"How did this happen?" Caiin Dun cried. His voice was as anguished as if
he'd lost a son. "There was a stirring in the air. Fear. Without
thinking, Otah rose, his hands flowing into a pose of censure.
"Dun-cha," he said, his voice cold as stone and harder. "You are not
here to shout me down. I have brought you here as a courtesy. Do you
understand that?"
The man took an apologetic pose, but Otah pressed.
"I asked whether you understood, not whether you were regretful."
"I understand, Most High," the man muttered.
"The potters will have to work clay until some other accommodation can
be made," Otah said. "With proper control, this will be an
inconvenience, not a catastrophe. The city is wounded, yes. We all know
that, and I won't have that made worse by panic. I expect each of you to
stand with your Khai, and make your people know that there is nothing to
fear. The contracts directly affected by this loss will be brought to me
personally. I will see to it that any losses are recompensed so that no
one family or house carries more of this burden than its share. And any
contracts not directly affected by the andat's absence are still in
force. Do each of you understand that?"
A low chorus of affirmation rose. They sounded as reluctant as boys
before a tutor.
"Also I have put armsmen on the bridge. Any house who chooses this time
to relocate its wealth to some other city will forfeit their holdings
here. Any silver over a hundred lengths that leaves Machi at one time
must be allowed by me."
Ashua Radaani took a pose that begged permission to speak. It was proper
etiquette, and Otah felt the tightness in his chest release by half a
turn. At least they were now respecting forms.
"Most High," Radaani said, "this may not be the best time to put
restrictions on trade. Machi will need to keep its ties to the other
cities strong if we're to weather this tragedy."
"If the smaller houses see carts of gold rolling away to Cetani and
tldun, they'll start talking of how the rats all run when the house
catches fire," Otah said. "My house hasn't caught fire."
Radaani pursed his lips, his eyes shifting as if reading some invisible
text as he reconsidered some internal plan that Otah had just ruined,
but he said nothing more.
"Machi needs your loyalty and your obedience," Otah said. "You are all
good men, and the leaders of respected families. Understand that I value
each of you, and your efforts to keep the peace in this time will he
remembered and honored."
And the first of you to bolt, I will destroy and sow your lands with
salt, Otah thought but didn't say. He let his eyes carry that part of
the message, and from the unease in the men before him, he knew that
they had understood. For over a decade, they had thought themselves
ruled by a softhearted man, an upstart put in his father's chair by
strange fortune and likely less suited to the role than his lady wife,
the innkeep. And as terrible as this day was, Otah found he felt some
small joy in suggesting they might have been mistaken.
Once they had been dismissed, Otah waved away his servants and walked to
his private apartments. Kiyan came to him, taking his hand in her own.
Cehmai sat on the edge of a low couch, his face still empty with shock.
He had been weeping openly when Otah left.
"How did it go?" Kiyan asked.
"Well, I think. Strangely, it's much easier than dealing with Eiah."
"You don't love them," Kiyan said.
"Ah, is that the difference?"
A plate of fresh apples stood on a copper table, a short, wicked knife
beside it. Otah sliced a bit of the white flesh and chewed thoughtfully.
"They'll still move their wealth away, you know," Kiyan said. "Blocking
the bridge won't stop a ferry crossing in the night with its lanterns
shuttered or wagons looping up north and crossing the water someplace in
the mountains."
"I know it. But if I can keep the thing down to a few ferries and
wagons, that will do. I'll also need to send messages to the Khaiem,"
Otah said. "Cetani and Amnat-Tan to start."
"Better they hear the had news from you," she agreed. "Should I call for
a scribe?"
"No. Just paper and a fresh ink brick. I'll do the thing myself."
"I'm sorry, Most High," Cehmai said again. "I don't know ... I don't
know how it happened. He was there, and then ... he just wasn't. 'T'here
wasn't even a struggle. He just ..."
"It doesn't matter," Otah said. "It's gone, and so it's gone. We'll move
forward from that."
"It does matter, though," the poet said, and his voice was a cry of
despair. Otah wondered what it would feel like, dedicating a life to one
singular thing and then in an instant, losing it. He himself had led a
half-dozen lives-laborer, fisherman, midwife's assistant, courier,
father, Khai-but Cehmai had never been anything besides a poet. Exalted
above all other men, honored, envied. And now, suddenly, he was only a
man in a brown robe. Otah put a hand to the man's shoulder, and saw a
moment's passing shame in Cehmai's expression. It was, perhaps, too
early still for comfort.
A scratch came at the door and a servant boy entered, took a formal
pose, and announced the poet Maati Vaupathai and Liat Chokavi. A moment
later, Maati rushed in, his cheeks an alarming red, his breath hard, his
belly heaving. Liat was no more than a step behind. He could see the
alarm in her expression. Kiyan stepped forward and helped Maati to a
seat. The two women met each other's gaze, and there was a moment's
tension before Otah stepped forward.
"Liat-cha," he said. "Thank you for coming."
"Of course," she said. "I came as soon as Maati asked me. Is something
wrong? Have we heard from the Dai-kvo?"
"No," Maati said between gasps. "Not that."
Otah took a questioning pose, and Maati shook his head.
"Didn't say. People around. Would have been heard," Maati said. 't'hen,
"Gods, I need to eat less. I'm too fat to run anymore."
Otah took Liat's elbow and guided her to a chair, then sat beside
Cehmai. Only Kiyan remained standing.
"Liat-cha, you worked with Amat Kyaan," Otah said. "You've taken over
the house she founded. She must have spoken with you about how those
first years were. After Heshai-kvo died and Seedless escaped."