‘I regret to decline your kindness,’ Jiro returned, almost quickly. ‘But I am expected downriver to sup with a trade factor of my father’s.’
‘Another time, then.’ Desio whistled twice, and the dogs ceased worrying the mangled corpses. The beasts stood alert, scarlet, dripping muzzles trained toward their new master. Desio blew another shrill pair of blasts. As the beasts raced obediently toward him, he thought of Mara, and long white fangs rending her hated flesh. Then he laughed aloud. Unmindful of soiling his robes, he patted each square head before slipping the leashes on the collars. ‘Wonderful,’ he observed to the silent ranks of his honour guard, and the stiff-faced presence of his First Adviser. ‘A worthy gift for one of my lineage.’ Gripping the slightly larger dog’s muzzle, he said, ‘You I shall call Slayer.’ Stroking the other dog on its smeared nose, he added, ‘And you shall henceforward be Slaughter.’
The hounds whined and meekly settled at his feet. Desio raised blue eyes to the guest he had all but forgotten. ‘Your generosity is unparalleled, Jiro. I must see that your visit with us results in a fruitful reward.’
The shadows of the hills had lengthened. Regretfully, Desio whistled his new pets to heel. His gaze never left them, the entire distance back to the docks, and he sighed with regret when the crate was unloaded, and the dogs securely locked inside for transfer to the Minwanabi kennels. Jiro took his leave and boarded his barge, and his polemen sculled him out across waters deepening with the approach of sunset.
Desio stripped off the stinking gloves, and gestured for Incomo to accompany him to his quarters. ‘I wish a hot bath.’
The First Adviser restrained a curl of his lip. His master reeked of the urine that soaked the gloves, and his sandals had been spattered by the dogs. Drenched in perspiration, and talking excitedly, Desio glowed as if with a lust for sex. Incomo realized he hadn’t seen the master so aroused since Jingu had ordered slave girls whipped for his amusement.
‘Those dogs are . . . unusual,’ the First Adviser ventured.
Desio said, ‘More than that. They are a reflection of myself. Unrelenting, unmerciful, bringing pain and destruction to enemies. They are Minwanabi dogs.’
Incomo hid consternation as he followed on his master’s heels into the estate house. Desip clapped for his bath attendants, then added, ‘I know Jiro has his own reasons for tempting me to betray my oath to Turakamu, but whatever they may be, he has gained my favour with Slayer and Slaughter.’
Incomo managed a magnanimous tilt of his head. ‘I am sure my master will be cautious of unreasonable . . . ah, requests.’
Sensing buried disapproval, Desio scowled. ‘Leave me. Return to the great hall when dinner is served.’
Thin fingers clasped at his belt, Incomo bowed low and departed from a bath chamber that suddenly seemed crowded with steam and scented slave girls. As his slippered feet whispered down the corridors, he ruminated sadly on Tasaio’s loss of favour. No stranger to Minwanabi excesses, Incomo knew by his sour stomach that the day’s bloodletting had struck a responsive chord in Desio. The master was acting more the bold Lord with each passing day; but if his future choices followed his taste for the hounds, Incomo felt Minwanabi fortunes would not be better for it. Undeniably Jingu’s excesses had brought the House to the brink of disaster. Sighing at the trials forced upon mortals by the whims of gods and capricious masters, Lord Desio’s First Adviser retired to his quarters. He stretched on his cushions to nap, but the bloodthirsty baying of hounds marred his rest and his dreams.
14 – Celebration
The boy screamed.
Kevin yelled back as he dodged away between flower beds. Ayaki gave chase, shouting Acoma battle cries in a boyish imitation of bloodlust. At times he became too intense, and Kevin would reverse course, capture the boy in his arms, and tickle him. Then Ayaki would shriek in delight and fill the garden with his laughter.
Mara allowed herself pleasure at the sight of their play. Kevin was often a mystery to her, despite their years of intimacy, but one thing she knew: without doubt the man was devoted to her son. His companionship was good for Ayaki; approaching seven years of age, the boy had a tendency toward brooding, intensified during his mother’s lengthy absence. But Ayaki could not lapse into dark moods with the Midkemian near. For as if he sensed the onset of the boy’s troubled thoughts, Kevin was instantly diverting him with a fanciful story or riddle, a game or physical contest. Through the months since her return from Tsubar, Ayaki became more the boy Mara remembered. She reflected with wistfulness that Kevin could not have shown more affection had he been the child’s father. Putting aside daydreams, she returned her attention to the document with its weighty seals and ribbons.