Servant of the Empire

6

Gambits

Chumaka frowned.

With increasing irritation, he scanned the reports stuffed between the sheafs of notes he had prepared for his master's forthcoming court session. The news was none of it good.

He raised a hand and chewed a fingernail, frustration making him savage. He had been so dose to tracing the Spy Master behind the original Tuscai network! It had been predictable that the net in Ontoset would be shut down as a result of the bungling chase at the silk warehouse. But what made no sense at all was that after a passage of time approaching three years, the seemingly unrelated branch in Jamar should still be kept dormant as well.

Those ruling houses who undertook the trouble and expense of spy nets tended to become addicted to them. It was simply inconceivable that any Lord grown accustomed to staying informed by covert means should suddenly, for the discovery of one courier, give up his hard-earned advantage. Lady Mara most of all; she was bold or cautious as circumstance dictated, but never one to be unreasonably fearful. The death of her son could not have changed her basic nature so radically. She could be depended upon to use every means at her disposal, and never be deterred by one minor setback. Chumaka flinched slightly as tender flesh tore under the worrying gnaw of his teeth. He blotted the bleeding hangnail on his robe and shuffled his papers into order in disturbed preoccupation. The situation bothered him. Each day Jiro was closer to demanding his answers outright. The First Adviser to House Anasati was loath to admit he was growing desperate. He had no choice but to consider the unthinkable: that this time he might have run up against an opponent who outmatched him.

The idea rankled, that any mind in the Empire could outmaneuver Chumaka.

Yet such a possibility could not be dismissed. In his gut he knew that the network was not disbanded, merely dormant or turned toward an unexpected quarter. But where? And why? Not knowing was costing Chumaka sleepless nights.

Black circles and pouches under his eyes gave his already angular visage a careworn look.

The scrape of oiled wood roused Chumaka from distressed reverie. Already servants were pulling aside the screens in the grand hall in preparation for Jiro's public court. Omelo had the Lord's honor guard in place beside the dais, and the hadonra was overseeing disposition of his factors and secretaries. Within minutes, those allies or houses seeking court with the Lord of the Anasati would be arriving, escorted to their places in order of rank. Lord Jiro would enter last, to hear petitioners, exchange social that, and, sometimes, negotiate new business.

Chumaka snapped the papers in his hand into a roll and stuffed them into his satchel. Muttering, he stalked to the dais to be sure his preferred cushions were arranged to his satisfaction. The list of Jiro's guests was a long one, and this court could last into the evening. A skinny man with lanky bones, Chumaka liked plenty of padding under his rump through extended sessions. Physical aches he regarded as a distraction to his thinking, and with this rival Spy Master so far adept at eluding him, he could not afford to miss any nuance of what transpired.

The grand hall slowly filled. Servants hurried in and out bringing refreshments and directing the placement of fan slaves. The day outside was hot, and Jiro's subde habit was to be sure his guests were cool and comfortable.

He catered to them to extend their patience, and they, believing he spoiled them to win their favor, felt their egos stroked enough that they often granted him concessions more magnanimous than they had intended at the outset.

Lord Jiro entered with little fanfare. His scribe called out his name, and only two warriors marched on either side, a half step behind their master. Today his clothes were simply cut, though sewn of the finest silk. He chose carriage and clothing that were rich but not ostentatious, and that could be interpreted as firm and manly, or boyishly innocent, depending on the advantage he wished to press.

Chumaka regarded the ambivalent effect and stroked his chin, thinking: were Jiro not chosen by the gods to wear the Anasati mantle, he might have made a superb field agent.

Then such frivolous speculation was cut short as the young master ascended the dais. His warriors flanked him as he took his place on his cushions and made formal pronouncement. 'The court begins.'

Then, as his steward moved among the guests to announce the first on the roster,Jiro leaned over to confer in quiet tones with Chumaka. 'What need I pay close attention to, this day, my First Adviser?'

