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Authors: Daniel Abraham

BOOK: Shadow and Betrayal
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There was a long silence, broken by Ovi Niit’s low chuckle.
‘Kirath tells me men are looking for you. They’re offering silver.’
Amat took a pose of acknowledgment.
‘I’d expected you to be more eager to help,’ Ovi Niit said. His voice feigned hurt, but his eyes were passionless.
‘I’d be lying. That couldn’t help either of us.’
Ovi Niit considered that, then took a pose of agreement. He turned to Kirath and nodded. His pose to Amat shifted to a request for her forbearance as he drew Kirath out and closed the door behind them. Amat leaned against the table, her palm pressed to her aching hip. The walk had loosened her muscles a bit, but she would still have given a week’s wages for the pot of salve in her apartments. In the common room, she heard Kirath laugh. He sounded relieved. It took some of the tightness out of Amat’s throat. Things must be going well. For a moment, a voice in the back of her mind suggested that perhaps it had all been a trick and Ovi Niit and Kirath were sending a runner to the moon-faced Oshai even while she waited here, oblivious. She put the thought aside. She was tired. The days in the hellish attic had worn her thin, that was all. In the common room, a door opened and closed, and a moment later Ovi Niit stepped back into the room.
‘I’ve given our mutual friend a few lengths of silver and sent him home,’ the young man said. ‘You’ll sleep with the whores. There’s a common meal at dawn, another at three hands past midday, and another at the second mark on the night candle.’
Amat Kyaan took a pose of thanks. Ovi Niit responded with an acceptance so formal as to be sarcastic. When he struck, it was quick; she did not see the blow coming. The ring on his right hand cut her mouth, and she fell back, landing hard. Pain took her hip so fierce it seemed cold.
‘Three days to an estimate. Two weeks to a full balance. For every day you are late, I will have you cut,’ he said, his voice settled and calm. ‘If you tell me “how things are” again, I will sell you within that hour. And if you bleed on my floor, you’ll clean it, you shit-licking, wattle-necked, high-town cunt. Do you understand?’
The first bloom of emotion in her was only surprise, and then confusion, and then anger. He measured her, and she saw the hunger in him, waiting for her answer; the eagerness for her humiliation would have been pathetic - a child whipping dogs - if she hadn’t been on the end of it. She choked on her defiance and her pride. Her mouth felt thick with venom, though it was certainly only blood.
Bend now
, she thought.
This is no time to be stubborn. Bend now and live through this.
Amat Kyaan, chief overseer of House Wilsin, took a pose of gratitude and acceptance. The tears were easy to feign.
4
‘I
can’t do this,’ Liat said over the splash of flowing water. ‘There’s too much.’
The washing floor was outside the barracks: a stone platform with an open pipe above it and a drain below. Itani stood naked in the flow, his hair plastered flat, scrubbing his hands and arms with pumice.
The sun, still likely three or four hands above the horizon, was nonetheless lost behind the buildings of the warehouse district. Now they were in shadow; soon it would be night. Liat on her bench leaned against the ivy-covered wall, plucking at the thick, waxy leaves.
‘Amat left everything half-done,’ she went on. ‘The contracts with Old Sanya. How was I to know they hadn’t been returned to him? It isn’t as if she told me to run them there. And the shipments to Obar State weren’t coordinated, so there are going to be three weeks with the third warehouse standing half-empty when it should be full. And every time something goes wrong, Wilsin-cha . . . he doesn’t say anything, but he keeps looking at me as though I might start drooling. I embarrass him.’
Itani stepped out from the artificial waterfall. His hands and arms were a dirty blue outlined in red where he had rubbed the skin almost raw. All his cohort had spent the day hauling dye to the dye yard, and all of them were marked by the labor. She looked at him in despair. His fingernails, she knew from experience, would look as if they were dirty until the dyes wore off. It might take weeks.
