high to rest, and whether he would be able to trap one. Not that he
would have the chance to cook it-there was nothing to burn here, and no
grate to burn it in. Otah ran his hands over his face, and despite
himself, laughed. It seemed unlikely they would allow him anything sharp
enough to shave with. He would die with this sad little beard.
Otah stretched out in a corner, his arm thrown over his eyes, and tried
to sleep, wondering as he did whether the sense of movement came from
his own abused and exhausted body, or if it were true that so far up
even stone swayed.
MAATI LOOKED AT THE FLOOR. HIS FACE WAS HARD WITH FRUSTRATION AND anger.
"If you want him dead, most high," he said, his voice measured and
careful, "you might at least have the courtesy to kill him."
The Khai Machi raised the clay pipe to his lips. He seemed less to
breathe the smoke in than to drink it. The sweet resin from it had
turned every surface in the room slightly tacky to the touch. The
servant in the blue and gold robes of a physician sat discreetly in a
dim corner, pretending not to hear the business of the city. The
rosewood door was closed behind them. Lanterns of sanded glass filled
the room with soft light, rendering them all shadowless.
"I've listened to you, Maati-cha. I didn't end him there in the audience
chamber. I am giving you the time you asked," the old man said. "Why do
you keep pressing me?"
"He has no blankets or fire. The guards have given him three meals in
the last four days. And l)anat will return before I've had word hack
from the I)ai-kvo. If this is all you can offer, most high-"
"You can state your case to l)anat-cha as eloquently as you could to
me," the Khai said.
"There'll be no point if Otah dies of cold or throws himself out the
tower window before then," Maati said. "Let me take him food and a thick
robe. Let me talk with him."
"It's hopeless," the Khai said.
"Then there's nothing lost but my effort, and it will keep me from
troubling you further."
"Your work here is complete, isn't it? Why are you bothering me,
Maati-cha? You were sent to find Otah. He's found."
"I was sent to find if he was behind the death of Biitrah, and if he was
not, to discover who was. I have not carried out that task. I won't
leave until I have."
The Khai's expression soured, and he shook his head. His skin had grown
thinner, the veins at his temples showing dark. When he leaned forward,
tapping the howl of his pipe against the side of the iron brazier with a
sound like pebbles falling on stone, his grace could not hide his
discomfort.
"I begin to wonder, Maati-cha, whether you have been entirely honest
with me. You say that there is no great love between you and my upstart
son. You bring him to me, and for that reason alone, I believe you.
Everything else you have done suggests the other. You argue that it was
not he who arranged Biitrah's death, though you have no suggestion who
else might have. You ask for indulgences for the prisoner, you appeal to