glanced quickly at the cho-ja clock on the writing desk and saw the time was still early, only three hours since dawn. Her mind spun in calculation. ‘I think you should rest,’ she said to Arakasi. ‘Take the time until noon to relax and bathe, and after the noon meal I will attend the ceremony to swear your fealty to the Acoma natami. Then you must go to Sulan-Qu and introduce yourself to my Lord Buntokapi.’
Arakasi regarded her shrewdly, his fingers creasing the priest’s mantle over and over in his lap.
‘You may dine with me here,’ Mara added, and she smiled in the sweet way he remembered.
Marriage, then, had changed nothing of her spirit. Arakasi rose and bowed in a manner utterly at odds with his dress. ‘Your will, Lady.’ And on silent feet he departed for the baths and the barracks.
Events developed swiftly after that. Seated on cushions in the breeze from the screen, Arakasi sipped the hot tea, made from fragrant herbs and fruit tree blooms. Enjoying the quickness of Mara’s wit, he talked of the state of the Empire. The Thuril war that had ended years before had caused a loss of prestige for the Warlord and his War Party. The Blue Wheel Party and the Party for Progress had combined to almost force a change in imperial policy, until discovery of the alien world of Midkemia, populated by barbarians and rich with metals beyond the dreams of the maddest poet. Scouts had found metal lying about, obviously fashioned by intelligent beings, then discarded, wealth enough to keep an estate running for a year. Few reports followed, for the Warlord’s campaign against these barbarians had strangled all outgoing information. Since the death of her father and brother, Mara had lost all track of the wars beyond the rift. Of late, only those who served the new Alliance for War knew what was taking place in the barbarian world – or shared in the spoils.
Arakasi’s well-placed agents had access to such secrets. The war progressed well for the Warlord, and even the most reluctant members of the Blue Wheel Party had now joined in the invasion of Midkemia. Animated as he rarely was in his disguises, Arakasi gave a general outline to Mara, but he seemed reluctant to discuss details with anyone but the Lord of the Acoma.
Mara for her part showed him nothing but the dutiful wife, until the tea was drunk to the dregs and even Arakasi’s large appetite seemed satisfied. Her glance at the wall clock seemed casual enough as she said, ‘The day passes. Shall we swear you to our service, that you may go to my husband in Sulan-Qu?’
Arakasi bowed and rose, his sharp eyes not missing the slight tremble in Mara’s voice. He studied her eyes, reassured by the look of resolve in their dark depths. The incident with the cho-ja queens had instilled in him a deep respect for this woman. She had won his trust, and for that he stepped forward to swear his loyalty and his honour to an unknown Lord.
The ceremony was simple, and brief, the only oddity being that Arakasi swore on behalf of his agents also. Mara found it strange to consider the Acoma had loyal retainers whose names were unknown to her, yet who might willingly give their lives for the honour of a master and mistress they had never met. The greatness of Arakasi’s gift, and the fear that his sacrifice and his labours might be wasted, threatened to bring tears to her eyes. Briskly Mara turned to the practical.
‘Arakasi, when you visit my husband … go in the guise of a servant. Tell him you are there to discuss the shipment of the needra hides to be sold to the tentmakers in Jamar. He will then know if it is safe to talk. There are servants in the town house new to our service, so my Lord may be cautious. He will instruct you about what you shall do.’
Arakasi bowed and left her side. As the light slanted golden across the lane leading to the Imperial Highway, Mara bit her lip in earnest hope. If she had timed things right, Arakasi’s arrival should coincide with the height of Buntokapi’s passion in the arms of Teani. Very likely the Spy Master would find a reception far different from anything he expected – unless her husband was in an utterly uncharacteristic mood of tolerance. Worried, excited, and frightened at the frail odds that supported her hopes, Mara put off the poet she had called in to read. Instead she spent the afternoon in the ironclad disciplines of meditation, for the beauty of his words would be wasted in her present frame of mind.
Hours passed. The needra were driven in from their day pastures, and the shatra flew, heralding the approach of night. As the chief assistant gardener lit the lamps in the dooryard, Arakasi returned, dustier than he had been that morning, and visibly footsore. He entered Mara’s presence as the maids laid out cushions for her comfort. Even in the unlit gloom of the chamber, the large red welt upon his cheek showed plainly. Silent, Mara dismissed her maids. She sent her runner after cold food, and a basin and cloth for light washing. Then she bade the Spy Master sit.
The tap of the runner’s sandals diminished down the hall. Alone with his mistress, Arakasi bowed formally. ‘My Lady, your Lord listened to my coded greeting, then erupted into a fury. He struck me and bellowed that any business I had was to be directed to Jican and you.’ Mara endured his penetrating gaze without expression. She seemed coiled, waiting, and after an interval Arakasi continued. ‘There was a woman there, and he seemed … preoccupied. In any event, your husband is a superb – actor. Or he wasn’t acting at all.’
Mara’s expression remained innocent. ‘Many of the duties of this household my husband has given over to me. After all, I was Ruling Lady before he came here.’
Arakasi was not fooled. ‘“When the Game of the Council enters the home, the wise servant does not play,”’ he quoted. ‘In honour, I must do exactly as my Lord bids, and I will assume things are as they seem until proven otherwise.’ His stare turned cold then, even in the veiling of shadow of dusk. ‘But I am loyal to the Acoma. My heart is with you, Mara of the Acoma, because you gave me colours to wear, but I am duty-bound to obey my lawful Lord. I will not betray him.’
‘You say only what a loyal servant would be honour-bound to say, Arakasi. I expect no less.’ Mara smiled, unexpectedly pleased by her Spy Master’s warning. ‘Do you have any doubts about my husband’s wishes?’
The slave arrived with the food tray. Gratefully choosing a jigabird pastry, Arakasi answered. ‘In truth, I would have, if I hadn’t seen the woman he was … speaking with when I appeared.’
‘What do you mean?’ Mara waited, impatient, while he chewed and swallowed.
‘Teani. I know her.’ Arakasi qualified with no change in tone, ‘She is an agent of the Lord of the Minwanabi.’
Mara felt a stab of cold pass through her. Still enough that Arakasi noticed her distress, she spoke after a long moment. ‘Say nothing of this to anyone.’
‘I hear, mistress.’ Arakasi snatched the interval to eat in earnest. His travels had left him gaunt, and he had crossed many leagues since dawn. Guilty because he also bore the painful marks of Buntokapi’s wrath, Mara allowed him to finish his meal before asking for his full report.
After that, excitement made her forget his tiredness. As Arakasi unfolded the intrigue and the complexities of Empire politics in spare words, and a sprinkling of amusing anecdotes, she listened with shining eye. For this she had been born! As the evening grew old and the moon rose beyond the screen, pictures and patterns began to form in her mind. She interrupted with questions of her own, and the quickness of her deductions made Arakasi visibly shed his weariness. At last he had a mistress who appreciated the nuances of his work; henceforward her enthusiasm would sharpen his skills. As the men in his network saw the Acoma rise in power, their part would engender a pride they had never known under the Lord of the Tuscai.
Slaves came to tend the lamps. As new light spilled across the planes of the Spy Master’s face, Mara noticed the changes in Arakasi’s manner. What a treasure this man was, his talents an honour