Chumaka tapped his chin with a knuckle. 'To endeavor to compromise the Xacatecas' support of Lady Mara, we'll need allies. More to the point, we'll need their wealth.

Consider the offer of the Lord of the Matawa to ship our grains to the South in exchange for certain concessions.'

He pulled the appropriate note from the many sheaves that jammed his satchel and swiftly scanned the lines. 'The Lord wishes a favorable match for his daughter. Perhaps that bastard nephew of your cousin's might suffice? He's young, but not ill-favored. Marriage into a noble house would redirect his ambition and, down the line, provide us with another ally.' Chumaka lowered his voice as others began to approach the dais. 'Rumor has it that this Lord Matawa is trading with Midkemians from the city of LaMut.'

Jiro heard this with a look askance. 'Rumor? Or the gleanings of one of your listeners?'

Chumaka cleared his throat, keeping this point deliberately ambiguous. 'I remind my Lord that many of those involved in LaMutian merchant consortiums were born in Tsuranuanni, and they may provide us with the same advantage the Acoma enjoy in their exclusive trading concessions.' He finished in a thick whisper, 'Mare anticipated well when she got her dispensation from the Keeper of the Imperial Seal. She acted on an outside guess and tied up the obvious goods coming through the rift from Midkemia. But because she moved on the generalities of a wild hunch, she didn't anticipate everything. There are a half-dozen items we can import that would make us rich, and while Mara might successfully block Anasati attempts to traffic goods from Midkemia, there's little she can do to prevent the LaMutians from selling across the rift to the Lord of the Matawa.'

Jiro smiled. 'How badly does Lord Matawa wish an exclusive shipping license? And how ugly is his daughter?'

Chumaka smiled broadly. 'His daughter takes after a mother who looks like a dog, a particularly ill-aspected dog, in fact. There are two younger sisters also. Both of these have crooked teeth, and only the eldest can be given away with the title. Their father needs a bigger treasury if his youngest children are to escape the fate of becoming the consorts of low-born merchants. That means the Lord of the Matawa desires this trading concession very badly indeed.'

As a delegate from the most minor house approached the dais and gave his bow of respect, Jiro concluded his conference with Chumaka. 'Your counsel seems sound. I will proceed to make the Lord of the Matawa a happy man.'

He faced politely forward to hear his first petitioner, when a disturbance at the rear of the hall turned half the heads in the room. A florid man in a purple robe had thrust his way past the door servants. These were slaves, and in fear of their master's displeasure, they cast themselves face down in obeisance at their lapse. The man who had intruded paid no heed but rushed headlong into the hall, ignoring the astonished protest of the Anasati house servants in relentless pursuit on his heels. He swept past the seated rows of Jiro's guests, with no more heed of them than if he had been alone in the great hall. Striding directly down the long approach to the dais, and causing the war banners to swing in the rafters in a wake of disturbed air, he skidded to a stop before Jiro.

Too agitated for manners or ceremony, he shouted, 'Do you have any idea of what she has done!'

The delegate he had displaced looked ruffled; Jiro himself was discommoded, but he covered this with a swift glance at Chumaka, who murmured the appropriate name behind his hand in a tone only his master could hear.

To control this startling confrontation, Lord Jiro said in his chilliest tone, 'Welcome, Lord Dawan. You seem .. .

discommoded.'

The thick necked man thrust his head forward, looking like a needra bull attempting to shove through a fence to reach a cow in full season. Nearly spitting with anger, he waved both hands in the air. 'Discommoded? My Lord, I am ruined!'

Aware of muttering in the hall, as Lords and delegates were made to wait through this blatant breach of good manners, Jiro raised a placating voice. 'Lord Dawan, please, be seated lest your distress cause you to be overcome by the heat.' At a signal from their Lord, Anasati servants rushed forward to bring the distraught man cold refreshment.

