It would be something worth taking pride in.
So why was it, he wondered, that he would not do as he was told? Why was
the prospect of leaving and accepting the rewards he had dreamed of less
appealing than staying, risking the Dai-kvo's displeasure, and
discovering what had truly happened to the Khai Machi? It wasn't love of
justice. It was more personal than that.
Maati paused, closed his eyes, and considered the roiling anger in his
breast. It was a familiar feeling, like an old companion or an illness
so protracted it has become indistinguishable from health. He couldn't
say who he was angry with or why the banked rage demanded that he follow
his own judgment over anyone else's. He couldn't even say what he hoped
he would find.
He plucked the Dai-kvo's letter from his sleeve, read it again slowly
from start to finish, and began to mentally compose his reply.
Most high Dai-kvo, I hope you will forgive me, but the situation in
Machi is such that ...
Most high Dai-kvo, I am sure that, had you known the turns of event
since my last report ...
Most high, I must respectfully ...
Most high Dai-kvo, what have you ever done for me that I should do
anything you say? Why do I agree to be your creature when that agreement
has only ever caused inc pain and loss, and you still instruct me to
turn my hack on the people I care for most?
Most high Dai-kvo, I have fed your last letter to pigs....
"Maati-kvo!"
Maati opened his eyes and turned. Cehmai, who had been running toward
him, stopped short. Maati thought he saw fear in the boy's expression
and wondered for a moment what Cehmai had seen in his face to inspire
it. Maati took a pose that invited him to speak.
"Otah," Cehmai said. "'They've found him."
Too late, then, Maati thought. I've been too slow and come too late.
"Where?" he asked.
"In the river. There's a bend down near one of the low towns. They found
his body, and a man in leather armor. One of the men who helped him
escape, or that's what they've guessed. The Master of Tides is having
them brought to the Khai's physicians. I told him that you had seen Otah
most recently. You would be able to confirm it's really him."
Maati sighed and watched a sparrow try to land on the branch of a cherry
tree. The netting confused it, and the bird pecked at the lines that
barred it from the fruit just growing sweet. Nlaati smiled in sympathy.
"Let's go, then," he said.
There was a crowd in the courtyard outside the physician's apartments.
Armsmen wearing mourning robes barred most of the onlookers but parted
when Maati and Cehmai arrived. The physician's workroom was wide as a
kitchen, huge slate tables in the center of the room and thick incense
billowing from a copper brazier. The bodies were laid out naked on their
bellies-one thick and well-muscled with a heaped pile of black leather
on the table beside it, the other thinner with what might have been the
robes of a prisoner or cleaning rags clinging to its back. The Master of