Shadow and Betrayal

even the messengers stopped fidgeting and stared.
    ‘She’s come to help,’ Amat said.
    ‘She is come because you called her,’ Maj said. ‘Because she needs you.’
    ‘We need each other,’ Amat said, command in her voice. She drew herself to her full height, and even leaning on her cane, she seemed to fill the room. ‘She’s come because I wanted her to come. We have almost everything we need. Without her, we aren’t ready.’
    Maj stared at Amat, then slowly turned and took a pose of greeting as awkward as a child’s. Otah saw the flush in the pale cheeks, the brightness of her eyes, and understood. Maj was drunk. Amat gathered Liat close to the table, peppering her with questions about dates and shipping orders, and what exactly Oshai and Wilsin-cha had said and when. Otah sat at the table, near enough to hear, near enough to watch, but not a part of the interrogation.
    For a moment, he felt invisible. The intensity and excitement, desperation and controlled violence around him became like an epic on a stage. He saw it all from outside. When, unconsciously, he met the island girl’s gaze, she smiled at him and nodded - a wordless, informal, unmistakable gesture; a recognition between strangers. She, with her imperfect knowledge of language and custom, couldn’t truly be a part of the conspiracy now coming near to full bloom before them. He, by contrast, could not because he still heard Seedless laying the consequences of Amat’s success before him - Liat may be killed, innocent blood will wash Galt, Maati will suffer to the end of his days, I will betray you to your family - and that private knowledge was like an infection. Every step that Amat made brought them one step nearer that end.
    And to his unease, Otah found that his refusal of the andat was not so certain a thing as he had thought it.
    For nearly a quarter-candle, Amat and Mitat, Liat and sometimes even Torish Wite chewed and argued. The messengers were questioned, the letters they bore added to the growing stacks, and they were sent away with Amat’s replies tucked in their sleeves. Otah listened and watched as the arguments to be presented before the Khai Saraykeht became clearer. Proofs of billing, testimonies, collisions of dates and letters from Galt, and Maj - witness and centerpiece - to stand as the symbol of it all. And then the whole web of coincidence repeated a year earlier with some other girl who had taken fright, the story said, and escaped. There was no proof - no evidence which in itself showed anything. But like tile chips in a mosaic, the facts related to one another in a way that demanded a grim interpretation.
    And only so much proof, of course, was required. Amat’s evidence need only capture the imagination of the court, and the avalanche would begin. What she said was true, and once the full powers of the court were involved, Heshai-kvo would be brought before it, and Seedless. And the andat, when forced, would have to speak the truth. He might even be pleased to, bringing in another wave of disaster as a second-best to his own release.
    As the night passed - the moon moving unseen overhead - Liat began to flag. Amat noticed it and met Otah’s gaze.
    ‘Liat-kya, I’m being terrible,’ Amat said, taking a pose of apology. ‘You’re hurt and tired and I’ve been keeping you awake.’
    Liat made some small protest, but its weakness was enough to show Amat’s argument valid. Otah moved to her and helped her to her feet, and Liat, sighing, leaned into him.
    ‘There’s a cot made up upstairs,’ Mitat said. ‘In Amat-cha’s rooms.’
    ‘But where will ’Tani sleep?’
    ‘I’m fine, love,’ he said before Amat - clearly surprised by the question - could think to offer hospitality. ‘I’ve a place with some of my old cohort. If I didn’t come back, they’d worry.’
    It wasn’t true, but that hardly mattered. The prospect of staying at the comfort house while Amat’s plans reached fruition held no appeal. Only the sleepy distress in Liat’s eyes made him wish to stay, and then for her more than himself.
    ‘I’ll stay until you’re asleep,’ he said. It seemed to comfort her. They gave their goodnights and walked up the thick wooden stairs, moving slowly for Liat’s benefit. Otah heard the conversation begin again behind him, the plan moving forward.
    He closed the door of Amat’s rooms behind him. The shutters were fast but the dull orange of torchlight from the street glowed at their