"I think I have you to thank for that," Maati said. "My recollection
isn't all it could be, but ..."
"I was following you," Cehmai said, taking a pose of contrition. "I was
curious about your investigations."
"Yes. I suppose I should have been more subtle."
"The assassin was killed yesterday."
Maati took another bite of fish.
"Executed?"
"Disposed of," the andat said and smiled.
Cehmai told the story. The fire in the tunnels, the deaths of the
guards. The other prisoners said that there had been three men in black
cloaks, that they had rushed in, killed the assassin, and vanished. Two
others had choked to death on the smoke before the watchmen put the fire
out.
"The story among the utkhaiem is that you discovered Utah Machi. The
Master of Tides' assistant said that you'd been angry with him for being
indiscreet about your questions concerning a courier from Udun. Then the
attack on you, and the fire. They say the Khai Machi sent for you to
hunt his missing son, Utah."
"Part true," Maati said. "I was sent to look for Otah. I knew him once,
when we were younger. But I haven't found him, and the knife man was ...
something else. It wasn't Otah."
"You said that," the andat rumbled. "When we found you, you said it was
someone else."
"Otah-kvo wouldn't have done it. Not that way. He might have met me
himself, but sending someone else to do it? No. He wasn't behind that,"
Maati said, and then the consequence of that fell into place. "And so I
think he must not have been the one who killed Biitrah."
Cehmai and his andat exchanged a glance and the young poet drew a bowl
of water for Maati. The water was as good as the food, but Maati could
see the unease in the way Cehmai looked at him. If he had ached less or
been farther from exhaustion, he might have been subtle.
"What is it?" Maati asked.
Cehmai drew himself up, then sighed.
"You call him Otah-kvo."
"He was my teacher. At the school, he was in the black robes when I was
new arrived. He ... helped me."
"And you saw him again. When you were older."
"Did I?" Maati asked.
Cehmai took a pose that asked forgiveness. "The Dai-kvo would hardly
have trusted a memory that old. You were both children at the school. We
were all children there. You knew him when you were both men, yes?"
"Yes," Maati said. "He was in Saraykeht when ... when Heshai-kvo died."
"And you call him Otah-kvo," Cehmai said. "He was a friend of yours,
Maati-kvo. Someone you admired. He's never stopped being your teacher."
"Perhaps. But he's stopped being my friend. That was my doing, but it's
done."
"I'm sorry, Maati-kvo, but are you certain Otah-kvo is innocent because
he's innocent, or only because you're certain? It would be hard to