Servant of the Empire

The tailor allowed the robe's silken hem to fall to the floor.

Pins of finely carved bone were clenched between his teeth; he stepped back to admire the fit of the formal garment commissioned by the Lord of the Anasati.

Lord Jiro endured the craftsman's scrutiny with contained disdain. His features expressionless, he stood with his arms held out from his body to avoid a chance prick from the pins that fastened the cuffs. His posture was so still that the sequins sewn in the shape of killwings that adorned the front of the robe did not even shimmer in the light that fell through the open screen.

'My Lord,' lisped the tailor around the pins pinched between his teeth, 'you look splendid. Surely every unmarried noble daughter who beholds your magnificence will swoon at your feet.'

Jiro's lips twitched. He was not a man who enjoyed flattery. Careful with appearances to the point where the unperceptive might mistakenly think him vain, he well knew the value of clothing when it came to leaving an impression. The wrong raiment could make a man seem stupid, overweight, or frivolous. Since swordplay and the rigors of battle were not to Jiro's taste, he used every other means to enhance his aspect of virility. An edge could be gained, or a contest of wits turned into victory more subtle than any coarse triumph achieved on the fields of war.

Proud of his ability to master his foes without bloodshed, Jiro had to restrain himself not to bridle at the tailor's thoughtless compliment. The man was a craftsman, a hireling barely worth of notice, much less his anger.

His words were of less consequence than the wind, and only chance had caused him to jar against a memory Jiro yet held with resentment. Despite his closest attention to manners and dress, Lady Mara had spurned him. The awkward, coarse-mannered Buntokapi had been chosen over him. Even passing recollection caused Jiro to sweat with repressed fury. His years of studied effort had availed him not at all, when all of his wits and schooled charm had been summarily dismissed by the Acoma. His ridiculous - no, laughable - lout of a brother had triumphed over him.

Bunto's smirk was unforgiven; Jiro still stung from remembered humiliation. His hands closed into fists, and he suddenly had no stomach for standing still. 'I don't like this robe,' he snapped peevishly. 'It displeases me. Make another, and have this one torn up for rags.'

The tailor turned pale. He whipped the pins from his teeth and dropped to the parquet floor, his forehead pressed to the wood. 'My Lord! As you wish, of course. I beg humble forgiveness for my lack of taste and judgment.'

Jiro said nothing. He jerked his barbered head for a servant to remove the robe and drop it in a heap underfoot.

'I will wear the blue-and-red silk. Fetch it now.'

His command was obeyed in a flurry of nervousness.

The Lord of the Anasati seldom punished his slaves and attendants, but from the day he assumed his inheritance he had made it clear that anything short of instant obedience would never be tolerated.

Arriving to make his report, First Adviser Chumaka noted the near-frenzied obsequious behavior on the part of the servants. He gave not a twitch in reaction; wisest of the Anasati retainers, he knew his Lord best of all. The master did not appreciate overdone obeisance; quite the contrary. Jiro had matured as a second son, and he liked things quiet and without fanfare. Yet since he had inherited a ruler's mantle without having been groomed to expect the post, he was ever sensitive to the behavior of his underlings toward him. Should they fail to give him his due respect as Lord, he would notice, and take instantaneous issue.

The servant who was late to speak his tide, the slave who failed to bow without delay upon presentation were never forgiven their lapse. Like fine clothing and smooth manners, traditional Tsurani adherence to caste was part and parcel of how Ruling Lords were measured by their peers. Eschewing the barbaric aspects of the battlefield, Jiro had made himself a master of civilised behavior.

As if a robe of finest silk did not lie discarded like garbage under his sandaled feet, he inclined his head while Chumaka straightened up from his bow. 'What brings you to consult at this hour, First Adviser? Did you forget I had planned an afternoon of discourse with the visiting scholars from Migran?'

Chumaka tipped his head to one side, as a hungry rodent might fix on moving prey. 'I suggest, my Lord, that the scholars be made to wait while we take a short walk.'

Lord Jiro was vexed, though nothing showed. He allowed his servants to tie his robe sash before he replied. 'What you have to say is that important?' As all who were present well knew, Jiro held afternoon court to attend to business with his factors. If his meeting with the scholars was delayed, it would-have to wait until morning, which spoiled his hour set aside for reading.

