Defiance, page 37
The town itself wound down the height to sea level, where the ships were, where Midagi was. The causeway had gone across to midtown, with most of the population, most of the dwelling places, below it. Anyone who wanted to escape out of the citadel had to go down all the way to the water—or reach the causeway, to escape by land—where the bus was. An enemy might think they could take it. It was a good bet Banichi had triggered its defenses. Or Nawari had.
Gunfire, far away, echoed up to them. Dockside, Bren thought. Maybe at the ships. It was not in the building.
It was not neat, or fast, what they had to do now. The citadel was not a simple structure. It was high, it went down to that courtyard they had seen twice from the air. Their enemy could be anywhere inside or beyond; and they hoped not to have to sort them out of the town.
“We hold here,” Banichi said to all with him. “The commander—” That was Cenedi. “—is searching the ground floor. We hold the top. On signal, we will move down. He will move up. The Najida Guild force is coming up from the harbor. When they enter, they will descend to the basement. A force will go out, surface level, on the causeway—to be sure nothing escapes.”
Who was with him on this level? His own aishid. Reijiri’s. Machigi, his aishid, and four of the Taisigi rangers. Cenedi was below with his eleven—so was Nomari and his four, and not with Machigi, which was a little remarkable, but might be Cenedi’s doing. A number of the Taisigi were not here. They might be with Cenedi, in that sorting-out below, surely on Machigi’s orders . . . and surely with good intent: one could not align Machigi in any way as allied with Jorida, the dispute over their common border being a long-smoldering issue. Relations with the Shadow Guild itself involved the assassination of Machigi’s father . . . that was outright blood feud.
Human instincts were not, however, happy with where they were, and experience said instinct was not wired to read all of it. There was the issue of what-happened-next, to-whose-advantage, and where man’chi was directed after the sort-out: Nomari and Machigi, once connected, Nomari’s new Ragi aishid now taking Nomari in another direction, after that incident in Kajiminda . . . if his protestations were honest . . . one wondered how Machigi was reading that.
Machigi had insisted, from the beginning, that Nomari’s work for him never involved man’chi, just money, payment for services rendered, safe passage when he needed it; but there was something there . . . he would call it mutual respect, if he was dealing with humans, but that was not a place that was ever safe to go. Would Nomari ever undermine Machigi, with that history?
As lord of Ajuri, which had had a long and troubled history of espionage and conspiracy against Tabini—and connections in the Dojisigin—how would he be?
One was not sure.
Algini had taken station by a window, casting a look downward at whatever he could see from there, Tano and Jago were watching the room, with its former relationships, and he was watching everybody, a little sick at his stomach from the exertion and lack of food and sleep, not trusting the apparent calm in the assorted company. Atevi emotions were hard to predict where man’chi was under stress—things like self-interest could flare up. Ancestral feuds. Ambition. Way too much was at issue since Machigi had shown up, and he was without a roadmap.
But of one thing he had become aware . . . just not aware he had felt it, but it was true. He was reinforcing Banichi—just by being here. Banichi had not resisted his coming. Banichi’s lord being present and Cenedi’s not—had weight in the chain of command; and the lord of Najida having personal business here, in a west coast situation—added another potency. It was a learned thing, maybe, maybe not a thoroughly human thing, but he could feel the connection with his aishid. They had gotten him up the climb, even Machigi had gotten behind and pushed—literally; and his presence now empowered a force not the dowager’s to share command with Cenedi, rank be damned. His relationship with his aishid was solid, he was more senior and more local than Reijiri; even more senior and more local than Machigi, when it came to it—who could have outright stabbed him in the back, and instead had carried him up the stairs. Machigi would do what was in his interest to do. But right now Machigi had a restraint: a set of documents. His agreements. His ambitions. His prospects for rule in the Marid.
Fortunately for all of the continent, and thanks to Ilisidi’s maneuvering, he had more than enough on his plate in his own territory for the next several generations.
