No doubt the woman was capable in all the named skills, though Buntokapi had probably availed himself of little other than an occasional massage, or a song before indulging in sex. But Teani was also an agent and, likely as not, a trained assassin. With Buntokapi dead, she needed only one opportunity to rid her Minwanabi master of both Mara and Ayaki, ending the Acoma forever.
Dread of Jingu’s plots caused Mara to respond sharply. Not allowing Teani the courtesy of rising from her knees, she said, ‘You’ll have little difficulty finding yourself another position. A maid blessed with such talents as yours should easily catch the fancy of some great Lord, one who would be eager to have you at his side. Within the hour a factor will arrive to close down this house in preparation for selling it and all the furnishings. Take whatever gifts my husband left you and depart, for nothing of the Acoma shall remain here.’ She paused and regarded Teani’s ripe curves with contempt. ‘And of course no trash shall be left behind for the new owner.’
Mara spun and walked through the door, as if the concubine she had dismissed were now beneath her notice. Only the observant eyes of Arakasi saw Teani release the iron control she had exercised for the deception of her mistress. An expression of naked hatred settled upon the young woman’s face; her beauty became a cruel thing, black and twisted and murderous to behold. And in that moment Arakasi observed that the insults of Mara of the Acoma would be carefully remembered, that each might be separately avenged.
Borrowing the authority of his officer’s plumes, the Spy Master seized the initiative and assigned two warriors to remain on the premises to see his Lady’s orders carried out. Then, before Teani had bridled her rage enough to remember his face, he slipped swiftly through the door.
Outside, as he hurried into place beside his mistress, Mara said, ‘Is she the one?’
Arakasi unhooked the chin strap of his helm so he could speak without being overheard. ‘Indeed, my Lady. Teani is the spy. Until she arrived in the city, she was a favourite with the Lord of the Minwanabi and shared his bed on a regular basis. Why she was chosen to spy upon Lord Buntokapi is not clear, but she must have convinced her master she could serve his interests.’ They reached the litter, dead leaves obscuring the conversation from chance eavesdroppers. Even on the quietest side street, Arakasi exercised his customary caution. As he helped Mara onto her cushions, he whispered, ‘What Teani did before she came to Minwanabi service our agent cannot say.’ He directed a meaningful glance at the town house. ‘I will rest easier when my men have had the chance to discover more about her, for I think you have made an enemy, Lady. Only I saw the expression in her eyes as you left. It was murder.’
Mara rested her head back, eyes half-closed. Wisely or not, she dismissed the issue, for the next step in her plans demanded all of her attention. ‘Kill me for duty, kill me for personal reasons, the risk is no more.’
Her slender body stiffened against the jostling motion as the slaves lifted the litter. Arakasi fell into step, with Papewaio on the other side. Over the tramp of marching feet he murmured, ‘There you are wrong, mistress. Some might falter in their resolve if they are motivated solely by duty. But to avenge a personal slight, many care nothing if they perish, as long as their foe dies with them.’
Mara opened angry eyes. ‘You are saying I acted the fool?’
Arakasi did not flinch from her regard. ‘I suggest that in future my Lady weighs her words with more caution.’
Mara sighed. ‘I shall take your advice to heart. If Keyoke had been with me, he would probably have been frantically scratching his chin with his thumb.’
‘That’s Papewaio’s habit,’ said Arakasi, obviously puzzled.
His mistress smiled. ‘Your observation is very keen. One day I shall have to explain that warning sign to you. Now let us go home, senior officer, for the heat grows even as we speak, and much business remains to be attended to.’
Arakasi saluted smartly. Playing the part of an Acoma Strike Leader brazenly, for all present knew of his inept swordplay, he ordered the guards to surround the litter bearing the Lady of the Acoma during her return to the estates.
