Hurried footsteps arrived from the accommodation. He looked up as a flashlight beam flared into his eyes, with a black, metal-sparked figure behind it,
“Bren-ji?” Jago asked. “Our apologies. It’s general, I’m afraid. Are you all right?”
“Perfectly fine,” he said. “—Do you mean to tell me that that piece of equipment they just freighted in and installed—just went out?”
“We truly don’t know, at this point. We suspect the first incident was arranged. We’re investigating this one. Please stay put.”
Away went the sense of security. The thought of intruders in the halls, while he was sitting in the bath—was not comfortable. “I’m getting out.”
“I’m going to be here,” Jago said. “You don’t have to, nadi-ji.”
“I’d rather. It’s fine. I was just going to read.”
“I’ll be in the reception room. I’ll tell Djinana.”
Jago left. He climbed out and dressed by candlelight, took a candle with him, but someone had already lit the lamps in the bedroom and in the sitting room.
Rain spattered the sitting room windows, a gray sameness that began to seem natural. He felt sorry for Banichi—who was probably out in that. Sorry, and worried for his safety. He didn’t understand how someone faked a lightning strike, or what they could have found out that changed things.
He walked into the reception room, found Jago standing in front of the window, the clouded light making a mask of her profile and glittering on her uniform. She was staring out at the lake, or at the featureless sky.
“They wouldn’t try the same thing again,” he said. “They can’t be that crazy.”
Jago looked at him—gave a small, strange laugh. “Perhaps that makes them clever. They expect us not to take it for granted.”
“They?”
“Or he or she. One doesn’t know, nadi. We’re trying to find out.”
Don’t bother me, he decided that meant. He stood and looked out the window, which gave him nothing at all.
“Go read if you like,” Jago said.
As if the mind could leap, that quickly, back to ski catalogs. His damned well couldn’t. It didn’t like informational voids; it didn’t like silent guards lurking in his reception room, or the chance there was a reason to need them, possibly slipping up the stairs outside.
Read, hell. He wanted a window that overlooked something but gray. He hadn’t the disposition, he decided. He was far too nervous.
“Nadi Bren. Come away from the window.”
He didn’t think about such things. He was chagrined, to be caught twice, shook his head and walked back—
Jago was staring at him with disturbing worry—set to shepherd a fool, he supposed, who walked in front of windows. “Sorry,” he said.
“Think as one thinks trying to reach you,” she said. “Do them no favors. Go, sit, relax.”
Guild assassin, Banichi had said. Someone Banichi knew. Socialized with.
And didn’t yet know why a man had broken the rules?
“Jago,—how does a person get a license?”
“To do what, Bren-ji?”
“You know. The Guild.” He wanted not to tread on sensibilities with Jago. He was sorry he’d wandered into the territory.
“To be licensed to the Guild? One elects. One chooses.”
It told him no more than before, what pushed a sane person in that direction. Jago didn’t seem the type—if there was a type to the profession.
“Bren-ji. Why do you ask?”
“Wondering—what sort of person is after me.”
Jago seemed to ignore his question then, looking off to the window. Into rain-spatter and nothing.
“We’re not one kind, Bren-ji. We’re not one face.”
None of your business, he supposed. “Nadi,” he said, departing, willing to leave her to her own thoughts, if he could only shake his own.
“What sort becomes paidhi?” she asked him, before he could take a second step.
Good question, he thought. Solid hit. He had to think about it, and didn’t find the answer he’d used to have… couldn’t even locate the boy who’d started down that track, couldn’t believe in him, even marginally.
“A fool, probably.”
“One doubts, nadi-ji. Is that a requirement?”
“I think so.”
“So… how do you vie for this honor? In what foolishness?”
“Curiosity. Wanting to know more than Mospheira. Doing good to the planet we’re on, the people we live next to.”