Imperial documents in Tsuranuanni were never short-order items. Kevin shifted from foot to foot, while the closed chamber grew more stifling. Arakasi and the Keeper of the Imperial Seal argued endlessly and amicably over wording, while slaves came and went with braziers, pots of various colours of wax, and spools of ribbon. Afternoon had come before the document proving Mara’s dispensation had been recorded under the Imperial Seal. Another interval elapsed, while the ink dried, and the captain of her honour guard sent a warrior to the town house to fetch back the centis and emeralds. While they waited, the fat man chewed keljir and discoursed on the poor quality of this season’s dyed feathers. He had purchased an indigo robe, which had proceeded to rot into dust.
‘The merchants think nothing of selling second-quality goods since the riots,’ he lamented, while his own clerk was sent for, just to knot the official ribbons that tied the parchment into a scroll. ‘The fabric of our clothing is going to ruin,’ the Keeper of the Imperial Seal ended sadly. ‘Some say that the order in the Empire will sour next.’
‘Not with the Assembly of Magicians guaranteeing order,’ Arakasi interjected. He moved fast enough to intercept the parchment, before the official could wave it about as emphasis to expound a further point.
Blessedly fast, after that, Kevin was handed the satchel of scribe’s implements, the document safely inside. Mara arose and bowed, and as her party took their leave of the sweltering chamber, the Keeper of the Imperial Seal could be heard bellowing loudly for his servant.
‘There are no more keljir candies in my jar! Where is our efficiency these days? The clothes dyers are lazy cheats, the merchants sell defective goods, and now my own servants think they can ignore my needs and not be punished. We are coming to ruin, in this Empire, and who besides me seems to care?’
Mara did not linger in Kentosani after her visit to the Keeper of the Imperial Seal, but boarded her barge for the return voyage to Sulan-Qu and home that afternoon. The weather continued hot, sultry even for Kelewan, and as often happened during travel by river, Mara kept to her quarters, by herself. She spent long hours in conference with Arakasi, or reading scrolls her factors had sent her from the markets in the Holy City. The rest of the time, she stared at the water, deep in thought, and not much noticing the stream of passing traffic on the river.
Kevin amused himself joking with the polemen, or playing at dice with the off-duty warriors from the Lady’s honour guard. As a slave, he could not legally keep his winnings, which was well from the standpoint of the losers, who claimed he had ungodly runs of luck. The barge docked without event in Sulan-Qu, and Mara’s retinue regrouped. Her goods and carry boxes were dispatched to a warehouse, to head home with the next inbound caravan, while the Lady transferred to her litter. She had dinner in a travellers’ hostelry in one of the fashionable districts of the city, then set off for home at twilight, her warriors carrying lanterns to light the way. Tired from the sun, Kevin had spent the interval in the city napping with the litter bearers, rather than seeking street gossip from the beggars, who were unfailingly surly because he was a foreigner and a slave.
Since the visit to Kentosani, events and chance circumstance had conspired to keep Kevin from private time with the Lady. He did not take this amiss. She wore the mantle of the Acoma, and her responsibilities did not always leave her accessible. Usually this suited Kevin’s independent turn of mind. He had moments when he preferred solitude, or jokes in the company of men. Still, curiosity impelled him to know what Mara had transacted with the Keeper of the Imperial Seal. The parchment that granted her concession of rights had stayed rolled up in Mara’s personal chest of papers. She had not left that box in Sulan-Qu with her other baggage, but had kept it in her litter at her feet the whole way home.
Ayaki’s boisterous greeting prevented Kevin’s finding out where the box was taken. But Mara must have ordered it locked away first thing, for by the time she finished scolding servants for allowing her son to be up so late, Kevin realized the box was gone. The bearers had already vanished in the direction of the stores shed, and Jican was nowhere to be found. Wise enough to know that information could not be wheedled out of Arakasi, Kevin waited through the hour while Mara caught Nacoya up on the news over cups of chocha and a late snack. He was waiting for her in the bedchamber when, exhausted by travel, she at last came in to retire.
He realized the moment he embraced her that something was wrong. Her lips were cool on his, and her smile was forced. He was on the point of asking what it was when she clapped for servants to bring bath water. What followed distracted him completely. After passion had cooled, he lay on the bed cushions with the screens cracked open and a copper flood of moonlight slashing a square across the floor; he noticed that the woman in his arms was still not relaxed. In retrospect, he realized their lovemaking had been hurried, not at all the slow, languorous spiral into ecstasy that Mara was inclined to prefer. Her responses to his touches had carried a buried sense of desperation that Kevin had almost failed to notice.
He reached out and gently stroked the hair away from her temple. ‘Is something the matter?’
Mara rolled over. Her features stayed shadowy, but Kevin could feel her gazing at his face. ‘I am tired from the journey,’ she said, but the words were studied.