As late afternoon painted purple shadows across the paving, another litter set out through the north gate of Sulan-Qu. Once on the Imperial Highway, the bearers wearing the badge of the Guild of Porters turned towards the Holy City. They maintained a leisurely pace, as if the client behind the curtains wished their services for sightseeing and a breath of fresh air in the countryside. When, after two hours, she ordered a stop for rest, the bearers gathered by a roadside well a short distance off. They were all freemen, members of the Commercial Guild of Bearers, hired by those who needed to travel but without a retinue of slaves to carry them. Granted rest an hour ahead of contract, they munched upon the light fare carried in their hip bags and whispered admiringly of the woman who had commissioned them for this journey. Not only was she stunningly beautiful, but she had paid them fine metal for what so far had proved an exceedingly easy job.
Presently a pot seller stepped out of the general flow of traffic, his wares dangling from throngs that affixed them to a long pole balanced across his shoulder. He halted beside the litter, apparently to catch a breather. His angular face was red from exertion, and his eyes beady and quick. Attracted by the rattle of his crockery, the woman behind the curtains motioned him closer. Pretending to examine a pot, she said, ‘I am glad you had not reached Sulan-Qu yet. It would have complicated things.’
The trader mopped his brow with a fine silk cloth. ‘What has passed?’
The woman curled her pretty lip and let the pot fall with a sour clank. ‘As I suspected. The Acoma bitch would not allow me into her household. Jingu was a fool to think she might.’
The pot seller who was not a merchant exclaimed in annoyance and examined his piece for chips. When he found none, his manner appeared to ease. ‘The Lord of the Minwanabi listens to his own counsel first.’
The woman traced the fancy enamel ornamenting a slop jar with an exquisitely manicured nail. ‘I will return to Jingu’s side. He will regret this setback in getting an agent into the Acoma house, but he will have missed me.’ Her lips shaped a dreamy smile. ‘I know there are things he misses about me. None of his other girls have my … skills.’
Drily the pot seller said, ‘Or perhaps they simply lack your tolerance for abuse, Teani.’
‘Enough.’ The concubine tossed tawny hair, and her robe fell open. A glimpse of what lay beneath made the pot seller smile at the contradiction between the astonishing beauty and the unexpected cruelty in this woman. Misreading his expression as male lust, and amused by it, Teani spoke, recovering his attention. ‘Buntokapi was never of use to Jingu. Mara was truly in control, though she was clever in not letting her Lord discover that until too late. Inform our true master that I shall return to the Minwanabi house once again, and send him whatever information I may.’
The merchant nodded, rubbing uncalloused fingers over the wood of his pole. ‘That is good. I have carried these damned ceramics since I left our Lord’s river barge this morning, and I am glad to end this charade.’
Teani focused on him, as if enjoying his discomfort. ‘Give me the slop jar,’ she murmured. ‘The bearers must believe I had a reason to speak with you.’
The man unhooked the item. Enamel flashed gaudily in the sunlight as he handed it to the woman, his attitude one of undisguised irony. ‘One less to carry.’
‘Why did you come yourself?’
The merchant grimaced, for the pole bore down unmercifully and he could not reach around it to scratch an itch. ‘I dared trust no one else with the task. When my Lord’s barge left the city last night, we simply poled upriver a few miles and tied up. He supposed you would still be at the town house; hence my disguise. None of us guessed the Lady Mara would be so quick to rid herself of Bunto’s city property. She only quit the contemplation glade yesterday.’
Teani glanced towards the well where the bearers sat gossiping. She inclined her head in
their direction. ‘I think you had better order them all killed. One might mention this encounter.’
The merchant considered the eight men by the well. ‘It will be messy, but worse if we risk discovery. Besides, if you are attacked by robbers along the highway, how can the Commercial Guild of Bearers fault you? I will make arrangements just before you reach the Minwanabi estates, so you can rush to the safety of Jingu’s arms. Now, our master’s instructions: despite all that has transpired, the Lady Mara is to be left untroubled.’
Teani stiffened in surprise. ‘After Buntokapi’s murder?’
‘Our master commands this. We must not speak longer.’ With an unfeigned grimace of distaste, the merchant shifted his clanking wares to his other shoulder.
