Shadow and Betrayal

tunnels, the deaths of the guards. The other prisoners said that there had been three men in black cloaks, that they had rushed in, killed the assassin, and vanished. Two others had choked to death on the smoke before the watchmen put the fire out.
    ‘The story among the utkhaiem is that you discovered Otah Machi. The Master of Tides’ assistant said that you’d been angry with him for being indiscreet about your questions concerning a courier from Udun. Then the attack on you, and the fire. They say the Khai Machi sent for you to hunt his missing son, Otah.’
    ‘Part true,’ Maati said. ‘I was sent to look for Otah. I knew him once, when we were younger. But I haven’t found him, and the knife man was . . . something else. It wasn’t Otah.’
    ‘You said that,’ the andat rumbled. ‘When we found you, you said it was someone else.’
    ‘Otah-kvo wouldn’t have done it. Not that way. He might have met me himself, but sending someone else to do it? No. He wasn’t behind that,’ Maati said, and then the consequence of that fell into place. ‘And so I think he must not have been the one who killed Biitrah.’
    Cehmai and his andat exchanged a glance and the young poet drew a bowl of water for Maati. The water was as good as the food, but Maati could see the unease in the way Cehmai looked at him. If he had ached less or been farther from exhaustion, he might have been subtle.
    ‘What is it?’ Maati asked.
    Cehmai drew himself up, then sighed.
    ‘You call him Otah-kvo.’
    ‘He was my teacher. At the school, he was in the black robes when I was new arrived. He . . . helped me.’
    ‘And you saw him again. When you were older.’
    ‘Did I?’ Maati asked.
    Cehmai took a pose that asked forgiveness. ‘The Dai-kvo would hardly have trusted a memory that old. You were both children at the school. We were all children there. You knew him when you were both men, yes?’
    ‘Yes,’ Maati said. ‘He was in Saraykeht when . . . when Heshai-kvo died.’
    ‘And you call him Otah-kvo,’ Cehmai said. ‘He was a friend of yours, Maati-kvo. Someone you admired. He’s never stopped being your teacher.’
    ‘Perhaps. But he’s stopped being my friend. That was my doing, but it’s done.’
    ‘I’m sorry, Maati-kvo, but are you certain Otah-kvo is innocent because he’s innocent, or only because you’re certain? It would be hard to accept that an old friend might wish you ill . . .’
    Maati smiled and sipped the water.
    ‘Otah Machi may well wish me dead. I would understand it if he did. And he’s in the city, or was four days ago. But he didn’t send the assassin.’
    ‘You think he isn’t hoping for the Khai’s chair?’
    ‘I don’t know. But I suppose that’s something worth finding out. Along with who it was that killed his brother and started this whole thing rolling.’
    He took another mouthful of rice and fish, but his mind was elsewhere.
    ‘Will you let me help you?’
    Maati looked up, half surprised. The young poet’s face was serious, his hands in a pose of formal supplication. It was as if they were back in the school and Cehmai was a boy asking a boon of the teachers. The andat had its hands folded in its lap, but it seemed mildly amused. Before Maati could think of a reply, Cehmai went on.
    ‘You aren’t well yet, Maati-kvo. You’re the center of all the court gossip now, and anything you do will be examined from eight different views before you’ve finished doing it. I know the city. I know the court. I can ask questions without arousing suspicion. The Dai-kvo didn’t choose to take me into his confidence, but now that I know what’s happening—’
    ‘It’s too much of a risk,’ Maati said. ‘The Dai-kvo sent me because I know Otah-kvo, but he also sent me because my loss would mean nothing. You hold the andat—’
    ‘It’s fine with me,’ Stone-Made-Soft said. ‘Really, don’t let me stop you.’
    ‘If I ask questions without you, I run the same risks, and without the benefits of shared information,’ Cehmai said. ‘And expecting me not to wonder would be unrealistic.’
    ‘The Khai Machi would expel me from his city if he thought I was endangering his poet,’ Maati said. ‘And then I wouldn’t be of use to anyone.’
    Cehmai’s dark eyes were both deadly serious and also, Maati thought, amused. ‘This wouldn’t be the first thing I’ve kept from him,’ the young poet said. ‘Please, Maati-kvo. I want to help.’
    Maati closed his eyes. Having