The Anasati First Adviser presented his driest smile ant deftly handled the impasse. 'It pertains to Lady Mara of the Acoma, and that connection I mentioned earlier concerning the vanquished Tuscai.'

Jiro's interest brightened. 'The two are connected?'

Chumaka'',stillness before the servants provided its own answer. Excited now, Lord Jiro clapped for his runner. 'Find my hadonra and instruct him to provide entertainment for our guests. They shall be told that I am detained and will meet with them tomorrow morning. Lest they become displeased by these arrangements, it shall be explained that I am considering awarding a patronage, if I am impressed by their worthiness in the art of verbal debate.'

The runner bowed to the floor and hurried off about his errand. Chumaka licked his teeth in anticipation as his master fell into step with him toward the outer screen that led into the garden.

Jiro seated himself on a stone bench in the shade by a fish pool. He trailed languid fingers in the water while his attention to Chumaka sharpened. 'Is it good news or bad?'

As always, the First Adviser's reply was ambiguous. 'I'm not certain.' Before his master could express displeasure, Chumaka adjusted his robe and fished a sheaf of documents out of a deep pocket. 'Perhaps both, my Lord. A small, precautionary surveillance I set in place identified; someone highly placed in the Acoma spy network.' He paused, his thoughts branching off into inaccessibly vague speculation.

'What results?' Jiro prompted, in no mood for cleverness that he lacked the finesse to follow.

Chumaka cleared his throat. 'He eluded us.'

Jiro looked nettled. 'How could this be good news?'

Chumaka shrugged. 'We know he was someone of importance; the entire operation in Ontoset was dosed down as a result. The factor of the House of Habatuca suddenly became what he appeared to be: a factor.' As an afterthought, he said, 'Business is terrible, so we may assume that the goods being brokered by this man were Acoma, not Habatuca.' He glanced at one of his documents and folded it. 'We know the Habatuca are not Acoma minions; they are firmly in the Omechan Clan, and traditionalists whom we might find useful someday. They don't even suspect this man is not their loyal servant, but then they are a very disorganized house.'

Jiro tapped his chin with an elegantly manicured finger as he said, 'This factor's removal is significant?'

Chumaka said, 'Yes, my Lord. The loss of that agent will hamper Acoma operation in the East. I can assume that almost all information coming from that region was funneled through Ontoset.'

Jiro smiled, no warmth in his expression. 'Well then, we've stung them. But now they also know we are watching them with our own agents.'

Chumaka said, 'That was inevitable, my Lord. I am surprised they hadn't been aware of us sooner. Their network is well established and practiced. That we observed them undetected as long as we did was something close to miraculous.'

Seeing a gleam in his First Adviser's eyes, Jiro said,

'What else?'

'I said this was related to the long-dead Lord of the Tuscai, from years before you were born. Just before Jingu of the Minwanabi destroyed House Tuscai, I had unearthed the identity of one of the dead Lord's key agents, a grain merchant in Jamar. When the Tuscai natami was buried, I assumed the man continued his role as an independent merchant in earnest. He had no public ties to House Tuscai, therefore no obligation to assume the status of outcast.'

Jiro went still at this implied, venal dishonesty. A master's servants were considered cursed by the gods if he should die; his warriors became slaves or grey warriors - or had, until Lady Mara had despicably broken the custom.

Chumaka ignored his master's discomfort, caught up as he was in reminiscence. 'My assumption was incorrect, as I now have cause to suspect. In any event, that wasn't of significance until recently.

'Among those who came and went in Ontoset were a pair of men I know to have served at the grain merchant's in Jamar. They showed me the connection. Since no one beside Lady Mara has taken grey warriors to house service, we can extrapolate that the Spy Master and his former Tuscai agents are now sworn to the Acoma.'

'So we have this link,' Jiro said. 'Can we infiltrate?'

'It would be easy enough, my Lord, to fool the grain merchant, and get our own agent inside.' Chumaka frowned.

'But the Acoma Spy Master would anticipate that. He is very good. Very.'

Jiro cut off this musing with a chopping motion.

Brought back to the immediate issue, Chumaka came to his point. 'At the very least, we've stung the Acoma by making them shut down a major branch of their organisation in the East. And far better, we now know the agent in Jamar is again operative; that man must sooner or later report to his master, and then we are back on the hunt.

