‘You know this man?’ asked Mara.
Lujan laughed. ‘Indeed, mistress. This is Saric, my cousin, who served with the Lord of the Tuscai. Before he left the Kotai estates, he was my closest companion.’
Looking to nettle Lujan in return for her earlier embarrassment, Mara said, ‘Is he an able soldier?’
Lujan grinned and his cousin returned a nearly identical broad smile. ‘My Lady, he is as able a soldier as I.’
‘Well then, that solves a problem.’ Mara tapped the helm that still dangled from Lujan’s wrist, called a soldier’s pot, for its utter lack of adornment. ‘I was going to ask you to give that to him and assume one with an officer’s plume. Keyoke had orders to promote you to Strike Leader, but as you are going to be away for three weeks, he might as well promote your cousin in your stead.’
His grin still in place, Lujan said, ‘Well, almost as able as I, Lady.’ Slightly more serious, he added, ‘With your consent, I’ll take him with me. I mean no disrespect for any other soldier here, but there is no man I would rather have at my side with a sword.’ Then his tone turned light again. ‘Besides, we might as well keep the party composed exclusively of troublemakers.’
Mara couldn’t resist. For the first time since Lano’s death the frown eased entirely from her face, lantern light revealing a surprisingly lovely smile. ‘Then you had best collect your plume from Keyoke, Strike Leader.’ To the newcomer she said, ‘Welcome, Saric’
The man bowed his head. ‘Mistress, your honour is my honour. With the god’s favour I shall die a warrior – not too soon, I hope – and in the service of beauty such as yours, happy one.’
With a lift of her brows, Mara glanced at both men. ‘It seems flattery runs in your family, as well as a certain casual attitude towards rank.’ Then she indicated the other man who had been sitting with Saric. He wore plain clothes and simple hide sandals. His hair was trimmed in nondescript fashion, not the close cut of a warrior, the fashionable ringlets of a merchant, or the ragged shag of a worker. ‘Who is this?’
The man arose while Saric said, “This is Arakasi, Lady. He also was in my Lord’s employ, though he was not a soldier.’
The man was of medium build and regular features. But his manner had neither the proud bearing of a warrior nor the deference of a worker. Suddenly uncertain, Mara said, ‘Then why did you not stand forward with the craftsmen and workers?’
Arakasi’s dark eyes flickered slightly, perhaps in amusement, but his face remained expressionless. Then he changed. Though he hardly moved, his demeanour changed; suddenly he seemed the aloof, self-possessed scholar. With that, Mara noticed what she should have seen at once: his skin was in no way weathered as a field worker’s would have been. His hands had some toughness, but no thick pads of callus left by toil with tools or weapons. ‘Lady, I am not a farmer.’
Something put Keyoke on his guard, for he moved without thought to interpose himself between his mistress and the stranger. ‘If you are not a farmer or soldier, what are you, a merchant, sailor, a tradesman, a priest?’
Barely acknowledging Keyoke’s intervention, Arakasi said, ‘Lady, in my time I have been all of those. Once I guested with your father in the guise of a priest of Hantukama. I have taken the identities of a soldier, a merchant, a slave master, a whoremonger, a riverman, even a sailor and a beggar.’
Which explained some things, thought Mara, but not all. ‘To whom were you loyal?’
Arakasi bowed startlingly, with the grace and practised ease of a noble born. ‘I was servant to the Lord of the Tuscai, before the Minwanabi dogs killed him in battle. I was his Spy Master.’
Mara’s eyes widened despite her attempt at self-control. ‘His Spy Master?’
The man straightened, his smile devoid of humour. ‘Yes, mistress. For one reason above all should you wish me in your service: my late Lord of the Tuscai spent the best part of his fortune building a network of informants, a network I oversaw, with agents in every city in the Empire and spies within many great houses.’ His voice dropped, a strange mix of reluctance and pride. ‘That network is still in place.’
Suddenly, sharply, Keyoke scratched his chin with his thumb.
Mara cleared her throat, with a keen look at Arakasi, whose aspect seemed to shift from moment to moment. ‘Such things are best not discussed in the open.’ She glanced about. ‘I still have the dust of travel upon me, and have had no pause for refreshment since midday. Attend me in my chambers in an hour’s time. Until then Papewaio will see to your needs.’