Mistress of the Empire. Janny Wurts
sullied the honor of my ancestors. It must be stopped from this outrage! And at once.’
Chumaka blinked, stopped cold in his thinking. He quickly licked his lips. ‘But no, my worthy master. Forgive my presumption if I offer you humble advice to the contrary.’
‘Why should we let the Hamoi Tong dogs shame House Anasati?’ Jiro straightened on the bench and glared. ‘Your reason had better be good!’
‘Well,’ Chumaka allowed, ‘to kill Lady Mara, of course. Master, it is too brilliant. What more dangerous enemy could the Acoma have, other than a tong of assassins? They will spoil her peace past redemption, at each attempt to take her life. In the end, they will succeed. She must die; the honor of their brotherhood demands it. The Hamoi Tong do our work for us, and we, meantime, can divert our interests into consolidation of the traditionalist faction.’ Chumaka wagged a lecturing finger. ‘Now that war has been forbidden to both sides by the magicians, Mara will seek your ruin by other means. Her resources and allies are vast. As Servant of the Empire, she has popularity and power, as well as the ear of the Emperor. She must not be underestimated. Added to the advantages I have listed, she is an unusually gifted ruler.’
Jiro spoke in swift rebuke. ‘You sing her praises in my presence?’ His tone remained temperate, but Chumaka held no illusions: his master was offended.
He answered in a whisper that no gardener or patrolling warrior might overhear. ‘I was never overly fond of your brother, Bunto. So his death was of little consequence to me personally.’ While Jiro’s face darkened with rage, Chumaka’s reprimand cut like a knife: ‘And you were never that fond of him, either, my Lord Jiro.’ As the elegant, stiff-faced ruler acknowledged this truth, Chumaka continued. ‘You overlook the obvious: Mara’s marriage to Bunto instead of you saved your life … my master.’ Short of wheedling calculation, the First Adviser finished, ‘So if you must entertain this hatred of the Servant of the Empire, I will seek her destruction with all my heart. But I will proceed calmly, for to let anger cloud judgment is not merely foolish – with Mara it is suicide. Ask a shade gleaner at the Temple of Turakamu to seek communion with Jingu, Desio, and Tasaio of the Minwanabi. Their spirits will confirm that.’
Jiro stared down at the ripples of water turned by the orange fish in the pool. After a prolonged moment, he sighed. ‘You are right. I never did care for Bunto; he bullied me when we were children.’ His hand closed into a fist, which he splashed down, scattering the fish. ‘My anger may be unwarranted, but it burns me nonetheless!’ He looked up again at Chumaka, his eyes narrowed. ‘But I am Lord of the Anasati. I am not required to make sense. Wrong was done to my House and it will be redressed!’
Chumaka bowed, clearly respectful. ‘I will see Mara of the Acoma dead, master, not because I hate her, but because that is your will. I am ever your faithful servant. Now we know who Mara’s Spy Master is –’
‘You know this man?’ Jiro exclaimed in astonishment. ‘You’ve never once said you knew the identity of the Tuscai Spy Master!’
Chumaka made a deprecatory gesture. ‘Not by name, nor by looks, curse him for the brilliant fiend he is. I have never knowingly met him, but I recognise the manner of his craft. It has a signature like that of a scribe.’
‘Which is far from solid evidence,’ Jiro was fast to point out.
‘Final proof will be difficult to get if I have recognised the same man’s touch. Should this former Tuscai Spy Master have taken Mara’s service, the gods may smile upon us yet. He may be a master of guile, yet I know his measure. My past knowledge of the Tuscai operation in Jamar should enable us to infiltrate his operation. After a few years we may have access to the man himself, and then we can manipulate the intelligence in Mara’s net as we desire. Our intent must be made behind diversionary maneuvers to disrupt Acoma trade and alliances. Meanwhile the tong will be seeking Mara’s downfall as well.’
‘Perhaps we could encourage the brotherhood’s efforts a bit,’ Lord Jiro offered hopefully.
