"I'm sure she's fine," Maati said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
"And giving silver to those Galts," Vanjit said, her voice creeping
higher. "I don't know what she means by that. Do you?"
Large Kae came in from a dark corridor and motioned them to follow.
Maati almost had to pull Vanjit to get her attention. She glared at
Large Kae's back as they walked.
"It seems to me," Vanjit continued, "that Eiah is forgetting who are her
allies and who are her enemies. I know you love her, Maati-kvo, but you
can't let that blind you. You can't ignore the truth."
"I won't, Vanjit-kya," Maati said. The room was on the first floor.
Fresh rushes on the floor. A small cot of stretched canvas. Oak shutters
closed against the daylight. "You leave this to me. I'll see to it."
Large Kae left, murmuring something about seeing to the animals. When
the door closed behind her, Vanjit let the blanket fall and set the
andat on the cot. It cooed and burbled, waving its hands and grinning
toothlessly. It was a parody of infantile delight, and seeing Vanjit's
smilepleasure and fear and anger all in the smallest stretching of her
lipsmade Maati's flesh crawl.
"You have to do something," she said. "Eiah-kya can't be trusted with
the andat. You wouldn't ..."
The baby shrieked and flopped to its side, trying to lower itself to the
floor. Vanjit moved forward and lifted it back up before she went on.
"You wouldn't let someone you can't trust bind the andat. You wouldn't
do that."
"Certainly, I'd try not to," Maati said.
"That's a strange answer."
"I'm not a god. I use the judgment I have. It isn't as if I can see into
someone's heart."
"But if you think Eiah can't be trusted," Vanjit said, anger growing in
her voice, "you will stop her. You have to."
Who am I speaking to? he wondered. The girl? The andat? Does Vanjit know
what she's saying?
"Yes," Maati said slowly. "If she isn't fit to be a poet to wield the
andat, it would be my duty to see that she does not. I will stop her.
But I have to be sure. I can't do this thing until I'm sure there's
nothing I can do that will mend her."
"Mend her?" Vanjit said and took a pose that scorned the thought.
"I won't kill someone unless there is no other way."
Vanjit stepped back, her face going pale. The andat's gaze shifted from
one to the other and back, its eyes shining with unfeigned delight.
"I never said to kill her," Vanjit said, her voice soft.
"Didn't you?" Maati said as if making it an accusation. "You're sure of
that?"
He turned and left the room, his hands trembling, his heart racing.
He'd been an idiot. He'd slipped. Perhaps making him say more than he'd
intended had been the point; perhaps the andat had guessed that it could
make him go too far. He paused in the main room, his head feeling light.
He sat at one of the tables and lowered his head to his knees.
His heart was still pounding, and his face felt hot and flushed. The
voices of the keeper and Irit seemed to echo, as if he were hearing them
from the far end of a tunnel. He gritted his teeth, willing his body to
calm itself, to obey him.
Slowly, his pulse calmed. The heat in his face lessened. He didn't know
how long he'd been sitting at the little table by the back wall. It
seemed like only moments and it also seemed like half the day. Both were
plausible. He tried to stand, but he was weak and shaking. Like a man
who'd just run a race.
He motioned to the keeper and asked for strong tea. The man brought it
quickly enough. A cast-iron pot in the shape of a frog, the spigot a
hollow tongue between its lips. Maati poured the rich, green tea into a
carved wooden bowl and sat for a moment, breathing in the scent of it
before trying to lift it to his lips.
By the time Irit arrived, he felt nearly himself again. Exhausted and
weak, but himself. The woman sat across from him, her fingers knotted
about one another. Her smile was too wide.
"Maati-kvo," she said and belatedly took a pose of greeting. "I've just
come from the riverfront. Eiah has hired a boat. It looks like a good
one. Wide enough that it isn't supposed to rock so much. Or get stuck on
sandbars. They talked a bit about sandbars. In any case-"
"What's the matter?"
Irit looked out toward the main room as if expecting to see someone
there. She spoke without looking at him.
"I'm not ever going to make a binding, Maati-kvo. I may have helped, I
may not. But we both know I'm not going to do the thing."
"You want to leave," Maati said.
She did look at him now, her mouth small, her eyes large. She was like a
picture of herself drawn by someone who thought poorly of her.
"Take your things," Maati said. "Do it before we get on the river."
She took a pose that accepted his orders, but the fear remained in the
way she held her body. Maati nodded to himself.
"I'll tell Vanjit that I've sent you on an errand for me. That Eiah
needed some particular root that only grows in the south. You're to meet
us with it in Utani. She won't know the truth."
"Thank you," Irit said, relief in her expression at last. "I'm sorry."
"Hurry," Maati said. "There isn't much time."
Irit scuttled out, her hands fluttering as if they possessed a life of
their own. Maati sat quietly in the growing darkness, sipped his tea,
and tried to convince himself that his strength was coming back. He'd
let himself get frightened, that was all. It wasn't as if he'd fainted.
He was fine. By the time Eiah and Small Kae came to collect Vanjit and
Clarity-of-Sight, he mostly believed it.
Eiah accepted the news of Irit's departure without comment. The two Kaes
glanced at each other and kept loading their few remaining crates onto
the boat. Vanjit said nothing, only nodded and took Clarityof-Sight to
the bow of the little craft to stare out at the water.
The boat was as long as six men laid end to end, and as wide across as
five. It sat low in the water, and the back quarter was filled with coal
and kiln, boiler and wide-slatted wheel ready to take to the river. The
boatman who watched the fires and the rudder was older than Maati, his
skin thin and wrinkled. The second who took duty whenever the old man
rested might have been his son. Neither man spoke to the passengers, and
the sight of the baby struggling in Vanjit's arms seemed to elicit no
reaction.
Once they were all on and their belongings tied down, Eiah took a pose
that indicated their readiness. The second called out, his voice almost
a song. The riverfront clerk called back. Ropes were untied, the evil
chuffing from the wheel grew louder, and the deep, violent slap of wood