini read it and passed it to Banichi, who passed it to Jago, who crumpled it in her fist and shot up a single Guild sign.

Five fingers. The aishid-lord unit. Banichi nodded, once. And Algini held up the same sign.

Tano nodded, likewise once.

It had been a long time since something had hit him at that level. He wasn’t going to do anything stupid like break down or offer expressions of human sentiment. He wasn’t going to. He got up from his chair, bowed slightly, and said only: “One is grateful, nadiin-ji.”

Jago tossed the note into the fire and made another Guild sign, a fast wipe of the thumb across the fingertips. Wipeout. It meant, situationally, half a dozen things, from annihilation to none at all. And she said, pleasantly, “Go to bed, Bren-ji. Stay there. Your aishid insists.”

Get the brain to working. Hell with the painkillers, which he hadn’t taken. He wanted to work.

But Jago opened the bedroom door and Banichi waved a hand toward it, Tano nudged his elbow, and the lot of them took him to the bedroom and took his coat and the vest, made him sit down and took off his boots, and there was nothing for it. With the support of the vest gone, he did feel exhaustion piling up.

Boots went into the closet. He gave up the rest of the clothes, and they tucked him into bed like a five-year-old and turned out the lights.

“It’s not dark out, nadiin-ji,” he said.

“So,” Banichi said. “But it will be.”

It was conspiracy. They left, except Jago, who leaned very close to his ear, set her hand on his bare shoulder, and whispered, “Man’chi stands, Bren-ji.”

He was quite moved, but he had no time to enjoy that sensation because she tipped him backward into the covers and threw the blanket over him.

And walked out and shut the door behind her.

His aishid was out there discussing the problems he’d made them. He needed to get his wits about him.

But the bed was soft. He found it possible to relax. His aishid was still taking care of him.

Having said what he’d said, he had to deliver and just shut up and trust them. He was so used to thinking in huge territories, in planetary terms and centuries. His area of acute concern had gotten down to one set of rooms, four people, and himself. Five. And a finite number of hours.

Machigi had tested them. But Machigi had seen, and his guard had seen, with clearer sight than a human could, that that relationship stood.

If Machigi thought he’d fractured them, if Machigi’d imagined he’d panic or that there could be any distance between him and his bodyguard, Machigi was obliged to revise his expectations. Considering that Machigi’s own aishid had stuck fast to him under pressure, that said maybe they had something unexpected in common.

He used that thought for a pillow. And his mind focused down to a single sharp point.

Machigi and I have thatin common. If we didn’t, his aishid wouldn’t have taken the action they did this morning.

9

« ^ »

It was a lot better, Cajeiri thought, to have Barb-daja back. Barb-daja took over watching nand’ Toby, and that meant Cajeiri could go back to his own suite.

And first of all, he just wanted to go to bed early, in his own soft bed. It was embarrassing.

There were so many things one coulddo, and he simply went to his suite with his aishid, well, with the two he wanted, and fell into bed and slept in his clothes and all.

But when he waked up, realized it was after dark, and walked into his sitting room to find out what time it was and if there was any supper at all, Veijico had come in. She was just sitting there alone at the table, with Antaro and Jegari across the room in chairs by the fireside.

He was a mess and caught at disadvantage, with his shirt and trousers wrinkled and his hair falling into his face.

“What time is it, nadiin?” he asked, looking at Antaro and Jegari.

“Midnight, nandi,” Antaro said.

“Did you get any sleep?” he asked.

“Some, nandi,” Jegari said, with a little move of his eyes toward their interloper, over at the table.

It was that bad, the feeling in the room.

Veijico had a right, one supposed, to come here, but theywere not sleeping and letting her be here unsupervised, with, by now, the whole estate abed. They had all probably missed supper.

And Jegari and Antaro had been at least as tired as he was.

He had slept right into dark and wasted all his chance to know what was going on in the house, was what.

“I shall have a bath,” he said, never mind the hour, which meant Jegari, and only Jegari, would attend him.

And that served two purposes, only one of which was a quick, hot bath.

The other was getting Jegari alone and finding out when Veijico had come back and had she said anything.

“An hour ago, nandi.” They shared the ample bathtub, both in water up to their chins, although Cajeiri had to sit up more and half-float, balanced on his heels. “We were not yet in bed. And she has apologized to you and to us.”