turned down a side path then, and paused when Cehmai did not follow.
Stone-Made-Soft took a pose of query.
"Is this not where you were going?" it asked.
Cehmai considered, and then smiled.
"I suppose it is," he said, and followed the captive spirit down the
curving pathway and up the wide, shallow steps that led to the library.
The great stone doors were barred from within, but Cehmai followed the
thin gravel path at the side of the building, keeping close to the wall.
The windows of Baarath's apartments glowed with more than a night
candle's light. Even with the night half gone, he was awake. The door
slave was an ancient man, and Cehmai had to shake him by the shoulder
before he woke, retreated into the apartments, and returned to lead them in.
The apartments smelled of old wine, and the sandalwood resin that
Baarath burned in his brazier. The tables and couches were covered with
books and scrolls, and no cushion had escaped from some ink stain.
Baarath, dressed in deep red robes thick as tapestry, rose from his desk
and took a pose of welcome. His copper tore of office was lying
discarded on the floor at his feet.
"Cehmai-cha, to what do I owe this honor?"
Cehmai frowned. "Are you angry with me?" he asked.
"Of course not, great poet. How could a poor man of books dare to feel
angry with a personage like yourself?"
"Gods," Cehmai said as he shifted a pile of papers from a wide chair. "I
don't know, Baarath-kya. Do tell me."
"Kya? Oh, you are too familiar with me, great poet. I would not suggest
so deep a friendship as that with a man so humble as myself."
"You're right," Cehmai said, sitting. "I was trying to flatter you. Did
it work?"
"You should have brought wine," the stout man said, taking his own seat.
The false graciousness was gone, and a sour impatience in its place.
"And come at an hour when living men could talk business. Isn't it late
for you to be wandering around like a dazed rabbit?"
"There was a gathering at the rose pavilion. I was just going back to my
apartments and I noticed the lights burning."
Baarath made a sound between a snort and a cough. Stone-MadeSoft gazed
placidly at the marble walls, thoughtful as a lumberman judging the best
way to fell a tree. Cehmai frowned at him, and the andat replied with a
gesture more eloquent than any pose. Don't blame me. He's your friend,
not mine.
"I wanted to ask how things were proceeding with Maati Vaupathai,"
Cehmai said.
"About time someone took an interest in that annoying, feckless idiot.
I've met cows with more sense than he has."
"Not proceeding well, then?"
"Who can tell? Weeks, it's been. He's only here about half the morning,
and then he's off dining with the dregs of the court, taking meetings
with trading houses, and loafing about in the low towns. If I were the
Dai-kvo, I'd pull that man back home and set him to plowing fields. I've
eaten hens that were better scholars."