Текст книги "Conspirator"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

The paidhi had notbeen doing his job for two critical years. The paidhi had come back to find the world girded by satellites, a grid laid out, and relay stations—armed and mobile relay stations—dropped into strategic areas, satellite phones, cell towers on the Island, and all the preparation to loose, even worse, either cell phones or far less restricted wireless on the continent. The Assassins’ Guild was the worst, the very worst affected. Keeping the aishidi’tat, the Western Association, together—meant keeping each member of the Association sure that his advantage was exactly the same as everybody else’s; or at least sure that if somebody else cheated and got an advantage, the aiji in Shejidan was going to come down on them fast and hard. Guild members didn’t talk about Guild business, but the Assassins’ Guild itself had had one internal power struggle, only last year.

The aiji’s side had won, but what was going on tonight out in the bushes around the estate contested that conclusion.

He’d been coasting along since his return trying to catch up on what had happened, what technology had come in, what atevi had invented themselves, or modified. He’d been writing letters, answering queries, trying to find out what was a fait accompli and what he could still get a grip on, and possibly stop—

He’d beencoastingc in the technology questions since his returnc and now he had a growing, sinking feeling that he might utterly have lost the war.

They had aliens out there that were promising to come calling, atevi wanted their share of the situationc and that meant technological advance.

They had one hell of a problem in the world, was what they had. Hehad a problem. The Guild certainly had—and wouldn’t be happy about it. The aishidi’tat had a problem—manifested in a coup, a counter-coup, and God help them if things went wrong tonight—possibly a civil warc in which the technology he’d delayed banning was likely to turn up, full-blown, possibly inciting certain factions, possibly giving advantage where it hadn’t been and meaning all bets were off on the outcome.

It was the paidhi’s fault—at least in the sense he hadn’t been able to prevent it.

And Cajeiri was going to have it all in his lap, if he survived his childhood.

The dowager was right. Time they did get the boy full-time, technologically sophisticated security to keep him alive, considering the world he’d been born into, and not Great-uncle’s socially impeccable but less than adaptable old men. They needed two very young Guild, somebody who’d keep aheadof the boy, and train the two Taibeni practically in situ. Thank God, he thought, the Taibeni youngsters had come in with some natural advantages of their upbringing. But it wasn’t enough.

Something had to change. Soon. It wasn’t a safe world. And the boy’s tendency to go off on his own wasn’t going to get handled if Tabini, Uncle Tatiseigi, and the dowager started quarreling about the ethnicity of the guard.

God. His brain was wandering. The upcoming cell phone speech seemed suddenly so little, so small an issue. He was trying to stop a flood with a teacup. It couldn’t be another regulation. It had to be an attitudinal accommodation in the society. They’d accommodated tech on ship. Why couldn’t they adjust—?

They’d handled phones. They’d handled trains crossing provincial and associational boundaries. They’d adjusted. They’d taken computers, and done things theirway, that the paidhi couldn’t even have conceived of. That had been a dicey step. And they’d survived it.

If he could just explain to them—

Somethinghappened. Tano gave that sign that meant trouble, and then said the code word for intruder, getting up from his chair and reaching for his pistol as he did so.

Bren got up out of the way immediately and reached for his own gun, while Algini kept his attention fixed on the equipment.

Tano got into the doorway, angled to the left, fired up at an angle, and fired again as a shot came back; then dived out across the hall. Bren stayed where he was, in the vantage Tano had had, safety off the gun and the gun at the ready, eyes scanning not only Tano’s position, but things up and down the hall. It wasn’t just Tano’s life at risk. He was Algini’s protection, and Algini was busy relaying their situation to other units of their team.

Maybe, he thought, he should shut the door—barricade himself and Algini inside. Don’t rely on the gun: his security had told him that more than once.

But Banichi had given him the damned thing. What was it for, but for backup?

Tano, meanwhile, moved out and down the hall toward the servants’ wing and the dining room corridor, moved, and moved again, not without looking at ground level for traps. He reached that nook, tucked in against the slight archway, and held position.

The dowager, with Cajeiri, with her immediate guard, was just beyond that intersection, in the office. Bren personally hoped that door stayed shut. They were all right. Nobody was in sight.

Scurrying movement from right over his head, beyond the ceiling.

“Tano!” Bren cried. “Above!”