Disdaining to appear to show favoritism, Lord Jiro spoke quickly, aware he must bridle the other petitioners'

resentment, and to quickly assess whether he could gain impromptu advantage from the interruption. Dawan ofthe Tuscobar was an occasional business associate and an unsure ally. Jiro's inability to win him clearly to his cause had been an irritation, but the inconvenience was minor. The far-reaching ramifications of this byplay were anything but small. House Tuscobar held influence with the Lord of the Keda, whose support in any confrontation with Mara would net the Anasati a solid advantage. Jiro judged the alliance would be critical in the future, when the traditionalist plot to reinstate the High Council finally met with success.

Above the disgruntled murmurs of his petitioners, Lord Jiro called, 'Let all who seek aid of the Anasati take heed. My house listens with sympathy to the difficulties of established friends. My Lord of the Tuscobar, what has happened?'

The heavyset Lord took a swallow from the glass of cold juice he had been handed by Jiro's staff. He gulped in an effort to compose himself. 'My entire fleet, carrying every last grain of my year's harvest, was sunk!'

Jiro's eyes widened in astonishment. 'Sunk? But how?'

'Some malignant spell spun by that witch,' Dawan answered.

'Witch?' Jiro raised his eyebrows. ~i ~

Dawan set his juice aside in favor of the wine offered by a hovering servant. He drank deeply and wiped his mouth before he felt fortified enough to qualify. 'Mare of the Acoma. Who else? Everyone knows that as Servant of the Empire she has unlimited luck, and the gods' favor.

She has ruined me by sending false directions to my fleet master, ordering him to ship this year's harvest to Dustari instead of the grain market at Lepala!' Lord Dawan nearly wept in frustration as he said, 'That would have been bad enough. I would merely have been reduced to penury. But an unseasonal storm hit a week out of Jamar, and every last ship was sunk! I am ruined.' He eased his sorrows by taking another heroic drink of wine. 'I swear by my ancestors, Jiro: I will never again shirk my support of your efforts to end this woman's evil influence.' ~

Jiro rested his chin on his fist. After deep thought, he said,

'I thank you for acknowledging the risks inherent in Lady Mara's departures from tradition but had you said nothing, I would still help an old family friend.' He turned at once to Chumaka. 'Have our hadonra write a letter of credits for Lord Tuscobar.' To Dawan he added, 'Freely borrow as much as you need. Take as long as you wish to repay us, on whatever terms you think fair.'

Dawan stiffened, the wine forgotten as he regarded Jiro with suspicion. 'Interest?'

As if granting largesse to the needy were a daily occurrence, Jiro waved his hand. 'None! I will make no profit from a friend's misfortune.' Quietly he added, 'Especially if that distress is caused by my enemy.'

Dawan rose. He made an extravagant bow. 'Jiro, let everyone present stand as witness! You are a man of unceasing nobility and generosity. Your ancestors look down and are proud.' He bowed again, belatedly deferential to the patience of the others awaiting the Anasati Lord's attention. 'And I beg forgiveness for interrupting this worthy gathering.'

Jiro rose. Indicating Chumaka should join him, he personally escorted the Lord of the Tuscobar to a side door, where he murmured in comradely farewell, 'Nonsense.

There is nothing to forgive. Now, retire to one of my baths and refresh yourself. Remain for the evening meal, even spend the night if you'd like and return home tomorrow.'

He appointed a slave to lead the flattered and slightly intoxicated Lord of the Tuscobar away.

As he moved to return to his dais, playing the role of magnanimous Lord to perfection, Chumaka murmured,

'It's strange, don't you think? Why would Mara wish to harm a fence-sitter like Dawan? This makes no sense by any measure.'

Jiro glanced at his First Adviser in immense amusement.

'But she didn't. I arranged the forger myself. It was I who sent those false orders to Dawan's shipmaster.'

Chumaka bowed low, chuckling silently. Quietly, so not one of the petitioners could hear, he said, 'You surprise me, my Lord. You are growing into a seasoned player, both in shah and in the Game of the Council. How did you contrive to cast blame on Mara?'

