Otah put down his cup. Even under the blanket of whiskers, he could see
the half-smile twitch at Amiit's mouth. The overseer's eyes sparkled.
"But perhaps you do?" Amiit suggested.
"No, but ... no. I've dealt with something else once. Something
happened. The Galts were behind it. What are they doing here? How do
they figure in?"
"They're making contracts with half the houses in Machi. Large contracts
at disadvantageous terms. They've been running roughshod over the
Westlands so long they're sure to be good for it-they have almost as
much money as the Khaiem. It may just be they've a new man acting as the
overseer for the Machi contracts, and he's no good. But I doubt it. I
think they're buying influence."
"Influence to do what?"
"I haven't the first clue," Amiit said. "I was hoping you might know."
Otah shook his head. He took another piece of chicken, but his mind was
elsewhere. The Galts in Machi. He tried to make Biitrah's death, the
attack on Maati, and his own improbable freedom into some pattern, but
no two things seemed to fit. He drank his wine, feeling the warmth
spread through his throat and belly.
"I need your word on something, Amiit-cha. That if I tell you what I
know, you won't act on it lightly. There are lives at stake."
"Galtie lives?"
"Innocent ones."
Amiit considered silently. His face was closed. Otah poured more water
into his cup. Amiit silently took a pose that accepted the offered
terms. Otah looked at his hands, searching for the words he needed to say.
"Saraykeht. When Seedless acted against Heshai-kvo there, the Gaits were
involved. They were allied with the andat. I believe they hoped to find
the andat willing allies in their own freedom, only Seedless was ...
unreliable. They hurt Heshai badly, even though their plan failed. They
aren't the ones who murdered him, but Heshai-kvo let himself be killed
rather than expose them."
"Why would he do an idiot thing like that?"
"He knew what would happen. He knew what the Khai Saraykeht would do."
Otah felt himself on the edge of confession, but he stopped before
admitting that the poet had died at his hands. There was no need, and
that, at least, was one secret that he chose to keep to himself.
Instead, he looked up and met Amiit's gaze. When the overseer spoke, his
voice was calm, measured, careful.
"He would have slaughtered Galt," Amiit said.
"Innocent lives."
"And some guilty ones."
"A few."
Amiit leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled before his lips.
Otah could almost see the calculations taking place behind those calm,
dark eyes.
"So you think this is about the poets?"
"It was last time," Otah said. "Let me send a letter to Maati. Let me
warn him-"