The servants were discovered, finally, in a lime pit in a vegetable garden that was occasionally used for burials to enrich the soil; only the dishonoured were interred there, without rites, and where the stink of decomposition would not waft beyond the domestics’ quarters. The five corpses were headless, and when the runner boy who made the find reported it to one of the overseers, the older staff member understood at once that the master must be informed. Shaking in the knees, and ducking his white head in consternation, he hastened off to report to Murgali.
The Minwanabi hadonra was hunched over ledgers stacked precariously high, doing his best to stay inconspicuous. AH the household had felt Tasaio’s temper since his ambush had failed to kill Mara. Bristling at the interruption, he heard the house servant’s news and cursed as he recognized its import. This matter of dead bodies was not something he dared to ignore.
‘Go,’ he commanded the house servant. ‘Have the bodies removed from the garden and laid out in an empty bed suite.’
As the old man left, Murgali arose, feeling tired. He chafed an arthritic wrist, put on his softest slippers, and as soundlessly as he could shuffle, hastened to find Incomo. The Minwanabi First Adviser was perhaps the only person who could approach Tasaio with impunity. As the hadonra crossed through the corridor that led to the nursery, he clicked his tongue; even the children were quiet, as if aware of their father’s lingering wrath.
Incomo was none too pleased with the interruption, either. Sitting, dripping, in his bath, with a slave girl one quarter his age sponging his stringy back, he sighed soulfully at the water that poured over his knees. ‘This is most inopportune,’ he murmured in the direction of his privates.
Murgali bobbed agreement. ‘Most. The corpses are being installed in an empty bed suite. My Lord can examine them there.’
Then, as Incomo heaved himself up from his tub and submitted to a rubdown by a towel slave, the hadonra stole his moment to escape.
Left dry and naked and alone to carry the news, Incomo indulged in a rare string of oaths. He forwent his chance to fondle the slave girl who gave up her sponge to robe him, and that put him in a spiteful temper. He tied his tasselled belt in a quick, irritable knot and set off to locate his Lord and master.
The search carried him from the dining chambers, through the grand hall, past innumerable meeting rooms, into and out of Tasaio’s personal study, the scriptorium, and an exercise chamber; he finally ended his search on the archery range that lay on the far side of the guards’ barracks. By now Incomo was puffing, and sweaty as if he had not just stepped from his bath. He bowed and spoke very deliberately and loudly, that his Lord could not mistake his presence for that of another warrior.
Clad in the lightest silk robe and an incongruously battered war helm, Tasaio shot off seven arrows in rapid succession. They cracked with uncanny accuracy into a small shield’s centre, painted as a target, held upright by a trembling slave.
‘Bodies,’ snapped the Lord of the Minwanabi. He punctuated the word with another arrow, loosed whistling between the slave’s legs to smack into dry summer earth.
The slave flinched and forgot himself. He stepped back in white-faced terror.
Tasaio showed no change in expression. His next arrow took the hapless man exactly in the hollow of the throat. ‘I have told them, and told them, they are not to move!’ The Lord snapped his fingers, and a servant rushed to relieve him of his bow and quiver. Tasaio stripped off his shooting glove, and his amber eyes turned to his First Adviser. ‘By “bodies”, I presume that you have located the missing Acoma spies?’
Incomo swallowed. ‘Yes, Lord.’
‘Five, you said,’ Tasaio snapped back. ‘But we knew only three.’
‘Yes, Lord.’ Incomo followed the proper step behind as his master spun briskly and walked from the archery grounds.
Tasaio pulled at the knuckles of his left hand, cracking each of the joints. ‘I will inspect the bodies. Now.’
‘Of course, Lord.’ Incomo stretched to keep up with the taller warrior’s stride, the sweat springing freely from his face. When they reached the estate house, it took him some minutes to determine which bed suite housed the corpses. Domestic staff made themselves scarce, with the master present, and he had to make too many inquiries to get answers.