Jiro seemed smug. 'Our hadonra spread rumors, at my order. Dawan and others were made aware of the insults and misdeeds done us by the Lady over the past several years. I merely copied her methods and let Dawan draw his own conclusions.' Stepping decisively back toward the dais, he added, 'Oh, and by making sure Dawan heard that Acoma grain is being shipped this season to the markets at Lepala.'

Chumaka flushed with obvious pleasure. 'Admirable, my master. Clever enough to have been an idea I wish I had thought of first.'

As the Lord and his First Adviser mounted his dais, they shared the identical thought: each considered himself fortunate to have the other, for they worked remarkably well together. When the old High Council was restored and the secret of Mara's spy net was cracked, then would the Lady have cause to worry, for not even the formidable luck of a Servant of the Empire was going to spare her house from destruction.

Mara paced in frustration. For weeks the coolness between herself and her husband separated them like a wall.

Hokanu's resistance to her desire to see Justin renounce his ties to Shinzawai to become the Acoma heir was understandable. Hokanu's affections were as deep as if the boy had been his own. Ayaki's death had turned him more protective as a parent, and, reminded of that IQSS, Mara felt bitterness that never seemed to lessen.

She paused between restless steps, one hand on the screen that overlooked her private garden. Oh, for one hour with old Nacoya and her wisdom, she wished in vain. Her onetime nurse, foster mother, and First Adviser had always offered insight straight to the heart of any difficulty. Even when Mara had refused advice or persisted in taking risks unacceptable to the old woman, Nacoya had always seen clear and true. In matters of the heart, her perception had been unmatched. Mara sighed. It had been Nacoya who had noticed her mistress's growing affection for the barbarian slave Kevin, long before Mara admitted the possibility of love to herself. The old woman's counsel was sorely needed now. Mara attempted to conjure Nacoya's voice, but the beloved woman's shade rested far away this day.

A kick inside her belly ended her reverie. She gasped, pressed a hand to her swollen middle, and met the discomfort with a smile. Her unborn child had the strength of a barbarian tiger cub. Surely Hokanu would feel differently when he beheld his newborn first child. The pride of fatherhood would soften him, and he would cease his stubbornness and give in to her demand that Justin be named Acoma heir. The flesh that was of his own blood would make him understand that this was the gods' will, that this babe whose begetting they had shared was the proper heir to the title Lord of the Shinzawai.

Mara leaned against the lintel of the screen, anticipating the happiness of the occasion. She had borne two children, one by a man she loathed and another by a man she adored. Both little ones had given her something completely unexpected; what had begun as a duty of honor in the begetting of Ayaki, the necessity of ensuring Acoma continuance, had been transformed to a joyous reality as she came to love the heir for whom she labored. It was her offspring that would inherit the greatness of the Acoma. Once a child was held, his baby laughter giving her delight, never again could family honor seem a distant, abstract thing.

Mara keenly awaited the moment when Hokanu would feel this magic for himself. The birth of their son would bring them closer, and end this cold contention of wills.

Peace would return between them, and both Acoma and Shinzawai children would grow into the greatness of their future.

While Mara had never been consumed by passion for the man she cherished as husband, she had come to rely on his closeness. His understanding was a comfort, his wisdom a shelter, his wit a relief from danger and worry, and his quiet, intuitive understanding a tenderness she could not live without. She missed him. His love had become the linchpin of her happiness, all unnoticed until she had been forced to go without. For while he was ever close by, he was increasingly absent in spirit. More deeply than she could have imagined, that lack caused her pain.

The reminders were unceasing; the casual touch of his hand to her face that had not happened as she wakened; the slight upturning of his mouth that indicated humor during court that today had been nowhere in evidence. They no longer shared their afternoon tray of chocha, while Hokanu scanned reports from military advisers and she reviewed the commerce lists from far-flung trading factors presented daily by Jican. Their relationship had grown silent and strained and though Hokanu had made no issue of the matter, he had extended his practice at arms to keep busy through the hours they had once spent in companionship.

