This man was the last thing he needed. “Oh, for the Land’s sake,” he spat. “Out of the frying pan, into the imbecile.”
“Now, now,” said the duke, placing his hands on Rafe’s shoulders. “And after you saved my life last week and then told me you wanted never to see me again.”
“Get out of my way.” Rafe’s stomach clenched; he couldn’t think.
“Or what?”
“I don’t know! Or I’ll hit you!” He hadn’t hit anyone since his little sister broke his toy galleon.
“Won’t that be fun!” Rafe looked for mockery, but the smile on Tremontaine’s face was genuine. “Please, I insist.” The duke stepped back and offered his face, all privilege and cream. Rafe shrugged off Tremontaine’s hands and shoved past him.
He didn’t get very far before he stopped in his tracks and turned around, his anger stopping the flow of his tears. “If you knew what you and your damned Board of Governors have just done,” he cried, his voice hot and tight, “you wouldn’t be issuing that invitation with quite so cavalier an air.”
“Oh, you mean the examination committee decision?”
“You know damn well I mean the examination committee decision. Which way did you vote?”
“Why on earth should it matter?”
“Which way?”
“Come take chocolate with me and I’ll tell you,” said Tremontaine, and immediately looked startled, as if he’d said something completely different from what he’d expected to say.
Finally the duke made a gesture and spoke. “My carriage is this way.” He paused. “If, that is, you’re willing to enter it.”
“I’d consider it,” said Rafe savagely, and stalked toward the carriage.
Oh, Holy Ixchel, not the baby again.
As Kaab entered the room, Chuleb was once more on the floor, enraptured by the offspring of whatever cousin or aunt or sister the infant had come from. “Yes, widdle baby . . . where’s the wattle now?”
Kaab smoothed the wide cotton belt she wore over her blouse, embroidered with the double-eagle pattern—Ixmoe’s favorite—and thanked Xamanek that, if she had to face this scene, at least she could do so in civilized clothing.
“Where is it? Where’s the wattle?” The creature’s eyes widened as it began to search for the acacia-wood toy that Chuleb, chuckling, had moved just west of its line of sight. Making stupid faces, waving its fat little arms, it looked like nothing so much as a party guest playing Blinded Hunter. An ugly party guest. “Is it east? Southwest? Where’s the wattle?”
Kaab looked up to the alcove in the red south wall at the goddess Ixchel, jade inlaid with cinnabar and feathered with gold, and repeated under her breath the blessing carved in intricate glyphs on the statue’s forehead: Protect us, Ixchel, from the spear by day and the jaguar by night. And, she added, babies. She had no idea what mystical power they had to transform adults around them into drooling idiots, but she, for one, was relieved to be immune to it. Chuleb looked ridiculous.
Well, at least Auntie Saabim, at her dark cedar desk, a single xukul nicte flower over her east-facing ear, reading Trading records with the eye of a matriarch reviewing a treaty, seemed far enough away not to have succumbed.
The door to the room opened too forcefully and hit the wall behind it with a thud. The baby hiccupped. Please, Kaab thought, looking heavenward, please do not begin wailing like a spider monkey.
The 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 bet
ter 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 time it was Chuleb whose eyebrow rose. “That would be a feat indeed.” The duchess’s only reply was to incline her head. “If you were to extend such abundant courtesy to the Kinwiinik, as guests in your city we would be most grateful.”
“It would be nothing. A matter, as I say, of justice.”
“As you say.” He toyed with a writing brush on the desk. “But in our country, a guest who is received with courtesy must show courtesy in return.”
The duchess’s eyes widened. “As if I would allow you to do anything in return!” Chuleb cocked his head, waiting. She took another sip of chocolate. “Yes,” she said, “this drink is truly remarkable. But perhaps I was wrong about serving it at a party. I think few of my fellow nobles would appreciate this particular blend as I do.”
“With all respect,” Chuleb said, “I think you may be right.”
Kaab kept her eyes on a mural celebrating the exploits of Kinwiinik heroines in the service. This was a game between two very skillful politicians. She must not betray herself.
“You come from far,” the duchess said, “and have seen much of the world. I myself have never left these shores. Your knowledge of the ways of many peoples is much greater than mine. Tell me: How do folk in your country respond to gifts there?”
“That would depend on who the giver was. From a mother, a kiss! From a patron . . . good service.”
“And from a friend?”
“Why, friendship in return. And a promise to share all other gifts equally, as good friends should.”
“Ah.” The duchess nodded. “I see your people, too, have a fine sense of justice. No wonder there is sympathy between us.”
Chuleb leaned forward. “You honor me. I rejoice in it, and will speak of it tonight to my evening star, Ixsaabim.”
“Oh?” A faint note of surprise suffused the duchess’s voice.
