things to discuss with the sons of Machi."
The gardens, like the apartments, were small, well kept, beautiful, and
simple. A fountain murmured among carefully shaped, deeply fragrant pine
trees. Maati sat, looking out. From the side of mountain, the world
spread out before him like a map. He waited, his head buzzing, his heart
in turmoil. Before long he heard the steady grinding sound of footsteps
on gravel, and he turned to see the Dai-kvo making his way down the path
toward him. Maati stood. He had not known the Dai-kvo had started
walking with a cane. A servant followed at a distance, carrying a chair,
and did not approach until the Dai-kvo signaled. Once the chair was in
place, looking out over the same span that Maati had been considering,
the servant retreated.
"Interesting, isn't it?" the Dai-kvo said.
Maati, unsure whether he meant the view or the business with the sons of
Machi, didn't reply. The Dai-kvo looked at him, something part smile,
part something less congenial on his lips. He drew forth two
packets-letters sealed in wax and sewn shut. Maati took them and tucked
them in his sleeve.
"Gods. I'm getting old. You see that tree?" the Dai-kvo asked, pointing
at one of the shaped pines with his cane.
"Yes, most high."
"There's a family of robins that lives in it. They wake me up every
morning. I always mean to have someone break the nest, but I've never
quite given the order."
"You are merciful, most high."
The old man looked up at him, squinting. His lips were pressed thin, and
the lines in his face were black as charcoal. Maati stood waiting. At
length, the Dai-kvo turned away again with a sigh.
"Will you be able to do it?" he asked.
"I will do as the Dai-kvo commands," Maati said.
"Yes, I know you'll go there. But will you be able to tell me that he's
there? You know if he is behind this, they'll kill him before they go on
to each other. Are you able to bear that responsibility? Tell me now if
you aren't, and I'll find some other way. You don't have to fail again."
"I won't fail again, most high."
"Good. That's good," the Dai-kvo said and went silent. Maati waited so
long for the pose that would dismiss him that he wondered whether the
Dai-kvo had forgotten he was there, or had chosen to ignore him as an
insult. But the old man spoke, his voice low.
"How old is your son, Maati-cha?"
"Twelve, most high. But I haven't seen him in some years."
"You're angry with me for that." Maati began to take a pose of denial,
but checked himself and lowered his arms. This wasn't the time for court
politics. The Dai-kvo saw this and smiled. "You're getting wiser, my
boy. You were a fool when you were young. In itself, that's not such a
bad thing. Many men are. But you embraced your mistakes. You de fended
them against all correction. That was the wrong path, and don't think
I'm unaware of how you've paid for it."
"As you say, most high."