baby, in its infinite mercy, deigned to grant her request.
But her uncle and aunt were looking at Dzan, standing in the doorway. “Forgive me, master. There is . . . a woman here to see you. She says she is the Duchess Tremontaine.”
“Today?” Saabim exclaimed, and Kaab looked immediately in her direction. It was clear from the catch in Saabim’s voice, the way Chuleb shifted his weight, the quick glance the two exchanged, that her aunt and uncle were surprised and, if not frightened, then unsettled at her arrival.
Chuleb rose, straightened the velvet of his Local-style doublet, white as the limestone stucco that covered Kaab’s house in Binkiinha, and cleared his throat twice.
“She is waiting for you in your office, master.”
“What does this woman want from us, Uncle?”
“That, Kaab, doesn’t concern you,” Aunt Saabim said.
“Forgive me, but as a first daughter of a first daughter of the Balam, I believe that a visit important to our interests here concerns me deeply. I would like to meet this duchess.”
“Absolutely not,” Chuleb said. “You made enough mischief in Tultenco. I think, for the moment, that you are safest here, watching the baby.”
Ixchel preserve me. “But Uncle —”
“In our house, I think you’d best take our counsel.” Kaab looked down, knowing when to stop. “Dzan, prepare chocolate.”
Dzan grimaced. “I suppose you want me to ruin it by dumping it full of cream?”
“Cream?” said Kaab, mystified. “Why on earth would you put cream in chocolate?”
“Cream in a pitcher on the side,” Saabim ordered from her desk, and then, to Kaab, “It is not our place to tell Locals what to do with the product we sell them.”
Chuleb stepped to the western threshold of the room. “That,” he said, turning back for a moment, “doesn’t mean that I don’t want to.” And he closed the door behind him.
Kaab stood. Yes, she had made mistakes. But to prevent her from using her powers of observation to further the family’s interests was nonsense. What could have so worried Chuleb and Saabim?
And she absolutely didn’t want to watch the baby. She stood up.
Chuleb would be furious, but Kaab wasn’t worth the maize it took to feed her if she let a trifle like that stop her, so after a quick change of clothes and a brief word with Dzan, reminding him of a certain indiscretion with Bapl the cook that she had witnessed a few days earlier and remarking on how unhappy Saabim would be were she to hear about it, she took a deep breath, held her arms out for the tray he carried, turned, and walked through the door.
“. . . of course, my lady. Ah, this must be Dzan with the choco—” Chuleb stopped, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly and his lips pressing together only very slightly.
But she knew what her uncle looked like already. She was much more interested in the woman sitting across the desk from him, whose expression was so bland and impassive that it could only have been achieved under great control. This was not a woman to be underestimated.
Conversely, it would be quite wise to allow the woman to underestimate her.
“Forgive, master,” Kaab said, thickening her accent until she sounded as she had when she was five, first encountering the spiky vowels of this language, “but Dzan been sent errand, warehouses. I serving chocolate instead.” She deposited the tray on the north wall table beside the niche altar to Xamanek, took hold of the chocolate grater, and turned to the duchess. “How you taking chocolate, mistress?”
The woman smiled at Chuleb as if he were the one who had spoken. “Since I am your guest, Master Balam, I should think it a wasted opportunity not to take chocolate in your people’s own fashion. I understand that the merchants who banqueted with you recently were fortunate enough to do so.”
“You are a kind woman,” said Chuleb, “and a courageous one.” The duchess inclined her head, and he turned to Kaab. “No cream. Chili, corn, and allspice.”
The block of chocolate, solid in her hand, wove its odor through the sharp scents of the spices, filling Kaab with a sharp pang of longing for Binkiinha, which she might never see again, and for her mother, might they one day be reunited in the houses beneath the earth. But this was hardly the time for reverie. She served the duchess first, the cup delicate in her steady hand, and then Chuleb, looking him in the eye, neither of them betraying any emotion. Picking up the tray again, comforted by its weight, she went to stand by the door. The duchess paused, her cup halfway to her mouth, looked at Kaab, looked at Chuleb, raised a perfect eyebrow.
It would be much better if the duchess thought her incapable of understanding the implications of the gesture, but if she allowed her uncle to speak he would certainly send her out of the room, so she chose the smaller of two jaguars. “In our country, mistress, bad luck servant leave, chocolate not finished.”
Chuleb’s face was as impassive as the duchess’s. “Have no fear, my lady,” he said. “My servants are as silent as the grave.” He looked over at Kaab mildly. “They know how severe my anger is when their foolishness leads them into error.”
Her hand on her heart, she bowed to the duchess as Chuleb sipped his chocolate; the duchess gave a very small shrug and joined him.
The duchess took a sip of chocolate, shut her eyes. This woman could never have tasted a chili pepper in her life; the burning sensation in her mouth had to be frightening, and yet she smiled with satisfaction, as if the liquid pouring down her throat had exceeded all her hopes. No. Not a woman to be underestimated at all.
“Delicious,” she said. “I must try serving chocolate this way at my next party.” She put the cup down and breathed a barely audible sigh. “The duke was speaking to me the other day about some Council matter or other—a tedious subject between husband and wife, but he likes to try his thoughts aloud—when he happened to mention the crushing import tax burden under which you labor.”
“Ah.” Kaab admired Chuleb’s composure. The tax was high, and the Kinwiinik had tried before, unsuccessfully, to get it lowered. The chocolate import tax ensured that it remained a luxury good in the city. But its inhabitants were developing more and more of a taste for it, and would gladly buy more, if prices were reasonable. The Balam had had occasion to bewail how easy it would be to sell them a lower grade of chocolate for less; but Xanamwiinik taxes did not distinguish between the different varieties, and so all of it, from the rarest of Caana down to basic south coast street cacao, was priced accordingly.
“At first I was certain I had misheard him; it was the ridiculous number he gave that caught my attention to begin with. But when I asked him about it, he explained more thoroughly, and I must say I find it shocking.”
“One might.” Chuleb gave nothing away.
“And hardly a way to show courtesy to those who venture on the perilous seas to bring us such delights! As I say, I take no interest in politics, but I do think justice should be served. The duke has a great deal of influence in Council. I feel confident that, if I were to help him see how unjust the situation is, he would feel it his duty to exert that influence in an effort to do something about the tax.”
This