“My wife.” Chuleb was altogether too pleased with himself, Kaab thought. Love did strange things even to businessmen. “She is the second daughter of a first daughter of the Balam. I am but a minor noble in my own right, who had the fortune to marry into the first Trading family of the Kinwiinik. Ixsaabim is a woman well traveled, who knows the customs of many lands, and the value of friendship.”
“She sounds delightful. I must take chocolate with her someday, your . . . evening star? What a poetic name. You must have many such endearments in your tongue. I’m sure our poor language cannot compare. Doubtless we could learn much from you.”
Not a muscle in Kaab’s face moved. But this was a slip. By one who could not possibly be given to slips. The duchess was very, very worried. About what, Kaab could not guess. Yet.
“Perhaps my lady will honor us with another visit someday?”
“I will await your invitation, Master Balam, and that of your people.” To her credit, she drank the last of her fiery chocolate. Then, in a flurry of silk fine as a flower’s petal, Duchess Tremontaine stood, setting the Kinwiinik cup down on the table beside her.
Uncle Chuleb rose with her. “It has been a very great honor to have you in my home, Madam Duchess.”
“The honor has been mine. Few in the City have been so privileged as to taste chocolate of this singular quality.”
Chuleb inclined his head, just like a Local. “To our great friends, we serve none but the finest of cacao.”
“Then I hope,” the duchess said, “that our friendship may long continue to prosper.”
She looked around the room, her gaze passing over Kaab just as it passed over the furniture and the cotton feathered-serpent wall hangings. “It has been a delightful visit, Master Balam. Thank you for the invitation.”
Kaab seized her opportunity, having no particular interest in being subjected to Chuleb’s opinions of her subterfuge. “I show you door, mistress,” she said.
“No,” said her uncle. “Dzan has certainly returned from his errand by now. He will escort the duchess to the door. I wish to speak with you on another matter.”
Kaab bowed again as the duchess walked through the door. Then she and Chuleb stood very still, looking at each other. The murmur of voices in the hallway, the opening and closing of the front door. How angry would he be? Silence. Stillness. This was becoming unbearable, but Kaab knew better than to move too soon. Ten more breaths. Ten more.
And then Chuleb exploded.
“What in the name of the gods and their parents were you thinking?” he shouted. “That woman is as subtle as a jaguar in the night! I invited her to come tomorrow, and she arrived today to catch me off guard. I have no idea what she really wants, but you can be certain that she would happily slit every Kinwiinik throat in the City if it suited her purpose.”
“Which is why,” Kaab countered, her chin high, “it was better that I be here.”
“I have half a mind to expel you from the service and make you chief nursemaid to all the children for the rest of your life. If you’ve imperiled our trade here—”
This was not a serious threat. She knew it, and she knew that he knew she knew it. “Don’t be ridiculous. If she saw me at all, she saw a barbarian servant. When it comes to dealing with her, you’ll be better off with my help than without it. You appear, for example, not to have caught her mistake.”
This brought him up short. “Which was?” he said after a pause.
“When you told her you would have to ask Auntie Saabim about her proposal, she began to chatter. She had not thought Kinwiinik women
to have authority in our houses. And if she didn’t bother to learn before she came that the Balam are nobility, then she believes us unimportant and more easily dealt with than is the case. She may be a jaguar, but she is not the jaguar you think she is.”
Chuleb said nothing; he only stood, fuming.
“Fine,” he snapped finally. “But if you’re going to impersonate a servant then you can do so for the rest of the day. This office is a disaster. I want it as spotless by dinner as if Chaacmul had washed it with the sea.”
It would not do to show her glee. She schooled her face until she resembled a statue guarding the royal tomb. “As you wish.”
Micah was exhausted.
People kept getting angry at her. Sometimes it was when she told them why they were wrong. Sometimes it was when she asked them questions; sometimes it was when she didn’t ask them questions. Sometimes it was when she answered their questions. Sometimes it was when she did what they’d told her to do. She wasn’t acting any differently, but for some reason things that seemed to be fine on the farm were not fine here, and she often wanted to squeeze herself into a tiny ball in the corner and disappear.
But the exhaustion and the tension were worth it, because when they weren’t getting mad at her for doing or saying the wrong thing, the people here were talking about numbers and calculations and shapes and patterns and all the incredible ideas that her family seemed not to care about at all—not just talking about them but loving them, respecting them, understanding how beautiful they were. And it turned out that those ideas, the things she spent all her time thinking about, had names! Seven-siders were actually called heptagons, for example, and twelve-siders were dodecagons, but that was just the beginning. The shapes and everything else made her mind move faster and faster and faster, until her body was filled with light. And if she had gained the key to so much in such a short time, how much would she learn if she stayed longer? In three days Uncle Amos would start sowing the early peas for spring, and she felt both that she wanted to be there to help and that she wanted to stay here, which was awful. That was another exhausting aspect of being here. Every time she tried to figure it out, her head started to throb in time with her heart, and she had to do numbers until she could calm herself down.
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