brarian of Machi, stumbled in, grinning. His face was flushed, and he

smelled of wine and something stronger. He threw open his arms and

strode unevenly to Maati, embracing him like a brother.

"No one has ever loved these books as you and I have, Maati-kya,"

Baarath said. "The most glorious party of a generation. Wine flowing in

the gutters, and food and dancing, and I'll jump off a tower if we don't

see a crop of babes next spring that look nothing like their fathers.

And where do we go, you and I? Here."

Baarath turned and made a sweeping gesture that took in the books and

scrolls and codices, the shelves and alcoves and chests. He shook his

head and seemed for a moment on the verge of tears. Maati patted him on

the back and led him to a wooden bench at the side of the room. Baarath

sat back, his head against the stone, and smiled like a baby.

"I'm not as drunk as I look," Baarath said.

"I'm sure you aren't," Maati agreed.

Baarath pounded the board beside him and gestured for Maati to sit.

There was no graceful way to refuse, and at the moment, he could think

of no reason. Going back to stand, frustrated, over the table had no

appeal. He sat.

"What is bothering you, Maati-kya? You're still searching for some way

to keep the upstart alive?"

"Is that an option? I don't see Danat-cha letting him walk free. No, I

suppose I'm just hoping to see him killed for the right reasons. Except

... I don't know. I can't find anyone else with reason to do the things

that have been done."

"Perhaps there's more than one thing going on then?" Baarath suggested.

Maati took a pose of surrender.

"I can't comprehend one. The gods will have to lead me by the hand if

there's two. Can you think of any other reason to kill Biitrah? The man

seems to have moved through the world without making an enemy."

"He was the best of us," Baarath agreed and wiped his eyes with the end

of his sleeve. "He was a good man."

"So it had to be one of his brothers. Gods, I wish the assassin hadn't

been killed. He could have told us if there was a connection between

Biitrah and what happened to me. Then at least I'd know if I were

solving one puzzle or two."

"Doesn't have to," Baarath said.

Maati took a pose that asked for clarification. Baarath rolled his eyes

and took on an expression of superiority that Maati had seen beneath his

politeness for weeks now.

"It doesn't have to be one of his brothers," Baarath said. "You say it's

not the upstart. Fine, that's what you choose. But then you say you

can't find anything that I)anat or Kaiin's done that makes you think

they've done it. And why would they hide it, anyway? It's not shameful

for them to kill their brother."

"But no one else has a reason," Maati said.

"No one? Or only no one you've found?"

"If it isn't about the succession, I can't find any call to kill

Biitrah. If it isn't about my search for Otah, I can't think of any

reason to want me dead. The only killing that makes sense at all was

poking the assassin full of holes, and that only because he might have

answered my questions."

"Why couldn't it have been the succession?"

Maati snorted. It was difficult being friendly with Baarath when he was

sober. Now, with him half-maudlin, half-contemptuous, and reeking of

wine, it was worse. Maati's frustration peaked, and his voice, when he

spoke, was louder and angrier than he'd intended.

"Because Otah didn t, and Kaiin didn't, and Danat didn't, and there's no

one else who's looking to sit on the chair. Is there some fifth brother

I haven't been told about?"

Baarath raised his hands in a pose of a tutor posing an instructive

question to a pupil. The effect was undercut by the slight weaving of

his hands.

"What would happen if all three brothers died?"

"Otah would be Khai."

"Four. I meant four. What if they all die? What if none of them takes

the chair?"

"']'he utkhaiem would fight over it like very polite pit dogs, and

whichever one ended with the most blood on its muzzle would be elevated

as the new Khai."

"So someone else might benefit from this yet, you see? They would have

to hide it because having slaughtered the whole family of the previous

Khai wouldn't help their family prestige, seeing as all their heads

would be hanging from poles. But it would be about your precious

succession, and there would be someone besides the three ... four

brothers with reason to do the thing."

"Except that Danat's alive and about to be named Khai Machi, it's a

pretty story."

Baarath sneered and made a grand gesture at the world in general.

"What is there but pretty stories? What is history but the accumulation

of plausible speculation and successful lies? You're a scholar,

Maati-kya, you should enjoy them more."

Baarath chuckled drunkenly, and Maati rose to his feet. Outside,

something cracked with a report like a stone slab broken or a roof tile

dropped from a great height. A moment later, laughter followed it. Maati

leaned against the table, his arms folded and each hand tucked into the

opposite sleeve. Baarath shifted, lay back on the bench, and sighed.

"You don't think it's true," Maati said. "You don't think it's one of

the high families plotting to be Khai."

"Of course not," Baarath said. "It's an idiot plan. If you were to start

something like that, you'd need to be certain you'd win it, and that

would take more money and influence than any one family could gather.

Even the Radaani don't have that much gold, and they've got more than

the Khai."

"Then you think I'm chasing mist," Maati said.

"I think the upstart is behind all of it, and that you're too much in

awe of him to see it. Everyone knows he was your teacher when you were a

boy. You still think he's twice what you are. Who knows, maybe he is."

His anger gave Maati the illusion of calm, and a steadiness to his

voice. He took a pose of correction.

"That was rude, Baarath-cha. I'd thank you not to say it again."

"Oh, don't be ashamed of it," Baarath said. "There are any number of

boys who have those sorts of little infatuations with-"

Maati's body lifted itself, sliding with an elegance and grace he didn't