This time I will not let fools handle the arrangements and blunder as they did in Ontoset. If we are patient, in time we will have a clear lead back to the Acoma Spy Master.'

Jiro was less than enthusiastic. 'We may waste all our efforts, now that our enemy knows his inside agent was compromised.'

'True, my master.' Incomo licked his teeth. 'But we are ahead, in the long view. We know the former Tuscai Spy Master works now for Lady Mara. I had made inroads into that net, before the Tuscai were destroyed. I can resume observation of the agents I suspected as being Tuscai years ago. If those men are still in the same positions, that simple fact will confirm them as Acoma operatives. I will set more traps, manned by personnel whom I will personally instruct.

Against this Spy Master we will need our best. Yes.' The First Adviser's air became self-congratulatory. 'It is chance that led us to the first agent, and almost netted us someone highly placed.'

Chumaka wafted the document to fan his flushed cheeks.

'We now watch the house, and I am certain our watchers are being watched, so I have others watching to see who is watching us . . .' He shook his head. 'My opponent is wily beyond comprehension. He-'


'Your opponent?' Jiro interrupted.

Chumaka stifled a start and inclined his head in respect.

'My Lord's enemy's servant. My opposite, if you will. Permit an old man this small vanity, my Lord. This servant of the Acoma who opposes my work is a most suspicious and clever man.' He referred again to his paper. 'We will isolate this other link in Jamar. Then we can pursue the next-'

'Spare me the boring particulars,' Jiro broke in. 'I had thought I commanded you to pursue whoever is trying to defame the Anasati by planting false evidence on the assassin who killed my nephew?'

'Ah,' Chumaka said brightly, 'But the two events are connected! Did I not say so earlier?'

Unaccustomed to sitting without the comfort of cushions, Jiro shifted his weight. 'If you did, only another mind as twisted as yours would have understood the reference.'

This the Anasati First Adviser interpreted as a compliment. '

Master, your forbearance is touching.' He stroked the paper as if it were precious. 'I have proof, at last. Those eleven Acoma agents in the line that passed information across Szetac Province that were mysteriously murdered in the same month - they were indeed connected with five others who also died in the household of Tasaio of the Minwanabi.'

Jiro wore a stiff expression that masked rising irritation.

Before he could speak, Chumaka rushed on, 'They were once Tuscai agents, all of them. Now it appears they were killed to eradicate a breach in the Acoma chain of security.

We had a man in place in Tasaio's household. Though he was dismissed when Mara took over the Minwanabi lands, he is still loyal to us. I have his testimony, here.

The murders inside Tasaio's estate house were done by the Hamoi Tong.'

Jiro was intrigued. 'You think Mara's man duped the tong into cleaning up an Acoma mishap?'

Chumaka looked smug. 'Yes. I think her far too clever Spy Master made the error of forging Tasaio's chop. We know the Obajan spoke with the Minwanabi Lord. Both were reportedly angry - had it been with each other, Tasaio would have died long before Mara brought him down. If the Acoma were behind the destruction of their own compromised agents, and they used the tong as an unwitting tool to rid themselves of that liability, then grave insult was done to the tong. If this happened, the Red Flower Brotherhood would seek vengeance on its own.'

Jiro digested this with slitted eyes. 'Why involve the tong in what seems a routine cleanup? If Mara's man is as good as your ranting, he would hardly be such a fool.'

'It had to be a move of desperation,' Chumaka allowed.

'Tasaio's regime was difficult to infiltrate. For our part, we placed our agent there before the man became Lord, when he was Subcommander in the Warlord's army invading Midkemia.' As Jiro again showed impatience, Chumaka sighed. How he wished his master could be schooled to think and act with more foresight; but Jiro had always fidgeted, even as a boy. The First Adviser summed up.

'Mare had no agents in House Minwanabi that were not compromised. The deaths therefore had to be an outside job, and the tong's dealings with Tasaio offered a convenient remedy.'

'You guess all this,' Jiro said.

Chumaka shrugged. 'It is what I would have done in his position. The Acoma Spy Master excels at innovation.

