A Betrayal in Winter (lpq-2) (25 page)

Otah stretched out in a corner, his arm thrown over his eyes, and tried

to sleep, wondering as he did whether the sense of movement came from

his own abused and exhausted body, or if it were true that so far up

even stone swayed.

MAATI LOOKED AT THE FLOOR. HIS FACE WAS HARD WITH FRUSTRATION AND anger.

"If you want him dead, most high," he said, his voice measured and

careful, "you might at least have the courtesy to kill him."

The Khai Machi raised the clay pipe to his lips. He seemed less to

breathe the smoke in than to drink it. The sweet resin from it had

turned every surface in the room slightly tacky to the touch. The

servant in the blue and gold robes of a physician sat discreetly in a

dim corner, pretending not to hear the business of the city. The

rosewood door was closed behind them. Lanterns of sanded glass filled

the room with soft light, rendering them all shadowless.

"I've listened to you, Maati-cha. I didn't end him there in the audience

chamber. I am giving you the time you asked," the old man said. "Why do

you keep pressing me?"

"He has no blankets or fire. The guards have given him three meals in

the last four days. And l)anat will return before I've had word hack

from the I)ai-kvo. If this is all you can offer, most high-"

"You can state your case to l)anat-cha as eloquently as you could to

me," the Khai said.

"There'll be no point if Otah dies of cold or throws himself out the

tower window before then," Maati said. "Let me take him food and a thick

robe. Let me talk with him."

"It's hopeless," the Khai said.

"Then there's nothing lost but my effort, and it will keep me from

troubling you further."

"Your work here is complete, isn't it? Why are you bothering me,

Maati-cha? You were sent to find Otah. He's found."

"I was sent to find if he was behind the death of Biitrah, and if he was

not, to discover who was. I have not carried out that task. I won't

leave until I have."

The Khai's expression soured, and he shook his head. His skin had grown

thinner, the veins at his temples showing dark. When he leaned forward,

tapping the howl of his pipe against the side of the iron brazier with a

sound like pebbles falling on stone, his grace could not hide his

discomfort.

"I begin to wonder, Maati-cha, whether you have been entirely honest

with me. You say that there is no great love between you and my upstart

son. You bring him to me, and for that reason alone, I believe you.

Everything else you have done suggests the other. You argue that it was

not he who arranged Biitrah's death, though you have no suggestion who

else might have. You ask for indulgences for the prisoner, you appeal to

the Dai-kvo in hopes ..

A sudden pain seemed to touch the old man's features and one

nearskeletal hand moved toward his belly.

"There is a shadow in your city," Maati said. "You've called it by

Utah's name, but none of it shows any connection with Otah: not Biitrah,

not the attack on me, not the murder of the assassin. None of the other

couriers of any house report anything that would suggest he was more

than he appeared. By his own word, he'd fled the city before the attack

on me, and didn't return before the assassin was killed. How is it that

he arranged all these things with no one seeing him? No one knowing his

name? How is it that, now he's trapped, no one has offered to sell him

in trade for their own lives?"

"Who then?"

"I don't ..."

"Who else gained from these things?"

"Your son, Danat," Maati said. "He broke the pact. If all this talk of

Otah was a ploy to distract Kaiin from the real danger, then it worked,

most high. Danat will be the new Khai Machi."

"Ask him when he comes. He will be the Khai Machi, and if he has done as

you said, then there's no crime in it and no reason that he should hide it."

"A poet was attacked-"

"And did you die? Are you dying? No? Then don't ask sympathy from me.

Go, Maati-cha. Take the prisoner anything you like. Take him a pony and

let him ride it around his cell, if that pleases you. Only don't return

to me. Any business you have with me now, you have with my son.

The Khai took a pose of command that ended the audience, and Maati

stood, took a pose of gratitude that he barely felt, and withdrew from

the meeting room. He stalked along the corridors of the palace seething.

Back in his apartments, he took stock. He had gathered together his

bundle even before he'd gone to the audience. A good wool robe, a rough

cloth hag filled with nut breads and dry cheeses, and a flask of fresh

water. Everything that he thought the Khai's men would permit. He folded

it all together and tied it with twine.

At the base of the great tower, armsmcn stood guard at the platform-a

metalwork that ran on tracks set into the stone of the tower, large

enough to carry twelve men. The chains that held it seemed entirely too

thin. Maati identified himself, thinking his poet's robe, reputation,

and haughty demeanor might suffice to make the men do as he instructed.

Instead, a runner was sent to the Khai's palace to confirm that Maati

was indeed permitted to see the prisoner and to give him the little

gifts that he carried. Once word was brought back, Maati climbed on the

platform, and the signalman on the ground blew a call on a great

trumpet. The chains went taut, and the platform rose. Maati held onto

the rail, his knuckles growing whiter as the ground receded. Wind

plucked at his sleeves as the roofs of even the greatest palaces fell

away below him. The only things so high as he was were the towers, the

birds, and the mountains. It was beautiful and exhilarating, and all he

could think the whole time was what would happen if a single link in any

of the four chains gave way. When he reached the open sky doors at the

top, the captain of the armsmen took him solidly by his arm and helped

him step in.

"First time, eh?" the captain said, and his men chuckled, but not

cruelly. It was a journey each of them risked, Maati realized, every

day. These men were more likely to die for the vanity of Machi than he.

He smiled and nodded, stepping away from the open space of the sky door.

"I've come to see the prisoner," he said.

"I know," the captain said. "The trumpet said as much, if you knew to

listen for it. But understand, if he attacks you-if he tries to bargain

your life for his freedom-I'll send your body down. You make your choice

when you go in there. I can't be responsible for it."

The captain's expression was stern. Maati saw that he thought this

possible, the danger real. Maati took a pose of thanks, hampered

somewhat by the bundle under his arm. The captain only nodded and led

him to a huge wooden door. Four of his men drew their blades as he

unbarred it and let it swing in. Maati took a deep breath and stepped

through.

Otah was huddled in a corner, his arms wrapped around his knees. He

looked up and then back down. Maati heard the door close behind him,

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 ...