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beautiful, almost musical. It calmed him.
    Payam already waited for him at a far table. He dressed like a Tirhani businessman in a long white khameez and somber bisht, but his scarlet turban was a more local affectation. Payam was younger than Rhys by nearly a decade, with a fleshy face and soft hands that marked him as a Tirhani, not just a Chenjan in Tirhani garb. Most Chenjans bore bodies that had seen the war.
    He was speaking to a swarm of red beetles at his left elbow—not something he had called but sent to him by one of his caravans. He concluded whatever his message was and waved the bugs away. The swarm buzzed past Rhys and out into the dawn.
    “Punctual as ever,” Payam said.
    Rhys sat opposite him and ordered green tea with honey from a woman wearing a creamy burqua.
    “What do you have for me today?” Rhys asked.
    “I have exciting news today,” Payam said, and he grinned so broadly Rhys thought his head might split in two. “No more one-off translations or bacterial infusions. Oh no! I have something quite fine. Something perfectly suited to your skills. You came and God brought you!”
    That meant it was something that would make Payam a lot of money. It didn’t always mean it made Rhys much. He had come out here not just because of its remoteness to Chenja itself but also because he heard that magicians and translators were making obscene money working with the Khairian nomads. That, more than anything, finally persuaded Elahyiah. The ceasefire meant more traffic coming down from Khairi—safer trade routes were good for everyone’s business but the black marketers. But when he arrived, he found that most jobs were taken, or involved joining up with a caravan for a year or more, or indenturing himself to some middleman like Payam. By the time Rhys realized he was going to be spending most of his days begging for work, his family was already settled, and they did not have enough currency to get them back to Tirhan.
    So Rhys waited. Payam kept grinning. Rhys began to feel uneasy. “Are you going to tell me about the job?” Rhys asked.
    “The pay is remarkable. It will solve all your little… problems. All four of them.” Payam winked. He was unmarried, by all counts, and spent far too much time harassing Khairian girls who came in with the caravans. But his time among the Khairians had tempered his speech, at least. He talked more like a Khairian than a Tirhani. Rhys found he appreciated the straightforward—though often pleasantly deceptive—speech to the Tirhani practice of false politeness.
    “Doing what?”
    “Doing what you do best. Translation work.”
    “Why does it pay so well?” Everyone in Khairi spoke four or five languages. That was the part Rhys had not counted on. There was little need for a translator if everyone spoke multiple languages.
    “Well, that’s the truly exciting part,” Payam said. He leaned closer. “It’s just a little further north. Fewer people up there know Chenjan or Nasheenian. You’re a much more prized property. And a man who has some talent with bugs! That goes a long way, too.”
    “How much further north? I have a family.”
    “It’s… not far. A few weeks’ travel. But you’ll have room and board and a fine salary. A signing bonus today and another the day of the journey if you agree. Something to tide you over. A taste of what’s to come.”
    “Who is this job for?”
    “A man you’ve not heard of. Has some renown further north, beyond the Wall. Doing a fine job bringing order to the nomads up there. Name of Hanife. He speaks Khairian all right, and whatever his bastard native tongue is, but nothing else. When I heard he needed somebody he could trust, I thought of you. Who better than a devoted Chenjan family man who has worked for the Tirhani government?”
    Rhys showed his teeth—more grimace than smile, but he had never seen a Khairian smile. Just the grimace. “How much?”
    “One thousand Tirhani notes. That’s three hundred