We could have made contact with the net in Ontoset, and traced its operation for ten years, and never once made the connection between the agents in the North, the others in Jamar, and the communication line that crossed Szetac. To come as far as fast as we have is more due to luck than to my talents, master.'

Jiro seemed unimpressed by the topic that enthralled his First Adviser. He seized instead on the matter closest to Anasati honor. 'You have proof that the tong acts on its own volition,' he snapped. 'Then in planting evidence of our collusion in Ayaki of the Acoma's assassination, the Hamoi has sullied the honor of my ancestors. It must be stopped from this outrage! And at once.'

Chumaka blinked, stopped cold in his thinking. He quickly licked his lips. 'But no, my worthy master. Forgive my presumption if I offer you humble advice to the contrary.'

'Why should we let the Hamoi Tong dogs shame House Anasati?' Jiro straightened on the bench and glared. 'Your reason had better be good!'

'Well,' Chumaka allowed, 'to kill Lady Mara, of course.

Master, it is too brilliant. What more dangerous enemy could the Acoma have, other than a tong of assassins?

They will spoil her peace past redemption, at each attempt to take her life. In the end, they will succeed. She must die; the honor of their brotherhood demands it. The Hamoi Tong do our work for us, and we, meantime, can divert our interests into consolidation of the traditionalist faction.'

Chumaka wagged a lecturing finger. 'Now that war has been forbidden to both sides by the magicians, Mara will seek your ruin by other means. Her resources and allies are vast. As Servant of the Empire, she has popularity and power, as well as the ear of the Emperor. She must not be underestimated. Added to the advantages I have listed, she is an unusually gifted ruler.'

Jiro spoke in swift rebuke. 'You sing her praises in my presence?' His tone remained temperate, but Chumaka held no illusions: his master was offended.

He answered in a whisper that no gardener or patrolling warrior might overhear. 'I was never overly fond of your brother, Bunto. So his death was of little consequence to me personally.' While Jiro's face darkened with rage, Chumaka's reprimand cut like a knife: 'And you were never that fond of him, either, my Lord Jiro.' As the elegant, stiff-faced ruler acknowledged this truth, Chumaka continued. 'You overlook the obvious: Mara's marriage to Bunto instead of you saved your life . . . my master.' Short of wheedling calculation, the First Adviser finished, 'So if you must entertain this hatred of the Servant of the Empire, I will seek her destruction with all my heart. But I will proceed calmly, for to let anger cloud judgment is not merely foolish - with Mara it is suicide. Ask a shade gleaner at the Temple of Turakamu to seek communion   with Jingu, Desio, and Tasaio of the Minwanabi. Their spirits will confirm that.'

Jiro stared down at the ripples of water turned by the orange fish in the pool. After a prolonged moment, he sighed. 'You are right. I never did care for Bunto; he bullied me when we were children.' His hand closed into a fist, which he splashed down, scattering the fish. 'My anger may be unwarranted, but it burns me nonetheless!'

He looked up again at Chumaka, his eyes narrowed. 'But I am Lord of the Anasati. I am not required to make sense.

Wrong was done to my House and it will be redressed!'

Chumaka bowed, dearly respectful. 'I will see Mara of the Acoma dead, master, not because I hate her, but because that is your will. I am ever your faithful servant. Now we know who Mara's Spy Master is-'

'You know this man?' Jiro exclaimed in astonishment.

'You've never once said you knew the identity of the Tuscai Spy Master!'

Chumaka made a deprecatory gesture. 'Not by name, nor by looks, curse him for the brilliant fiend he is. I have never knowingly met him, but I recognise the manner of his craft.

It has a signature like that of a scribe.'

'Which is far from solid evidence,' Jiro was fast to point out.

'Final proof will be difficult to get if I have recognised the same man's touch. Should this former Tuscai Spy Master have taken Mara's service, the gods may smile upon us yet.

He may be a master of guile, yet I know his measure. My past knowledge of the Tuscai operation in Jamar should enable us to infiltrate his operation. After a few years we may have access to the man himself, and then we can manipulate the intelligence in Mara's net as we desire.

Our intent must be made behind diversionary maneuvers to disrupt Acoma trade and alliances. Meanwhile the tong will be seeking Mara's downfall as well.'

'Perhaps we could encourage the brotherhood's efforts a bit,' Lord Jiro offered hopefully.

