An enraged yell from Ayaki echoed down the corridor beyond the screen, followed by Nacoya’s chiding voice. If the child had soiled himself, the nursery would shortly become the site of a minor commotion. Ayaki battled like a young harulth whenever anyone tried to change him. Sighing with indulgence mixed with exasperation, Mara concealed the wax slate beneath an old parchment map and resumed her study of the Empire. The border lines and the estates on this rendition were slightly out of date, having been drawn up when she was a little girl. But the dyes were still bright and most of the holdings of the major Lords of the Empire were clearly marked. Since Buntokapi detested everything to do with words on paper, he would never miss this one document from his study. The only use he had for a map was to find which lands were open for hunting.
As Ayaki’s wails drew nearer, Mara noticed an interesting fact at the outset: the Lord of the Zalteca, a minor neighbour who had a very prosperous trade in pottery, used a strip of land between his own estates and the Imperial Highway that appeared to be the property of the Lord of the Kano, who lived far to the east near the city of Ontoset. Mara found this indefinably amusing. If other families exercised such usurpation of property rights, that knowledge might later prove useful. She would ask Arakasi about it when he returned, and that thought sparked realization: only a week remained before she and Buntokapi celebrated their first wedding anniversary. The Spy Master might return to the estate at any moment.
Apprehension gripped Mara, even as Nacoya entered with Ayaki screaming in her arms. ‘Your son would make a fine substitute for a guli,’ said the old woman, referring to the hairy troll-like creatures of children’s tales; they scared their victims to death with hideous screams.
Mara only nodded. Wondering whether her mistress had gone deaf, Nacoya called the slave away from freshening the crib to help manage the Acoma heir, who yelled until his face was red, and made everyone’s ears sore. Eventually Mara arose. She bent over her baby and jingled her beads to amuse him. As Ayaki’s wails changed to laughter in another of his mercurial shifts of mood, her thoughts continued.
Somehow she must prevent Arakasi from coming under Buntokapi’s control. Her bull of a husband would only waste that information network, or worse, make it available for his father’s use, which would place far too dangerous a power in the hands of the Lord of the Anasati. Necessity made Mara bold. She must prepare for Arakasi’s arrival with no further delay, so that his loyalty should remain hers alone. Inwardly reviewing her husband’s schedule of activities, Mara spoke briskly to the slave who laboured over the kicking, naked legs of her son. ‘Call for Jican.’
Nacoya raised her eyebrows. ‘To the nursery?’ she said, startled, but her mistress ignored the liberty.
‘The matter will not wait.’ Without further fuss, Mara relieved the slave of the damp cloths and began to cleanse her infant’s soiled bottom.
Jican arrived, any puzzlement he felt well concealed. He bowed deeply as his mistress tied a clean loincloth around her son. ‘Have we some documents that would be appropriate for my Lord husband’s review?’
Barely able to contain his distaste at the mention of the Lord of the Acoma, Jican said, ‘My Lady, there are always documents that are appropriate for the Lord of the house to review.’ He bowed, shamed at how close to insult his words came in their implication that Buntokapi neglected his responsibilities. Mara sensed her hadonra’s discomfort as she lifted Ayaki onto her shoulder.
In a tone sweet as red-bee honey, she said, ‘Then I think it would be fitting to send a scribe to my husband’s town house at three hours after noon.’
Jican stifled open curiosity. ‘If you think that is wise, mistress, then it shall be done.’
Mara dismissed him and saw that Nacoya, too, regarded her with a shrewd glint in her eyes. ‘You are deaf, mother of my heart,’ the Lady of the Acoma said softly. ‘And business matters are never conducted in the nursery.’
The nurse bowed promptly, guessing something of her mistress’s intentions; but the full extent of those plans would have terrified the old woman beyond measure. As I am terrified, Mara thought, and silently wondered whether the Goddess of Wisdom would hear the prayers of a wife who knowingly provoked a husband already renowned for his bad temper.