Shadow and Betrayal

had allowed it. To hear it told now, he had been the most selfless and open-handed of men. Death had improved him. It was to be expected.
    If that had been all, it might not have kept her awake in the nights. But also there was the transfer of Maj into the house. No one else spoke Nippu, and Maj hadn’t picked up enough of the Khaiate tongue to make herself understood easily. Since she’d come, Amat had been interrupted for her needs, whatever they were, whenever they came.
    Torish Wite, thankfully, had proved capable in more ways than she’d hoped. When she asked him, he had agreed to spread the word at the seafront that Amat Kyaan in the soft quarter was looking for information about shipments of pearls from Galt. Building the case against House Wilsin would be like leading a second life. The comfort house would fund it, once she had the place in order, but the time was more a burden than the money. She was not so young as she had been.
    These early stages, at least, she could leave to the mercenary, though some nights, she would remember conversations she’d had with traders from the Westlands and the implications for trading with a freehold or ward that relied on paid soldiery. As long as she was in a position to offer these men girls and money, they would likely stay. If they ever became indispensable, she was doomed.
    Her room, once Ovi Niit’s, was spacious and wide and covered - desk, bed, and floor - with records and papers and plans. The morning sun sloped through windows whose thick, tight-fit shutters were meant to let her sleep until evening. She sipped from a bowl of tea while Mitat, her closest advisor in the things specifically of the house, paced the length of the room. The papers in her hands hissed as she shifted from one to another and back.
    ‘It’s too much,’ Mitat said. ‘I honestly never thought I’d say it, but you’re giving them too much freedom. To choose which men they take? Amat-cha, with all respect, you’re a whoremonger. When a man comes in with the silver, it’s your place to give him a girl. Or a boy. Or three girls and a chicken, if that’s what he’s paid for. If the girls can refuse a client . . .’
    ‘They take back less money,’ Amat said, her voice reasonable and calm, though she already knew that Mitat was right. ‘Those who work most, get most. And with that kind of liberty and the chance to earn more, we’ll attract women who want to work in a good house.’
    Mitat stopped walking. She didn’t speak, but her guarded expression was enough. Amat closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat.
    ‘Don’t beat them without cause,’ Mitat said. ‘Don’t let anyone cut them where it would scar. Give them what they’re owed. That’s all you can do now, grandmother. In a year - two, perhaps - you could try something like this, but to do it now would be a sign of weakness.’
    ‘Yes. I suppose it would. Thank you, Mitat-cha.’
    When she opened her eyes again, the woman had taken a pose of concern. Amat answered with one of reassurance.
    ‘You seem tired, grandmother.’
    ‘It’s nothing.’
    Mitat hesitated visibly, then handed back the papers. Before Amat could ask what was troubling her, steps came up the stairs and a polite knock interrupted them. Torish Wite stepped in, his expression guarded.
    ‘There’s someone here to see you,’ he said to Amat.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Marchat Wilsin.’
    Her belly went tight, but she only took in a deep breath.
    ‘Is anyone with him?’
    ‘No. He stinks a little of wine, but he’s unarmed and he’s come alone.’
    ‘Where’s Maj?’ she asked.
    ‘Asleep. We’ve made your old cell a sleeping chamber for her.’
    ‘Set a guard on her room. No one’s to go in, and she’s not to come out. I don’t want him knowing that we have her here.’
    ‘You’re going to see him?’ Mitat asked, her voice incredulous.
    ‘He was my employer for decades,’ Amat said, as if it were an answer to the question. ‘Torish-cha, I’ll want a man outside the door. If I call out, I want him in here immediately. If I don’t, I want privacy. We’ll finish our conversation later, Mitat.’
    The pair retreated, closing the door behind them. Amat rose, taking up her cane and walking to the doors that opened onto the private deck. It had rained in the night, and the air was still thick with it. It was that, Amat told herself, that made it hard to breathe. The door opened behind her, then closed again. She didn’t turn at once.