Chumaka sucked in a quick breath at the mere suggestion.

He bowed before starting to speak, which he only did when alarmed. 'My master, that we dare not try. Tong are tight-knit, and too deadly at their craft to meddle with. Best we keep Anasati affairs as far removed from their doings as possible.'

Jiro conceded this point with regret, while his First Adviser proceeded with optimism. 'The Hamoi Brotherhood is not one to act in hot blood; no. Its works on its own behalf have ever been slow-moving, and cold. Traffic has passed between the Hamoi and Midkemia that I did not understand as it occurred; but now I suspect it has roots in a long-range attempt to hurt the Acoma. The Lady has a well-known weakness for barbarian ideas.'

'That is so,' Jiro conceded. His temper fled before thoughtfulness; he regarded the play of the fish. No adviser of any house was more adept than Chumaka at stringing together seemingly unrelated bits of information. And all the Empire had heard rumors of the Lady's dalliance with a Midkemian slave. That was a vulnerability well worth exploiting.

Cued by the softening of his master's manner, and judging his moment with precision, Chumaka said, 'The Anasati can bear the tiny slight in the manner of the bungled evidence.

Fools and children might believe inept information. But the wiser Ruling Lords all know that the tong keeps close guard on its secrets. The powerful in the Nations will never seriously believe such transparent ploys to link your name with a hired killer. The Anasati name is old. Its honor is unimpeachable. Show only boldness before petty slurs, my master. They are unworthy of a great Lord's attention. Let any ruler who dares come forward to suggest the contrary, and you will correct the matter forcefully.' Chumaka ended with a quotation from a play that Jiro favored. "'Small acts partner small houses and small minds."'

The Lord of the Anasati nodded. 'You are right. My anger tends sometimes to blind me.'

Chumaka bowed at the compliment. 'My master, I ask permission to be excused. I have already begun to consider snares that may be set for Mara's Spy Master. For while we appear to blunder about with the one hand revealed in Ontoset, that will draw the watchful eye away from the other, silently at work in Jamar to bring the dagger to the throat of the Lady of the Acoma.'

Jiro smiled. 'Excellent, Chumaka.' He clapped in dismissal.

While his First Adviser bowed again and hurried away, muttering possible plots under his breath, the Lord remained by the fish pool. He considered Chumaka's advice, and felt a glow of satisfaction. When the Assembly of Magicians had forbidden war between his house and Mara's, he had been covertly ecstatic. With the Lady deprived of her army, and the clear supremacy she held by force of numbers on the battlefield, the stakes between them had been set even.

'Wits,' the Lord of the Anasati murmured, stirring the water and causing the fish to flash away in confused circles. 'Guile, not the sword, w-ill bring the Good Servant her downfall. She will die knowing her mistake when she chose my brother over me. I am the better man, rend when I meet Buntokapi after death in the Red God's halls, he will know that I gave him vengeance, and also ground his precious House Acoma under my heel into dust!'

Arakasi was late. His failure to return had the Acoma senior advisers on edge to the point where Force Commander Lujan dreaded to attend the evening's council.

He hurried to his quarters to retrieve the plumed helm he had shed during off-duty hours. His stride was purposeful, precise in balance as only a skilled swordsman's would be; yet his mind was preoccupied. His nod to the patrolling sentries who saluted his passage was mechanical.

The Acoma estate house had as many armed men in its halls now as servants; privacy since Ayaki's murder was next to nonexistent, particularly at night, when extra warriors slept in the scriptorium and the assorted wings of the guest suites. Justin's nursery was an armed camp; Lujan reflected that the boy could hardly play at toy soldiers for the constant tramp of battle sandals across the floors of his room.

Yet as the only carrier of the Acoma bloodline, after Mara, his safety was of paramount concern. Lacking Arakasi's reliable reports, the patrols walked their beats in uncertainty. They were starting at shadows, half drawing swords at the footfalls of drudges secreted in corners to meet their sweethearts. Lujan sighed, and froze, shaken alert by the sound of a sword sliding from a scabbard.

'You there!' shouted a sentry, 'Halt!'

