heard the bar slide home. All those men to protect him from this
half-dead rag.
"I've brought food," Maati said. "I considered wine, but it seemed too
much like a celebration."
Otah chuckled, a thick phlegmy sound.
"It would have gone to my head too quickly anyway," he said, his voice
weak. "I'm too old to go drinking without a good meal first."
Maati knelt and unfolded the robe and arranged the food he'd brought. It
seemed too little now, but when he broke off a corner of nut bread and
held it out, Otah nodded his gratitude and took it. Maati opened the
flask of water, put it beside Otah's feet, and sat back.
"What news?" Otah asked. "I don't hear much gossip up here."
"It's all as straightforward as a maze," Maati said. "House Siyanti is
calling in every favor it has not to be banned from the city. Your old
overseer has been going to each guild chapter house individually.
There's even rumor he's been negotiating with hired armsmen."
"He must be frightened for his life," Otah said and shook his head
wearily. "I'm sorry to have done that to him. But I suppose there's
little enough I can do about it now. There does always seem to be a
price people pay for knowing me."
Maati looked at his hands. For a moment he considered holding his
tongue. It would be worse, he thought, holding out hope if there was
none. But it was all that he had left to offer.
"I've sent to the Dai-kvo. I may have a way that you can survive this,"
he said. "There's no precedent for someone refusing the offer to become
a poet. It's possible that ..."
Otah sipped the water and put down the flask. His brow was furrowed.
"You've asked him to make me a poet?" Otah asked.
"I didn't say it would work," Maati said. "Only that I'd done it."
"Well, thank you for that much."
Otah reached out, took another hit of bread, and leaned back. The effort
seemed to exhaust him. Nlaati rose and paced the room. The view from the
window was lovely and inhuman. No one had ever been meant to see so far
at once. A thought occurred, and he looked in the corners of the room.
"Have they ... there's no night bucket," he said.
Otah raised one arm in a wide gesture toward the world outside.
"I've been using the window," he said. Maati smiled, and Otah smiled
with him. 't'hen for a moment they were laughing together.
"Well, that must confuse people in the streets," Maati said.
"Very large pigeons," Otah said. "They blame very large pigeons."
Maati grinned, and then felt the smile fade.
"They're going to kill, you Otah-kvo. The Khai and Danat. 't'hey can't
let you live. You're too well known, and they think you'll act against
them."
"They won't make do with blinding inc and casting me into the
wilderness, eh?"
"I'll make the suggestion, if you like."
Otah's laugh was thinner now. Ile took up the cheese, digging into its
pale flesh with his fingers. lie held a sliver out to Maati, offering to
share it. Maati hesitated, and then accepted it. It was smooth as cream
and salty. It would go well with the nut bread, he guessed.
"I knew this was likely to happen when I chose to come back," Otah said.
"I'm not pleased by it, but it will spare Kiyan, won't it? They won't
keep pressing her?"
"I can't see why they would," Maati said.
"Dying isn't so had, then," Otah said. "At least it does something for her."
"Do you mean that?"
"I might as well, Nlaati-kya. Unless you plan to sneak me out in your
sleeve, I think I'm going to he spared the rigors of a northern winter.
I don't see there's anything to be done about that."
Maati sighed and nodded. He rose and took a pose of farewell. Even just
the little food and the short time seemed to have made Otah stronger. He
didn't rise, but he took a pose that answered the farewell. Maati walked
to the door and pounded to be let out. He heard the scrape of the bar
being raised. Otah spoke.
"Thank you for all this. It's kind."
"I'm not doing it for you, Otah-kvo."
"All the same. Thank you."
Maati didn't reply. The door opened, and he stepped out. The captain of
the armsmen started to speak, but something in Maati's expression
stopped him. Maati strode to the sky doors and out to the platform as if
he were walking into a hallway and not an abyss of air. He clasped his
hands behind him and looked out over the roofs of Machi. What had been
vertiginous only recently failed to move him now. His mind and heart
were too full. When he reached the ground again, he walked briskly to
his apartments. The wound in his belly itched badly, but he kept himself
from worrying it. He only gathered his papers, sat on a deck of oiled
wood that looked out over gardens of summer trees and ornate flowers a
brighter red than blood, and planned out the remainder of his day.
There were still two armsmen from the cages with whom he hadn't spoken.
If he knew who had killed the assassin, it would likely lead him nearer
the truth. And the slaves and servants of the Third Palace might be
persuaded to speak more of Danat Machi, now that he was coming back
covered in the glory of his brother's blood. If he had used the story of
Otah the Upstart to distract his remaining brother from his schemes ...
A servant boy interrupted, announcing Cehmai. Maati took a pose of
acknowledgment and had the young poet brought to him. He looked unwell,
Maati thought. His skin was too pale, his eyes troubled. He couldn't
think that Otah-kvo was bothering Cehmai badly, but surely something was.
Still, the boy managed a grin and when he sat, he moved with more energy
than Maati himself felt.
"You sent for me, Maati-kvo?"
"I have work," he said. "You offered to help me with this project once.
And I could do with your aid, if you still wish to lend it."
"You aren't stopping?"
Maati considered. He could say again that the Dai-kvo had told him to
discover the murderer of Biitrah Machi and whether Otah-kvo had had a
hand in it, and that until he'd done so, he would keep to his task. It
had been a strong enough argument for the utkhaiem, even for the Khai.
But Cehmai had known the Dai-kvo as well as he had, and more recently.
He would see how shallow the excuse was. In the end he only shook his head.