‘Has he said anything to you?’ Itani asked, wiping the water off his arms and chest.
‘Of course he has. I’m doing Amat’s work and preparing for the audience with the Khai besides.’
‘I meant, has he told you that you were doing poorly? Or is it only your own standards that aren’t being met?’
Liat felt herself flush, but took a pose of query. Itani frowned and pulled on fresh robes. The cloth clung to his legs.
‘You mean you think perhaps he
wants
an incompetent going before the Khai in his name?’ Liat demanded. ‘And why do you imagine he’d wish for that?’
‘I mean, is it possible that your expectations of yourself are higher than his? You’ve been put in this position without warning, and without the chance to prepare yourself with Amat-cha. Hold that in mind, and it seems to me you’ve been doing very
well.
Wilsin-cha knows all that too. If he isn’t telling you you’ve done poorly, perhaps it’s not so bad as it seems.’
‘So you think I have an excuse for things going badly,’ Liat said. ‘That’s thin comfort.’
Itani sighed in resignation as he sat down beside her. His hair was still dripping wet, and Liat moved a little away to keep the water from getting on her own robes. She could see in the way he kept his expression calm that he thought she was being unreasonably hard on herself, and her suspicion that he wasn’t wholly wrong only made her more impatient with him.
‘If you’d like, we can go to your cell for the evening. You can work on whatever it is that needs your attention,’ he offered.
‘And what would you do?’
‘Be there,’ he said, simply. ‘The others will understand.’
‘Yes, lovely,’ Liat said, sarcasm in her voice. ‘Refuse your cohort’s company because I have more important things than them. Let’s see what more they can say about me. They already think I look down on them.’
Itani sighed, leaning back into the ivy until he seemed to be sinking into the wall itself. The continual slap of water on stone muffled the sounds of the city. Any of the others could appear around the corner or from within the barracks at any moment, but still it felt as if they were alone together. It was usually a feeling Liat enjoyed. Just now, it was like a stone in her sandal.
‘You could tell me I’m wrong, if you liked,’ she said.
‘No. They do think that. But we could go anyway. What does it matter what they think? They’re only jealous of us. If we spend the evening preparing everything for Wilsin-cha, then in the morning—’
‘It doesn’t work like that. I can’t just put in an extra half-shift and make all the problems go away. It’s not like I’m shifting things around a warehouse. This is complex. It’s . . . it’s just not the sort of thing a laborer would understand.’
Itani nodded slowly, stirring the leaves that wreathed his head. The softness of his mouth went hard for a moment. He took a pose that accepted correction, but she could see the formality in his stance and recognize it for what it was.
‘Gods. Itani, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure there are lots of things I don’t know about . . . lifting things. Or how to pull a cart. But this is hard. What Wilsin-cha wants of me is
hard
.’
And I’m failing
, she thought, but didn’t say.
Can’t you see I’m failing?
‘At least let me take your mind off it for tonight,’ Itani said, standing and offering her his hand. There was still a hardness in his eyes, however much he buried it. Liat stood but didn’t take his hand.
‘I’m going before the Khai in four days. Four days! I’m completely unprepared. Amat hasn’t told me anything about doing this. I’m not even sure when she’ll be back. And you think, what? A night out getting drunk with a bunch of laborers at a cheap teahouse is going to make me forget that? Honestly, ’Tani. It’s like you’re a stone. You don’t listen.’
‘I’ve been listening to you since you came. I’ve been doing nothing but.’
‘For all the good it’s done. I might as well have been a dog yapping at you for all you’ve understood.’
‘Liat,’ Itani said, his voice sharp, and then stopped. His face flushed, he stretched out his hands in a gesture of surrender. When he went on, his voice hummed with controlled anger. ‘I don’t know what you want from me. If you want my help to make this right, I’ll help you. If you want my company to take you away from it for a time, I’m willing . . .’
‘
Willing?
