"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