them. Every lecture he gave, he had to half-invent. Every question he
answered, he had to solve in his mind to be sure. On one hand, it was as
awkward as using a grand palace as a lesson on how to build scaffolding.
And on the other, it was making him a better poet and a better teacher
than he would ever have been otherwise.
He sat up, the canvas cot groaning as his weight shifted. The room was
tiny and quiet; the stone walls wept and smelled of fungus. Halfaware of
his surroundings and half in the fine points of ancient grammars, Maati
rose and trundled up the short flight of stairs. The warehouse stood
empty, the muted daylight and the sound of light rain making their way
through the high, narrow windows. His footsteps echoed as he crossed to
the makeshift lecture hall.
Benches of old, splintering wood squatted near a length of wall smooth
enough to take chalk. The markings of the previous evening still shone
white against the stone. Maati squinted at them.
Age was a thief. It took his wind, it made his heart race at odd times,
and it stole his sleep. But the worst of all the little indignities was
his sight. He hadn't thought about the blessing that decent vision was
until his eyes started to fail. It made his head ache a bit, but he
found the diagram he'd been thinking of, traced it with his fingertips,
considered, and then took a rag from the pail of water beside his little
podium and washed the marks away. He could start there tonight, with the
four categories of being and their relationships. It was a subtle point,
but without it, the girls would never build a decent binding.
There were five of them now: Irit, Ashti Beg, Vanjit, Small Kae, and
Large Kae. Half a year ago, there had been seven, but Umnit had tried
her binding, failed, and perished. Lisat had given up and left him. Just
as well, really. Lisat had been a good-hearted girl, but slow-witted as
a cow. And so, five. Or six, if he counted Eiah.
Eiah had been a gift from the gods. She spent her days in the palaces of
Utani, playing the daughter of Empire. He knew it was a life she
disliked, but she saw to it that food and money found their way to
Maati. And being part of the court let her keep an ear out for gossip
that would serve them, like a dispute over the ownership of a low-town
warehouse that left both claimants barred from visiting the building
until judgment was passed. The warehouse had been Maati's for two months
now. It was beginning to feel like his own. He dropped the rag back into
its pail, found the thick cube of chalk, and started drawing the charts
for the evening's lecture. He wondered whether Eiah would be able to
join them. She was a good student, when she could slip away from her
life at the palace. She asked good questions.
The crude iron bolt turned with a sound like a dropped hammer, and the
small, human-size door beside the great sliding walls intended for carts
and wagons opened. A woman's figure was silhouetted against the soft
gray light. It was neither of the Kaes, but his eyes weren't strong
enough to make out features. When she came in, closing the door behind
her, he recognized Vanjit by her gait.
"You're early, Vanjit-cha," Maati said, turning back to the wall and chalk.
"I thought I might be able to help," she said. "Are you well, Maaticha?"