Shots broke out, up above the ceiling, breaking through the paneling. Tano suddenly eeled around the corner he was holding. Fire came back from the direction of the dining room.

“Hold!” Tano shouted out to someone down the dining room corridor. “Hold place! Call off your partner! Truce! We offer truce!”

Bren held his breath, flexed his fingers on the gun grip.

Suddenly a shot sounded overhead, running footsteps headed down the hallway ceiling where there was no room.

“Tano!” Bren shouted, and about that time Algini knocked him aside and fired into the paneled ceiling.

Splinters exploded near Tano from overhead and chips ricocheted off the floor tiles.

A volley came out of the dining room hallway and hit the intersecting wall. Tano had dropped into a sideways crouch right into the open and fired back. More fire came from overhead, splintering a ceiling panel, Algini moved and fired back, and Bren darted across the hall, his back against the same wall Tano had used.

A volley of fire went overhead, above the panels, and one came back.

Algini stood mid-hall and fired nearly straight up. Something up there thumped, and then there was quiet, except that Tano got to his feet. A dark dot appeared on the stone floor near where Algini was standing. A second spatted down in exactly the same spot. It took a second before Bren realized what was dripping.

“Clear!” Tano called back to his partner, holstering his gun, and cast a look down the hall. Bren leaned against the decorative paneling and far from automatically, working a little, put the safety back on his gun.

Curious. His hands had used to shake considerably. Now he was thinking they’d kept the hall safe, he was thinking they’d kept the dowager safe, that it had been a better-than-average lot that had actually gotten through their perimeter—someone damned good, in fact; and thinking, with a small shudder, that, thank God, some on hisside were better. But he was worried about Ilisidi’s men on the roof. And just too cold-blooded about it. He didn’t recognize himself.

And then he did give a shiver, thinking how Banichi and Jago were out there somewhere trying to pull exactly what they’d just killed two people trying to do, here.

That didn’t make him feel better. Not at all.

Algini gave him a solemn look and nodded, then listened to something for a second, frozen quite still.

Down the hall, the library door opened slightly, and one of Ilisidi’s young men glanced out, and came all the way out to exchange a handsign with Tano up at that end of the hallway.

The stain on the stones was widening.

But they had no all-clear yet. They might not have one for some time. Standard procedure would send a search all through the area.

And in fact, while they stood there, shots sounded outside, maybe out on the road.

More came from their roof.

“Not safe yet,” he said under his breath. “I hope they’re alive up there.”

“That may have been an all-clear signal, Bren-ji,” Algini said. “But we should not rely on it. Best go back to the station and wait.”

Strong hint. There was mop-up yet to do. And Cenedi’s men would bear the brunt of it, if there was more to come. They had someone dead, likely, in their attic, bleeding a puddle onto the hallway floor. Someone down that hall was likely dead, right in front of the dining room, having shot a piece out of the paneling near the office. Bren found himself angry, a sense of outrage for the broken peace, for an attack his domestic staff hadn’t deserved, except for their service to him.

“Yes,” he said, to Algini’s strong suggestion, and began to walk in that direction, Algini walking with him.

Algini had to let them in: the door had shut and the lock had tripped. And Algini went right back to his console. In a very little time Tano came back and joined him, and took his former seat.

“Two of them,” Tano said.

Algini nodded. “Yes. That seems to have solved the immediate alarm.”

Bren took his former seat, trying to find in himself what he had used to feel, some sense of sympathy for a dead enemy, regret for the waste. It was there, but it was scant at the moment. Far stronger was his concern for Banichi and Jago, for the dowager’s pair with them; concern for the village, which had little protection but the general Guild policy of not involving such places—and the Marid had broken no few pieces of Guild policy. Hell, the Marid had tried to subvert the Guild itself, charging it was overly Ragi in leadership.

That hadn’t held. The Guild had solved its problem when Murini went down.

Murini was dead. His own clan had repudiated him. The Guild was the Guild again.

But that didn’t mean the Marid Association had reformed. And the quiet behavior of the Marid since the Troubles didn’t guarantee anything.

Worse, since the Troubles, with new weapons, new techniques—the old rules about keeping Guild business out of civilian venues were weakening. It was more than the traditional weapons and equipment at issue. Traditional limits of warfare were in serious jeopardy. Atevi hadn’t, historically, tended to have wars, just local skirmishes. Guild work. Professionals against professionals. Only a handful of times had it escalated to involve non-Guild. That was more than custom. It was a foundation of society. When somebody crossed that line, as Murini had—

“Tano-ji,” he asked. “How isthe village? Have you any word?”

