array and sequence, and then Otah left the sea. The
noise was something physical, a wind built of sound. The ceremonial
guard adopted poses of obeisance, and Otah took his ritual reply. The
first of the guard to stand, grinning, was Sinja.
"You've shaved your whiskers," Otah shouted.
"I was starting to look like an otter," Sinja agreed. His expression
became opaque and he bowed to Otah's right. "Balasar-cha."
"Sinja," Balasar said.
The past intruded. Once Sinja had played the part of Balasar's man,
expert on the cities of the Khaiem and mercenary leader of war. He had
spied on the Galts, betrayed Balasar, and killed the man Balasar held
dearest to his heart. It thickened the air between them, even now.
Balasar's eyes shifted to the middle distance, a frown on his lips as if
he were counting how many of his dead might have lived, had Sinja
remained true. And then the moment was gone. Or if not gone, covered
over for the sake of etiquette.
The others of the Galtic party lurched in from the ship, unsteady on
planks that didn't move, and the assembled masses cheered each of them
like a hero returned from war. Servants dressed in light cotton robes
led each sweating Galt to a waiting litter, Otah's station of honor
making him the last to leave.
"I suspect they'll be changing to local clothes before long," Sinja
said. "They all look half-dead with the heat."
"I'm feeling it myself," Otah said.
"Should I interrupt protocol?" Sinja asked. "I could have you loaded and
on your way up the hills in the time it takes to kill a chicken."
"No," Otah said with a sigh. "If we're doing this, let's do it well. But
ride with me, eh? I want to hear what's going on."
"Yes," Sinja said. "Well. You've missed some dramatics, but I don't
think there's anything particularly ominous waiting. Except the pirates.
And the conspiracy. You did get the report about the conspiracy in
Yalakeht? It's apparently got ties to Obar State."
"Well, that's just lovely," Otah said.
"No more plague than usual," Sinja offered gamely, and then it was time
and servants stepped forward to escort Otah to his litter. The shifting
gait of his bearers was similar to being aboard ship, but also wrong.
Between that and the heat, Otah was beginning to feel nauseated, but the
buildings that passed by his beaded window were comforting. Great blue
and white walls topped with roof tiles of gray and red; banners hanging
in the slow, thick air; men and women in poses of welcome or else waving
small lengths of brightly colored cloth. If it had been autumn or
winter, the old firekeepers' kilns would have been lit and strange
flames would have accompanied him up the wide streets to the palaces.
"Any problems with the arrival?" he asked Sinja.
"A few. Angry women throwing stones, mostly. We've locked them away
until the last ship comes in. Danat and I decided to put the girl and
her family in the poet's house. It isn't the most impressive location,
but it's comfortable, and it's far enough back from the other buildings
that they might have some privacy. The gods all know they'll be gawked
at like a three-headed calf the rest of the time."
"I think Ana has a lover," Otah said. "One of the sailors was built
rather like a courtier."
"Ah," Sinja said. "I'll tell the guard to keep eyes out. I assume we'd
rather he didn't come calling?"
"No, better that he not," Otah said.
"I don't suppose there's a chance the girl's still a virgin?"
Otah took a pose that dismissed the concern. Even if she weren'tand of
course she wasn't-she wouldn't be bearing another man's child. Not if
the boy he had glimpsed in the hold of the Avenger was a Galt. Otah felt
a moment's unease.
"If the guard do find a boy sneaking in, have him held until I can speak
with him. I'd rather that this whole situation not get more complex than
it already is."
"Your word is law, Most High,"
noise was something physical, a wind built of sound. The ceremonial
guard adopted poses of obeisance, and Otah took his ritual reply. The
first of the guard to stand, grinning, was Sinja.
"You've shaved your whiskers," Otah shouted.
"I was starting to look like an otter," Sinja agreed. His expression
became opaque and he bowed to Otah's right. "Balasar-cha."
"Sinja," Balasar said.
The past intruded. Once Sinja had played the part of Balasar's man,
expert on the cities of the Khaiem and mercenary leader of war. He had
spied on the Galts, betrayed Balasar, and killed the man Balasar held
dearest to his heart. It thickened the air between them, even now.
Balasar's eyes shifted to the middle distance, a frown on his lips as if
he were counting how many of his dead might have lived, had Sinja
remained true. And then the moment was gone. Or if not gone, covered
over for the sake of etiquette.
The others of the Galtic party lurched in from the ship, unsteady on
planks that didn't move, and the assembled masses cheered each of them
like a hero returned from war. Servants dressed in light cotton robes
led each sweating Galt to a waiting litter, Otah's station of honor
making him the last to leave.
"I suspect they'll be changing to local clothes before long," Sinja
said. "They all look half-dead with the heat."
"I'm feeling it myself," Otah said.
"Should I interrupt protocol?" Sinja asked. "I could have you loaded and
on your way up the hills in the time it takes to kill a chicken."
"No," Otah said with a sigh. "If we're doing this, let's do it well. But
ride with me, eh? I want to hear what's going on."
"Yes," Sinja said. "Well. You've missed some dramatics, but I don't
think there's anything particularly ominous waiting. Except the pirates.
And the conspiracy. You did get the report about the conspiracy in
Yalakeht? It's apparently got ties to Obar State."
"Well, that's just lovely," Otah said.
"No more plague than usual," Sinja offered gamely, and then it was time
and servants stepped forward to escort Otah to his litter. The shifting
gait of his bearers was similar to being aboard ship, but also wrong.
Between that and the heat, Otah was beginning to feel nauseated, but the
buildings that passed by his beaded window were comforting. Great blue
and white walls topped with roof tiles of gray and red; banners hanging
in the slow, thick air; men and women in poses of welcome or else waving
small lengths of brightly colored cloth. If it had been autumn or
winter, the old firekeepers' kilns would have been lit and strange
flames would have accompanied him up the wide streets to the palaces.
"Any problems with the arrival?" he asked Sinja.
"A few. Angry women throwing stones, mostly. We've locked them away
until the last ship comes in. Danat and I decided to put the girl and
her family in the poet's house. It isn't the most impressive location,
but it's comfortable, and it's far enough back from the other buildings
that they might have some privacy. The gods all know they'll be gawked
at like a three-headed calf the rest of the time."
"I think Ana has a lover," Otah said. "One of the sailors was built
rather like a courtier."
"Ah," Sinja said. "I'll tell the guard to keep eyes out. I assume we'd
rather he didn't come calling?"
"No, better that he not," Otah said.
"I don't suppose there's a chance the girl's still a virgin?"
Otah took a pose that dismissed the concern. Even if she weren'tand of
course she wasn't-she wouldn't be bearing another man's child. Not if
the boy he had glimpsed in the hold of the Avenger was a Galt. Otah felt
a moment's unease.
"If the guard do find a boy sneaking in, have him held until I can speak
with him. I'd rather that this whole situation not get more complex than
it already is."
"Your word is law, Most High,"
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