Looking to nettle Lujan in return for her earlier embarrassment, Mara said, ‘Is he an able soldier?’
Lujan grinned and his cousin returned a nearly identical broad smile. ‘My Lady, he is as able a soldier as I.’
‘Well then, that solves a problem.’ Mara tapped the helm that still dangled from Lujan’s wrist, called a soldier’s pot, for its utter lack of adornment. ‘I was going to ask you to give that to him and assume one with an officer’s plume. Keyoke had orders to promote you to Strike Leader, but as you are going to be away for three weeks, he might as well promote your cousin in your stead.’
His grin still in place, Lujan said, ‘Well, almost as able as I, Lady.’ Slightly more serious, he added, ‘With your consent, I’ll take him with me. I mean no disrespect for any other soldier here, but there is no man I would rather have at my side with a sword.’ Then his tone turned light again. ‘Besides, we might as well keep the party composed exclusively of troublemakers.’
Mara couldn’t resist. For the first time since Lano’s death the frown eased entirely from her face, lantern light revealing a surprisingly lovely smile. ‘Then you had best collect your plume from Keyoke, Strike Leader.’ To the newcomer she said, ‘Welcome, Saric.’
The man bowed his head. ‘Mistress, your honour is my honour. With the god’s favour I shall die a warrior – not too soon, I hope – and in the service of beauty such as yours, a happy one.’
With a lift of her brows, Mara glanced at both men. ‘It seems flattery runs in your family, as well as a certain casual attitude towards rank.’ Then she indicated the other man who had been sitting with Saric. He wore plain clothes and simple hide sandals. His hair was trimmed in nondescript fashion, not the close cut of a warrior, the fashionable ringlets of a merchant, or the ragged shag of a worker. ‘Who is this?’
The man arose while Saric said, ‘This is Arakasi, Lady. He also was in my Lord’s employ, though he was not a soldier.’
The man was of medium build and regular features. But his manner had neither the proud bearing of a warrior nor the deference of a worker. Suddenly uncertain, Mara said, ‘Then why did you not stand forward with the craftsmen and workers?’
Arakasi’s dark eyes flickered slightly, perhaps in amusement, but his face remained expressionless. Then he changed. Though he hardly moved, his demeanour changed; suddenly he seemed the aloof, self-possessed scholar. With that, Mara noticed what she should have seen at once: his skin was in no way weathered as a field worker’s would have been. His hands had some toughness, but no thick pads of callus left by toil with tools or weapons. ‘Lady, I am not a farmer.’
Something put Keyoke on his guard, for he moved without thought to interpose himself between his mistress and the stranger. ‘If you are not a farmer or soldier, what are you, a merchant, sailor, a tradesman, a priest?’
Barely acknowledging Keyoke’s intervention, Arakasi said, ‘Lady, in my time I have been all of those. Once I guested with your father in the guise of a priest of Hantukama. I have taken the identities of a soldier, a merchant, a slave master, a whoremonger, a riverman, even a sailor and a beggar.’
Which explained some things, thought Mara, but not all. ‘To whom were you loyal?’
Arakasi bowed startlingly, with the grace and practised ease of a noble born. ‘I was servant to the Lord of the Tuscai, before the Minwanabi dogs killed him in battle. I was his Spy Master.’
Mara’s eyes widened despite her attempt at self-control. ‘His Spy Master?’
The man straightened, his smile devoid of humour. ‘Yes, mistress. For one reason above all should you wish me in your service: my late Lord of the Tuscai spent the best part of his fortune building a network of informants, a network I oversaw, with agents in every city in the Empire and spies within many great houses.’ His voice dropped, a strange mix of reluctance and pride. ‘That network is still in place.’
Suddenly, sharply, Keyoke scratched his chin with his thumb.
Mara cleared her throat, with a keen look at Arakasi, whose aspect seemed to shift from moment to moment. ‘Such things are best not discussed in the open.’ She glanced about. ‘I still have the dust of travel upon me, and have had no pause for refreshment since midday. Attend me in my chambers in an hour’s time. Until then Papewaio will see to your needs.’
