growing sweet. Nlaati smiled in sympathy.
"Let's go, then," he said.
There was a crowd in the courtyard outside the physician's apartments. Armsmen wearing mourning robes barred most of the onlookers but parted when Maati and Cehmai arrived. The physician's workroom was wide as a kitchen, huge slate tables in the center of the room and thick incense billowing from a copper brazier. The bodies were laid out naked on their bellies-one thick and well-muscled with a heaped pile of black leather on the table beside it, the other thinner with what might have been the robes of a prisoner or cleaning rags clinging to its back. The Master of Tides-a thin man named Saani Vaanga-and the Khai's chief physician were talking passionately, but stopped when they saw the poets.
The Master of Tides took a pose that offered service.
"I have come on behalf of the Dai-kvo," Maati said. "I wished to confirm the reports that Otah Machi is dead."
"Well, he isn't going dancing," the physician said, pointing to the thinner corpse with his chin.
"We're pleased by the Dai-kvo's interest," the Master of Tides said, ignoring the comment. "Cehmai-cha suggested that you might be able to confirm for us that this is indeed the upstart."
Maati took a pose of compliance and stepped forward. The reek was terrible-rotting flesh and something deeper, more disturbing. Cehmai hung back as Maati circled the table.
Maati gestured at the body, his hand moving in a circle to suggest turning it over that he might better see the dead man's face. The physician sighed, came to Maati's side, and took a long iron hook. He slid the hook under the body's shoulder and heaved. There was a wet sound as it lifted and fell. The physician put away the hook and arranged the limbs as Maati considered the bare flesh before him. Clearly the body had spent its journey face down. The features were bloated and fisheaten-it might have been Otah-kvo. It might have been anyone.
On the pale, water-swollen flesh of the corpse's breast, the dark ink was still visible. The tattoo. Maati had his hand halfway out to touch it before he realized what he was doing and pulled his fingers back. The ink was so dark, though, the line where the tattoo began and ended so sharp. A stirring of the air brought the scent fully to his nose, and Maati gagged, but didn't look away.
"Will this satisfy the Dai-kvo?" the Master of Tides asked.
Maati nodded and took a pose of thanks, then turned and gestured to Cehmai that he should follow. The younger poet was stone-faced. Maati wondered if he had seen many dead men before, much less smelled them. Out in the fresh air again, they navigated the crowd, ignoring the questions asked them. Cehmai was silent until they were well away from any curious ear.
"I'm sorry, Maati-kvo. I know you and he were-"
"It's not him," Maati said.
Cehmai paused, his hands moved up into a pose that spoke of his confusion. Maati stopped, looking around.
"It isn't him," Maati said. "It's close enough to be mistaken, but it isn't him. Someone wants us to think him dead-someone willing to go to elaborate lengths. But that's no more Otah Machi than I am."
"I don't understand," Cehmai said.
"Neither do I. But I can say this, someone wants the rumor of his death but not the actual thing. They're buying time. Possibly time they can use to find who's really done these things, then-"
"We have to go back! You have to tell the Master of Tides!"
Maati blinked. Cehmai's face had gone red and he was pointing back toward the physician's apartments. The boy was outraged.
"If we do that," Maati said, "we spoil all the advantage. It can't get out that-"
"Are you blind? Gods! It is him. All the time it's been him. This as much as proves it! Otah Machi came here to slaughter his family. To slaughter you. He has hackers who could free him from the tower, and he has done everything that he's been accused of. Buying time? He's buying safety! Once everyone thinks him dead, they'll stop looking. He'll be free. You have to tell them the truth!"
"Otah didn't kill his father. Or his brothers. It's someone else."
Cehmai was breathing hard and fast as a runner at the race's end, but his voice was lower now, more controlled.
"How do you know that?" he asked.
"I know Otah-kvo. I know what he would do, and-"
"Is he innocent because he's innocent, or because you love him?" Cehmai demanded.
"This