'The wretch suggested that if you would call over three of his fellows, and dismiss your other slaves, they might carry your litter more easily, since they are closer to the same height.'
Mara lay back, her pins and fallen hair momentarily forgotten. She frowned in thought. 'He said that,' she mused, then looked at the man, who lay face down in the dust with a soldier's foot holding him immobile. 'Let him up.'
lady?' lujan said softly. Only his questioning tone hinted how close he dared go in direct protest of her given order.
'Let the barbarian up,' said Mara shortly. 'I believe his suggestion is sensible. Or do you wish to march through the afternoon, delayed by a lame bearer?'
Lujan returned a Tsurani shrug, as if to say that his mistress was right. In truth, she could be as stubborn as the barbarian slaves, and rather than try her further, the Acoma Strike Leader called off the warrior who held the redhead down. He gave rapid orders. The remaining bearers and the one warrior lowered Mara's litter to the ground, and three of the taller Midkemians were selected to take their places.
The redheaded one joined them, his handsome face left bloody where a stone in the roadway had opened the gash on his cheek. He took his place no more humbly than before, though he must have been bruised by rough handling. The retinue started forward once again, with Mara little more comfortable. The Midkemians might have meant well, but they were inexperienced at carrying a litter. They did not time their strides, which made for a jolting ride. Mara lay back, fighting queasiness. She closed her eyes in resignation.
The slaves purchased in Sulan-Qu were proving far too much of a distraction. She made note to herself to make mention to Jican; the Midkemians should perhaps be assigned to duties close to the estate house, where warriors were always within call. The more experienced overseers could keep watch until the slaves had been taught proper behaviour and could be trusted to act as fate had intended.
Irritated that something as trivial as buying new slaves had evoked so much discomfort and confusion, Mara pondered the problems sent against her by her enemies. Eyes closed against the onslaught of a burgeoning headache, she thought to herself, What would I be plotting if I were Desio of the Minwanabi?
Chapter 2 Planning
The air was still.
Desio of the Minwanabi sat at the desk in his late father's study contemplating the tallies before him. Although it was midday, a lamp burned near his elbow. The study was a shadowy furnace, all screens and battle shutters tightly closed, denying those inside the afternoon breezes off the lake. Desio seemed immune to the discomfort. A single jade-fly buzzed around his head, apparently determined to land upon the young Lord's brow. Desio's hand moved absently, as if to brush away the troublesome insect, and for an instant the sweating slave who fanned him broke rhythm, uncertain whether the Lord of the Minwanabi gestured for him to withdraw.
An elderly figure in shadow motioned for the slave to remain. Incomo, First Adviser of House Minwanabi, waited patiently for his master to finish the reports.
Desio's brow knitted. He dragged the oil lamp closer and sought to concentrate upon the information listed on the papers before him, but the characters seemed to swim through the humid afternoon air. At last he rocked back on his cushions with an angry sigh of frustration. 'Enough!'
Incomo regarded his young master with a blandness that hid concern. 'My Lord?'
Desio, never athletic, pushed the lamp aside and rose ponderously to his feet. His massive stomach strained at the sash of the lounging robe he wore in his own quarters.
Perspiration streamed off his face, and with a pudgy hand he swept damp locks out of his eyes.
Incomo knew that the cause of Desio's agitation was more than the usual humidity, the legacy of an unseasonable tropical storm to the south. The Lord of the Minwanabi had ordered the screens latched closed ostensibly for privacy.
The old man knew the reason behind the seemingly irrational order: fear. Even in his own home' Desio was afraid. No lord of any house, let alone one of the Five Great Houses, could admit to such weakness, so the First Adviser dared say nothing on the matter.
Desio stalked heavily around the room, his rage slowly building, his torturous breath and bunched fists sure sign that within minutes he would strike out