"I have business-"
"With the poet. Yes, I know. He left your name with us. He said we
should keep a watch out for you. You're wise to come to us first. You
wouldn't imagine the people who simply drift through on the breeze as if
the poets weren't members of the court."
Otah smiled, his mouth tasting of fear, his heart suddenly racing. The
poet of Machi-Cehmai 'Ivan, his name was-had no reason to know Itani
Noygu or expect him. This was a mistake or a trap. If it was a trap, it
was sloppy, and if a mistake, dangerous. The lie came to his lips as
gracefully as a rehearsed speech.
"I'm honored to have been mentioned. I hadn't expected that he would
remember me. But I'm afraid the business I've come on may not be what he
had foreseen."
"I wouldn't know," the assistant said as he shifted. "Visiting
dignitaries might confide in the Master of Tides, but I'm like you. I
follow orders. Now. Let me see. I can send a runner to the library, and
if he's there ..."
"Perhaps it would be best if I went to the poet's house," Otah said. "He
can find me there when he isn't-"
"Oh, we haven't put him there. Gods! He has his own rooms."
"His own rooms?"
"Yes. We have a poet of our own, you know. We aren't going to put
Cehmai-cha on a cot in the granary every time the Dai-kvo sends us a
guest. Maati-cha has apartments near the library."
The air seemed to leave the room. A dull roar filled Otah's ears, and he
had to put a hand to the wall to keep from swaying. Maati-cha. The name
came like an unforeseen blow.
Maati Vaupathai. Maati whom Otah had known briefly at the school, and to
whom he had taught the secrets he had learned before he turned his back
on the poets and all they offered. Maati whom he had found again in
Saraykeht, who had become his friend and who knew that Irani Noygu was
the son of the Khai Machi.
The last night they had seen one another-thirteen, fourteen summers
ago-Maati had stolen his lover and Otah had killed Maati's master. He
was here now, in Machi. And he was looking for Otah. He felt like a deer
surprised by the hunter at its side.
The servant girl fumbled with her strings, the notes of the tune coming
out a jangle, and Otah shifted his gaze to her as if she'd shouted. For
a moment, their eyes met and he saw discomfort in her as she hurried
back to her song. She might have seen something in his face, might have
realized who was standing before her. Otah balled his fists at his
sides, pressing them into his thighs to keep from shaking. The assistant
had been speaking. Otah didn't know what he'd said.
"Forgive me, but before we do anything, would you be so kind . . . "
Otah feigned an embarrassed simper. "I'm afraid I had one bowl of tea
too many this morning, and waters that run in, run out...."
"Of course. I'll have a slave take you to-"
"No need," Otah said as he stepped to the door. No one shouted. No one
stopped him. "I'll be back with you in a moment."