Shadow and Betrayal

can salvage this, but not quickly.’
    A heartbeat’s pause, and he lunged forward. His breath smelled sickly sweet. Even in the dim light, she could see his teeth were rotten.
    ‘He is out there!’ Ovi Niit shrieked in her face. ‘Right now! And you want me to wait? You want to give him time? I want it tonight. Before morning. I want it now !’
    That it was what she’d expected made it no easier. She took a pose of apology so steeped in irony that it couldn’t be mistaken. The wild eyes narrowed. Amat pushed up the sleeve of her robe until it bunched around her elbow.
    ‘Take out your knife,’ she said, baring the thin skin of her forearm to him. ‘Or give me the time to do the work well. After today, I don’t have a preference.’
    Snake quick, he drew the blade and whipped it down. She flinched, but less than she’d expected to. The metal pressed into her skin but didn’t break it. It hurt, though, and if he pulled it, it would bite deep. In the long pause, the young man chuckled. It wasn’t the malefic sound of a torturer. It was something else. The whoremaster took the knife away.
    ‘Do the work, then,’ he said, sneering. But behind the contempt, Amat thought perhaps a ray of respect had entered his gaze. She took an acquiescing pose. Ovi Niit stalked out, leaving the door open behind him. Amat sat for a long moment, rubbing the white line the knife had left on her flesh, waiting for the tightness in her throat to ease. She’d done it. She’d won herself more time.
    It was at least half a hand later that the scent of apples and roast pork brought her stomach to life. She couldn’t think how long it had been since she’d eaten. Leaning on her cane, she made her way to the wide tables. The benches were near full, the night’s work set to begin. News had traveled. She could see it in the eyes that didn’t meet hers. A space opened for her at the end of a bench, and she settled in. After the meal, she found Mitat, the Westland whore. The woman was in a dress of blue silk that clung to her body. The commodity wrapped for sale.
    ‘We need to speak,’ Amat said quietly. ‘Now.’
    Mitat didn’t reply, but when Amat returned to her cell, the girl followed. That was enough. Amat sat. The room still stank of ashes and tar. The grit of fire sand scraped under their feet. It wasn’t the place she’d have chosen for this conversation, but it would do.
    ‘It was fortunate that you had water to hand this afternoon,’ Amat said. ‘And in pans.’
    ‘We didn’t need it,’ Mitat said. Her accent was slushy, and her vowels all slid at the ends. Westlands indeed. And to the north, Amat thought. A refugee from one of the Galtic incursions, most likely. And so, in a sense, they were there for the same reason.
    ‘I was lucky,’ Amat said. ‘If I’d gone out to see who was at the door, the fire might have spread. And even if you’d stopped it, the water would have ruined the books.’
    Mitat shrugged, but her eyes darted to the door. It was a small thing, hardly noticeable in the dim light, but it was enough. Amat felt her suspicion settle into certainty. She took a firmer grip on her cane.
    ‘Close the door,’ she said. The woman hesitated, then did as she was told. ‘They questioned Ibris. She sounded upset.’
    ‘They had to speak to someone,’ Mitat said, crossing her arms.
    ‘Not you?’
    ‘I never saw him.’
    ‘Good planning,’ Amat said, taking an approving pose. ‘Still, an unfortunate day for Ibris.’
    ‘You have an accusation to make?’ Mitat asked. She didn’t look away now. Now, she was all hardness and bravado. Amat could almost smell the fear.
    ‘Do I have an accusation?’ Amat said, letting the words roll off her tongue slowly. She tilted her head, considering Mitat as if she were something to be purchased. Amat shook her head. ‘No. No accusation. I won’t tell him.’
    ‘Then I don’t have to kill you,’ Mitat said.
    Amat smiled and shook her head, her hands taking a pose of reproof.
    ‘Badly played. Threats alienate me and admit your guilt at the same time. Those are just the wrong combination. Begin again,’ she said and settled herself like a street actor shifting roles. ‘I won’t tell him.’
    The Westland girl narrowed her eyes, but there was an intelligence in them. That was good to see. Mitat stepped closer, uncrossed her arms. When she spoke, her voice was softer, wary, but less afraid.
    ‘What do you want?’ Mitat asked.
    ‘Much better. I