“We have no reports of difficulty there,” Tano answered him. “We have observers able to report.”

Good for that, he thought, but decided not to accord the Marid any points for civilized behavior: not yet.

Things could get much, much worse than the attempt of just two Assassins to get inside.

Maybe, on the other hand, they were lucky: maybe that waswhat they had to deal with tonight, and the Marid didn’t have reinforcements ready to move in.

Failure of intelligence on the Marid’s part, perhaps. Failure of the local crew keeping tabs on Baiji to seek new instructions in time—either not having been told that the aiji-dowager had moved in with her guard; or being unprepared with higher-level Guild where they most needed them: inside Baiji’s household. They’d missed killing him. This was the second try—a better one than the first, for damned certain, but again—not with massive force.

Dared one think—they hadn’t been ready to deal with him yet?

Maybe Baiji had in fact made a try at warning him when he’d showed up at Baiji’s doorc give Baiji credit, he’d been sending signals. Or fear had been getting the better of him, once he was faced with the reality of the paidhi and the aiji’s son walking into a trap. Baiji had started sweating, and known he wasn’t lying with any skill, which had made him more and more nervous—which had blown everything.

If he’d never come calling on Baiji, if Geigi ever did pay his long-threatened visit home, Geigi might not have survived the first day on the ground. And everything would have been tolerably quiet, if the Assassins had managed it with some finesse.

Baiji would have inherited—married that Marid girl. The whole thing could have played out over five or ten years in which things on the coast just went from bad to worse. Like sitting in the stewpot with the water heating slowly—at what point would the aiji have made a countermove?

Sooner than they’d hoped, maybe. But all that was moot, since the kids and the sailboat. Baiji had taken his boat out—

Maybe Baiji really had wanted to make a break for it.

Maybec Baiji or his handlers had had other plans.

He’d never seen Baiji’s yacht—seen its lights in the distance, or thought he had; but he hadn’t stayed for conversation. He’d picked up the kids, turned around, rather rudely, but necessarily, and gotten them back to safety—to call on Baiji this morning. Contact made. Bait set. They’d have taken him out last night if they’d gotten a chance. But maybe they’d kept the operation to low-level Guild, who might not be traced to the Marid.

Mistake, if that was the case. Hisbodyguard had gotten him out, and the whole thing had blown up when Banichi had grabbed Baijic with all Baiji knew. All the key pieces. All the agreements.

Damned sure somebody had to be sweating now, and not just Baiji. Maybe the Marid had just called in higher-level operatives, and thatmakeshift fix had just failed.

He sat there listening to operations he couldn’t wholly hear and watching what he had only the most general means to understand, watched until a little of the recent affair had drained out of his veins. The report came in—Tano told him, that two of Cenedi’s men, on the roof, had been killed—by darts. Ancient Guild weapon, silent and lethal without the necessity of foreign technology. The perpetrators had gotten through the roof, into the attic of the house itself. They had likely been assigned to penetrate the inner defenses, but the attic, a defensive measure, was partitioned into strongly fortified rooms. The intruders had broken out of the area they had gotten into, and then used what amounted to a central walkway agreeing with the main hall of the house itself. It was a centuries-old, traditional building pattern—not that different from other houses of the period. So they hadn’t had much trouble figuring where they were, once they had hit that central hall. They had been trying to get to their target, in his suite of roomsc him, specifically, only he hadn’t been there. He’d been with Tano and Algini, listening to that hurrying step in the overhead. One of them had gotten into the servant’s wing and broken through down therec Tano had attempted to gain that man’s surrender. But that movement had been a diversion.

The other one had gone for the main hall, and hadn’tfound an access panel. It was, Tano said, tricky up there. There was such a panel, to get down into the building on the east side of the house. But one had to be inhis suite to get to it. Comforting thought. He’d never even thoughtto take a personal tour of the attic.

“It was used once,” Tano said, idly, “to enable the Maladesi lord to get Guild to the dining room to poison his wife. It is in Guild records. They used a string, let down from the ceiling, in the preparation area, and dripped poison into the dish. A servant spotted what she thought was a flaw in the preparation, tasted it with a finger—quite imprudent. She scarcely recovered.”