No sharp words were exchanged, nor anything dose to heated argument, yet the disagreement over Justin's heirship was a presence that poisoned everything they did.

::

::

Mara stroked the taut flesh over her womb, praying this estrangement would end once their new son was born.

Besides Nacoya, Hokanu was the only soul she had met who could follow her thoughts without misunderstandings.

Another kick slammed her innards. Mara laughed. 'Soon, little one,' she whispered to the baby.

A servant who waited in attendance started at the sound of her voice. 'Mistress?'

Mara stepped heavily away from the screen. 'I want for nothing but this child, who seems as anxious as I am to see himself born.'

The servant tensed in alarm. 'Should I call for-'

Mara held up her hand. 'No, there is time yet. The midwife and the healer say another month at least.' She furrowed her brow. 'But I wonder if perhaps this baby could be early.'

A polite knock sounded at the inner doorway. Mara pulled her robe more comfortably over her gravid body, and nodded for the servant to open the screen to the hall. Jican, her hadonra, bowed from outside the portal.

'Mistress, a trader is here seeking permission to bargain.'

That Jican would trouble her for a matter he would normally attend to himself, was unusual. He had managed her vast holdings long enough that he could anticipate almost any decision she might make, even those he disagreed with.

Anxious to know what had arisen, Mara said, 'What do you wish?'

Always diffident in situations outside of the ordinary, Jican replied carefully, 'I think you should see this man's wares, mistress.'

Glad for the diversion on yet another afternoon without Hokanu's company, Mara clapped for her maid to bring her a robe more suitable for a stranger's company. Tucked into a long-sleeved, loose-waisted garment of shimmering silk, she motioned for her hadonra to lead the way. The guest trader waited in the shaded, pillared hall in the wing that housed the scribes. Mara and Jican passed through the cavernous corridors that tunneled partially through the hillside from the sunny quarters she shared with Hokanu. Made aware by Jican's quick step that he was fidgety, Mara asked, 'Are the wares this trader offers something special?'

'Perhaps.' The little hadonra gave a sideways glance that confirmed his uneasiness. 'I think your judgment is needed to appraise this man's offer.'

Years of his loyal service had taught Mara to heed her hadonra's hunches. When he did not immediately launch into a description of the offered goods, the Lady was moved to prompt, 'What else?'

Jican halted. Uncertainty blossomed into hesitation.

He bobbed an apologetic bow, then blurted, 'I am not sure how to treat this man, mistress.'

Familiar enough with the hadonra's foibles to realise that questions would distress him further, Mara simply strode on in receptive silence.

In another few steps, the explanation was forthcoming.

Jican said, 'Because he is . . . was Tsurani.'

Mara pondered this detail. 'From LaMut?' LaMut was ruled by Hokanu's brother, and most trading delegations from the Kingdom included a former Tsurani soldier, to act as translator. Jican nodded, transparently relieved he had not needed to coach her further. 'A Tsurani who prefers Kingdom ways.'

The reason for the hadonra's uneasiness was plainer: while Mara might bend tradition and swear masterless men to Acoma service, the concept of anyone preferring to remain without house ties on a foreign world - no matter that one of them was Hokanu's brother, Kasumi was too alien to understand, even for her. And that such a man headed the trading delegation made negotiations more delicate than usual.

The long, interior corridor opened at last into a colonnaded portico that fronted the south side of the estate house. The gravel path leading to the main doorway ran alongside, and there, shaded by ancient trees, waited the visiting merchant's retinue, a small group of bearers and ten bodyguards. Mara's eyes widened. She did not note at first that there were more guards than usual because they were so tall! More careful study revealed them to be Midkemians all, a rare enough detail that the sentries on duty at the estate entrance stared surreptitiously as they kept watch. Scraps of a conversation in foreign speech reached Mara's ears, and the accent, so familiar, made her pause a fraction between steps. Memories of Kevin of Zun flooded through her, until Jican's hand-wringing impatience recalled her to present obligations. Mastering herself instantly, she hastened on into the service wing, toward the hall where the merchant awaited.

