In the morning, he woke before she did, slipped out of the bed, and
dressed quietly. The sun was not up, but the eastern sky had lightened
and the morning birds were singing madly as he took himself across an
ancient stone bridge into Udun.
A river city, Udun was laced with as many canals as roadways. Bridges
humped up high enough for barges to pass beneath them, and the green
water of the Qiit lapped at old stone steps that descended into the
river mud. Otah stopped at a stall on the broad central plaza and traded
two lengths of copper for a thick wedge of honey bread and a bowl of
black, smoky tea. Around him, the city slowly came awakethe streets and
canals filling with traders and merchants, beggars singing at the
corners or in small rafts tied at the water's edge, laborers hauling
wagons along the wide flagstoned streets, and birds bright as shafts of
sunlight-blue and red and yellow, green as grass, and pink as dawn. Udun
was a city of birds, and their chatter and shriek and song filled the
air as he ate.
The compound of House Siyanti was in the better part of the city, just
downstream from the palaces, where the water was not yet fouled by the
wastes of thirty thousand men and women and children. The red brick
buildings rose up three stories high, and a private canal was filled
with barges in the red and silver of the house. The stylized emblem of
the sun and stars had been worked into the brick archway that led to the
central courtyard, and Otah passed beneath it with a feeling like coming
home.
Amiit Foss, the overseer for the house couriers, was in his offices,
ordering around three apprentices with sharp words and insults, but no
blows. Otah stepped in and took a pose of greeting.
"Ah! The missing Itani. Did you know the word for half-wit in the tongue
of the Empire was itani-nah?"
"All respect, Amiit-cha, but no it wasn't."
The overseer grinned. One of the apprentices-a girl of perhaps thirteen
summers-whispered something angrily, and the boy next to her giggled.
"Fine," the overseer said. "You two. I need the ciphers rechecked on
last week's letters."
"But I wasn't the one . . . ," the girl protested. The overseer took a
pose that commanded her silence, and the pair, glowering at each other,
stalked away.
"I get them when they're just growing old enough to flirt," Amiit said,
sighing. "Come back to the meeting rooms. The journey took longer than
I'd expected."
"There were some delays," Otah said as he followed the older man hack.
"Chaburi-'Ian isn't as tightly run as it was last time I was out there."
"No?"
"There are refugees from the Westlands."
"There are always refugees from the Westlands."
"Not this many," Otah said. "There are rumors that the Khai ChaburiTan
is going to restrict the number of Westlanders allowed on the island."
Amiit paused, his hands on the carved wood door of the meeting rooms.
Otah could almost see the implications of this thought working
themselves out behind the overseer's eyes. A moment later, Amiit looked
up, raised his eyebrows in appreciation, and pushed the doors open.
Half the day was spent in the raw silk chairs of the meeting rooms while
Amiit took Otah's report and accepted the letters-sewn shut and written
in cipher-that Otah had carried with him.
It had taken Otah some time to understand all that being a courier
implied. When he had first arrived in Udun six years before, hungry,
lost and half-haunted by the memories he carried with him, he had still
believed that he would simply be carrying letters and small packages
from one place to another, perhaps waiting for a response, and then
taking those to where they were expected. It would have been as right to
say that a farmer throws some seeds in the earth and returns a few
months later to sec what's grown. He had been lucky. His ability to win
friends easily had served him, and he had been instructed in what the
couriers called the gentleman's trade: how to gather information that
might be of use to the house, how to read the activity of a street
corner or market, and how to know from that the mood of a city. How to
break ciphers and re-sew letters. How to appear to drink more wine than
you actually did, and question travelers on the road without seeming to.
He understood now that the gentleman's trade was one that asked a
lifetime to truly master, and though he was still a journeyman, he had
found a kind of joy in it. Amiit knew what his talents were, and chose
assignments for him in which he could do well. And in return for the
trust of the house and the esteem of his fellows, Otah did the best work
he could, brokering information, speculation, gossip, and intrigue. He
had traveled through the summer cities in the south, west to the plains
and the cities that traded directly with the Westlands, up the eastern
coasts where his knowledge of obscure east island tongues had served him
well. By design or happy coincidence, he had never gone farther north
than Yalakeht. He had not been called on to see the winter cities.
Until now.
"There's trouble in the north," Amiit said as he tucked the last of the
opened letters into his sleeve.
"I'd heard," Otah said. "The succession's started in Machi."
"Amnat-"Ian, Machi, Cetani. All of them have something brewing. You may
need to get some heavier robes."
"I didn't think House Siyanti had much trade there," Otah said, trying
to keep the unease out of his voice.
"We don't. That doesn't mean we never will. And take your time. There's
something I'm waiting for from the west. I won't be sending you out for
a month at least, so you can have some time to spend you money. Unless ..."
The overseer's eyes narrowed. His hands took a pose of query.
"I just dislike the cold," Otah said, making a joke to cover his unease.
"I grew up in Saraykeht. It seemed like water never froze there."
"It's a hard life," Amiit said. "I can try to give the commissions to
other men, if you'd prefer."
And have them wonder why it was that I wouldn't go, Otah thought. He
took a pose of thanks that also implied rejection.
"I'll take what there is," he said. "And heavy wool robes besides."
"It really isn't so bad up there in summer," Amiit said. "It's the
winters that break your stones."
"Then by all means, send someone else in the winter."
They exchanged a few final pleasantries, and Otah left the name of
Kiyan's wayhouse as the place to send for him, if he was needed. He
spent the afternoon in a teahouse at the edge of the warehouse district,
talking with old acquaintances and trading news. He kept an ear out for
word from Machi, but there was nothing fresh. The eldest son had been