“One takes it that that marriage ended in divorce.”

“Actually in the assassination of the Maladesi by the wife’s relatives,” Tano said. “This left a younger daughter. She married into the Farai. Another imprudent move.”

Business outside had slacked off considerably, or Tano would not have indulged in conversation. He still spoke without taking his eyes off his console.

“The current owner should know such things,” Bren muttered.

“The current lord of Najida has been somewhat busy,” Tano said, “while Algini and I spent a great deal of our time on the station in the company of Lord Geigi and his staff.”

“It was useful information,” Algini said quietly. Rare that Algini turned conversational, when there was business afoot. Like Tano, he never looked away for a heartbeat. “Lord Geigi knows all the houses in the district. We have communicated certain things to the staff. Banichihas made his scheduled signal.”

Bren let go a long, slow breath, and now a shiver ran through him, totally out of control. “Is he all right? Are they both, can you tell?”

“The signal is not that specific, Bren-ji,” Algini said. What it was, how interpreted, fell under the heading of Guild business, and Algini was not one to break the rules, but he went that far. And further. “Banichi would have signaled trouble, one surmises, if there were trouble.”

They had two dead among their staff, two more from among the enemy. They had the aiji-dowager and the heir sealed in the office. They had the junior lord of the province locked in the servants’ quarters. He was incredibly glad to have gotten word from Banichi. He kept shivering, and finally got it stopped.

It was still bound to be a long night.

Chapter 14

« ^ »

Morning arrived with gray light slitting through the storm shutters, and various outlying watchers reporting clear.

It also arrived in a communication from the aiji’s forces that they had secured the factory and the town hall of the adjacent township.

And in the relatively matter-of-fact squeal of brakes under the portico.

Bren heard it from his office—the dowager and the heir both having gone back to their respective suites. He came into the hallway, and a young maid looked out the spyhole and came flying back to him at all speed.

“Banichi and Jago, nandi, Banichi and Jago are here, and the dowager’s men!”

For once he was ahead of Tano and Algini—who came briskly down the hall and said that they had gotten word and Banichi and Jago were arriving.

“Get Ramaso, Matru-ji,” Bren bade the maid, and added: “You may run, nadi.”

She did that, at all speed. He fell in with Tano and Algini, and pulled the floor bolts as Tano and Algini first lifted the heavy bar and slid it into the slot, then pulled down the four top bolts, which were entirely out of his reach.

Then they pulled back the heavy doors and indeed, Banichi and Jago stood there under the portico, along with Nawari and Kasari—all dirty, dusty, a bit scuffed, hair flying a little loose—rare in itself: they hadn’t taken time for neatness. Kasari had his left arm in a sling.

“Nadiin-ji,” Bren said, the most undemanding, unchallenging salutation he could come up with. “One hopes to hear the details at your leisure. We came through it. Are you well?”

“Well enough,” Banichi said, hauling out a heavy bag of gear from the truck bed. “One can report, Bren-ji, that the aiji’s forces are now in charge of the estate, and are taking an accounting of such staff as they can find.”

“Good,” he said. “One is extremely relieved, nadiin-ji.” There were unresolved issues. There were many of them. But the middle of the hall with the four of them only just returned was no place for them. “You should go off duty a few hours at least.”

“A mutual sentiment, Bren-ji,” Jago said. She was holding her side somewhat, or favoring a shoulder: he could not determine. And Nawari and Kasari, lugging their own gear, paid the courtesy of a small bow, which Bren returned, which Jago and Banichi returned with a nod, and then Nawari and Kasari went off toward the servants’ wing, where Ilisidi’s more numerous guard had set up a makeshift barracks.

“Are you all right?” Bren asked. Clearly they were not. But they were here.

“The Marid has made its attempt on Lord Geigi’s estate.” That was the definitive past she used. Over and done. Put “paid” to. “There are other things to concern us, but not, at least, apt to show up here within the next few hours.”

And about that moment Cajeiri put his head out of his own doors, exclaimed, “Banichi-ji! Jago-ji!” and came hurrying up, belatedly attended by his coatless and embarrassed companions. “One is very glad you are safe, nadiin-ji.” A second, deeper bow, as he walked, a feat of agility. “One apologizes, one very profoundly apologizes for the difficulty.”

“The sentiment is greatly appreciated, young gentleman,” Banichi said quietly.

