Shadow and Betrayal

brooks, every slant roof a little waterfall. Maati sat in the side room of the teahouse and watched. The water seemed lighter than the sky or the stone - alive and hopeful. It chilled the air, making the warmth of the earthenware bowl in his hands more present. Across the smooth wooden table, Otah-kvo’s chief armsman scratched at the angry red weals on his wrists.
    ‘If you keep doing that, they’ll never heal,’ Maati said.
    ‘Thank you, grandmother,’ Sinja said. ‘I had an arrow through my arm once that hurt less than this.’
    ‘It’s no worse than what half the people in that hall suffered,’ Maati said.
    ‘It’s a thousand times worse. Those stings are on them. These are on me. I’d have thought the difference obvious.’
    Maati smiled. It had taken three days to get all the insects out of the great hall, and the argument about whether to simply choose a new venue or wait for the last nervous slave to find and crush the last dying wasp would easily have gone on longer than the problem itself. The time had been precious. Sinja scratched again, winced, and pressed his hands flat against the table, as if he could pin them there and not rely on his own will to control himself.
    ‘I hear you’ve had another letter from the Dai-kvo,’ Sinja said.
    Maati pursed his lips. The pages were in his sleeve even now. They’d arrived in the night by a special courier who was waiting in apartments Maati had bullied out of the servants of the dead Khai. The message included an order to respond at once and commit his reply to the courier. He hadn’t picked up a pen yet. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.
    ‘He ordered you back?’ Sinja asked.
    ‘Among other things,’ Maati agreed. ‘Apparently he’s been getting information from someone in the city besides myself.’
    ‘The other one? The boy?’
    ‘Cehmai you mean? No. One of the houses that the Galts bought, I’d guess. But I don’t know which. It doesn’t matter. He’ll know the truth soon enough.’
    ‘If you say so.’
    A bolt of lightning flashed and a half breath later, thunder rolled through the thick air. Maati raised the bowl to his lips. The tea was smoky and sweet, and it did nothing to unknot his guts. Sinja leaned toward the window, his eyes suddenly bright. Maati followed his gaze. Three figures leaned into the slanting rain - one a thick man with a slight limp, the others clearly servants holding a canopy over the first in a vain attempt to keep their master from being soaked to the skin. All wore cloaks with deep hoods that hid their faces.
    ‘Is that him?’ Sinja asked.
    ‘I think so,’ Maati said. ‘Go. Get ready.’
    Sinja vanished and Maati refilled his bowl of tea. It was only moments before the door to the private room opened again and Porsha Radaani came into the room. His hair was plastered back against his skull, and his rich, ornately embroidered robes were dark and heavy with water. Maati rose and took a pose of welcome. Radaani ignored it, pulled out the chair Sinja had only recently left, and sat in it with a grunt.
    ‘I’m sorry for the foul weather,’ Maati said. ‘I’d thought you’d take the tunnels.’
    Radaani made an impatient sound.
    ‘They’re half flooded. The city was designed with snow in mind, not water. The first thaw’s always like a little slice of hell in the spring. But tell me you didn’t bring me here to talk about rain, Maati-cha. I’m a busy man. The council’s just about pulled itself back together, and I’d like to see an end to this nonsense.’
    ‘That’s what I wanted to speak to you about, Porsha-cha. I’d like you to call for the council to disband. You’re well respected. If you were to adopt the position, the lower families would take interest. And the Vaunani and Kamau can both work with you without having to work with each other.’
    ‘I’m a powerful enough man to do that,’ Radaani agreed, his tone matter-of-fact. ‘But I can’t think why I would.’
    ‘There’s no reason for the council to be called.’
    ‘No reason? We’re short a Khai, Maati-cha.’
    ‘The last one left a son to take his place,’ Maati said. ‘No one in that hall has a legitimate claim to the name Khai Machi.’
    Radaani laced his thick fingers over his belly and narrowed his eyes. A smile touched his lips that might have meant anything.
    ‘I think you have some things to tell me,’ he said.
    Maati began not with his own investigation, but with the story as it had unfolded.