God. He was woolgathering, standing in the heart of an invasion of which he was, de facto, one of the leaders, developing a headache and feeling as if pieces were spinning around him, connections a human could not feel, decisions about reliability no human should be making. Trust Banichi, his gut and his mind agreed. Trust his aishid to do that calculation. Listen to them, but—
He had felt he had to be here. He had felt he could not, would not have said to Banichi, give us an escort back to Kajiminda, sane as it might have been. He had not said, at the causeway, We will stay on the bus. He had felt he had to go, that he would be less of a distraction to Banichi, even less of a burden to the mission by going . . . and possibly he would find a way to be of use.
Until the stairs, the dark, the passage, when he had realized he was a fool. But he was not sorry to be here now—however that miracle had been achieved—with his aishid, lending moral force to Banichi, whose tactics were not as reckless as Cenedi’s, whose solutions were both more careful of his forces and more inclined to take sudden risks for an outcome. Cenedi outranked him; but a lord’s presence tilted the scales. Banichi had been pushing a loyal resistance to Cenedi’s support of the dowager ever since they had left the train. Certainly Cenedi had been largely occupied with Ilisidi’s health, but increasingly, particularly in the move to Kajiminda, and dealing with the Edi, Banichi had assumed command, and Cenedi had actually backed off. And now, in this place, in this situation—asking himself what he was doing, he knew he was here because his presence in his region supported Banichi, Tabini’s man, and Tabini’s authority on this coast. What happened in this southern grain belt of the aishidi’tat had consequences, what happened to Kajiminda and the Edi had consequences.
God, what was he thinking? Lord by appointment. Human. And playing push and shove in atevi politics and policy? But he could not desert Banichi and his aishid, who knew what they were doing, against Cenedi, who was pushing hard for Ilisidi’s outcome. He had never dreamed of opposing Ilisidi. He never intended to.
But the solution could not be imposed. There had been far too many imposed solutions on this coast. The Edi had their issues. So did Ashidama. Mostly—they just had to grow things and fish and sell, and avoid killing each other every decade or so. Whether the future lay in Machigi’s railroad, or the Master’s ships, the people down there in the town, the people of Separti, the Edi . . . they all had to have their livelihoods. And not be afraid.
The room hazed out. He saw the ornate back of a chair in front of him and leaned on that, everything blurred for the moment.
“Bren-ji.” Tano’s hand on his shoulder. “Do you need to sit down?”
“If I sit down, I cannot get up,” he said. He blinked, clearing his eyes, aware of both Tano and Algini at his side, and realizing that both Banichi and Jago were missing and that he was alone with Tano and Algini, Reijiri, and a handful of Taisigi. “Let us find Banichi and Jago. I am all right. Do not let us divide—”
Gunfire. Remote in the citadel, from a lower floor. Contact with some element of the problem. His heart rate ticked up a little. He drew a deep breath and let go of the chair.
Suddenly there was gunfire on their level, from the next room, where he supposed Banichi and Jago to have gone. Instinct pulled him one heartbeat toward that doorway, common sense sent him crouching against the massive desk between it and him. Algini dived to the same spot, rifle in hand, got a vantage past the edge, and dived for the side of that doorway. In both directions, both open doorways, Guild had gone to defensive positions.
Bren adjusted his position, prepared to hold it.
Then a waft of cold air swept past, not the temperature of the lower depths—but wind from the outside.
There was activity on com. Bren could hear it, from Algini’s position. He could not make it out. He reached into his pocket, extracted his own light pistol, absolutely useless against Guild body armor. Having it in hand negated his own sacrosanctity as non-Guild, on an instinctual level with any Guild he faced.
But becoming another Shadow Guild hostage was not his plan either.
Movement behind. Tano arrived next to him.
“Bren-ji. Do not try. Stay down.”
With Tano’s near presence he could hear other com traffic—but it was Guild code. That seemed to indicate Cenedi’s group was aware—or also engaged. He heard Banichi’s voice, calm and steady.
Reijiri and his aishid were guarding the other doorway, without cover from this direction. Machigi and his rangers were over beneath the row of windows.