Arakasi bowed and joined Papewaio, who gestured for the Spy Master to follow him to the bathhouse near the barracks.
Left with Keyoke and the presence of thirty-three masterless warriors, Mara remained caught up in thought. After a silent interval she mused softly, ‘The Spy Master of the Tuscai.’ To Keyoke she said, ‘Father always said the Lord of the Tuscai knew more than was righteous in the eyes of the gods. Men joked that he had a magician with a crystal locked away in a vault under his study. Do you suppose this Arakasi was the reason?’
Keyoke offered no direct opinion but said, ‘Be cautious of him, mistress. A man who spies uses honesty least of all. You were right to send him away with Pape.’
‘Loyal Keyoke,’ said Mara with affection in her voice. She tilted her head in the torchlight, indicated the ragged group of men who awaited her command. ‘Do you suppose you can swear this lot to service by the natami, and still have time for a bath and dinner?’
‘I must.’ The Force Commander returned a rare, wry shrug. ‘Though how I’ve lived to be this old while burdened with so much work, only the gods know.’ Before Mara could respond, he shouted a command, and like the trained soldiers they were, the scruffy men crowding the courtyard mustered at the voice of authority.
• Chapter Five • Bargain (#ulink_145fe865-b80a-555d-8ee5-730e682a984b)
Evening gave way to night.
Soft lights burned in Mara’s chamber. The outer screens had been opened to admit the breeze and the lamplight flickered and danced. The Lady of the Acoma sent away her servants, ordering one to have chocha brought. Alone with Nacoya a moment before the others appeared, Mara stripped off the ostentatious bracelets given her by the Anasati lord. She peeled off her dirty travelling robe and dabbed a damp cloth over her body; a full bath would have to wait until after her meeting with Arakasi.
Nacoya remained silent while Mara refreshed herself, but her eyes never left her young mistress. Neither of them spoke. The reproach Mara saw in those old eyes told all: the girl was inexperienced and foolish, perhaps even dangerously so, in matching herself with Buntokapi. He might appear slow-witted, but he was a powerful warrior, and though barely two years older than she, he had been reared in the Game of the Council while Mara had sheltered in the temple of Lashima.
As Mara wrapped a delicate saffron-coloured robe about herself, the servant returned with the chocha. She motioned permission, and the slave placed his large tray in the centre of the low table, then departed. Mara nodded to Nacoya, indicating that the old woman should prepare cups and napkins.
Her two officers and the stranger arrived punctually upon the hour. Mara studied the newcomer keenly as he bowed and seated himself between Keyoke and Papewaio. Arakasi’s style was impeccably correct, his manner a match for the clothing he now wore in place of his beggar’s rags. Mara suddenly realized she had seen his tasselled scarlet shirt before; the garment was Papewaio’s, his favourite, worn on feast days only. Mara considered the significance of his loan to Arakasi. In the hour that had passed since their meeting in the courtyard, the former Spy Master of the Tuscai must have impressed the Acoma First Strike Leader very favourably. That was a strong recommendation, for, like her father before her, Mara placed strong trust in Papewaio’s instincts about people.
Bolstered by that confidence, she asked, ‘Has Lujan spoken of what we do here?’
Arakasi nodded. ‘He’s off to find more grey warriors to take service.’ He paused, then added, ‘But each time you recruit, you greatly increase the chance spies might infiltrate. Soon you cannot trust any who come here.’
‘You might be such an agent,’ interrupted Nacoya.
‘Old mother, I have nothing to gain by lying.’ Arakasi took charge of the chocha pot, usurping Nacoya’s role as server with flawless ease. Deferentially he filled Mara’s cup, then Nacoya’s, Keyoke’s, and Papewaio’s before his own. ‘Were I a spy for another house, I would simply have enlisted and sent word of your desperate situation back to my master. Then the assassins would come, probably in the next band of recruits. Your suspicions then would become entirely academic, as you would be murdered along with your mistress.’ He put down the pot. ‘And if I didn’t see an opportunity here for myself and my agents, I would have played a farmer, slipped away in the dark, and never troubled any of you again.’
