talking passionately, but stopped when they saw the poets.
The Master of Tides took a pose that offered service.
"I have come on behalf of the Dai-kvo," Maati said. "I wished to confirm
the reports that Otah Machi is dead."
"Well, he isn't going dancing," the physician said, pointing to the
thinner corpse with his chin.
"We're pleased by the Dai-kvo's interest," the Master of Tides said,
ignoring the comment. "Cehmai-cha suggested that you might be able to
confirm for us that this is indeed the upstart."
Maati took a pose of compliance and stepped forward. The reek was
terrible-rotting flesh and something deeper, more disturbing. Cehmai
hung back as Maati circled the table.
Maati gestured at the body, his hand moving in a circle to suggest
turning it over that he might better see the dead man's face. The
physician sighed, came to Maati's side, and took a long iron hook. He
slid the hook under the body's shoulder and heaved. There was a wet
sound as it lifted and fell. The physician put away the hook and
arranged the limbs as Maati considered the bare flesh before him.
Clearly the body had spent its journey face down. The features were
bloated and fisheaten-it might have been Otah-kvo. It might have been
anyone.
On the pale, water-swollen flesh of the corpse's breast, the dark ink
was still visible. The tattoo. Maati had his hand halfway out to touch
it before he realized what he was doing and pulled his fingers back. The
ink was so dark, though, the line where the tattoo began and ended so
sharp. A stirring of the air brought the scent fully to his nose, and
Maati gagged, but didn't look away.
"Will this satisfy the Dai-kvo?" the Master of Tides asked.
Maati nodded and took a pose of thanks, then turned and gestured to
Cehmai that he should follow. The younger poet was stone-faced. Maati
wondered if he had seen many dead men before, much less smelled them.
Out in the fresh air again, they navigated the crowd, ignoring the
questions asked them. Cehmai was silent until they were well away from
any curious ear.
"I'm sorry, Maati-kvo. I know you and he were-"
"It's not him," Maati said.
Cehmai paused, his hands moved up into a pose that spoke of his
confusion. Maati stopped, looking around.
"It isn't him," Maati said. "It's close enough to be mistaken, but it
isn't him. Someone wants us to think him dead-someone willing to go to
elaborate lengths. But that's no more Otah Machi than I am."
"I don't understand," Cehmai said.
"Neither do I. But I can say this, someone wants the rumor of his death
but not the actual thing. They're buying time. Possibly time they can
use to find who's really done these things, then-"
"We have to go back! You have to tell the Master of Tides!"
Maati blinked. Cehmai's face had gone red and he was pointing back
toward the physician's apartments. The boy was outraged.
"If we do that," Maati said, "we spoil all the advantage. It can't get