Algini moved suddenly, dived into the adjacent room, firing; and Tano slid into Algini’s position, letting off one burst.
Then there was quiet. A lengthy period of quiet. Algini’s calm voice from across the room, in two code words.
Tano got to his feet, beside that doorway.
Banichi and Jago? Bren wondered, his heart pounding. Experience held him right where he was. Tano abruptly disappeared into the next room. Two of Machigi’s aishid left their position and did the same.
It stayed quiet. Bren urged his stiffening knees and neck to get him back on his feet and, presumption on a fool’s part, took Tano’s place beside the door, pistol in hand.
He could see nothing but a row of windows, and chairs somewhat in disarray, one overturned.
There were shouts now from further away. Glass shattered, and automatic fire ripped across the adjacent room and right through the door, past Bren. Heart constricted, he held position, waiting for a target.
A woman’s voice, then, from beyond that other room, distant, high, and angry.
Glass shattered across the room. Bren swung a look behind him, saw Machigi having taken out a window with a rifle butt, taking aim to the left, outside—only to pull back, frustrated.
Banichi’s voice: “Surrender!”
Bren, shoulders against the wall by the door, spun himself inside as glass broke in that room.
It was empty, but for his own aishid and the two Taisigi. Jago was at a large window, clearing broken glass still in place with the barrel of her rifle. Banichi shouldered past, rifle in one hand and, ignoring the glass, scrambled through, to the graveled flat outside, a dizzying prospect of the town roofs below.
Jago followed. Bren moved to see and caught sight of two others out there on the graveled terrace . . . in Banichi’s sights. And Jago’s.
One in Guild black. One in azure blue. Backed up against a low wall.
Algini knocked out a jagged edge of glass and climbed out with less haste, also taking up position.
“We will accept surrender,” Banichi repeated, and the woman lurched forward—hauled back on the instant, a living shield, crying:
“I accept! I accept! Let me go! Let me go, damn—”
The screams cut off as the woman in Guild black, jerking the other back by one arm, clamped a hand over her mouth.
The young woman—there were photos of her—that was Tiajo. Coiffured in jewelry, necklace and rings and bracelets flashing diamond-white in the sun as she struck and clawed at the Guildswoman holding her, still screaming in muffled outrage. It was a fair guess that the older woman holding her one-handed, and withstanding her furious blows, was Suratho.
And her eyes, cold and keen, flicked toward the window where Bren was standing.
“Ah . . . the paidhi is with us. How remarkable.” Her attention went back to Banichi. “That would make you Banichi, am I correct?”
Before he could respond, Suratho jerked a bleeding hand away from Tiajo’s mouth, and with the same hand struck the Dojisigin lord a backhanded blow to her bejeweled head. Tiajo staggered and attacked with a blow that sailed past. Suratho spun with it and seized her elaborate braid, dragging her back and getting an arm around her. Tiajo screamed in fury and hit at her, backward, to no avail.
“It is over, you stupid fool,” Suratho said calmly, and to Banichi: “Is it not?”
“It is over,” Banichi said.
“Kill her!” Tiajo screamed. “I can pay you! I can pay you anything you ask! The boat in the harbor is—”
“—at the bottom of the bay,” Suratho finished for her, and Tiajo screamed, “Liar!” and flailed wildly.
Bren rested hands on the sill, mustering advice he dared not give, daring not distract anyone. Tano seized his arm. “I shall not,” Bren said. “I shall not move . . .”
“Surrender,” Banichi said again, “and live. Help us to repair the harm you have done, nadi.”
“And what? Pledge man’chi to an aiji who brings us more humans? To a regime that wants the whole world and gives provinces away to tribes and foreigners, kabiu be damned?”
“I will help you!” Tiajo screamed. “There are records! Everything! I can—”
“Oh, for—” Suratho shifted her weight, pulling Tiajo around . . . and slung her over the edge. Her scream went on for a heartbeat, abruptly ended.
Everyone froze, as Suratho stared over the edge.
