Flames leaped up, shedding golden light over the twisted features of a stranger, flung full length across the threshold with his arms locked in struggle with Papewaio. The Acoma First Strike Leader sat astride the man, hands clutching his throat. The combatants seemed a match in size and strength, but few could equal Papewaio’s fury in battle. Each man sought to choke the other. Papewaio’s face was a red mask of agony, matching his opponent’s. Then Mara gasped. Horrified, she noticed the dagger stuck through the armhole of Papewaio’s armour.
But even though he was wounded. Papewaio’s strength was great. The fingers gripping his throat weakened and slipped. With a final jerk he brought the assassin’s head up, then pulled with both hands, snapping bones with an audible crack. Limp arms fell from Papewaio’s throat and the body convulsed. Papewaio released his grip, and the corpse fell to the floor, the neck twisted at a terrible angle. Dim shadows moved in the courtyard beyond. Nacoya did not wait to identify them but raised her voice in the loudest scream she could muster.
‘Fire! Awake! Awake! There is fire in the house!’
Mara caught her idea and repeated the cry. In the droughts of summer, a Tsurani estate house might burn to the ground as a result of a mishandled lamp. And the flames Nacoya had started already chewed hungrily at the framing that supported the roof tiles. Minwanabi, his servants, and his guests must all respect the threat of fire. They would come, but all too likely too late to matter.
As the light brightened, Mara saw Papewaio cast around for his sword. He glanced over his shoulder and moved out of sight, reaching for something. Sounds followed that froze Mara to the heart: the smack of a blade cutting flesh and a grunt of pain. She rushed forward, calling for Papewaio. Guided by a glint of green armour, she saw her honour guard twist and fall heavily. Beyond him the plumes of a Minwanabi officer flared orange in the glow. Strike Leader Shimizu straightened with a bloodied sword, and in his eyes Mara read murder.
Yet she did not flee. Beyond, lights bloomed in the windows. Screens slid back, and robed figures ran forth, wakened by Nacoya’s cry of fire.
Saved by the presence of witnesses, Mara confronted Papewaio’s killer. ‘Would you murder me before the eyes of all the guests and condemn your lawful Lord to death?’
Shimizu glanced quickly to either side and saw the running figures who converged across the courtyard. Flames ripped rapidly up the roof line, and Nacoya’s cries were joined by a chorus of others. The alarm was spreading rapidly through the estate house, and soon every able man would appear upon the scene with buckets.
The chance to kill Mara was lost. Shimizu might love Teani, but a warrior’s code would never value a courtesan above honour. He bowed and sheathed his fouled blade. ‘Lady, I just aided your honour guard in dispatching a thief. That he died at his duty is the will of the gods. Now you must flee the fire!’
‘Thief?’ Mara all but choked on the word; at her feet, Papewaio lay sprawled with a black-handled dagger in his shoulder. That thrust could never have killed him, but the gaping wound through his heart surely had.
The first, shouting guests reached the scene of the fire, and taking no further notice of Mara, the Minwanabi Strike Leader called orders to clear the halls. Already the flames reached the corner supports, and fumes boiled white from the varnish, filling the air with an acrid odour.
Through the guests pushed Nacoya, clutching a few belongings as the two whimpering maids hauled the biggest box out of harm’s way. ‘Come, child.’ Nacoya caught her mistress’s sleeve, trying to pull her down the hall to safety.
Tears and smoke stung Mara’s eyes. She resisted Nacoya’s efforts, motioning for the Minwanabi servants who arrived to assist. Nacoya indulged in a rare blasphemy, but her mistress refused to move. Two servants took the carry box from the struggling maids. Others raced to gather the rest of Mara’s property from the rapidly spreading flames. Two burly workers took Nacoya by the arm and led her out of danger.
Shimizu caught at Mara’s robe. ‘You must come, Lady. The walls will soon fall.’ Already the heat of the blaze was becoming unbearable.
The bucket bearers began their job. Water hissed onto flaming timbers, but on the opposite side of the room from the place where the dead thief lay. His clothing had begun to blaze, eradicating, any evidence of treachery he might have provided. Dully Mara responded to necessity.
‘I will not leave until the body of my Strike Leader has been carried from the field.’
Shimizu nodded. Without emotion he bent and shouldered the corpse of the warrior he had just run through with a sword.
Mara followed through halls choking with smoke as a murderer bore brave Papewaio’s body to the coolness of the night. She stumbled past servants who struggled with slopping buckets to battle the blaze, lest their master’s estate house become totally engulfed. Mara implored the gods to let it burn, let it all burn, so that Jingu might know a tenth part of the loss she felt at Pape’s death.