assistance."
Farrer drew on his pipe, then gestured out at the pond, the palaces, the
world. When he spoke, the pipe smoke made the words seem solid and gray.
"I've failed. I know that. I was bullied into agreeing to this union
between our houses, but so were half of the councillors. They can't
think less of me for that, except for the few who genuinely backed your
plan. They never thought much of me. And then I let myself be wheedled
into helping you, so those whose love Ana won in her little speech think
I'm ruled by the whims of a girl who hasn't seen twenty summers. The
damning thing is, I can't say they're wrong."
"You love her," Otah said.
"I love her too much," Farrer said. His expression was grim. "It keeps
me from knowing my own mind."
Otah's thoughts flickered for a moment, roving west to Idaan and her
hunt. He brought himself back with a conscious effort.
"The city you're helping to protect is precious," Otah said. "The people
whose lives you save won't think less of you for hearing wisdom from
your daughter."
"Yes," Farrer said with a chuckle, "but they aren't on the council, are
they."
"No," Otah said. "I understand that you are invested in sugar? There are
cane fields east of Saraykeht, but most of what we have comes from
Bakta. Much better land for it there. If Chaburi-Tan failed, we would
feel the effect here and all through the Westlands."
Farrer grunted noncommittally.
"It's surprising how much Baktan trade flows through Chaburi-Tan. Not so
much as through Saraykeht, but still a great deal. The island is easier
to approach. And it's a good site for any trade in the south. Obar
State, Eymond. Far Galt, for that. Did you know that nearly all the ore
from Far Galt passes through the port at Chaburi-Tan?"
"Less since you've raised the taxes."
"I don't set those taxes," Otah said. "I appoint the port's
administration. Usually they agree to pay a certain amount for the
privilege and then try to make back what they've spent before their term
ends."
"And how long are their terms?"
"As long as the Emperor is pleased to have them in that place," Otah
said. "So long as I think they've done a good job with maintaining the
seafront and keeping the flow of ships through, they may hold power for
years. Or, if they've mismanaged things, perhaps even required a fleet
to come out and save the city, they might be replaced."
The frown on Farrer's face was the most pleasant thing Otah had seen all
morning. The truth of the matter was that Otah no more liked the Galt
than he was liked by him. Their nations were old enemies, and however
much Otah and Issandra plotted, there was a way in which their
generation would die as enemies.
But what he did now, as little as Otah liked it personally, was intended
for people as yet unborn, unconceived. It was a long game he was
playing, and it got longer, it seemed, the less time he had to live.
Farrer coughed, sucked his teeth, and leaned forward.
"Forgive me, Most High," he said, formality returning to his diction.
"What is the conversation we're having?"
"I would appoint you or your agent to oversee Chaburi-Tan's seafront,"
Otah said. "It would, I think, demonstrate that my commitment to joining
our nations isn't only that you should send us your daughters."
"And have the council believe that I'm not only controlled by my wife
and child, but also the tool of the Emperor, bought and paid for?" His
tone was more amused than aggressive.
Otah pulled a small book from his sleeve and held it out.
"The accounting of the Chaburi-Tan seafront," Otah said. "We are an
empire of fallen cities, Farrer-cha. But we were very high before, and
falling for years hasn't yet brought us down to be even with most of the
world."
The Galt clamped his pipe between his teeth and accepted the proffered
book. Otah waited as he flipped through the thin pages. He saw Farrer's
eyebrows rise when he reached the quarter's sums, and then again at the
half-year's.
"You would want something from me," Farrer said.
"You have already lent me your boats," Otah said. "Your sailors. Let the
others on the council see what effect that has."
"You can afford to give away this much gold to make them jealous?"
"I know that Ana-cha has objected to marrying Danat. I hope there may
yet be some shift of her position. Then I would be giving the gold to my
grandson's grandfather," Otah said.
"And if she doesn't?" Farrer asked, scowling. His eyes had narrowed like
a seafront merchant distrustful of too good a bargain.
"If she doesn't, then I've made a poor wager," Otah said. "We are
gamblers, Farrer-cha, just by getting up from bed in the morning."
Farrer Dasin didn't answer except to relax his gaze, laugh, and tuck the
book into his belt. Otah took a pose that ended a meeting. It had a
positive nuance that Dasin was unlikely to notice, but Otah didn't mind.
It was as much for himself as the Galt.
The walk back to the palaces seemed shorter, less haunted by nostalgia.
He returned to his rooms, allowed himself to be changed into formal
robes, and began the long, slow work of another day. The court was its
customary buzz of rituals and requirements. The constant speculation on
the Galtic treaty's fate made every other facet of the economic and
political life of the Empire swing like a ship's mast in high seas. Otah
did what he could to pour oil on the waters. For the most part, he
succeeded.
Before the early sunset of middle autumn, Otah had seen the heads of
both Galtic and Khaiate stone masons disputing a contract upon which the
Galtic Council had already ruled. He had taken audiences with two other
members of the High Council and three of the highest families of the
utkhaiem. And, in the brightest moment of his day, a visibly unnerved
representative of Obar State had arrived with gifts and assurances of
the good relations between his small nation and the cities of the Khaiem.
No courier came from Idaan or Eiah. Likely his sister was still on the
roads between Saraykeht and Pathai. There was no reason to expect word
back so soon, and yet every time a servant entered his chambers with a
folded paper, his belly went tight until he broke the seal.
The night began with a banquet held in the honor of Balasar Glee and the
preparation of what the Galtic Council called the second fleet and the
utkhaiem, dismissively and in private, the other ships. The great hall
fluttered with fine robes and silk banners. Musicians and singing slaves
hidden behind screens filled the air with soft music of Galtic
composition. Lanterns of colored glass gave the light a feeling of
belonging to some other, gentler world. Otah sat on his high dais,