“Useless woman,” Suratho said finally, then turned back, a pistol from within her jacket leveled at Banichi. “You lost your chance, Banichi-nadi.”
“Say, rather, one hopes you see common sense, now that your shield is gone.”
“Common sense. In a world ruled by humans.”
“They do not and will not rule.”
She stared at Banichi for a long moment. “Would that I had your faith in that.” Her eyes shifted toward Bren, but went beyond. “Well. Machigi. It seems everyone is here. It wants only the dowager herself.”
A rifle barrel appeared at Bren’s side, as Tano pulled him back from the window.
Machigi said nothing, but his look in profile rivaled Tabini’s at his most deadly.
“As you see,” Machigi said. “You are out of step with the world, Suratho. The world changes. There will be no revival of the empire.”
“As long as Hurshina lives, you all should watch your backs.”
“Hurshina,” Banichi said. “Where is he?”
A derisive snort, and the pistol, momentarily diverted, leveled at Banichi. “I wish you luck finding him. We have had none.”
“Surrender, Suratho,” Banichi said. “You will have a hearing. You can state your grievances. Make your case in court. Claim that right.”
“Not interested.” She lifted her pistol to her head. No one moved.
“If that is your choice,” Banichi said, “we will not—”
A sudden spin, and all in a moment, Bren saw that pistol aimed directly at him, even as four shots rang out at once: Banichi’s, Jago’s, Algini’s . . . and Machigi’s. Bren found himself on the carpet, with Tano a live weight atop him, that shifted off, offering him a hand to get up.
He took it, a warm, strong grip. Tano drew him to his feet and he looked out the window to see Suratho, lying in a heap at the roof’s edge, unmoving.
Banichi calmly lifted the com and spoke, almost certainly, to Cenedi, reporting simply, “Tiajo is likely dead, Suratho likewise,” while Bren leaned on the sill, his ears ringing from Machigi’s shot. He found himself wondering how high that fall was off the edge, what lay at the bottom . . . other than the remnants of a very selfish, very immature woman, a patricide, a dictator, a figurehead held in office by a corruption of law enforcement. Still in her twenties. Still thinking she was in charge. By the downward steps of rooftops in this view, that he had personally experienced in the swoop of the yellow plane, by the duration of that scream,—one did not see survival likely.
Bren drew back from the window, feeling a little shiver in his frame, watching Banichi and Jago walk toward that fatal edge and look down.
They seemed satisfied—lingered a moment to check Suratho—then Banichi made another report by com and, with Jago, walked back toward Bren’s window. He climbed back through the window, and looked straight at Machigi. “Only one was fatal.”
Machigi shrugged. “She was finished talking.”
“She certainly is now,” Banichi said, and turned to Bren. “Are you hurt, Bren-ji?”
Bren shook his head wearily. “No, no, not in the least.”
“You can rest now. We all can. Midagi’s forces will continue the clean-out of the Shadow Guild in the town—there will not be that many that arrived by the ships. We are getting help from the citizens and the Separti boatmen, clearing building by building, with more accuracy than we could apply.”
“We still need to find Hurshina,” Bren said.
Machigi gestured, shifting his rifle to the other hand. “I suggest you ask Nomari.”
20
“I intended to tell Cenedi, nand’ paidhi,” Nomari said quietly, in the small sitting room Banichi had found: Bren had had more than enough of broad vistas for the time being. It was just Nomari, Bren, and their respective bodyguards. “I would have told him. But he does not trust me. I was going to tell Banichi. But—I waited. And Lord Machigi knows I have had interests in this place. I did confess that.”
Bren wondered if Nomari would ever run out of ways to surprise them.
“So was Machigi correct? Do you know where the Master is likely to be?”
“I have an idea, nandi. You know I was a spy. I was a spy for the Dojisigin at that time. And for Lord Machigi, after. Which I told him when I came to be his. But you can see Cenedi has very good reasons for doubting me.”
One was moderately taken aback. But Nomari was being, at least, open about these things, and did not seem overconfident in revealing it.