Teani sat silently as he left, her professional detachment lost. Mara of the Acoma inspired a personal rage and hatred deeper than any she had previously known. The concubine did not trouble to analyse the cause. Born to a woman of the Reed Life, and cast into the streets at the age of six, she had survived by wits alone. Her unusual beauty had brought her quickly to the attention of men and she had barely escaped slavers on several occasions, despite having committed no crime to warrant such a conviction; in the dirtier alleys of the Empire, the niceties of the law might occasionally be put aside for enough money. Teani discovered early that to some men honour was negotiable. She learned abuse before love, and at twelve sold herself for the first time, to a man who kept her in his home for two years. He had been a twisted soul who took pleasure inflicting pain upon beauty. Teani had struggled at first, until suffering taught her to ignore her discomfort. In time she had killed her tormentor, but the memory of pain stayed with her, a familiar thing she understood. After that she had used beauty and natural wit to rise up society’s ladder, choosing one benefactor after another, each more rich and powerful than the last. For seven years she had served her present employer, though never in bed as with previous masters. Beneath her soft beauty and cruel passions this Lord saw the stony hatred that motivated Teani; he had set those qualities to use against his enemy, the Lord of the Minwanabi, never once tempted to make the relationship other than professional for his own use. For this the concubine conceded her loyalty, for this master was unique among those she had met along the road of her life.
But only Buntokapi had touched her as a person. Before him Teani had taken little personal interest in the men she slept with or murdered. Though the Lord of the Acoma had been like a porina boar in a wallow, even to the point where he stank like one, rushing to take her with the sweat from his wrestling still rank on his body, he had understood her. Buntokapi had given her the pain she needed to survive, and the love she had never known in all twenty-eight years of her life. Teani shivered slightly at the memory of his hands, tearing at her soft flesh at the height of his passion; she had dug her nails into his back, even taught him to enjoy the pain himself. But Mara of the Acoma had ended that.
Teani’s fingers tightened on the bright enamel of the slop jar, while anger built in her heart. Buntokapi had been tricked to his death, ruined by his natural tendency to count honour over life. Teani understood nothing of honour … but rivalry, that was a thing she knew well. That she-dog of a wife – innocent as a babe, Teani thought in disgust. How easily abuse would crack the cool façade of the Lady! What pleasure the concubine would find in humiliating Mara for hours, days perhaps, before giving her to Turakamu. Teani licked her lips, sweating lightly in the heat. The pleasure of dominating the Lady of the Acoma promised more than she could imagine from sex with any men she had known. But the ignoble way that Mara had evicted her from the town house cut off any immediate avenues of vengeance. Now Teani had no recourse but to resume her post as spy in Jingu’s household. The obese Lord of the Minwanabi revolted her, and his fawning would be difficult to endure; but he and the Acoma were sworn enemies. Through him Teani thought to arrange her satisfaction. Mara would die, slowly and in torment, or shamefully if no other option availed. That the concubine’s true master now wished otherwise affected nothing. Teani had changed employers many times in the past.
On that thought she tossed the slop jar violently among the cushions and signalled her bearers to return. As they crossed the road, the powerful, coarse body of the one in the lead caught her eye. He had fine muscles and a bullying manner to his walk. Excited by prospects of violence and vengeance, Teani decided to stop in a secluded glade down the road. She would have some sport; the man and his companions were going to die anyway, and not to use them for pleasure would be a waste of fine meat. Besides, a few extra marks on her face and body would convince Jingu that bandits had indeed molested her, and keep him from becoming suspicious. So thinking, Teani shivered in anticipation as the bearers lifted her litter and resumed their journey towards the Holy City.
Down the road to Sulan-Qu, the pot seller halted, as if to count whatever payment the fine lady had given him. From under a broad-brimmed hat he watched the litter depart, while silently pondering what made the woman dally before calling her bearers. The likely daydreams of a creature like Teani were not pleasant to contemplate. With a grunt of disgust he shifted the weight of his pots. He had been the one to convince their Lord her talents went beyond the bedchamber, and a dozen times in the past her work had borne out his judgement. But lately she had been showing signs of independence, a tendency to interpret directions to her own liking. Alone in the dusty road, amid the noise of passing traffic, the sham merchant debated whether that trait signalled a growing instability. He soothed his uncertainty in his usual economical manner: either way, Teani could only bring trouble to the Minwanabi. If she exchanged loyalties, at best Jingu would gain a servant of questionable reliability. Besides, she could be removed if she became a problem.
