Like a patrol crossing an enemy border, the Acoma entered the Holy City. From the lofty warehouses by the riverside to the grand avenues between courtyards, Kentosani was bedecked like a bride before her wedding. Freshly painted walls, garlands of flowers, and coloured bunting made each street a joyous vista. Older than Sulan-Qu, and reflecting overlappping centuries of tastes and architecture, the city was the most impressive within the Empire. Multi-tiered stone buildings crowded against carved and painted balconies; lamp posts of cleverly fashioned wood and ceramic rose above boxes of flowers lining the avenues. Everywhere Kevin looked, he was stunned by beauty and stark ugliness in contrast. The scent of temple incense mingled with an underlying miasma of river sewage. Squalid beggars licensed by the Imperial Government sat in rows, open sores and missing limbs displayed to the passing throng – not a few balanced upon crutches while resting naked backs against a mural painted by a master artist. Filthy bands of street urchins shouted and craned necks to catch sight of a great Lady, while Mara’s vigilant guard kept them back with shields and spear shafts. Town matrons carrying baskets on yoke poles jeered and pointed at the great barbarian slave who towered over the rest of her retinue, and whose red-gold hair drew admiring eyes.
The knots of merchants avoided by running couriers, processions of priests in their cowled robes and beaded sashes hung with relics, darting house messengers, and city guards in sparkling imperial white lent an atmosphere of bustling prosperity. But Kevin was soldier enough to notice alert eyes peering from men hanging back in shadowed corners; whether they belonged to spies, informants, or rumourmongers who sold news for shell coins, the Acoma guards took no chances. Alert scouts checked into every doorway and alley they passed, while Lujan kept his warriors poised to attack at the slightest hint of threat. Imperial peace was a promise of retribution against whoever broke it, not a guarantee for the unwary.
Still, for all the underlying intrigue, the crossing of the trade quarter was spectacular. Only one member of the Acoma retinue was not occasionally drawn by the splendour; forced to ride a litter like a courtier, Keyoke sat impassive as a carved stone icon, no expression on his face.
Mara’s cortege passed into the temple plaza, a giant square that served as focal point for twenty vast buildings, raised to praise Tsurani gods and house the priests of their separate orders. Archways inlaid with shell flashed in the sunlight, set off by lacquered tiles, precious marbles, and pillars of malachite and onyx. At the centre of the plaza a great bonfire burned, surrounded by incense pots and altars heaped high with bowls of offerings. Kevin walked with difficulty, torn between staring at the splendours of an ancient and alien culture, and watching his feet for paving worn treacherously uneven.
Mara’s town house was situated off a quiet residential court, shadowed by the flowering trees that lined the avenue. The front stood enclosed by an opulently tiled wall, above which rose its many-tiered roof, adorned at each gable with carved shatra birds. The wide, semicircular wooden portals at the entry were shaded by an arbour of purple vines that grew on trellises cut from thousands of giant seashells. The effect was designed to impress. Like many older families of the Empire, the Acoma owned quarters convenient to the heart of Kentosani and the halls of the imperial seat. Years might pass between visits, but the stately, centuries-old houses were always maintained against the need to reside in the city for weeks at a time. Each family in the High Council was allotted a tiny apartment within the Imperial Palace, but for comfort and the advantages of private entertaining, most rulers preferred the freedom and spaciousness of their less formal accommodation outside the inner city.
At the outer door to the Acoma town house, Jican awaited, accompanied by a servant in house livery. As Mara’s retinue halted before the dooryard, the hadonra bowed. ‘All is in readiness for your arrival, my Lady.’ Then he gestured, and on cue the gates swung wide.
Mara’s bearers bore their mistress inside, and as Jican and his attendant fell in behind, Kevin realized with surprise that the man in the servant’s robe was Arakasi. Under cover of the arbour, shielded by the steps of marching soldiers as the honour guard squeezed through the entry, the Spy Master leaned near to Mara’s litter.
Only Kevin walked near enough to note that words were exchanged between them. Then the retinue was fully into the courtyard within the walls, and the gates swung closed and barred. Kevin offered Mara his hand and noticed as he helped her from her cushions that she was forcing herself not to frown.