At this many Lords stamped upon the floor in a show of agreement like applause. Others offered congratulations, shouting, ‘Yes, it is so! Much honour!’ and ‘Great success!’
Kevin leaned over to remove Mara’s outer wrap, a light silk embroidered with her house symbol. ‘This fellow’s a snake oil salesman,’ he whispered.
Mara’s brow furrowed under her formal makeup. She risked a hiss of disapproval. ‘I don’t know what snake oil is, but it has the ring of an insult. Now go and stand with Lujan’s guard until I need you.’
Kevin folded the wrap over his arm and retreated up the stair. Once in place among the Acoma honour guard, he made a surreptitious study of the proceedings. The Lord of the Chekowara opened by announcing what seemed like social chat, a list of pending marriages, handfastings, and births, and a longer list of eulogies. Few of the deceased had died of age or infirmity; the phrase ‘fallen honourably in battle’ occurred frequently. Kevin was astonished at the clarity of the acoustics in the hall – when the speakers chose not to mask their voices, they carried to the highest galleries. Kevin listened, mystified, as the Lord of the Chekowara’s rich voice rose and fell as he mourned the passing of notables in the clan. To Lujan he murmured, ‘That calley bird on the dais has all the sincerity of a relli.’
Silently at ease, the Acoma Force Commander did not twitch a muscle; but deepening laugh lines around his eyes betrayed that he stifled a chuckle.
Resigned that he would get nothing from an Acoma soldier on duty, Kevin moved among the litter bearers. Tsurani slaves were not much of an improvement, but at least they noticed when he spoke, even if they only looked confused. Still, Kevin thought, any reaction was better than the stony manner of the warriors. Kevin idled away the passing minutes, observing the comings and goings of the many servants and retainers of the attending Hadama Lords, when an odd behaviour caught his eye. Those who hurried through the vast hall seemed oblivious to the many paintings that adorned the walls save one, a depiction of a fairly nondescript man. Like those around it, it was ancient, but this one had been recently repainted, and for the obvious reason that any who passed by reached out and touched it, often without thought. Kevin nudged the slave next to him. ‘Why do they do that?’
The slave looked discomforted. ‘Do what?’ he whispered, as if speaking were sure to bring instant destruction.
‘Touch that picture of a man.’ Kevin pointed.
‘That’s an ancient Lord. He was Servant of the Empire. It’s good luck to touch him.’ The slave withdrew into himself as if that cryptic reference explained everything. Kevin was about to ask for explanation when a warning glance from Lujan silenced him, and turned him back to watching the proceedings.
No serious political discussion ever took place that he could see. Once the family announcements were finished, slaves thronged in with refreshments, and this Lord or that would arise from his chair and speak with Chekowara or other clansmen. Many flocked around Mara’s chair, and all of them seemed civil, if not friendly. Kevin waited for a second call to order, or some sort of announcement of business, but no such thing ever happened. When the afternoon light faded above the domed chamber, Lord Chekowara lifted his staff of office and thumped a ringing blow on the dais. ‘The meeting of Clan Hadama is concluded,’ he called out, and one by one, according to rank, the lesser Lords bowed to him in parting.
‘Seems like nothing but an absurd party to me,’ Kevin commented.
A soldier in Mara’s honour guard caught his eye, then, in urgent warning to keep silent. Kevin returned his usual insolent grin, and then started: the warrior was Arakasi, clad in full armour and looking every inch the proper warrior. He had perfected military bearing so flawlessly that his presence was overlooked until now. More curious than ever to know why the Spy Master’s attendance had been called for, Kevin shifted from foot to foot until Mara waved him over to replace her wrap.
Kevin walked behind Mara’s litter as her retinue reentered the twilit streets. Lamplighters had just made their rounds, and the imperial quarter of Kentosani glowed softly gold against the darkened sky. As the honour guard formed up to escort Mara to her town house, Arakasi fell in step beside Kevin. Wise enough not to call the Spy Master by name, the Midkemian simply said, ‘Was anything of importance achieved in there?’
Arakasi marched with his hand on his sword, deadly and capable in appearance though it was no secret he was not gifted with a blade. ‘Much.’
Exasperated by his brevity, Kevin probed: ‘Such as?’