other. Maati wondered if a city had ever gone from celebration to sorrow
and back again so quickly.
Tomorrow ended the mourning week, marked the wedding of the dead Khai's
last daughter, and began the open struggle to find the city's new
master. The quiet struggle had, of course, been going on for the week.
Adaut Kamau had denied any interest in the Khai's chair, but had spent
enough time intimating that support from the Dai-kvo might sway his
opinion that Nlaati felt sure the Kamau hadn't abandoned their
ambitions. Ghiah Vaunani had been perfectly pleasant, friendly, open,
and had managed in the course of their conversation to say nothing at
all. Even now, Maati saw messengers moving through the streets and
alleyways. The grand conversation of power might put on the clothes of
sorrow, but the chatter only changed form.
Maati walked more often these days. The wound in his belly was still
pink, but the twinges of pain were few and widely spaced. While he
walked the streets, his robes marked him as a man of importance, and not
someone to interrupt. Ile was less likely to be disturbed here than in
the library or his own rooms. And moving seemed to help him think.
He had to speak to l)aaya Vaunyogi, the soon-to-be father of Idaan
Machi. He'd been putting off that moment, dreading the awkwardness of
condolence and congratulations mixed. Ile wasn't sure whether to be
long-faced and formal or jolly and pleasant, and he felt a deep
certainty that whatever he chose would be the wrong thing. But it had to
be done, and it wasn't the worst of the errands he'd set himself for the
day.
There wasn't a soft quarter set aside for the comfort houses in Machi as
there had been in Saraykeht. Here the whores and gambling, druglaced
wine and private rooms were distributed throughout the city. Maati was
sorry for that. For all its subterranean entertainments, the soft
quarter of Saraykeht had been safe-protected by an armed watch paid by
all the houses. Ile'd never heard of another place like it. In most
cities of the Khaiem, a particular house might guard the street outside
its own door, but little more than that. In low towns, it was often wise
to travel in groups or with a guard after dark.
Maati paused at a watcrseller's cart and paid a length of copper for a
cup of cool water with a hint of peach to it. As he drank, he looked up
at the sun. He'd spent almost a full hand's time reminiscing about
Saraykeht and avoiding any real consideration of the Vaunyogi. He should
have been thinking his way through the puzzles of who had killed the
Khai and his son, who had spirited Otah-kvo away, and then falsified his
death, and why.
The sad truth was, he didn't know and wasn't sure that anything he'd
done since he'd cone had brought him much closer. He understood more of
the court politics, he knew the names of the great houses and trivia
about them: Kaman was supported by the breeders who raised mine dogs and
the copper workers, the Vaunani by the goldsmiths, tanners and
leatherworkers, Vaunvogi had business tics to Eddensea, Galt and the
Westlands and little money to show for it when compared to the Radaani.
But none of that brought him close to understanding the simple facts as