The Complete Empire Trilogy (106 page)

But Arakasi had disclosed that this year the Lord of the Keda was overextended. If pride was paramount to him, he could sell the grain at a loss and wait for another year to recoup. Yet Mara sensed that to force him to such a pass would be dangerous, perhaps even earn his enmity. She smiled, and warmth seemed to radiate from her. ‘First Adviser Hantigo, you mistake me. I intend no disrespect toward Andero of the Keda. Allow me to pledge before these witnesses that I shall ask your master to support me only in a matter that holds significance to House Acoma. I will promise further that no vote shall be demanded that can adversely reflect upon the honour of House Keda. No demand of mine would call for military aid to the Acoma, or attack upon a third party, or any other act that would require Keda property or wealth to be placed at risk. I merely seek sureties to block any future attempts to disadvantage me in the High Council. Surely you recall the difficulty the imperial call to muster on the border imposed upon my house?’

Hantigo rubbed dampness from his temples, reluctant to concede her point. Minwanabi’s plotting had certainly inconvenienced Acoma fortunes for three years; the house’s entry into the silk trade had been nearly ruined by that one action alone. But if the First Adviser sympathized, he could not grant Mara’s terms without leave from his master; the transfer of a vote in the High Council was not a concession to be granted by an emissary. Regretfully, Hantigo said, ‘Even with such assurances, I doubt my master will accept your terms.’

That the man had ceased protesting impossibilities was significant. Confident of victory, and knowing Andero of the Keda for a man of steadfast integrity, Mara concluded the interview. ‘Then you had best fly to your master and apprise him of my offer. We shall await his decision with interest. Tell him that we leave for the celebration at Kentosani within a week. Here, or in the Holy City, let him know I will be at his disposal’ – she gave a precise smile – ‘to hear his reply.’

The First Adviser of the Keda rose and bowed, his disappointment masterfully hidden. Attended by his troop of scribes and factors, he departed from the hall with dignity.

Mara dispatched Jican to attend the Keda First Adviser’s departure. Then she waited a prudent interval and motioned Arakasi to her side. ‘Shall we count upon a Keda vote in the council?’

Her Spy Master turned a look as keen as a killwing’s through the doorway the emissary had just vacated. ‘I suspect the Lord may relent, but you will have to provide him with sureties. Lord Keda is firm in his role of Clan Warchief. He’ll do nothing to compromise house or Kanazawai interests, and most particularly he would not become embroiled in any conflict with the Minwanabi.’

Lujan took a step away, toward the door and his awaiting
duties, but observed, ‘Still, even if they’re publicly in the Jade Eye Party, the Keda have many relatives involved with the Blue Wheel Party. If they’re as deep into the Game of the Council as that suggests, perhaps giving Desio only one more reason to hate them won’t matter very much?’

A faint smile was all that remark earned from Mara. Worn by the aftermath of a trying afternoon, she tugged out an itching hairpin. ‘We’ve done all we can without risking insult.’ She turned the pin over in her hands, watching the light flash and sparkle in the small bead at the end. ‘I don’t enjoy twisting the tail of a Clan Warchief, but I’ll need all the support I can garner to thwart Minwanabi in the High Council. Our house cannot afford a repetition of our near-disaster in Tsubar.’

Mara pulled out another hairpin, then motioned for a servant to remove her headpiece. Dark locks cascaded down her back, making her more comfortable, but hotter. ‘Where does that leave us now?’

Nacoya furrowed her brow, then snapped fingers for a maid to attend to her mistress’s loose hair. ‘If every promise made to you is kept, you could sway close to one third of the High Council.’

Weighing the odds as he had once done on the battlefield, Keyoke added, ‘I would wager some will dishonour their vow, given adverse circumstances, my Lady.’

But the game was never assured; Mara had learned the pitfalls of Tsurani politics at a very tender age. While the fingers of her servant worked her hair into a comfortable braid, she hugged her elbows against her chest and rested her chin on her fists. ‘But if the Clan Warchief of the Kanazawai were to yield me his vote, others who might be inclined to waver would follow the stronger man’s lead.’

Unspoken beneath her conjecture was the fear that she had gone too far, and goaded House Keda into enmity; if Lord Andero took offence, not even the fact that the Acoma
and he both held to the Jade Eye Party would prevent a move in retaliation.

