cover, who had attempted his own slaughter. And if he were wise and

lucky and well-positioned, he might be able to take action. Enlisting

Cchmai in his service was only a way to improve the chances of setting a

lever in the right place.

"The concern our kind brother of Saya brings up is a wise one to

consider," a sallow-faced scion of the Daikani said. "The days arc

indeed growing shorter, and the time for preparation is well upon us.

There are roofs that must be made ready to hold their burden of snow.

There arc granaries to be filled and stocks to be prepared. There are

crops to be harvested, for men and beasts both."

"I didn't know the Khai did all that," a familiar voice whispered. "He

must have been a very busy man. I don't suppose there's anyone could

take up the slack for him?"

Baarath shifted down and sat beside Maati. He smelled of wine, his

cheeks were rosy, his eyes too bright. But he had an oilcloth cone

filled with strips of fried trout that he offered to Maati, and the

distraction was almost welcome. Maati took a bit of the fish.

"What have I missed?" Baarath said,

"The Vaunyogi appear to be a surprise contender," Maati said. "They've

been mentioned by four families, and praised in particular by two

others. I think the Vaunani and Kamau are feeling upset by it, but they

seem to hate each other too much to do anything about it."

"That's truth," Baraath said. "Ijan Vaunani came to blows with old

Kamau's grandson this afternoon at a teahouse in the jeweler's quarter.

Broke his nose for him, I heard."

"Really?"

Baarath nodded. The sallow man droned on half forgotten now as Baarath

spoke close to Maati's ear.

"There are rumors of reprisal, but old Kaman's made it clear that anyone

doing anything will he sent to tar ships in the Westlands. They say he

doesn't want people thinking ill of the house, but I think it's his last

effort to keep an alliance open against Adrah Vaunyogi. It's clear

enough that someone's bought little Adrah a great deal more influence

than just sleeping with a dead man's daughter would earn."

Baarath grinned, then coughed and looked concerned.

"Don't repeat that to anyone, though," he said. "Or if you do, don't say

it was me. It's terribly rude, and I'm rather drunk. I only came up here

to sober up a bit."

"Yes, well, I came up to keep an eye on the process, and I think it's

more likely to put your head on a pillow than clear it."

Baarath chuckled.

"You're an idiot if you came here to see what's happening. It's all out

in the piss troughs where a man can actually speak. Didn't you know

that? Honestly, Maati-kya, if you went to a comfort house, you'd spend

all your time watching the girls in the front dance and wondering when

the fucking was supposed to start."

Maati's jaw went tight. When Baarath offered the fish again, Maati

refused it. The sallow man finished, and an old, thick-faced man rose,

took the pulpit, announced himself to be Cielah Pahdri, and began

listing the various achievements of his house dating back to the fall of

the Empire. Maati listened to the recitation and Baraath's overloud

chewing with equal displeasure.

He was right before, Maati told himself. Baarath was the worst kind of

ass, but he wasn't wrong.

"I assume," Maati said, "that `piss troughs' is a euphemism."

"Only half. Most of the interesting news comes to a few teahouses at the

south edge of the palaces. They're near the moneylenders, and that

always leads to lively conversations. Going to try your luck there?"

"I thought I might," Maati said as he rose.

"Look for the places with too many rich people yelling at each other.

You'll be fine," Baarath said and went back to chewing his trout.

Maati took the steps two at a time, and slipped out the rear of the

gallery into a long, dark corridor. Lanterns were lit at each end, and

Maati strode through the darkness with the slow burning runout of

annoyance that the librarian always seemed to inspire. He didn't see the

woman at the hallway's end until he had almost reached her. She was

thin, fox-faced, and dressed in a simple green robe. She smiled when she

caught his eye and took a pose of greeting.

"Maati-cha?"

Maati hesitated, then answered her greeting.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I seem to have forgotten your name."

"We haven't met. My name is Kiyan. Itani's told me all about you."

It took the space of a breath for him to truly understand what she'd

said and all it meant. The woman nodded confirmation, and Maati stepped

close to her, looking back over his shoulder and then down the corridor

behind her to be sure they were alone.

"We were going to send you an escort," the woman said, "but no one could

think of how to approach you without seeming like we were assassins. I

thought an unarmed woman coming to you alone might suffice."

"You were right," he said, and then a moment later, "That's likely na7ve

of me, isn't it?"

"A hit."

"Please. Take me to him."

Twilight had soaked the sky in indigo. In the east, stars were peeking

over the mountain tops, and the towers rose up into the air as if they

led up to the clouds themselves. Maati and the woman walked quickly; she

didn't speak, and he didn't press her to. His mind was busy enough

already. They walked side by side along darkening paths. Kiyan smiled

and nodded to those who took notice of them. Maati wondered how many

people would be reporting that he had left the council with a woman. He

looked back often for pursuers. No one seemed to be tracking them, but

even at the edge of the palaces, there were enough people to prevent him

from being sure.

They reached a teahouse, its windows blazing with light and its air rich

with the scent of lemon candles to keep off the insects. The woman

strode up the wide steps and into the warmth and light. The keep seemed

to expect her, because they were led without a word into a back room

where red wine was waiting along with a plate of rich cheese, black

bread, and the first of the summer grapes. Kiyan sat at the table and

gestured to the bench across from her. Maati sat as she plucked two of

the small bright green grapes, bit into them and made a face.

"Too early?" he asked.

"Another week and they'll be decent. Here, pass me the cheese and bread."