‘Arakasi, when you visit my husband . . . go in the guise of a servant. Tell him you are there to discuss the shipment of the needra hides to be sold to the tentmakers in Jamar. He will then know if it is safe to talk. There are servants in the town house new to our service, so my Lord may be cautious. He will instruct you about what you shall do.’
Arakasi bowed and left her side. As the light slanted golden across the lane leading to the Imperial Highway, Mara bit her lip in earnest hope. If she had timed things right, Arakasi’s arrival should coincide with the height of Buntokapi’s passion in the arms of Teani. Very likely the Spy Master would find a reception far different from anything he expected – unless her husband was in an utterly uncharacteristic mood of tolerance. Worried, excited, and frightened at the frail odds that supported her hopes, Mara put off the poet she had called in to read. Instead she spent the afternoon in the ironclad disciplines of meditation, for the beauty of his words would be wasted in her present frame of mind.
Hours passed. The needra were driven in from their day pastures, and the shatra flew, heralding the approach of night. As the chief assistant gardener lit the lamps in the dooryard, Arakasi returned, dustier than he had been that morning, and visibly footsore. He entered Mara’s presence as the maids laid out cushions for her comfort. Even in the unlit gloom of the chamber, the large red welt upon his cheek showed plainly. Silent, Mara dismissed her maids. She sent her runner after cold food, and a basin and cloth for light washing. Then she bade the Spy Master sit.
The tap of the runner’s sandals diminished down the hall. Alone with his mistress, Arakasi bowed formally.
‘My Lady, your Lord listened to my coded greeting, then erupted into a fury. He struck me and bellowed that any business I had was to be directed to Jican and you.’ Mara endured his penetrating gaze without expression. She seemed coiled, waiting, and after an interval Arakasi continued. ‘There was a woman there, and he seemed . . . preoccupied. In any event, your husband is a superb -actor. Or he wasn’t acting at all.’
Mara’s expression remained innocent. ‘Many of the duties of this household my husband has given over to me. After all, I was Ruling Lady before he came here.’
Arakasi was not fooled. ‘“When the Game of the Council enters the home, the wise servant does not play,”’ he quoted. ‘In honour, I must do exactly as my Lord bids, and I will assume things are as they seem until proven otherwise.’ His stare turned cold then, even in the veiling of shadow of dusk. ‘But I am loyal to the Acoma. My heart is with you, Mara of the Acoma, because you gave me colours to wear, but I am duty-bound to obey my lawful Lord. I will not betray him.’
‘You say only what a loyal servant would be honour-bound to say, Arakasi. I expect no less.’ Mara smiled, unexpectedly pleased by her Spy Master’s warning. ‘Do you have any doubts about my husband’s wishes?’
The slave arrived with the food tray. Gratefully choosing a jigabird pastry, Arakasi answered. ‘In truth, I would have, if I hadn’t seen the woman he was . . . speaking with when I appeared.’
‘What do you mean?’ Mara waited, impatient, while he chewed and swallowed.
‘Teani. I know her.’ Arakasi qualified with no change in tone, ‘She is an agent of the Lord of the Minwanabi.’
Mara felt a stab of cold pass through her. Still enough that Arakasi noticed her distress, she spoke after a long moment. ‘Say nothing of this to anyone.’
‘I hear, mistress.’ Arakasi snatched the interval to eat in earnest. His travels had left him gaunt, and he had crossed many leagues since dawn. Guilty because he also bore the painful marks of Buntokapi’s wrath, Mara allowed him to finish his meal before asking for his full report.
After that, excitement made her forget his tiredness. As Arakasi unfolded the intrigue and the complexities of Empire politics in spare words, and a sprinkling of amusing anecdotes, she listened with shining eye. For this she had been born! As the evening grew old and the moon rose beyond the screen, pictures and patterns began to form in her mind. She interrupted with questions of her own, and the quickness of her deductions made Arakasi visibly shed his weariness. At last he had a mistress who appreciated the nuances of his work; henceforward her enthusiasm would sharpen his skills. As the men in his network saw the Acoma rise in power, their part would engender a pride they had never known under the Lord of the Tuscai.