But uncertainties did not make for greatness. As the maid finished off her braid with a velvet tie, Mara asked for a lighter, plainer robe, then regarded her circle of advisers. ‘We have much to do in preparation for the journey.’ A glance at the window showed several hours of daylight still remained. ‘Lujan, please assemble an escort. Ayaki and the natami must be secured against attack during our absence, and a shipment of our silk bales must be sent to those warehouses, so the Keda have no cause to complain that we monopolized the space to disadvantage them. For that I must make arrangements with the cho-ja Queen before nightfall.’

Like a patrol crossing an enemy border, the Acoma entered the Holy City. From the lofty warehouses by the riverside to the grand avenues between courtyards, Kentosani was bedecked like a bride before her wedding. Freshly painted walls, garlands of flowers, and coloured bunting made each street a joyous vista. Older than Sulan-Qu, and reflecting overlappping centuries of tastes and architecture, the city was the most impressive within the Empire. Multi-tiered stone buildings crowded against carved and painted balconies; lamp posts of cleverly fashioned wood and ceramic rose above boxes of flowers lining the avenues. Everywhere Kevin looked, he was stunned by beauty and stark ugliness in contrast. The scent of temple incense mingled with an underlying miasma of river sewage. Squalid beggars licensed by the Imperial Government sat in rows, open sores and missing limbs displayed to the passing throng – not a few balanced upon crutches while resting naked backs against a mural painted by a master artist. Filthy bands of street urchins shouted and craned necks to catch sight of a great Lady, while Mara’s vigilant guard kept
them back with shields and spear shafts. Town matrons carrying baskets on yoke poles jeered and pointed at the great barbarian slave who towered over the rest of her retinue, and whose red-gold hair drew admiring eyes.

The knots of merchants avoided by running couriers, processions of priests in their cowled robes and beaded sashes hung with relics, darting house messengers, and city guards in sparkling imperial white lent an atmosphere of bustling prosperity. But Kevin was soldier enough to notice alert eyes peering from men hanging back in shadowed corners; whether they belonged to spies, informants, or rumourmongers who sold news for shell coins, the Acoma guards took no chances. Alert scouts checked into every doorway and alley they passed, while Lujan kept his warriors poised to attack at the slightest hint of threat. Imperial peace was a promise of retribution against whoever broke it, not a guarantee for the unwary.

Still, for all the underlying intrigue, the crossing of the trade quarter was spectacular. Only one member of the Acoma retinue was not occasionally drawn by the splendour; forced to ride a litter like a courtier, Keyoke sat impassive as a carved stone icon, no expression on his face.

Mara’s cortege passed into the temple plaza, a giant square that served as focal point for twenty vast buildings, raised to praise Tsurani gods and house the priests of their separate orders. Archways inlaid with shell flashed in the sunlight, set off by lacquered tiles, precious marbles, and pillars of malachite and onyx. At the centre of the plaza a great bonfire burned, surrounded by incense pots and altars heaped high with bowls of offerings. Kevin walked with difficulty, torn between staring at the splendours of an ancient and alien culture, and watching his feet for paving worn treacherously uneven.

Mara’s town house was situated off a quiet residential court, shadowed by the flowering trees that lined the
avenue. The front stood enclosed by an opulently tiled wall, above which rose its many-tiered roof, adorned at each gable with carved shatra birds. The wide, semicircular wooden portals at the entry were shaded by an arbour of purple vines that grew on trellises cut from thousands of giant seashells. The effect was designed to impress. Like many older families of the Empire, the Acoma owned quarters convenient to the heart of Kentosani and the halls of the imperial seat. Years might pass between visits, but the stately, centuries-old houses were always maintained against the need to reside in the city for weeks at a time. Each family in the High Council was allotted a tiny apartment within the Imperial Palace, but for comfort and the advantages of private entertaining, most rulers preferred the freedom and spaciousness of their less formal accommodation outside the inner city.

At the outer door to the Acoma town house, Jican awaited, accompanied by a servant in house livery. As Mara’s retinue halted before the dooryard, the hadonra bowed. ‘All is in readiness for your arrival, my Lady.’ Then he gestured, and on cue the gates swung wide.

