"I'll make sure they're well kept until then," Cehmai said. "Have you
spoken with the Khai about his private collection?"
"Who'd want that? It's all copies of contracts and agreements from five
generations ago. Unless it's the most obscure etiquette ever to see
sunlight. Anyone who wants that, let them have it. You've got all the
good books. The philosophy, the grammars, the studies of the andat."
"It's a hard life you lead," Cehmai said. "So close and still, no."
"You are an arrogant prig," Baraath said. "Everyone knows it, but I'm
the only man in the city with the courage to say it to your face.
Arrogant and selfish and small-souled."
"Well, perhaps it's not too much to go over to the library. It isn't as
if it was that long a walk."
Baraath's face brightened for a moment, then, as the insincerity of the
comment came clear, squeezed as if he'd taken a bite of fresh lemon.
With a sound like an angry duck, he rose up and stalked from the baths
and into the fog.
"He's a terrible person," the andat said.
"I know. But he's a friend of mine."
"And terrible people need friends as much as good ones do," the andat
said, its tone an agreement. "More, perhaps."
"Which of us are you thinking of?"
Stone-Made-Soft didn't speak. Cehmai let the warmth of the water slip
into his flesh for a moment longer. Then he too rose, the water sluicing
from him, and walked to the dressing rooms. He dried himself with a
fresh cloth and found his robes, newly cleaned and dry. The other men in
the room spoke among themselves, joked, laughed. Cehmai was more aware
than usual of the formal poses with which they greeted him. In this
quiet season, there was little work for him, and the days were filled
with music and singing, gatherings organized by the young men and women
of the utkhaiem. But all the cakes tasted slightly of ashes, and the
brightest songs seemed tinny and false. Somewhere in the city, under her
brother's watchful eye, the woman he'd sworn to protect was locked away.
He adjusted his robes in the mirror, smiled as if trying the expression
like a party mask, and for the thousandth time noticed the weight of his
decision.
He left the bathhouse, following a broad, low tunnel to the east where
it would join a larger passage, one of the midwinter roads, which in
turn ran beneath the trees outside the poet's house before it broke into
a thousand maze-like corridors running under the old city. Along the
length of the passage, men and women stood or sat, some talking, some
singing. An old man, his dog lying at his feet, sold bread and sausages
from a hand cart. The girls he'd seen in the bathhouse had been joined
by young men, joking and posing in the timeless rituals of courtship.
Stone-Made-Soft was kneeling by the wall, looking out over all of it,
silently judging what it would take to bring the roof down and bury them
all. Cehmai reached out with his will and tugged at the andat. Still
smiling, Stone-Made-Soft rose and ambled over.
"I think the one on the far left was hoping to meet you," it said,
gesturing to the knot of young men and women as it drew near. "She was
watching you all the time we were in the baths."
"Perhaps it was Baraath she was looking at," Cehmai said.
"You think so?" the andat said. "I suppose he's a decent looking man.
And many women are overcome by the romance of the librarian. No doubt
you're right."
"Don't," Cehmai said. "I don't want to play that game again."
Something like real sympathy showed in the andat's wide face. The
struggle at the back of Cehmai's mind neither worsened nor diminished as
Stone-Made-Soft's broad hand reached out to rest on his shoulder.
"Enough," it said. "You did what you had to do, and whipping yourself
now won't help you or her. Let's go meet that girl. Talk to her. We can
find someone selling sweetcakes. Otherwise we'll only go back to the
rooms and sulk away another night."
Cehmai looked over, and indeed, the girl farthest to the left-her long,
dark hair unbound, her robes well cut and the green of jadecaught his
eyes, and blushing, looked away. He had seen her before, he realized.
She was beautiful, and he did not know her name.
"Perhaps another day," he said.
"There are only so many other days," the andat said, its voice low and
gentle. "I may go on for generations, but you little men rise and fall
with the seasons. Stop biting yourself. It's been months."
"One more day. I'll bite myself for one more day at least," Cehmai said.
"Come on."
The andat sighed and dropped its hand to its side. Cehmai turned east,
walking into the dim tunnels. He felt the temptation to look back, to
see whether the girl was watching his departure and if she was, what
expression she wore. He kept his eyes on the path before him and the
moment passed.
THE KHAI MACHI HAD NO OTHER NAME NOW THAT HE HAI) TAKEN HIS FAther's
office. It had been stripped from him in formal ceremony. He had
renounced it and sworn before the gods and the Emperor that he would be
nothing beyond this trust with which he had been charged. Otah had
forced his way through the ceremony, bristling at both the waste of time
and the institutional requirement that he lie in order to preserve
etiquette. Of Itani Noygu, Otah Machi, and the Khai Machi, the last was
the one least in his heart. But he was willing to pretend to have no
other self and the utkhaiem and the priests and the people of the city
were all willing to pretend to believe him. It was all like some
incredibly long, awkward, tedious game. And so when the rare occasion
arose when he could do something real, something with consequences, he
found himself enjoying it more perhaps than it deserved.
The emissary from Galt looked as if he were trying to convince himself
he'd misunderstood.
"Most high," he said, "I came here as soon as our ambassadors sent word
that they'd been expelled. It was a long journey, and winter travel's
difficult in the north. I had hoped that we could address your concerns
and ..."
Otah took a pose that commanded silence, then sat back on the black
lacquer chair that had grown no more comfortable in the months since
he'd first taken it. He switched from speaking in the Khaiate tongue to
Galtic. It seemed, if anything, to make the man more uncomfortable.
"I appreciate that the generals and lords of Gait are so interested in
... what? Addressing my concerns? And I thank you for coming so quickly,