That man sat correctly beneath the informal dais she used while negotiating with outsiders. Sacks and carry boxes of sample wares were arrayed by his side, while his hands rested in plain sight upon his knees. He wore a splendid silk robe recognisably of foreign manufacture: the sheen was different, and the dyes blended in patterns never seen in Tsuranuanni. The effect was bold just barely short of insolent, Mara decided, watching the man through narrowed eyes as she approached. Although this man had presented himself as a merchant, he outfitted himself as befitted the highest Ruling Lord of the Empire. Yet the man was no noble; in place of the customary house chop embroidered on sash or shoulder, the barbarous symbol of LaMut, a doglike creature called a wolf, was displayed. The man was arrogant, Mara decided as she allowed Jican to help her up the shallow stair and to her cushions.

Still, the stranger had impeccable manners. When the Lady was comfortable, he bowed until his forehead touched the mat upon which he knelt. He paused long enough to imply deep respect, while Jican gave his name to the mistress. 'My lady, this is Janaio, of the city of LaMut.'

Janaio straightened with grace and smiled. 'Honors to your house, Good Servant. Are you well, Lady Mara?'

Mara inclined her head. 'I am well, Janaio of ...

LaMut.'

A detail leaped out at her. This man wore gold! Mara pinched back a breath of undignified surprise. By imperial edict, all jewelry and personal effects made of metal were carefully cataloged upon entry through the rift from Midkemia. Traders from the barbarian world were often outraged as their boots were confiscated and plain sandals loaned to them while they embarked on their travels within the Empire; but the impounded items were always returned when they left. The imperial treasury had learned a rough lesson when the first entourage of Midkemians resumed home without their boots, and the economy of Lash Province had been turned on its head by the iron nails drawn from the soles and changed for centis.

The trader fingered the chain about his neck. 'I have given surety that I will not leave this behind, Lady Mara,'`he said, in response to her notice. This reminded her of his Tsurani origins, as no barbarian would have been trusted to keep his word in the face of temptation. Midkemians professed no belief in the Wheel of Life, so honor did not bind them to fear loss of the gods' favor.

Mara maintained an outward calm. The man was bold!

While such an ornament might be a modest possession for a wealthy man beyond the rift, in Kelewan it was equal to the income of a minor house for a year. As well this man knew. His public display of such treasure was a calculated ostentation. Mara waited in reserved expectancy to see just what this trader wished to gain with his bargaining.

When she had determined that a suitable interval had passed to remind him of his place, she asked, 'Now, what; may I do for you?'

The man did not miss nuance: that the Tsurani phrase was translated from the King's Tongue. Mara's clever opening informed him without undue fuss that she had arranged affairs with Midkemian traders before. He gave her bade impeccable Tsurani protocol. 'I am a modest broker in certain spices and delicacies, mistress. Given my history'_~

he gestured broadly-'! am advantageously placed to know those products unique to my adopted homeland that would prove profitable in the Empire.'

Mara nodded, conceding his point. Janaio resumed in ingratiating fashion. 'But rather than waste your valuable hours speaking, I would beg your indulgence to let my wares speak for themselves.'

Stirred to curiosity, Mara said, 'What do you propose?', Janaio indicated the various carry boxes and sacks at, his elbow. 'Here I have samples. As it is near the hour when many within the Empire cease activities to indulge; in a cup of chocha, perhaps you would care for something; more exotic?'

Unhappily reminded that Hokanu customarily shared such a moment to take refreshment with her, Mara repressed a sigh. She was tired, and in need of a nap, for the baby-inside her interrupted her sleep at nights

'There is little time for this.'

'Please,' Janaio said quickly. He bowed in attempt to ease her mind. 'I will not keep you overlong. You will be rewarded, both in pleasure and in riches, I assure you.'

Jican bent close to his Lady. 'Let me call for a food taster mistress,' he advised.

