Maati smiled. It had taken three days to get all the insects out of the
great hall, and the argument about whether to simply choose a new venue
or wait for the last nervous slave to find and crush the last dying wasp
would easily have gone on longer than the problem itself. The time had
been precious. Sinja scratched again, winced, and pressed his hands flat
against the table, as if he could pin them there and not rely on his own
will to control himself.
"I hear you've had another letter from the Dai-kvo," Sinja said.
Maati pursed his lips. The pages were in his sleeve even now. "They'd
arrived in the night by a special courier who was waiting in apartments
Maati had bullied out of the servants of the dead Khai. The message
included an order to respond at once and commit his reply to the
courier. He hadn't picked up a pen yet. He wasn't sure what he wanted to
say.
"He ordered you back?" Sinja asked.
"Among other things," Maati agreed. "Apparently he's been getting
information from someone in the city besides myself."
"The other one? The boy?"
"Cehmai you mean? No. One of the houses that the Galts bought, I'd
guess. But I don't know which. It doesn't matter. He'll know the truth
soon enough."
"If you say so."
A bolt of lightning flashed and a half breath later, thunder rolled
through the thick air. Maati raised the bowl to his lips. The tea was
smoky and sweet, and it did nothing to unknot his guts. Sinja leaned
toward the window, his eyes suddenly bright. Maati followed his gaze.
Three figures leaned into the slanting rain-one a thick man with a
slight limp, the others clearly servants holding a canopy over the first
in a vain attempt to keep their master from being soaked to the skin.
All wore cloaks with deep hoods that hid their faces.
"Is that him?" Sinja asked.
"I think so," Maati said. "Go. Get ready."
Sinja vanished and Maati refilled his bowl of tea. It was only moments
before the door to the private room opened again and Porsha Radaani came
into the room. His hair was plastered back against his skull, and his
rich, ornately embroidered robes were dark and heavy with water. Maati
rose and took a pose of welcome. Radaani ignored it, pulled out the
chair Sinja had only recently left, and sat in it with a grunt.
"I'm sorry for the foul weather," Maati said. "I'd thought you'd take
the tunnels."
Radaani made an impatient sound.
"They're half flooded. The city was designed with snow in mind, not
water. The first thaw's always like a little slice of hell in the
spring. But tell me you didn't bring me here to talk about rain,
Maati-cha. I'm a busy man. The council's just about pulled itself back
together, and I'd like to see an end to this nonsense."
"That's what I wanted to speak to you about, Porsha-cha. I'd like you to
call for the council to disband. You're well respected. If you were to
adopt the position, the lower families would take interest. And the