“There will be breakfast very soon,” Cajeiri reported.

“That, actually,” Jago said, “will come verywelcome.” She hitched the bag higher on her shoulder as she moved. “We shall, however, wash.”

“Use both baths, nadiin-ji,” Bren said. “You have complete priority, there and in the dining hall. Please use it.”

“We shall manage,” Banichi said. “I shall go down with Cenedi’s men.” He evaded Cajeiri’s attempt to help with his heavy bag, and winced a bit. “One is grateful, but this is heavy, and the Guild handles its own baggage. One is very glad to know you are safe, young gentleman.”

“One is ever so sorry, Banichi-ji! One is ever so sorry to have mixed things up!”

“You survived. Your companions survived.”

“We are all safe, Banichi-ji.”

“Good.”

“Shall one alert nand’ Siegi, nadiin-ji?” Bren asked. Siegi was the dowager’s personal physician.

“Not if he prevents us from breakfast,” Banichi said, never stopping. “Or our bath.”

“We shall call him!” Cajeiri exclaimed, and was off at a run, Antaro and Jegari lingering for an embarrassed bow.

“Nand’ Siegi is not to come upstairs until he has tended Kasari,” Jago said.

“Nadi,” they said, bowing, then ran after Cajeiri.

Bren walked with Banichi and Jago down the remainder of the hall; so did Tano and Algini, as far as their suite and inside.

“The dowager’s company,” Algini said grimly at that point, “lost Pejan and Rasano.”

Jago stopped, and let the baggage she carried thump to the floor, unhappy punctuation.

“They were experienced,” she said. “How?”

“It was Nochidi and Keigan that got past them,” Algini said. “Those two got inside, through the roof, likely in the distraction of our arrival.”

“Are they still a matter of concern?” Jago asked.

“Dead, both,” Tano said.

“Settled, then,” Banichi said. “So is Lord Baiji’s guard.” He shed his coat with a sigh, then helped Jago pull hers off. Jago’s left shoulder was bleeding, or had bled, into thick bandages.

“Jago-ji,” Bren said.

“Minor, Bren-ji,” Jago said. “Quite minor. Bath, stitches, breakfast, in that order. The driver is taking the truck back to the village to refuel. But it will be available at need.”

“One fears the estate bus is not capable of being driven, nadiin-ji,” Bren said.

“One noticed the condition of the south gate,” Banichi said, “from the road.”

“The driver opted not to ask the front door be unbolted,” Bren said. “Please. See to yourselves, at greatest priority. Shall I send breakfast here—if you would be more comfortable?”

Jago said, with a little wince, “That would be welcome, Bren-ji.”

“Very welcome,” Banichi said, and pulled off his shirt. “We would be most obliged.”

“I shall then,” he said, and left the room—left it to Guild debriefing to Guild, as they urgently needed to do. The first encounter with a maid in the hall sent that message to the kitchens: service for his guard and the dowager’s, in quarters.

They had the aiji’s men next door, at Kajiminda. That was an improvement. That he wouldn’t have to send his bodyguard back in to settle that business, that was an improvement.

But they had two dead, a loss that the dowager would not forget. Nor could he.

Settled, Banichi had said. But he was very, very dubious that it was at all settled. Geigi’s estate had taken damage—in several senses. The Korisul Coastal Association might have had an attack come into its midst: but the Marid Association, the four-clan aggregation that lay at the heart of the Southern Coastal Association, had both flexed its muscle and committed a critical error of timing.

That was good, in the sense that the situation had gone no further.

But where were Geigi’s people? All quiet, the Edi, while outsiders had prepared to assassinate the paidhi-aiji and while Baiji had made extraordinary gestures—extraordinary effort from such an unenterprising man; but on which side he had exerted such effort, and with what intent was not in the least clear.

Likely nobody they could trust for information yet knew all the things he wanted to knowc but pieces of that information might be had, here and there, and he meant to have them.

He had a unique responsibility now as a regional lord, in Geigi’s absence, in the situation with Kajiminda. He’d never had to exercise it. Still, he knew what that responsibility was, and that was to defend his people and assert their rights, and to extend a stabilizing influence throughout the Korisul Association. He had to represent his people with the aiji, had to secure what was good for the district, and the occupation by Tabini, a Ragi lord, was not, ultimately, going to be acceptable with the Edic who, for one thing, had to be approached, and asked what the hell had happened here. They were not likely to talk to Tabini, on general principles.

