happened to rise at the same time, and Otah knew that no one in the
drunken, boisterous room they left had failed to notice it.
"So, it sounds as if all the interesting things in the world were
happening in Machi," Otah said as they strode back through the hallways
of the house compound. "You are still hoping to send me there?"
"I've been hoping," Amiit Foss agreed. "But I have other plans if you
have some of your own."
"I don't," Otah said, and Amiit paused. In the dim lantern light, Otah
let the old man search his face. Something passed over Amiit, the ghost
of some old sorrow, and then he took a pose of condolence.
"I thought you had come to quit the house," Amiit said.
"I'd meant to," Otah said, surprised at himself for admitting it.
Amiit gestured Otah to follow him, and together they retired to Amiit's
apartments. The rooms were large and warm, hung with tapestries and lit
by a dozen candles. Utah sat on a low seat by a table, and Amiit took a
box from his shelf. Inside were two small porcelain bowls and a white
stoppered bottle that matched them. When Amiit poured, the scent of rice
wine filled the room.
"We drink to the gods," Amiit said, raising his bowl. "May they never
drink to us."
Otah drank the wine at a gulp. It was excellent, and he felt his throat
grow warmer. He looked at the empty bowl in his fingers and nodded.
Amiit grinned.
"It was a gift from an old friend," Amiit said. "I love to drink it, but
I hate to drink alone."
"I'm pleased to be of service," Otah said as Amiit filled the bowl again.
"So things with the woman didn't work out?"
"No," Utah said.
"I'm sorry."
"It was entirely my fault."
"If it's true, you're a wise man to know it, and if not, you're a good
man for saying it. Either way."
"I think it would he ... that is, if there are any letters to be
carried, I think travel might be the best thing just now. I don't really
care to stay in Udun."
Amiit sighed and nodded.
"Tomorrow," he said. "Come to my offices in the morning. We'll arrange
something."
Afterwards, they finished the rice wine and talked of nothing
important-of old stories and old travels, the women they had known and
loved or else hated. Or both. Otah said nothing of Kiyan or the north,
and Amiit didn't press him. When Otah rose to leave, he was surprised to
find how drunk he had become. He navigated his way to his room and lay
on the couch, mustering the resolve to pull off his robes. Morning found
him still dressed. He changed robes and went down to the bathhouse,
forcing his mind back over his conversations of the night before. He was
fairly certain he had said nothing to implicate himself or make Amiit
suspect the nature of his falling out with Kiyan. He wondered what the
old man would have made of the truth, had he known it.