Shadow and Betrayal

follow through.’
    ‘You are,’ Otah said.
    ‘I don’t think so.’
    Silence flowed in. Below them, in the street, a woman shrieked and then laughed. A dog streets away bayed as if in response. Maati put down his cup of wine - empty now except for the dregs - and slapped a gnat from his arm. Otah nodded, more to himself than to Maati.
    ‘Well, there’s nothing to be done then,’ Otah said.
    ‘It’s late and we’re drunk,’ Maati said. ‘It’ll look better by morning. It always does.’
    Otah weighed the words, then took a pose of agreement.
    ‘I’m glad I found you,’ Maati said. ‘I think perhaps I was meant to.’
    ‘Perhaps,’ Otah-kvo agreed.
     
    ‘Wilsin-cha!’ Epani’s voice was a whisper, but the urgency of it cut through Marchat’s dream. He rolled up on one elbow and was pushing away his netting before he was really awake. The house master stood beside the bed holding his robe closed with one hand. Epani’s face, lit only by the night candle, was drawn.
    ‘Wha?’ Marchat said, still pulling his mind up from the depths he’d been in moments before. ‘What’s the matter? There’s a fire?’
    ‘No,’ Epani said, trying a pose of apology, but hampered by the needs of his robes. ‘Someone’s here to see you. He’s in the private hall.’
    ‘He? He who?’
    Epani hesitated.
    ‘It,’ he said.
    It took Marchat the time to draw in a breath before he understood what Epani meant. He nodded then, and motioned to a robe that hung by his wardrobe. The night candle was well past its middle mark - the night nearer the coming dawn than yesterday’s sunset. Apart from the soft rustle of the cloth as Marchat pulled his robes on and tied them, there was no sound. He ran his fingers through his hair and beard and turned toward Epani.
    ‘Good enough?’ he asked.
    Epani took a pose of approval.
    ‘Fine,’ Marchat said. ‘Bring us something to drink. Wine. Or tea.’
    ‘Are you sure, Wilsin-cha?’
    Marchat paused and considered. Every movement in the night ran the risk of waking someone, someone besides himself or Epani or Oshai. A glimmer of anger at the andat for coming here, now, like this, shone in the dark setting of his unease. He took a pose of dismissal.
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘Don’t bring us anything. Go to bed. Forget this happened. You were dreaming.’
    Epani left. Marchat took up his night candle and walked in its near-darkness to the private hall. It was near his own quarters because of meetings like this. Windowless, with a single entrance and its own atrium so that anyone within could hear if someone was coming. When he stepped into the room, the andat was perched on the meeting table like a bird, his arms resting on his knees. The blackness of his cloak spread out behind him like a stain.
    ‘What are you playing at, Wilsin?’
    ‘I was playing at being asleep until a few moments ago,’ Marchat said, bluster welling up to hide his fear. The dark eyes in the pale face shifted, taking him in. Seedless tilted his head. They were silent except for Marchat’s breathing. He was the only one there breathing.
    ‘Is this about something?’ Marchat asked. ‘And get your boots off my table, will you? This isn’t some cheap teahouse.’
    ‘Why is your boy courting mine?’ the andat demanded, ignoring him.
    Marchat put the night candle squarely on the table, pulled out a chair, and sat.
    ‘I don’t have the first idea what you’re talking about,’ he said, crossing his arms. ‘Talk sense or go haunt someone else. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.’
    ‘You didn’t send one of your men to take Heshai’s student out to the teahouses?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Then why did he come?’
    Marchat read the distrust in the andat’s expression, or imagined he did. He set his jaw and leaned forward. The thing in human form didn’t move.
    ‘I don’t know who you mean,’ Marchat said, deliberately. ‘And you can drink piss if you don’t believe me.’
    Seedless narrowed his eyes as if he was listening for something, then sat back. The anger that had been in his voice and face faded and was replaced by puzzlement.
    ‘One of your laborers came tonight to see Maati,’ Seedless said. ‘He said they’d met during the negotiations and arranged to go out together.’
    ‘Well,’ Marchat said. ‘Perhaps they met during the negotiations and arranged to go out together.’
    ‘A poet and a laborer?’ Seedless scoffed. ‘And maybe the fine ladies of the utkhaiem are out this