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?’