The Complete Empire Trilogy (76 page)

‘I want a list of every asset we have that you feel might be vulnerable to exploitation by enemies,’ Mara instructed. ‘There must be other transactions aside from our silk interests that Desio could damage, either by undercutting prices, or through buying off the guilds who rate the quality of our goods. There are markets he might strangle, trade routes he could disrupt, agents that could be bribed, and buyers who could be threatened. Boats could be sunk, wagons overturned, warehouses burned; none of this must be allowed to occur.’

‘That does not seem to be Desio’s style,’ a dry voice said from the doorway that opened onto the outer pathways. Arakasi stepped in through the partially opened screen, a shadow against the misty grey of dawn.

Mara barely managed to repress her surprise; Keyoke and the guards in the hallway all lowered their hands from their weapons. The Spy Master bowed and chose a place among the advisers, and the furrow over his brows indicated he had more to say. Mara indicated her permission, and the Spy Master sat at the table, his long fingers folded in his lap.

He continued as if his presence had been expected all along. ‘Except that the young Lord of the Minwanabi has
not held power for long enough to evolve much style.’ As if he were still formulating his conclusion, the Spy Master stroked the merchant’s plaited scalp lock he had cultivated for his latest guise on the road. One thing is clear, though: Desio is spending huge sums of money upon something. The markets from here to Ambolina are choked with Minwanabi goods, and from the scant information from our clerk in Desio’s employ, I would presume the unaccounted money is being invested in gifts, bribes, or favours.’

Agitated at this news, Mara chewed her lip. ‘Bribes for what?’ she mused softly. ‘There must be some means of finding out.’

Keyoke’s deep voice interrupted. ‘This morning, my soldiers caught a strange herder lurking in the needra fields that border the Tuscalora estates. They took him for questioning, but he died on his dagger rather than name his true master.’

Arakasi’s eyes slitted speculatively as Nacoya said, ‘He was probably one of Lord Jidu’s spies, sent to check the guard on the bridge across the gorge.’ The First Adviser pursed her lips, as if thought of the Acoma’s southern neighbour brought a bad taste to her mouth. ‘The Tuscalora chocha-la harvest is nearly ready for market, and by now even Jidu’s thick-witted hadonra must guess that his wagons will not be using Mara’s bridge to reach the road without paying toll for their passage.’

The Spy Master leaned sharply forward. ‘I would not count on the possibility that herder was Jidu’s.’

Mara nodded. ‘Neither do I take your hunches lightly, Arakasi.’ To Keyoke she added, ‘We must send a patrol to guard Lord Jidu’s borders – unobtrusively, of course. His warriors are good, but they may not realize how much my enemies might gain if their master’s crops burned.’

Keyoke nodded, the hands at rest upon his sword
unmoving as he contemplated this touchy assignment. Lord Jidu of the Tuscalora might be lax in his spending habits, but his soldiers were fine warriors.

Jican diffidently offered advice on this point. ‘Lord Jidu hires migrant workers from Neskesha to help with the harvest, when his crop is abundant. This has been a bountiful year. Perhaps some of the warriors could disguise themselves as chocha-la pickers and infiltrate the workers in the fields. The overseers would not know every strange face, and since our men would be drawing no pay, their presence might pass unnoticed for many days.’

Keyoke expanded this proposition. ‘Better, and for our warriors’ honour, we could stage battle manoeuvres in the meadows beside Lord Jidu’s estates. Our own workers can infiltrate the groups of Tuscalora pickers, and if trouble arises, they could slip away and alert our troops.’

Mara nodded decisively. ‘Let this be done.’ She dismissed her advisers, assuring Jican she would study the finance papers brought for her review after the midday meal.