How charming,’ Liat began, but Itani wouldn’t be interrupted. He pressed on, raising his voice over hers.
‘. . .
but
if there is something else you want of me, I’m afraid this lowly laborer is simply too thick-witted to see it.’
Liat felt a knot in her throat, and raised her hands in a pose of withdrawal. A thick despair folded her heart. She looked at him - her Itani - goaded to rage. He didn’t see. He didn’t understand. How hard could it be to see how frightened she was?
‘I shouldn’t have come,’ she said. Her voice was thick.
‘Liat.’
‘No,’ she said, wiping away tears with the sleeve of her robe as she turned. ‘It was the wrong thing for me to do. You go on. I’m going back to my cell.’
Itani, his anger not gone, but tempered by something softer, put a hand on her arm.
‘I can come with you if you like,’ he said.
For more of this?
she didn’t say. She only shook her head, pulled gently away from him and started the long walk up and to the north. Back to the compound without him. She stopped at a waterseller’s cart halfway there and drank cool water, limed and sugared, and waited to see whether Itani had followed her. He hadn’t, and she honestly couldn’t say whether she was more disappointed or relieved.
 
The woman - Anet Nyoa, her name was - held out a plum, taking at the same time a pose of offering. Maati accepted the fruit formally, and with a growing sense of discomfort. Heshai-kvo had been due back at the middle gardens from his private council with the Khai Saraykeht a half-hand past midday. It was almost two hands now, and Maati was still alone on his bench overlooking the tiled roofs of the city and the maze of paths through the palaces and gardens. And to make things more awkward, Anet Nyoa, daughter of some house of the utkhaiem Maati felt sure he should recognize, had stopped to speak with him. And offer him fruit. And at every moment that it seemed time for her to take leave, she found something more to say.
‘You seem young,’ she said. ‘I had pictured a poet as an older man.’
‘I’m only a student, Nyoa-cha,’ Maati said. ‘I’ve only just arrived.’
‘And how old are you?’
‘This is my sixteenth summer,’ he said.
The woman took a pose of appreciation that he didn’t entirely understand. It was a simple enough grammar, but he didn’t see what there was to appreciate about being a particular age. And there was something else in the way her eyes met his that made him feel that perhaps she had mistaken him for someone else.
‘And you, Nyoa-cha?’
‘My eighteenth,’ she said. ‘My family came to Saraykeht from Cetani when I was a girl. Where are your family?’
‘I have none,’ Maati said. ‘That is, when I was sent to the school, I . . . They are in Pathai, but I’m not . . . we aren’t family any longer. I’ve become a poet now.’
A note of sorrow came into her expression, and she leaned forward. Her hand touched his wrist.
‘That must be hard for you,’ she said, her gaze now very much locked with his. ‘Being alone like that.’
‘Not so bad,’ Maati said, willing his voice not to squeak. There was a scent coming from her robe - something rich and earthy just strong enough to catch through the floral riot of gardens. ‘That is, I’ve managed quite nicely.’
‘You’re brave to put such a strong face on it.’
And like the answer to a prayer, the andat’s perfect form stepped out from a minor hall at the far end of the garden. He wore a black robe shot with crimson and cut in the style of the Old Empire. Maati leaped up, tucked the plum into his sleeve, and took a pose of farewell.
‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘The andat has come, and I fear I am required.’
The woman took an answering pose that also held a nuance of regret, but Maati turned away and hurried down the path, white gravel crunching under his feet. He didn’t look back until he’d reached Seedless’ side.
‘Well, my dear. That was a hasty retreat.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Seedless raised a single black brow, and Maati felt himself blushing. But the andat took a pose that dismissed the subject and went on.
‘Heshai has left for the day. He says you’re to go back to the poet’s house and clean the bookshelves.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘You’re getting better then,’ the andat said with a grin. ‘He’s just coming. The audience with the Khai ran long, but all the afternoon’s plans are still very much in place.’

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