Now running, Lujan flung himself around a corner in the corridor. Ahead, the warrior with drawn sword crouched down, battle-ready. He confronted a nook deep in shadow where nothing appeared to be amiss. From behind, the tap and shuffle peculiar to a man moving in haste on a crutch warned that Keyoke, Mara's Adviser for War, had also heard the disturbance. Too long a field commander to ignore a warrior's challenge, he also rushed to find out who trespassed in the innermost corridors of the estate house.

Let it not be another assassin, Lujan prayed as he ran.

He strained to see through the gloom, noting that a lamp that should have been left burning was dark. Not a good sign, he thought grimly; the council suddenly deferred by this intrusion now seemed the kinder choice of frustrations.

Snarls in trade and the uneasy shifting of alliances within Ichindar's court might be maddeningly puzzling without Arakasi's inside knowledge. But an attack by another tong dart man this far inside the patrols was too harrowing a development to contemplate. Though months had passed, Justin still had nightmares from seeing the black gelding's fall . . .

Lujan skidded to a stop by the sword-bearing warrior, his sandal studs scraping the stone floor. 'Who's there?' he demanded.

Old Keyoke thumped to a halt on the warrior's other side, his dry shout demanding the same.

The warrior never shifted his glance, but made a fractional gesture with his sword toward the cranny between two beams that supported a join in the rooftree. A long-past repair had replaced a rotted section of wood. The estate house Mara and Hokanu inhabited was ancient, and this was one of the original sections. The slate scored white by Lujan's battle sandals was close to three thousand years old, and rubbed into ruts from uncounted generations of footsteps. There were too many corners to shelter intruders, Lujan felt as he looked where his sentry pointed. A man lurked in the shadow. He stood with hands outstretched in submission, but his face was suspiciously smudged, as if he had used lamp soot to blacken the telltale pallor of his flesh. ~

Lujan freed his sword. With inscrutable features, Keyoke raised his crutch, thumbed a hidden catch, and drew a thin blade from the base. For all that he had lost one leg, he balanced himself without discernible effort.

To the intruder now faced with three bared blades, Lujan said curtly, 'Come out. Keep your hands up if you don't want to die spitted.'

'I would rather not be welcomed back like a cut of meat at the butcher's,' replied a voice rust-grained as neglected iron.

'Arakasi,' Keyoke said, raising his weapon in salute. His ax-blade profile broke into a rare smile.

'Gods!' Lujan swore. He reached out barehanded and touched the sentry, who lowered his blade. The Acoma Force Commander shivered to realise how near Mara's Spy Master had come to dying at the hands of a house guard. Then relief and a countersurge of high spirits made him laugh. 'Finally! How many years have Keyoke and I attempted to set unpredictable patrols? Can it be that for once, my good man, you failed to walk right through them?'

'It was a rough trip home,' Arakasi conceded. 'Not only that, this estate has more warriors on duty than house staff. A man can't move three steps without tripping over someone in armor.'

Keyoke sheathed his concealed blade and replaced his crutch beneath his shoulder. Then he raked his fingers through his white hair, as he had never been able to do when he was a field commander, perpetually wearing a battle helm. 'Lady Mara's council is due to begin shortly.

She has need of your news.'

Arakasi did not reply, but pushed out from behind the posts that had hidden him from sight. He was robed as a street beggar. His untrimmed hair was lank with dirt, his skin was ingrained with what looked like soot. He smelled pervasively of woodsmoke.

'You look like something dragged out by a chimney sweeper,' Lujan observed, gesturing for the sentry to resume his interrupted patrol. 'Or as if you had been sleeping in trees for the better part of a sevenday.'

'Not far from the truth,' Arakasi muttered, turning an irritated glance aside. Keyoke disliked waiting for anyone; now free to indulge the impatience he had repressed for years while commanding troops, he had stumped on ahead toward the council hall. As if relieved by the old man's departure, Arakasi bent, raised the hem of his robe, and scratched at a festering sore.

Lujan stroked his chin. Tactfully he said, 'You could come to my quarters first. My body servant is practiced at drawing a bath on short notice.'

A brief silence ensued.

At last Arakasi sighed. 'Splinters,' he admitted.

Since one terse word was all he was likely to receive in explanation, Lujan surmised the rest. 'They're infected.

That means not recent. You've been too much on the run to draw them out.'

