Kiyan and Amiit had all agreed that the Gaits' interest in the library
was something that could be safely neglected. It added nothing to their
story, and knowing more than they seemed to might yet prove an
advantage. Watching Porsha Radaani's eyes, Maati thought it had been the
right decision.
He outlined what he wanted of the Radaani-the timing of the proposal to
disband, the manner in which it would he best approached, the support
they would need on the council. Radaani listened like a cat watching a
pigeon until the whole proposal was laid out before him. He coughed and
loosened the belt of his robe.
"It's a pretty story," Radaani said. "It'll play well to a crowd. But
you'll need more than this to convince the utkhaiem that your friend's
hem isn't red. We're all quite pleased to have a Khai who's walked
through his brothers' blood, but fathers are a different thing."
"I'm not the only one to tell it," Maati said. "I have one of the
hunting party who watched I)anat die to swear there was no sign of an
ambush. I have the commander who collected Otah from the tower to say
what he was bought to do and by whom. I have Cehmai Tyan and
Stone-Made-Soft. And I have them in the next room if you'd like to speak
with them."
"Really?" Radaani leaned forward. The chair groaned under his weight.
"And if it's needed, I have a list of all the houses and families who've
supported Vaunyogi. If it's a question what their relationships are with
Galt, all we have to do is open those contracts and judge the terms.
'T'hough there may be some of them who would rather that didn't happen.
So perhaps it won't be necessary."
Radaani chuckled again, a deep, wet sound. He rubbed his fingers against
his thumbs, pinching the air.
"You've been busy since last we spoke," he said.
"It isn't hard finding confirmation once you know what the truth is.
Would you like to speak to the men? You can ask them whatever you like.
"They'll back what I've said."
"Is he here himself?"
"Otah thought it might be better not to attend. Until he knew whether
you intended to help him or have him killed."
"He's wise. Just the poet, then," Radaani said. "The others don't matter."
Maati nodded and left the room. The teahouse proper was a wide, low room
with fires burning low in two corners. Radaani's servants were drinking
something that Maati doubted was only tea and talking with one of the
couriers of House Sivanti. There would be more information from that, he
guessed, than from the more formal meeting. At the door to the back
room, Sinja leaned back in a chair looking bored but corn- manding a
view of every approach.
"Well?" Sinja asked.
"He'd like to speak with Cehmai-cha."
"But not the others?"
"Apparently not."
"He doesn't care if it's true, then. Just whether the poets are hacking
our man," Sinja let his chair down and stood, stretching. "The forms of
power arc fascinating stuff. Reminds me why I started fighting for a
living."
Maati opened the door. The back room was quieter, though the rush of
rain was everywhere. Cehmai and the andat were sitting by the fire. The
huntsman Sinja-cha had tracked down was at a small table, half drunk. It
was best, perhaps, that Radaani hadn't wanted him. And three armsmcn in
the colors of House Siyanti also lounged about. Cehmai looked up,
meeting Maati's gaze. Maati nodded.
Radaadni's expression when Cehmai and Stone-Made-Soft entered the room
was profoundly satisfied. It was as if the young poet's presence
answered all the questions that were important to ask. Still, Maati
watched Cehmai take a pose of greeting and Radaani return it.
"You wished to speak with me," Cehmai asked. His voice was low and
tired. Maati could see how much this moment was costing him.
"Your fellow poet here's told me quite a tale," Radaani said. "He says
that Otah Machi's not dead, and that Idaan Machi's the one who arranged
her family's death."
"That's so," Cehmai agreed.
"I see. And you were the one who brought that to light?"
"That's so."
Radaani paused, his lips pursed, his fingers knotted around each other.
"Does the Dai-kvo back the upstart, then?"
"No," Maati said before Cehmai could speak. "We take no side in this. We
support the council's decision, but that doesn't mean we withhold the
truth from the utkhaiem."
"As Maati-kvo says," Cehmai agreed. "We are servants here."
"Servants with the world by its balls," Radaani said. "It's easy,
Cehmai-cha, to support a position in a side room with no one much around
to hear you. It's a harder thing to say the same words in front of the
gods and the court and the world in general. If I take this to the
council and you decide that perhaps it wasn't all quite what you've said
it was, it will go badly for me."
"I'll tell what I know," Cehmai said. "Whoever asks."
"Well," Radaani said, then more than half to himself, "Well well well."
In the pause that followed, another roll of thunder rattled the
shutters. But Porsha Radaani's smile had faded into something less
amused, more serious. We have him, Maati thought. Radaani clapped his
hands on his thighs and stood.
"I have some conversations I'll have to conduct, Maati-cha," he said.
"You understand that I'm taking a great personal risk doing this? Me and
my family both."
"And I know that Otah-kvo will appreciate that," Maati said. "In my
experience, he has always been good to his friends."
"TThat's best," Radaani said. "After this, I expect he'll have about two
of them. Just so long as he remembers what he owes me."
"He will. And so will the Kamau and the Vaunani. And I imagine a fair
number of your rival families will be getting less favorable terms from
the Galts in the future."
"Yes. That had occurred to me too."
Radaani smiled broadly and took a formal pose of leavetaking that
ineluded the room and all three of them in it-the two poets, the one
spirit. When he was gone, Maati went to the window again. Radaani was
walking fast down the street, his servants half-skipping to keep the
canopy over him. His limp was almost gone.
Maati closed the shutters.