Then, atypically vague and aimless, Mara retired to the garden, seeking solace. But the paths between the flowering kekali bushes seemed lonely and empty in the morning light. The growing heat of day oppressed her. As the Lady wandered among the fragrant akasi blooms, her thoughts returned to her nights in Kevin’s arms. Her feelings at the time had seemed so profoundly right, and now his absence made her ache, as if a piece of her being were missing. She contrived a thousand excuses to send for him – only for a moment, to answer a question, to play with Ayaki, to clarify some obscure rule in the game his people called knucklebones …

Mara’s eyes sheened over with tears, and she misstepped, stumbling over a raised stone in the path. Her musing dissolved into anger; she needed no reason, she was Mara, Ruling Lady of the Acoma! She could order her slaves where
she would without explanation to anyone. Then, wakened to her own folly before she gave in to impulse, she firmed her inward resolve. Her house had stood at the brink of ruin since the death of her father and brother. She must do nothing to risk the gods’ displeasure. If she failed, if she lost sight of the ways of her ancestors over an affair of the heart, every Acoma retainer from the least servant in her scullery to her beloved senior advisers would suffer. Their years of loyal service and the honour of her family name must never be sacrificed for the sake of dalliance with a slave. Nacoya had been right. Kevin was a danger to her, best put aside without regret.

Damn the barbarian, she reflected with irritation. Couldn’t he learn his place quickly, and become a Tsurani slave? Couldn’t he cease his poisonous, perilous thinking? Sadness pushed through her confusion and mixed with annoyance at herself. I am Ruling Lady, she scolded inwardly. I should know what to do. Miserably, Mara admitted, ‘But I don’t.’

The servant by the garden gate who awaited his mistress’s command called out, ‘My Lady?’

Mara bit back a needlessly harsh reply. ‘Send for my son and his nurse. I would play with him for a while.’

The man returned a proper bow and hurried to do her bidding. Immediately Mara’s mood brightened. Nothing brought a smile to her lips more reliably than the boisterous laughter of her son as he chased after insects, or raced till he was breathless through the garden.

Desio hammered his pudgy fist into the tabletop, causing a candle to topple, and a dozen jade ornaments to scatter and roll upon the carpet. A nervous servant hurried to gather the fallen items, and First Adviser Incomo stepped aside to avoid being struck by the rolling pedestal that had supported a goddess figurine.

‘My Lord,’ he implored cautiously, ‘you must have patience.’

‘But Mara is about to gain a vassal!’ Desio howled. ‘That lazy idiot Jidu of the Tuscalora doesn’t even see what’s coming!’

The servant arose, a half-dozen precious carvings clutched to his chest. Desio chose that moment to bang the table again. The servant cringed, and with shaking hands began to restore the ornaments to their former resting place. Incomo regarded his Lord’s flushed face and sighed with restrained impatience. He was weary from days spent indoors, each one filled with long and profitless hours in attendance upon a Lord whose mind held no subtlety. Yet until cousin Tasaio returned, Incomo could do little except endure Desio’s ranting.

‘If only we could arrange a raid to burn those chocha-la bushes,’ the Lord of the Minwanabi complained. ‘Then Jidu would see his ruin staring him in the face, and we would rescue him with a loan that would compel his loyalty to us. Where did that fatheaded needra bull find the foresight to disguise informants among his workers? Now we dare not intervene without damaging our credibility in the council.’

Incomo did not trouble to voice the obvious: that with their current outlays in bribes to get Mara assigned to duty in Dustari, the Minwanabi finances could hardly be extended any thinner; and Lord Jidu was a poor prospect for a loan at any time, with his reputation for drinking, gambling, prostitutes, and bad debts. Not to mention that Mara would most certainly counter a Minwanabi loan by ruining Jidu, ensuring no funds could be recovered. Even if she remained ignorant of an enemy’s transaction, the problem would simply recur next year. Incomo knew better than to waste his breath with explanations. He prepared to endure another hour of complaints, when a voice interceded from the doorway.

‘The informants among the workers were not Lord Jidu’s, but spies set in place by Keyoke,’ Tasaio said as he entered. ‘They are the reason two hundred Acoma warriors stage manoeuvres on the borders of Jidu’s estates.’

‘Keyoke!’ Desio echoed. His face turned deeper purple. ‘The Acoma Force Commander?’

Tasaio’s smile thinned at this statement of the obvious. ‘Seeing the Tuscalora chocha-la safely through the harvest is in the Acoma’s best interest,’ he reminded.

‘Mara’s security is too tight,’ Desio grumbled, but with a shade less heat. While the relieved servant finished with the ornaments and scuttled into the background, the portly young Lord sought his cushions. ‘We could not send an assassin to poison this Force Commander with any assurance of success – we’ve already lost a man trying to infiltrate the Acoma herders. And from what we’ve discovered about that gods-lucky Strike Leader, Lujan, we might not benefit so greatly from Keyoke’s death. The upstart might be recently promoted, but he could prove just as able a defender of Acoma honour. I say he needs to be killed, as well, but he guards the Lady’s own chambers!’ Desio’s anger reasserted itself. ‘And if I could get an assassin that damn close, I would order him to murder Mara instead!’