Irritated by the weight of the pole as it bit into his shoulder, Chumaka, First Adviser to the Lord of the Anasati, turned towards Sulan-Qu. Benefits would come of sending Teani back to the Minwanabi household; though she had surprised them all by turning up in Buntokapi’s town house, Chumaka considered that things had turned towards a better course. His master would disagree, but then his master had just lost a son. Chumaka counted that for little. He had never cared for Bunto, and while the Acoma girl was more talented than anticipated, Minwanabi was the real menace. Things were stirring in the High Council, and the game gained intensity as the Warlord’s campaign on Midkemia continued. The ins and outs of intrigue always quickened Chumaka’s blood. Gods, but I love politics, he thought as he walked down the road. Feeling almost cheery, he began to whistle over the rattle of his crockery.
Following her return from Sulan-Qu, Mara called a meeting. Her closest advisers gathered in her chamber while cool twilight veiled the fields and thyza paddies of the estate. Nacoya sat to her right, a red scarf tied over her hair in deference to Turakamu, into whose domain the late master had passed. Baskets of red reeds had been placed by every door in the estate house, in recognition of mourning, that the Red God might avert his eyes from those who grieved.
Mara wore traditional robes of the same colour, but her manner showed nothing of sorrow. She sat straight and proud as Jican, Keyoke, Papewaio, Lujan, and Arakasi made their bows and chose seats upon cushions arranged in a circle upon the floor.
When the last of them had settled, the Lady of the Acoma met the eyes of each in turn. ‘We know what has occurred. None need ever again speak of it. But before we lay the memory of Buntokapi to rest for all time, I wish to say this. What has passed, what is to come as a result of what has passed, all responsibility rests upon my head. None who serve the Acoma need fear for one moment that they have acted without honour. If others in the Empire whisper of dishonour in corners, the shame is mine alone to bear.’ With that, Mara closed the tally sheet on her dead husband. None would ever again wonder if they had betrayed their lawful Lord.
Almost briskly Mara turned to other matters. Though red as a colour flattered her, a frown marred her forehead as she addressed Keyoke. ‘We must speed up recruitment
of soldiers. The Minwanabi are temporarily thwarted, and we must use what time we have available to us to consolidate our position.’
The Force Commander nodded in his usual spare manner. “That is possible, if we call every available young son, and if all of them respond. Some will answer the summons of other houses. My Lords of the Minwanabi and Kehotara are still trying to replace the three hundred soldiers they sent against us several months ago. I think we can add another two hundred safely, within the next two months – though they will all be unseasoned boys. The other three you ask for might take as long as another year to recruit.’
Mara had to be satisfied with this; Buntokapi had left some sizeable debts, and Jican had mentioned that time would be needed to rebuild the estate’s capital. By the time the recruiting was completed, finances should have recovered enough to underwrite the expense of the new warriors’ training. And with the reluctant alliance with the Anasati, few would dare attack, and none openly.
As always, Nacoya broke in with a warning. ‘Mistress, as the Acoma gain allies and garrison strength, you must be especially cautious of indirect attacks.’
Arakasi agreed. ‘Mistress, on the day your official mourning ends, you will surely receive invitations carried by marriage brokers on behalf of one suitor or another. When some of those worthy sons of noble houses come to call, agents of the Minwanabi are most certain to be among their retainers.’
Mara considered this with a hard expression. ‘Then we shall have to ensure that such agents find nothing noteworthy to report back to their masters.’
The meeting went on, with Mara confidently assimilating her former role as ruler of the Acoma. As darkness deepened and lamps were tended by silent slaves, decisions were made and fresh information discussed; through the interval between nightfall and midnight, more business was conducted than during the entire tenure of Buntokapi as Lord of the Acoma. At the end Jican arose with a sigh of evident satisfaction. And whatever private guilt or relief the others might have felt at Buntokapi’s passing was hidden as they arose to depart. There were too many new problems to confront.
The Complete Empire Trilogy Page 33