Mara regarded her hadonra closely. He also was intrigued, but more, he had something else to tell about this mysterious trader from beyond the rift. She reached down and drew out'

the fan tucked behind her sash. Flipping it open and using it to hide her lips from her visitor, she whispered, 'What else should I know of this man?'

Jican looked uncomfortable. 'A suspicion,' he murmured so that only she could hear. 'I received word from a factor who is friendly to us. This Janaio has also made overtures to the Lord of the Matawa.'

'Who is a firm supporter of the traditionalists and Jiro.'

Mara fluttered her fan. 'Do you think he hopes that our rivalry will help him to drive a tough bargain?'

The hadonra pursed his lips, thinking. 'That I cannot say.

It is possible. Should he have wares of unusual worth, the house that gains concessions will benefit greatly.'

That settled Mara's mind on the matter. She must not allow the fatigue of pregnancy to cede any advantage to the Anasati uncontested. She clapped for her runner and dispatched him to the kitchens to fetch a cook who would serve her as taster. She also asked for Saric and Lujan, since further counsel might be required of them later.

Janaio met her precautions with obsequious approval.

'Most wise, Lady Mara. Though I assure you, my intentions are only honest.'

Mara crossed her hands over her middle without comment.

No precautions were too stringent when she was so near to term with Hokanu's child. She waited, unresponsive to Janaio's attempts to make conversation, until her adviser arrived at her summons.

Saric's look of surprise as he entered revealed he had taken the man to be Midkemian, sporting Empire fashion.

One glance at the Acoma First Adviser caused Janaio to straighten where he sat. As if his instincts warned that Saric's insights were to be respected, he crisply listed his sureties. 'For the sake of easing your worry, great Lady, since the foodstuffs I carry are so exotic that no one in this land will be familiar enough with their taste to detect any tampering, I propose that I share each cup with you.'

' Unimpressed by gold chain and grand rhetoric, Saric met this pronouncement with a lack of expression. He watched intently as the trader made a display of pushing back his sleeves, to show that he wore no ring or bracelet, and that nothing was contained within his robe. 'If you will have your servants prepare hot water, three pots, and cups from your own stores, I will provide the ingredients. Then you may choose which cup I am to taste and which you will.'

Smiling in the teeth of Saric's quiet, he said, 'If it please you, Lady, I will bear the risk equally.'

Intrigued in spite of her First Adviser's reserve, Mara said, 'What are you attempting to bring to our Empire?'

'Fine beverages, mistress. A wonderful assortment of flavors and pungent drinks that will astonish your palate.

Should this venture prove profitable, and I assure you it will, then I will also bring exotic wines and ales to the Empire from the finest vintners and brewers in the Kingdom of the Isles.'

Mara weighed her impressions. No wonder this man had remained on Midkemia. He might have served as a house soldier before the final battle of the Riftwar, but he was a born merchant. She cast a sidelong glance as Lujan arrived and marched smartly to take his place behind her. If fate had cast him on the other side of the rift, given his glib tongue and facile mind, he might perhaps have been the one to sit here, selling exotic wares.

The surmise was somehow reassuring. Still, it was not her nature to trust readily, particularly when Saric had given no word in favor of this stranger's proposal. Mara chose to challenge the connection with her Anasati enemy. 'What was your arrangement with the Lord of the Matawa?'

Janaio flashed her a grin in the manner of a born Midkemian. Where another Tsurani ruler might be put off by such openness, Mara had known Kevin too well to misunderstand; if anything, the foreign mannerism set her at ease. Janaio went on, 'You heard about my talks, but I assure you they are no secret. The wares I carry are luxuries and need delicate handling and skillful negotiators to place them in the proper markets. I would be a poor merchant if I failed to examine all options. The Lord of the Matawa has sent many emissaries through the rift seeking to establish a brokerage.'

Mara's lips thinned as she pondered the implications of this. Jican whispered something to Saric, who nodded and quietly touched her arm. 'My Lady, we know that the Matawa wish to make inroads in your trade market.