Chumaka sucked in a quick breath at the mere suggestion. He bowed before starting to speak, which he only did when alarmed. ‘My master, that we dare not try. Tong are tight-knit, and too deadly at their craft to meddle with. Best we keep Anasati affairs as far removed from their doings as possible.’
Jiro conceded this point with regret, while his First Adviser proceeded with optimism. ‘The Hamoi Brotherhood is not one to act in hot blood; no. Its works on its own behalf have ever been slow-moving, and cold. Traffic has passed between the Hamoi and Midkemia that I did not understand as it occurred; but now I suspect it has roots in a long-range attempt to hurt the Acoma. The Lady has a well-known weakness for barbarian ideas.’
‘That is so,’ Jiro conceded. His temper fled before thoughtfulness; he regarded the play of the fish. No adviser of any house was more adept than Chumaka at stringing together seemingly unrelated bits of information. And all the Empire had heard rumors of the Lady’s dalliance with a Midkemian slave. That was a vulnerability well worth exploiting.
Cued by the softening of his master’s manner, and judging his moment with precision, Chumaka said, ‘The Anasati can bear the tiny slight in the manner of the bungled evidence. Fools and children might believe inept information. But the wiser Ruling Lords all know that the tong keeps close guard on its secrets. The powerful in the Nations will never seriously believe such transparent ploys to link your name with a hired killer. The Anasati name is old. Its honor is unimpeachable. Show only boldness before petty slurs, my master. They are unworthy of a great Lord’s attention. Let any ruler who dares come forward to suggest the contrary, and you will correct the matter forcefully.’ Chumaka ended with a quotation from a play that Jiro favored. ‘“Small acts partner small houses and small minds.”’
The Lord of the Anasati nodded. ‘You are right. My anger tends sometimes to blind me.’
Chumaka bowed at the compliment. ‘My master, I ask permission to be excused. I have already begun to consider snares that may be set for Mara’s Spy Master. For while we appear to blunder about with the one hand revealed in Ontoset, that will draw the watchful eye away from the other, silently at work in Jamar to bring the dagger to the throat of the Lady of the Acoma.’
Jiro smiled. ‘Excellent, Chumaka.’ He clapped in dismissal. While his First Adviser bowed again and hurried away, muttering possible plots under his breath, the Lord remained by the fish pool. He considered Chumaka’s advice, and felt a glow of satisfaction. When the Assembly of Magicians had forbidden war between his house and Mara’s, he had been covertly ecstatic. With the Lady deprived of her army, and the clear supremacy she held by force of numbers on the battlefield, the stakes between them had been set even.
‘Wits,’ the Lord of the Anasati murmured, stirring the water and causing the fish to flash away in confused circles. ‘Guile, not the sword, will bring the Good Servant her downfall. She will die knowing her mistake when she chose my brother over me. I am the better man, and when I meet Buntokapi after death in the Red God’s halls, he will know that I gave him vengeance, and also ground his precious House Acoma under my heel into dust!’
Arakasi was late. His failure to return had the Acoma senior advisers on edge to the point where Force Commander Lujan dreaded to attend the evening’s council. He hurried to his quarters to retrieve the plumed helm he had shed during off-duty hours. His stride was purposeful, precise in balance as only a skilled swordsman’s would be; yet his mind was preoccupied. His nod to the patrolling sentries who saluted his passage was mechanical.
The Acoma estate house had as many armed men in its halls now as servants; privacy since Ayaki’s murder was next to nonexistent, particularly at night, when extra warriors slept in the scriptorium and the assorted wings of the guest suites. Justin’s nursery was an armed camp; Lujan reflected that the boy could hardly play at toy soldiers for the constant tramp of battle sandals across the floors of his room.
Yet as the only carrier of the Acoma bloodline, after Mara, his safety was of paramount concern. Lacking Arakasi’s reliable reports, the patrols walked their beats in uncertainty. They were starting at shadows,