Another silence followed, affirming Lujan's surmise. He and Arakasi had known each other since before House Tuscai had fallen, and had shared many years as grey warriors. 'Come along,' the Force Commander urged. 'If you sit in Lady Mara's presence in this state, the servants will need to burn the cushions afterward. You stink like a Khardengo who lost his wagon.'

Not pleased by the comparison to an itinerant family member that traveled from city to city selling cheap entertainment and disreputable odd jobs, Arakasi curled his lip. 'You can get me a metal needle?' he bargained warily.

Lujan laughed. 'As it happens, I might. There's a girl among the seamstresses that fancies me. But you'll owe me. If I ask her for the loan of such a treasure, she is bound to make demands.'

Aware that few young maids in the household would not willingly jeopardise their next station on the Wheel of Life for the promise of Lujan's kisses, Arakasi was unimpressed.

'I can as easily use one of my daggers.'

His apparent indifference set Lujan on edge. 'The news you bring is not good.'

Now Arakasi faced the Acoma Force Commander fully.

Light from the lamp down the corridor caught on his gaunt cheekbones and deepened the hollows under his eyes. 'I think I will accept your offer of a bath,' he responded obtusely.

Lujan knew better than to tease that his friend the Spy Master also looked as if he had not eaten or slept for a week.

The observation this time would have held more truth than jest. 'I'll get you that needle,' he allowed, then hastened on in an attempt to ease Arakasi's ruffled pride through humor.

'Though you certainly don't need it, if you're carrying your knives. I doubt my sentry understood when he held you at swordpoint that you could have killed and carved him before he had a chance to make a thrust.'

'I'm good,' Arakasi allowed. 'But today, I think, not that good.' He stepped forward. Only now it became apparent that he was far from steady on his feet. He awarded Lujan's startled gasp of concern his blandest expression of displeasure and added, 'You are on your honor not to allow me to fall asleep in your tub.'

'Fall asleep or drown?' Lujan quipped back, extending a fast hand to assist the Spy Master's balance. 'Man, what have you been up to?'

But badger though he might, the Force Commander received no explanation from the Spy Master until the bath was done, and the helm retrieved, and the council was well on into session.

Keyoke was already seated in the yellow light cast by the circle of lamps, his leathery hands crossed on the crutch across his knees. Word of Arakasi's homecoming had been sent to the kitchens, and servants hurried in with trays laden with snacks. Hokanu attended at Mara's right hand, in the place normally occupied by the First Adviser, while Saric and Incomo sat in low-voiced conference opposite. Jican huddled with his arms around his knees behind a mountainous pile of slates. Bins stuffed with scrolls rested like bastions at either elbow, while his expression looked faintly beleaguered.

Arakasi ran his eyes quickly over the gathering surmised in his dry way, 'Trade has not been going well in my absence, I can see.'

Jican bristled at this, which effectively canceled anyone's immediate notice of the Spy Master's ragged condition.

'We are not compromised,' the little hadonra swiftly defended. 'But there have been several ventures in the markets that have gone awry. Mara has lost allies among the merchants who also have Anasati interests.' In visible relief, he finished, 'The silk auctions did not suffer.'

'Yet,' Incomo supplied, unasked. 'The traditionalists continue to gain influence. Ichindar's Imperial Whites more than once had to shed blood to stop riots in Kentosani.'

'The food markets by the wharf,' Arakasi affirmed in spare summary. 'I heard. Our Emperor would do more to stop dissension if he could manage to sire himself an heir that was not a daughter.'

Eyes turned toward the Lady of the Acoma as her staff all waited upon whatever she might ask of them.

Thinner than she had been on the occasion of Ayaki's funeral, she was nonetheless immaculately composed. Her face was washed clean of makeup. Her eyes were focused and keen, and her hands settled in her lap as she spoke.

'Arakasi has revealed that we are confronted' by a new threat.' Only her voice showed the ongoing strain she yet hid behind the Tsurani facade of control; never before Ayaki's loss had she spoken with such a hard-edged clarity of hatred. 'I ask you all to grant him whatever aid he may ask without question.'

