The Force Commander nodded in his usual spare manner. ‘That is possible, if we call every available young son, and if all of them respond. Some will answer the summons of other houses. My Lords of the Minwanabi and Kehotara are still trying to replace the three hundred soldiers they sent against us several months ago. I think we can add another two hundred safely, within the next two months – though they will all be unseasoned boys. The other three you ask for might take as long as another year to recruit.’
Mara had to be satisfied with this; Buntokapi had left some sizeable debts, and Jican had mentioned that time would be needed to rebuild the estate’s capital. By the time the recruiting was completed, finances should have recovered enough to underwrite the expense of the new warriors’ training. And with the reluctant alliance with the Anasati, few would dare attack, and none openly.
As always, Nacoya broke in with a warning. ‘Mistress, as the Acoma gain allies and garrison strength, you must be especially cautious of indirect attacks.’
Arakasi agreed. ‘Mistress, on the day your official mourning ends, you will surely receive invitations carried by marriage brokers on behalf of one suitor or another. When some of those worthy sons of noble houses come to call, agents of the Minwanabi are most certain to be among their retainers.’
Mara considered this with a hard expression. ‘Then we shall have to ensure that such agents find nothing noteworthy to report back to their masters.’
The meeting went on, with Mara confidently assimilating her former role as ruler of the Acoma. As darkness deepened and lamps were tended by silent slaves, decisions were made and fresh information discussed; through the interval between nightfall and midnight, more business was conducted than during the entire tenure of Buntokapi as Lord of the Acoma. At the end Jican arose with a sigh of evident satisfaction. And whatever private guilt or relief the others might have felt at Buntokapi’s passing was hidden as they arose to depart. There were too many new problems to confront.
As Nacoya, who was slowest, began stiffy to rise from her cushions, Mara gestured impulsively for her to remain. The others had nearly reached the door, but they stopped deferentially as she requested one more thing.
A mischievous glint lit the Lady’s eyes as she studied the expectant faces of her senior staff. ‘What would you think if I officially appointed Nacoya as permanent First Adviser to the Acoma?’
The old nurse gasped aloud, and Keyoke broke into a rare grin.
‘The post has stood empty since Jajoran’s death,’ Mara said. Her amusement deepened as Nacoya, who never lacked for chatter, opened and closed her mouth sound lessly, like a fish.
Arakasi was first to respond, offering the aged woman a gallant bow. ‘The promotion and the honour go well with your years, old mother.’
Lujan offered a rakish comment, but Papewaio had known Nacoya since he was a small boy, and his memories of her kindness ran deep. In total abandon of decorum, he lifted the old woman off her feet and spun her full circle through the air.
‘Go and celebrate,’ Mara called over her former nurse’s startled yelp of delight. ‘For never has a servant of the Acoma better deserved a promotion.’
‘I’ll have to survive the experience first,’ said a breathless Nacoya. Papewaio set her down, delicately, as if she were made of cho-ja crafted glass; and as Keyoke, Arakasi, Jican, and a laughing Lujan crowded around to embrace the new First Adviser, Mara reflected that she had not seen such joy in the house since before her father’s death. Lashima grant me wisdom to make it last, she prayed; for the Minwanabi threat was not ended, but was only forced back by an unstable alliance.
The traditional period of mourning came to an end, and the priests of Turakamu came to burn the red reeds that had sat in the baskets by the doors for three continuous weeks. Smoke still lingered over the Acoma fields when the first of the marriage brokers arrived, and within a day three ornately calligraphed petitions with wax seals lay piled in the study. Glad to be wearing a colour other than red, Mara called Nacoya and Arakasi into attendance and reviewed the top parchment. A thoughtful expression crossed her face. ‘It seems our friend Minwanabi’s favourite lapdog has an unmarried son. What do you know of him?’
Seated by her knee, Arakasi took the document she offered. The parchment had been perfumed, and the scent warred with that of the akasi blossoms beyond the screen. ‘Bruli of the Kehotara. His father, Mekasi, has tried to marry him off twice, and both courtings have failed. Now the boy serves as a Patrol Leader in his father’s army, though he’s not a brilliant tactician, apparently. His company has drawn only garrison duty since he took command.’ The Spy Master tapped the parchment, a faint smile on his face. ‘I would not, however, count him a fool. We can expect he is a mask for another Minwanabi agent in his retinue, or an assassin in his own right.’