‘True,’ Tasaio agreed. Before Desio’s disgruntlement could mushroom further, the warrior threw off the mantle that draped his armoured shoulders. He tossed the garment to a hovering servant and bowed before his cousin with flawless deference. Then he sat. ‘My Lord, there has been a new development.’

Incomo lost his sour expression, admiring the tact that transformed the Lord’s ill-tempered restlessness into attentive eagerness.

Tasaio smiled, revealing straight white teeth. ‘I have ascertained the identity of Mara’s three spies.’

Desio was silent a moment. The anger fled his visage, quickly replaced by astonishment. ‘Wonderful,’ he said softly. Then, with more pleasure than Incomo had heard since the death of Desio’s father, the young Lord repeated himself. ‘Wonderful!’ He clapped his hands together. ‘This calls for a celebration, cousin.’ While a servant hastened off to fetch refreshments, and a carafe of a rare vintage sa wine, the Lord sank back on his cushions, eyes narrowed with rapturous speculation. ‘How do you plan to punish these traitors, cousin?’

Tasaio’s expression never changed. ‘We shall use them as our pawns, send falsified reports to the Acoma, and arrange Keyoke’s demise.’

‘Ah!’ Desio echoed his cousin’s smile as his thoughts leaped ahead. The plan conceived in words the season before at last seemed a reality to him: to kill the Acoma Force Commander, and force Mara to personally command troops in the field, where Tasaio could seek her out and kill her. He clenched a fist, his pleasure almost sexual in intensity. ‘I look forward to seeing the Acoma bitch’s head on the floor before me. We shall feed the spies our false information this afternoon.’

Incomo muffled a grunt of annoyance behind his hand, but if Tasaio shared his impatience with Desio’s shortsightedness, he showed no sign. ‘My cousin,’ the warrior said evenly, ‘to send the reports today would be gratifying, I admit. But we must bide our time until precisely the right moment to utilize our knowledge. To use Mara’s agents now would certainly reveal our infiltration and waste our advantage. These men are not simple servants but men who, in their own way, are fierce in their loyalty to the Acoma. Like warriors, they have made peace with the gods and are ready to die at any moment. Should Mara learn that we have uncovered them, she will simply cut them loose. They would welcome death at her order, rather than betray her trust.
They might try to flee to the safety of her estates, or they might fall upon their swords. If their courage fails, we might have the small satisfaction of executing them, but for Minwanabi advantage, we gain nothing.’

Incomo added his agreement. ‘Given the fact Mara has three agents here, her Spy Master will certainly work to install replacements. We could then be reduced to another lengthy search to smoke out the new culprits.’

Tasaio urged his cousin, ‘Make no overt move until the fall. By then I can smuggle enough of our warriors into Dustari to have a fair chance against the army Xacatecas and Acoma will send against the nomads. All through the summer, Mara must wonder what our crucial move will be. She will lie awake at night and sweat in the darkness, and send out informants, and learn nothing. Are we trying to strangle her grain markets? she will ask. Will we insinuate ourselves between her and potential allies in the council? Might we raid outlying warehouses when her finances are vulnerable? Let her conceive of a thousand possibilities and agonize over each and every one.’

Tasaio sat forward, his amber eyes afire. ‘Then, after harvest, when she has exhausted herself with worry and taxed her useless spies to their limits, we strike.’ Fast as a sword stroke, the Minwanabi cousin clapped his hands. ‘Keyoke dies, along with a company of Mara’s best soldiers – perhaps her First Strike Leader, Lujan, falls as well. The Acoma household is left without military cohesion, and whatever surviving officer the Lady promotes to wear plumes must assume a post for which he is unpractised. Troops that have served under the same commander for thirty years cannot help but become disrupted.’ As he looked directly at Desio, Tasaio’s manner embodied confidence. ‘Now, cousin, suppose we further the Acoma’s disarray? Suppose that the summons to Dustari arrives from the High Council before Keyoke’s ashes have a chance to grow cold?’