Mara nodded. ‘Your logic is difficult to fault. Now tell us what we need to know of you.’
The stranger answered frankly. ‘I have been employed for over twenty years, to establish and oversee a network of spies spanning the Empire. It now rivals any in the land, including the Warlord’s. I even have agents working for other Spy Masters, one who is dormant, never having been employed, harboured against a day of great need –’
At this, Keyoke leaned forward. ‘The obliteration of your house was not a great enough need?’
Arakasi took Keyoke’s rudeness in stride. ‘No agent of mine could have aided my master, or prevented his final fate. Especially not the one I mentioned. He works with the Imperial Chancellery, on the staff of the Warlord.’
Even Keyoke couldn’t hide his astonishment. The Spy Master continued. ‘My master was a man of vision but limited wealth. So extensive was his commitment to gathering intelligence, he was unable to use it to good effect. Perhaps if I had not been ambitious in my requirements …’ Arakasi set down his chocha cup with barely a click. ‘Had the Minwanabi not grown fearful of my Lord’s ability to anticipate their every move, today the Tuscai might have been among the most powerful families in the Empire.’ He sighed in regret. ‘But “might have been is but ashes upon the wind”, as they say. The attack was simple and straightforward. My lord’s warriors were overwhelmed by brute strength. I have since learned that my agents do little good if their information cannot be acted upon.’
Keyoke had barely touched his cup of chocha. His eyes glinted through rising steam as he said, ‘So where are your agents today?’
Without hesitation, Arakasi faced Mara. ‘Lady, I will not reveal who they are. If I offend, I ask pardon. I still owe much to those who once served my master, and will not expose them to additional danger. If you take us into service, we shall require the same concessions that were made by my Lord of the Tuscai.’
Mara acknowledged Keyoke’s warning glance with a half nod. ‘Those being?’ she prompted, and waited keenly for Arakasi’s reply.
‘I will oversee my couriers and contacts, and I alone will know the names of the agents, and how to reach them; you will be told only where they serve.’
Keyoke set his chocha cup down forcefully, as near as he had ever come to displaying anger. ‘These are unreasonable requirements!’
‘Force Commander,’ said Arakasi, ‘I do not wish to be difficult. I may not have served my master as well as I wished, but I protect those who worked so diligently on his behalf – in ways as dangerous to them as battle to a soldier. A spy dies in shame by the rope. My people risk both life and honour for a master they will not betray. I ensure that no matter what may happen, their master cannot betray them.’
Confronted by uncertain expressions, he nodded and qualified his statement. ‘When the Minwanabi crushed the Tuscai, they interrogated my master …’ Shifting dark eyes to Mara, he softened his voice. ‘There is no reason to relate details. I know of these things only because one of my people was left for dead and managed to observe for a while before escaping. Jingu’s torturer was efficient. My master could not have withheld any information, despite being a courageous man. Lady, judge fairly: if you wish my services, and the services of those who worked for me, then you will have to take us on faith.’
‘And if I don’t?’
Arakasi stilled, his hands in plain view to banish any impression of threat. Slowly he turned his palms upward, a sign of resignation. ‘Then I shall return to the hills.’
Mara cocked her head slightly. Here, at last, the man showed a moment of genuine feeling. To wear house colours again was more important to him than he cared to admit. Concerned lest she cause him embarrassment, Mara asked simply, ‘Then what?’
Arakasi shrugged. ‘My lady, I have worked in many guises to protect my identity. I can fix a wagon, play the flute, scribe, and do sums. I am also a talented beggar, if the truth be known. I will manage, have no doubt.’
Keyoke fixed him with a penetrating look. ‘I think you could gain a position and live comfortably at will. So then what were you doing in the woods with outlaws?’
