‘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 bowl 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 near-skeletal hand moved toward his belly.
‘There is a shadow in your city,’ Maati said. ‘You’ve called it by Otah’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 bag 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, armsmen 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 bit of bread, and leaned back. The effort seemed to exhaust him. Maati 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. Then 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. They 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 me and casting me into the wilderness, eh?’
‘I’ll make the suggestion, if you like.’
Otah’s laugh was thinner now. He took up the cheese, digging into its pale flesh with his fingers. He 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 bad, then,’ Otah said. ‘At least it does something for her.’
‘Do you mean that?’
‘I might as well, Maati-kya. Unless you plan to sneak me out in your sleeve, I think I’m going to be 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.
‘I am not stopping,’ he said.
‘May I ask why not?’
‘They are going to kill Otah-kvo.’
‘Yes,’ Cehmai agreed, his voice calm and equable. Maati might as well have said that winter would be cold.
‘And I have a few days to find whose crimes he’s carrying.’
Cehmai frowned and took a pose of query.
‘They’ll kill him anyway,’ Cehmai said. ‘If he killed Biitrah, they’ll execute him for that. If he didn’t, Danat will do the thing to keep his claim to be the Khai. Either way he’s a dead man.’
‘That’s likely true,’ Maati said. ‘But I’ve done everything else I can think to do, and this is still left, so I’ll do this. If there is anything at all I can do, I have to do it.’
‘In order to save your teacher,’ Cehmai said, as if he understood.
‘To sleep better twenty years from now,’ Maati said, correcting him. ‘If anyone asks, I want to be able to say that I did what could be done. And I want to be able to mean it. That’s more important to me than saving him.’
Cehmai seemed puzzled, but Maati found no better way to express it without mentioning his son’s name, and that would open more than it would close. Instead he waited, letting the silence argue for him. Cehmai took a pose of acceptance at last, and then tilted his head.
‘Maati-kvo . . . I’m sorry, but when was the last time you slept?’
Maati smiled and ignored the question.
‘I’m going to meet with one of the armsmen who saw my assassin killed,’ he said. ‘I was wondering if I could impose on you to find some servant from Danat’s household with whom I might speak later this evening. I have a few questions about him . . .’