Mara’s bearers bore their mistress inside, and as Jican and his attendant fell in behind, Kevin realized with surprise that the man in the servant’s robe was Arakasi. Under cover of the arbour, shielded by the steps of marching soldiers as the honour guard squeezed through the entry, the Spy Master leaned near to Mara’s litter.

Only Kevin walked near enough to note that words were exchanged between them. Then the retinue was fully into the courtyard within the walls, and the gates swung closed and barred. Kevin offered Mara his hand and noticed as he helped her from her cushions that she was forcing herself not to frown.

‘What’s in play?’ he asked. ‘Did Arakasi bring bad news?’

Mara flashed him a warning glance. ‘Not here,’ she
murmured, pointedly appearing to inspect the tiny garden that helped damp the street noise from the house. ‘Everything appears in order, Jican.’

Kevin remained puzzled by his mistress’s reticence until Arakasi nodded slightly toward the overhanging galleries of the home across the way. Watchers might lurk in the shadows there, and belatedly the Midkemian recalled that spies in this world included particularly sharp-eyed individuals trained to read lips. Mollified, he kept the proper one step behind his mistress as she entered her town house.

The inner hall smelled of waxed wood, spices, and old hangings; antique furnishings lay everywhere Kevin looked, lovingly polished by generations of servants. The residence in Kentosani was older than the estate home near Sulan-Qu. Most of the screens on the street side were overhung with patterned silk, but the inward wall opened into a central courtyard, green-tinged by the shade of ancient trees. Cramped stairs with balustrades carved with mythical beasts, worn nearly smooth by hands resting upon them, ascended through lofty ceilings. As if the building had once been a walled compound, the ground-level walls were stone, with the upper three storeys of wooden frame and cloth walls. Kevin stared in amazement, for the building was like none he had seen on either side of the rift. While tiny compared to the Acoma estate house, Mara’s town house was as large as a Kingdom inn. Massive beams and stonework were cleverly constructed, forming a dwelling that felt open and airy.

Balconies crammed with potted flowers overlooked the inner garden, with its fish pools and fountain, and one gnarled head gardener who brandished his rake at two slaves who scrubbed moss from tiled pathways. To no one in particular, Kevin said, ‘A man could get used to this.’

A jab from behind reminded him of his station. He looked around, and down, into the irascible countenance of
Nacoya, who clutched her walking stick at an angle that still meant business. ‘Your mistress calls for her bath, barbarian.’

Belatedly Kevin noticed that the ground floor was suddenly emptier and servants were rushing up the stair. Arakasi did not seem to be among them.

Poked again, and this time in a place that mattered sorely, Kevin said, ‘All right, little grandmother. I’m going.’ With an insolent smile, he hurried along.

Mara was already in her chambers, several strange maids busied with her undressing. Two other servants, neither one Arakasi, poured ceramic cauldrons of steaming water into a wooden tub. As Mara stood naked, her servant pinning her hair up, Kevin moved forward and tested the water temperature to ensure her comfort. At his nod, the servants departed.

Mara dismissed the maids, then mounted a small riser and gracefully stepped into the bath. She settled into the soothing warmth, eyes closed as Kevin began applying scented soap to her cheeks. Softly she said, ‘That feels wonderful.’

But the bothered expression did not ease from her face.

‘What did Arakasi say?’ Kevin asked as he massaged gently and removed the road dust from his beloved’s face. He laid his hands upon her shoulders as she bent to rinse off suds, her tension still apparent.

Mara sighed and blew droplets off her nose. ‘A clan meeting has been called for this afternoon. Someone took care to see that the notice never quite reached me. Sometime tonight an apologetic messenger will give us word upon his return from our estates, I am sure.’

Kevin retrieved the soap and resumed his washing. His fingers kneaded the nape of her neck, but she gave no sign of pleasure. Kevin guessed she thought upon that long-past visit from Jiro of the Anasati, when he had warned that
factions within the Hadama Clan were alarmed at the Acoma’s sudden rise. The victory treaty with Tsubar could only have inflamed existing jealousies. And worse: immediately before their departure for the Holy City, Arakasi’s spies had sent news that young Jiro had paid a call upon Lord Desio.