"Didn't you?" Maati said as if making it an accusation. "You're sure of

that?"

He turned and left the room, his hands trembling, his heart racing.

He'd been an idiot. He'd slipped. Perhaps making him say more than he'd

intended had been the point; perhaps the andat had guessed that it could

make him go too far. He paused in the main room, his head feeling light.

He sat at one of the tables and lowered his head to his knees.

His heart was still pounding, and his face felt hot and flushed. The

voices of the keeper and Irit seemed to echo, as if he were hearing them

from the far end of a tunnel. He gritted his teeth, willing his body to

calm itself, to obey him.

Slowly, his pulse calmed. The heat in his face lessened. He didn't know

how long he'd been sitting at the little table by the back wall. It

seemed like only moments and it also seemed like half the day. Both were

plausible. He tried to stand, but he was weak and shaking. Like a man

who'd just run a race.

He motioned to the keeper and asked for strong tea. The man brought it

quickly enough. A cast-iron pot in the shape of a frog, the spigot a

hollow tongue between its lips. Maati poured the rich, green tea into a

carved wooden bowl and sat for a moment, breathing in the scent of it

before trying to lift it to his lips.

By the time Irit arrived, he felt nearly himself again. Exhausted and

weak, but himself. The woman sat across from him, her fingers knotted

about one another. Her smile was too wide.

"Maati-kvo," she said and belatedly took a pose of greeting. "I've just

come from the riverfront. Eiah has hired a boat. It looks like a good

one. Wide enough that it isn't supposed to rock so much. Or get stuck on

sandbars. They talked a bit about sandbars. In any case-"

"What's the matter?"

Irit looked out toward the main room as if expecting to see someone

there. She spoke without looking at him.

"I'm not ever going to make a binding, Maati-kvo. I may have helped, I

may not. But we both know I'm not going to do the thing."

"You want to leave," Maati said.

She did look at him now, her mouth small, her eyes large. She was like a

picture of herself drawn by someone who thought poorly of her.

"Take your things," Maati said. "Do it before we get on the river."

She took a pose that accepted his orders, but the fear remained in the

way she held her body. Maati nodded to himself.

"I'll tell Vanjit that I've sent you on an errand for me. That Eiah

needed some particular root that only grows in the south. You're to meet

us with it in Utani. She won't know the truth."

"Thank you," Irit said, relief in her expression at last. "I'm sorry."

"Hurry," Maati said. "There isn't much time."

Irit scuttled out, her hands fluttering as if they possessed a life of

their own. Maati sat quietly in the growing darkness, sipped his tea,

and tried to convince himself that his strength was coming back. He'd

let himself get frightened, that was all. It wasn't as if he'd fainted.

He was fine. By the time Eiah and Small Kae came to collect Vanjit and

Clarity-of-Sight, he mostly believed it.

Eiah accepted the news of Irit's departure without comment. The two Kaes

glanced at each other and kept loading their few remaining crates onto

the boat. Vanjit said nothing, only nodded and took Clarityof-Sight to

the bow of the little craft to stare out at the water.

The boat was as long as six men laid end to end, and as wide across as

five. It sat low in the water, and the back quarter was filled with coal

and kiln, boiler and wide-slatted wheel ready to take to the river. The

boatman who watched the fires and the rudder was older than Maati, his

skin thin and wrinkled. The second who took duty whenever the old man

rested might have been his son. Neither man spoke to the passengers, and

the sight of the baby struggling in Vanjit's arms seemed to elicit no

reaction.

Once they were all on and their belongings tied down, Eiah took a pose

that indicated their readiness. The second called out, his voice almost

a song. The riverfront clerk called back. Ropes were untied, the evil

chuffing from the wheel grew louder, and the deep, violent slap of wood

against water jerked them away from the bank and into the river. It

seemed as if a breeze had come up, though it was likely only the speed

of the boat. Eiah sat beside Maati, taking his wrists.

"We told them the child was the get of one of the utkhaiem on a

Westlands girl. Vanjit is the nurse."

Maati nodded. It was as good a lie as any. At the bow, Vanjit looked

back at the sound of her name. Her eyes were clear, but something in the

set of her face made him think she'd been crying. Eiah frowned, pinching

his fingertips until they went white, then waiting for the blood to pour

back into them.

"She asked about your tablets," he said. "You have been busy with them.

The binding?"

"I'm trying to cut deep enough that I can read it with my fingers," Eiah

said quietly. "It's a better exercise than I'd expected. I think I've

seen some ways to improve the grammar itself. It will mean another

draft, but ... How are you feeling?"

"What? Ah, fine. I feel fine."

"Tired?"

"Of course I'm tired. I'm old and I've been on the road too long and ..."

And I have loosed a mad poet on the world, he thought. All the cruelties

and tricks of the Dai-kvo, all the pain and loss that I suffered to be a

poet was justified. If it kept people like Vanjit from the power of the

andat, it was all justified. And I have ignored it.

As if reading the words in his eyes, Eiah glanced over her shoulder at

Vanjit. The sun was shining off the water, surrounding the dark, huddled

girl with a brilliant halo of gold and white. When Maati looked away,

the image had scarred his eyes. It lay over everything else he saw,

black where it had been light, and a pale shape the color of mourning

robes where Vanjit had been.

"I'm making your tea," Eiah said, her voice grim. "Stay here and rest."

"Eiah-kya? We ... we have to kill her," Maati said.

Eiah turned to him, her expression empty. He gestured to Vanjit's back.

His hand trembled.

"Before your binding," he said, "we should be sure that it's safe for

you. Or, that is, as safe as we can make it. You ... you understand."

Eiah sighed. When she spoke again, her voice was distant and reflective.