Shadow and Betrayal

want an ally in this pesthole. When the time comes that I have to make a play, you will back me. No questions, no hesitations. We will pretend that Ovi Niit still owns you, but now you answer to me. And for that you and your man . . . it is a man, isn’t it? Yes, I thought so. You and your man will be safe. Agreed?’
    Mitat was silent. In the street, a man shouted out an obscenity and laughed. A beggar sang in a lovely, high voice, and Amat realized she’d been hearing that voice the better part of the day. Why hadn’t she noticed it before now? The whore nodded.
    ‘Good,’ Amat said. ‘No more fires, then. And Mitat? The next bookkeeper won’t be likely to make the same offer, so no interesting spices in my food either, eh?’
    ‘No, grandmother. Of course not.’
    ‘Well. Ah. I don’t suppose there’s anything more to say just now, is there?’
     
    Liat slapped the girl’s wrist, annoyed. Maj pulled back her pale hands, speaking in the liquid syllables of her language. Liat shifted her weight from her right knee to her left. The tailor at her side said nothing, but there was amusement in the way he held the knotted cord against the girl’s bare thigh.
    ‘Tell her it’s just going to take longer if she keeps fidgeting,’ Liat said. ‘It isn’t as if none of us had seen a leg before.’
    The moon-faced servant spoke in the island girl’s tongue from his stool by the doorway. Maj looked down at the pair of them, blushing. Her skin clearly showed the blood beneath it. The tailor switched the knotted cord to the inner leg, his hand rising well past the girl’s knee. She squealed and spoke again, more loudly this time. Liat bit back frustration.
    ‘What’s she saying?’ Liat demanded.
    ‘In her culture, people are not so free with each other’s bodies,’ Oshai said. ‘It confuses her.’
    ‘Tell her it will be over soon. We can’t start making the robes until we get through this.’
    Liat had thought, in all the late nights she’d woken sleepless and anxious, that negotiating with the Khai Saraykeht and his poet would be the worst of her commission. That shepherding the client through things as simple as being measured for robes would pose a greater problem had never occurred to her. And yet for days now, every small step would move Maj to fidget or pepper her translator, Oshai, with questions. Thankfully, the man seemed competent enough to answer most of them himself.
    The tailor finished his work and stood, his hands in a pose of gratitude. Liat responded appropriately. The island girl looked on in mute fascination.
    ‘Will there be anything more, Liat-cha?’ Oshai asked.
    ‘The court physician will wish to see her tomorrow. And I’m due to speak with a representative of the accountancy, but she won’t be required for that. There may be more the next day, but I can tell you that once the schedule’s been set.’
    ‘Thank you, Liat-cha,’ he said and took a pose of gratitude. Something in the cant of his wrists and the corners of his mouth made Liat look twice. She had the feeling that he was amused by her. Well, let him be. When Amat returned, Liat knew there would be a chance to comment on Oshai. And if Amat took offense, he’d never work for House Wilsin again.
    She made her way out to the narrow streets of the tailors’ quarter. The heat of the day was fierce, and the air was thick and muggy. Sweat had made her robes tacky against her back before she’d made it halfway to the laborers’ quarters. She was more than half tempted to take them off and bathe under the rough shower Itani’s cohort used. There was no one at it when she arrived. But if someone did see her - an acting overseer of House Wilsin - it might reflect on her status. So, instead, she walked up the stone steps worn smooth by generations of men and into the wide hallway with its cots and cheap cloth tents instead of netting. The sounds of masculine laughter and conversation filled the space like the reek of bodies. And yet Itani lived like this. He chose to. He was a mystery.
    When she found him, he was seated on his cot, his skin and hair still wet from the shower. She paused, considering him, and uneasiness touched her. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but his hands were idle. His shoulders hunched forward. Had he been anyone else, she would have said he seemed haunted. In the months - nearly ten now - since she had taken him as her lover, she’d never known him to chew himself like