for people as yet unborn, unconceived. It was a long game he was
playing, and it got longer, it seemed, the less time he had to live.
Farrer coughed, sucked his teeth, and leaned forward.
"Forgive me, Most High," he said, formality returning to his diction.
"What is the conversation we're having?"
"I would appoint you or your agent to oversee Chaburi-Tan's seafront,"
Otah said. "It would, I think, demonstrate that my commitment to joining
our nations isn't only that you should send us your daughters."
"And have the council believe that I'm not only controlled by my wife
and child, but also the tool of the Emperor, bought and paid for?" His
tone was more amused than aggressive.
Otah pulled a small book from his sleeve and held it out.
"The accounting of the Chaburi-Tan seafront," Otah said. "We are an
empire of fallen cities, Farrer-cha. But we were very high before, and
falling for years hasn't yet brought us down to be even with most of the
world."
The Galt clamped his pipe between his teeth and accepted the proffered
book. Otah waited as he flipped through the thin pages. He saw Farrer's
eyebrows rise when he reached the quarter's sums, and then again at the
half-year's.
"You would want something from me," Farrer said.
"You have already lent me your boats," Otah said. "Your sailors. Let the
others on the council see what effect that has."
"You can afford to give away this much gold to make them jealous?"
"I know that Ana-cha has objected to marrying Danat. I hope there may
yet be some shift of her position. Then I would be giving the gold to my
grandson's grandfather," Otah said.
"And if she doesn't?" Farrer asked, scowling. His eyes had narrowed like
a seafront merchant distrustful of too good a bargain.
"If she doesn't, then I've made a poor wager," Otah said. "We are
gamblers, Farrer-cha, just by getting up from bed in the morning."
Farrer Dasin didn't answer except to relax his gaze, laugh, and tuck the
book into his belt. Otah took a pose that ended a meeting. It had a
positive nuance that Dasin was unlikely to notice, but Otah didn't mind.
It was as much for himself as the Galt.
The walk back to the palaces seemed shorter, less haunted by nostalgia.
He returned to his rooms, allowed himself to be changed into formal
robes, and began the long, slow work of another day. The court was its
customary buzz of rituals and requirements. The constant speculation on
the Galtic treaty's fate made every other facet of the economic and
political life of the Empire swing like a ship's mast in high seas. Otah
did what he could to pour oil on the waters. For the most part, he
succeeded.
Before the early sunset of middle autumn, Otah had seen the heads of
both Galtic and Khaiate stone masons disputing a contract upon which the
Galtic Council had already ruled. He had taken audiences with two other
members of the High Council and three of the highest families of the
utkhaiem. And, in the brightest moment of his day, a visibly unnerved
representative of Obar State had arrived with gifts and assurances of