They might talk to him. He couldn’t swear to that. They might not, given the situation, even talk to Lord Geigi himself.

That had to be dealt with.

They had the Farai in his apartment; they had the Marid trying to disrupt the aishidi’tat; they had the Edi coast in disarray, for starters, and they had the aiji having had to move Guild into action in the Korisul, where Ragi-directed Guild historically had never been welcome.

He was, when he added it all up, mad. He had been mad last night. He was damned mad this morning.

And no little worried about the future.

Not least of which was a matter that had been nagging the back of his mind since last night on the bus.

The Edi. Edi—who constituted part of the population of Najida village. Who were partially the reasonKajiminda estate and Najida estate had enjoyed such a steady, reliable flow of information.

Ramaso hadn’t warned him. Ramaso hadn’t said a damned thing about the mowing, just about the debt. Had said there was a lapse in contact. But absent the critical information about Edi leaving Kajiminda—it hadn’t conveyed the real situation there.

And Ramaso hadn’t known that fact?

He wasn’t mad at Ramaso—yet. But that question was forming in his mind.

Edi. And total silence. Not unlike them. They pursued their own business. They were not a government, officially, within the aishidi’tatc but they settled their own affairs, handled their own disputes, and generally didn’t make outsiders aware of their business. A silent, self-directing lot—they frowned on their secrets being discovered. They’d run illicit trade. There was a tacit sort of agreement with the aishidi’tat: the aiji’s law didn’t investigate things in the Edi community and the Edi didn’t do things to annoy outsiders.

So there was at least a situation behind the silence about the neighboring estate—and he understood Ramaso had one foot in the village community and one foot in the estate, so to speak.

But not warning him? Worse, letting him take the aiji’s son over there with him?

There were questions.

There were a lot of questions—some of which he was prepared to ask, and some of which he was prepared to investigate.

But theirs was an old relationship. And Edi reticence and the Edi reputation for piracy and assassination had managed to keep the coup from touching Najida in his absence.

So it was worth a little second thought—his frustration with Ramaso’s silence.

It was worth a careful approach, and a due respect for what services the man had given him. Maybe, he thought, he ought to talk to Banichi about the matter—doubtless Banichi had also added up certain missing pieces of information, but Banichi was not from the district; Banichi and Jago came from further inland, part of the aiji’s household, once upon a time, and that—

That could be an issue that might complicate any investigation his bodyguard tried to make.

Diplomacy, besides, was hisexpertise.

He found Ramaso in the servants’ hall, supervising a temporary repair on the ceiling paneling—one of the young men was on a ladder taking measurements—and approached him quietly. “Rama-ji,” he said, and before all other business, inquired about their driver. “How is Iscarti this morning? One is distressed not yet to have gotten down to see him—my guard does not want to be parted from me—or from their monitoring equipment.”

“He certainly will understand. He is much improved, nandi. Awake and talking, with diminishing doses of painkiller. His mother has come up from the village.”

A piece of good news. “Brave woman. One is very glad. Tell him not to worry in the least about his family. Tell him we will see his salary paid, and his family protected, not even a question about the medical bills. And we will get down there, among first things when my guard lets me leave this hall.”

“One will do so, nandi. Though he asks us what did happen. He says he cannot remember.”

“Then I shall personally tell him what he did. With all gratitude.”

“That will so greatly please him, nandi.”

“One thing more you can do for me, Rama-ji.”

“What would this be, nandi?”

The question.

And the wider question.

“We have had a dearth of information, Rama-ji—information coming to us, and information coming from us. It seems perhaps the village has felt abandoned in my absence.”

“No such thing, nandi. They have known you were about important business.”

“Nevertheless—it seems I should be more concerned with Najida’s business. One hopes to speak to the village councillors about the general situation—about Kajiminda. About what has gone on in my absence, and during the Troubles. One wishes to address the council courteously and ask its advice.”

The young man on the ladder had had his head up above the ceiling. He had looked down, and now descended the ladder, casting a look at Ramaso and giving a little bow.

“This is Osi, nandi,” Ramaso said. “He is from the village, the council senior’s grandson.”

A bow to Bren. “One would be glad to carry a message, nandi.”

Council senior was a woman. That was generally the case in the countryside, in any village. Council senior was everybody’sgrandmother; but this was a blood relationship.