Lujan flashed Arakasi a sour glance. 'You had already dirtied her cushions, I now see,' he murmured with injured irritation. Keyoke looked a touch disgruntled. The discovery was belated that the patrol which had finally caught the Spy Master lurking in the corridors had done so only after he had held a conference with the mistress, undetected by any. Aware of the byplay, but obliged by code of conduct to ignore it, the other two advisers inclined their heads in acceptance of the mistress's wishes. Only Jican fidgeted, aware as he was that Mara's decree would create additional havoc in the Acoma treasury. Arakasi's services came at high costs of operation, which caused the hadonra unceasing, hand-wringing worry.

A breeze wafted through the open windows above the great hall of the Acoma, carved into the side of the hill against which the estate house rested. Despite the brilliance of the lamps, the room was thrown into gloom in the farthest corners. The cho-ja globes on their stands stayed unlit, and the low dais used for informal conference remained the only island of illumination. Those servants in attendance waited a discreet distance away, within call should they be needed but out of earshot of any discussion.

Mara resumed, 'What we speak of here must be kept in our circle alone.' She asked Arakasi, 'How much time do you need to spend upon this new threat?'

Arakasi gave a palms-upward shrug that revealed a yellow bruise on one wristbone. 'I can only surmise, mistress. My instincts tell me the organisation I encountered is based to the east of us, probably in Ontoset. We have light ties between there and Jamar and the City of the Plains, since the cover was a factor's business. An enemy who discovered our workings to the west would see nothing beyond coincidence in the eastern connection. Yet I do not know where the damage originated. The trace could have started somewhere else.'

Mara chewed her lip. 'Explain.'

'I did some cursory checking before I returned to Sulan-Qu.'

More nervelessly cold than Keyoke could be before battle, the Spy Master qualified. 'On the surface, our: trading interests seem secure to the west and north. That recent expansion I have regrettably been forced to curtail: was located south and east. Our unknown opponent may have stumbled onto some operation we just set in place; or not. I cannot say. His effect has been felt very clearly.

He has detected some aspect of our courier system, and deduced of our methods to establish a network to observe us. This enemy has placed watchers where they are likely to trap someone they hope they can trace back to a position of authority. From this I extrapolate that our enemy has his own system to glean advantage from such an opportunity.'

Hokanu settled an arm- around Mara's lower back, though her manner did not indicate she needed comfort.

'How can you be certain of this?'

Baldly Arakasi said, 'Because it is what I would have done.' He smoothed his robe to conceal the welts the splinters had marked on his shins. 'I was almost taken, and that is no easy feat.' His flat phrases implied a total lack of conceit as he raised one finger. 'I am worried because we have been compromised.' He lifted a second finger and added, 'I am relieved to have made a clean escape. If the team that gave me chase ever guessed whom they had cornered, they would have taken extreme measures to be thorough. Subterfuge would have been abandoned in favor of my successful capture. Therefore, they must have expected to net a courier or supervisor. My identity as Acoma Spy Master most likely remains uncompromised.'

Mara straightened in sudden decision. 'Then it seems a wise course to absent yourself from this problem.' Arakasi all but recoiled in surprise. 'My Lady?'

Misinterpreting his reaction for hurt feelings that his competence lay questioned, Mara attempted to soften her pronouncement. 'You are too critical to another problem that needs attention.' She waved her dismissal to Jican, saying, 'I think the trade problems can wait.' While the little man bowed his acquiescence and snapped fingers to call his secretaries to help gather his tallies and scrolls, Mara commanded all the other servants to leave the great hall. When the great doubled doors swept dosed, leaving her alone with the inner circle of her advisers, she said to her Spy Master, 'I have something else for you to do.'

Arakasi spoke his mind plainly. 'Mistress, there exists a great danger. Indeed, I fear the master in command of this enemy's spy works may be the most dangerous man alive.'

Mara betrayed nothing of her thoughts as she nodded for him to continue.

'Until this encounter I had the vanity to consider myself a master of my craft.' For the first time since discussion had opened, the Spy Master had to pause to choose words. 'This breach in our security was in no way due to carelessness.

My men in Ontoset acted with unimpeachable discretion.

For that reason, I fear this enemy we face could possibly be my better.'

'Then I am decided on the matter,' Mara announced. 'You shall turn this difficulty over to another that you trust. That way, if this unspecified enemy proves worthy of your praise, we suffer the loss of a man less critical to our needs.'