Broke his nose for him, I heard."
"Really?"
Baarath nodded. The sallow man droned on half forgotten now as Baarath
spoke close to Maati's ear.
"There are rumors of reprisal, but old Kaman's made it clear that anyone
doing anything will he sent to tar ships in the Westlands. They say he
doesn't want people thinking ill of the house, but I think it's his last
effort to keep an alliance open against Adrah Vaunyogi. It's clear
enough that someone's bought little Adrah a great deal more influence
than just sleeping with a dead man's daughter would earn."
Baarath grinned, then coughed and looked concerned.
"Don't repeat that to anyone, though," he said. "Or if you do, don't say
it was me. It's terribly rude, and I'm rather drunk. I only came up here
to sober up a bit."
"Yes, well, I came up to keep an eye on the process, and I think it's
more likely to put your head on a pillow than clear it."
Baarath chuckled.
"You're an idiot if you came here to see what's happening. It's all out
in the piss troughs where a man can actually speak. Didn't you know
that? Honestly, Maati-kya, if you went to a comfort house, you'd spend
all your time watching the girls in the front dance and wondering when
the fucking was supposed to start."
Maati's jaw went tight. When Baarath offered the fish again, Maati
refused it. The sallow man finished, and an old, thick-faced man rose,
took the pulpit, announced himself to be Cielah Pahdri, and began
listing the various achievements of his house dating back to the fall of
the Empire. Maati listened to the recitation and Baraath's overloud
chewing with equal displeasure.
He was right before, Maati told himself. Baarath was the worst kind of
ass, but he wasn't wrong.
"I assume," Maati said, "that `piss troughs' is a euphemism."
"Only half. Most of the interesting news comes to a few teahouses at the
south edge of the palaces. They're near the moneylenders, and that
always leads to lively conversations. Going to try your luck there?"
"I thought I might," Maati said as he rose.
"Look for the places with too many rich people yelling at each other.
You'll be fine," Baarath said and went back to chewing his trout.
Maati took the steps two at a time, and slipped out the rear of the
gallery into a long, dark corridor. Lanterns were lit at each end, and
Maati strode through the darkness with the slow burning runout of
annoyance that the librarian always seemed to inspire. He didn't see the
woman at the hallway's end until he had almost reached her. She was
thin, fox-faced, and dressed in a simple green robe. She smiled when she
caught his eye and took a pose of greeting.
"Maati-cha?"
Maati hesitated, then answered her greeting.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I seem to have forgotten your name."
"We haven't met. My name is Kiyan. Itani's told me all about you."
It took the space of a breath for him to truly understand what she'd