They cannot disturb your imperial patent that gives you exclusive license for certain items, but they hope to become a rival presence to lure any nonexclusive trade they can wean away from our factors. They could legally establish exclusive trade rights beyond the rift, where we have no control. Arakasi's report holds that funding for the venture might well come from Jiro.'

Sick that politics should increasingly come to drive even the most innocuous of ventures, Mara inclined her head to Janaio. 'Send for what you need.'

Her servants were devotedly efficient. Proud to uphold their Lady's honor, they swiftly brought in stays with several pots and porcelain cups. A slave hurried after, bearing a kettle of steaming water.

Janaio set out his various packets and vials with a theatrical flourish. 'First,' he announced, 'something pun gent and savvy.' He poured water into one of the small pots and dropped in a small pouch. 'This delicacy grows on a shrub in the southern part of the Kingdom, mistress.

The leaves are costly to dry and ship, and because they are susceptible to mold, only the very wealthy can afford to buy the small supply that reaches the northern lands. For this reason, the drink I prepare has not gained much popularity in my city of LaMut. Once you have tasted, I think you must agree that this is likely due to lack of familiarity.' He raised the top of the pot, sniffed at the steam, and dosed his eyes.

'I believe you will concur that this fine beverage will find approval from Tsurani nobles of taste.'

With this, he poured, filling the room with an exotic, spicy scent. When three cups were full, he nodded to Mara's servant, who lifted the tray and bore it to the dais for the Lady to choose her preference. She motioned for the slave who had carried the pot to taste one. The servant handed her one of the pair that remained, and bore the tray back to Janaio.

The merchant lifted his cup, saying, 'Sip cautiously, lest you scald your tongue, mistress.'

The alien aroma fascinated Mara. Unlike anything else she had known, she found it wildly enticing. She sipped the brew. The first taste was acrid and strange, yet bracing and flavorful. She considered a moment, then said, 'I suspect a little honey would cut the bitterness.'

The trader smiled. 'You skip ahead of me, Good Servant.

In Midkemia we also use white sugar made from a plant called beets. Some folk prefer a dash of milk; yet others, the juice of a tart fruit similar to the Kelewanese ketundi.'

Mara sipped again and found her appreciation increasing. '

What do you call this?'

The man smiled. 'It is tea, Good Servant.'

Mara laughed. 'Many things are called "tea," Janaio of LaMut. What is the herb you have brewed?'

The merchant gave back a Tsurani shrug. 'That is the name of the herb, or rather the leaves of the shrub. When someone in LaMut says "tea," this is what they speak of, not the blends of plantstuffs steeped in hot water you drink here. Yet of this delicacy there are a multitude of varieties as well, robust, subtle, sweet, and bitter. One selects to suit the occasion.'

Now fascinated, Mara nodded. 'What else?'

Janaio selected another pot from the Acoma supply and prepared a second hot beverage. 'This is a far different drink.'

A black liquid that smelled rich and heady was presently handed to Mara. This time, Jican supplanted her taster, his excitement overcoming caution. Mara could barely wait for her hadonra to try his share before she sipped at her sample.

The drink was bitter and yet piquant. 'What do you call this? It reminds me vaguely of chocha.'

Janaio bowed at her evident pleasure. 'This is coffee, mistress. And like the tea, it has a thousand different cousins. This you drink grows on plants high upon the hillsides of Yabon. Good, robust, but hardly a delicacy.'

He clapped, and one of his servants brought forth another basket, smaller, and tied with festive ribbons. 'Let me offer a gift. Here are a dozen samples for you to consume at your leisure. Each is clearly labeled as to the type of bean used to make the drink and instructions for preparation.'

Mara set aside her half-empty cup. While this sampling was diverting her from her troubled marriage, the day was waning while she tarried. She was reluctant to forgo the hour she always spent with her son while he took his supper. Justin was recently five years of age, the young to understand delays.

Sensing her impatience, Janaio raised a hand in appeal.