Mistress of the Empire. Janny Wurts

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ arrayed by his side, while his hands rested in plain sight upon his knees. He wore a splendid silk robe recognisably of foreign manufacture: the sheen was different, and the dyes blended in patterns never seen in Tsuranuanni. The effect was bold just barely short of insolent, Mara decided, watching the man through narrowed eyes as she approached. Although this man had presented himself as a merchant, he outfitted himself as befitted the highest Ruling Lord of the Empire. Yet the man was no noble; in place of the customary house chop embroidered on sash or shoulder, the barbarous symbol of LaMut, a doglike creature called a wolf, was displayed. The man was arrogant, Mara decided as she allowed Jican to help her up the shallow stair and to her cushions.

      Still, the stranger had impeccable manners. When the Lady was comfortable, he bowed until his forehead touched the mat upon which he knelt. He paused long enough to imply deep respect, while Jican gave his name to the mistress. ‘My lady, this is Janaio, of the city of LaMut.’

      Janaio straightened with grace and smiled. ‘Honors to your house, Good Servant. Are you well, Lady Mara?’

      Mara inclined her head. ‘I am well, Janaio of … LaMut.’

      A detail leaped out at her. This man wore gold! Mara pinched back a breath of undignified surprise. By imperial edict, all jewelry and personal effects made of metal were carefully cataloged upon entry through the rift from Midkemia. Traders from the barbarian world were often outraged as their boots were confiscated and plain sandals loaned to them while they embarked on their travels within the Empire; but the impounded items were always returned when they left. The imperial treasury had learned a rough lesson when the first entourage of Midkemians returned home without their boots, and the economy of Lash Province had been turned on its head by the iron nails drawn from the soles and changed for centis.

      The trader fingered the chain about his neck. ‘I have given surety that I will not leave this behind, Lady Mara,’ he said, in response to her notice. This reminded her of his Tsurani origins, as no barbarian would have been trusted to keep his word in the face of temptation. Midkemians professed no belief in the Wheel of Life, so honor did not bind them to fear loss of the gods’ favor.

      Mara maintained an outward calm. The man was bold! While such an ornament might be a modest possession for a wealthy man beyond the rift, in Kelewan it was equal to the income of a minor house for a year. As well this man knew. His public display of such treasure was a calculated ostentation. Mara waited in reserved expectancy to see just what this trader wished to gain with his bargaining.

      When she had determined that a suitable interval had passed to remind him of his place, she asked, ‘Now, what may I do for you?’

      The man did not miss nuance: that the Tsurani phrase was translated from the King’s Tongue. Mara’s clever opening informed him without undue fuss that she had arranged affairs with Midkemian traders before. He gave her back impeccable Tsurani protocol. ‘I am a modest broker in certain spices and delicacies, mistress. Given my history’ – he gestured broadly – ‘I am advantageously placed to know those products unique to my adopted homeland that would prove profitable in the Empire.’

      Mara nodded, conceding his point. Janaio resumed in ingratiating fashion. ‘But rather than waste your valuable hours speaking, I would beg your indulgence to let my wares speak for themselves.’

      Stirred to curiosity, Mara said, ‘What do you propose?’

      Janaio indicated the various carry boxes and sacks at his elbow. ‘Here I have samples. As it is near the hour when many within the Empire cease activities to indulge in a cup of chocha, perhaps you would care for something more exotic?’

      Unhappily reminded that Hokanu customarily shared such a moment to take refreshment with her, Mara repressed a sigh. She was tired, and in need of a nap, for the baby inside her interrupted her sleep at nights. ‘There is little time for this.’

      ‘Please,’ Janaio said quickly. He bowed in attempt to ease her mind. ‘I will not keep you overlong. You will be rewarded, both in pleasure and in riches, I assure you.’

      Jican bent close to his Lady. ‘Let me call for a food taster, mistress,’ he advised.

      Mara regarded her hadonra closely. He also was intrigued; but more, he had something else to tell about this mysterious trader from beyond the rift. She reached down and drew out the fan tucked behind her sash. Flipping it open and using it to hide her lips from her visitor, she whispered, ‘What else should I know of this man?’

      Jican looked uncomfortable. ‘A suspicion,’ he murmured so that only she could hear. ‘I received word from a factor who is friendly to us. This Janaio has also made overtures to the Lord of the Matawa.’

      ‘Who is a firm supporter of the traditionalists and Jiro.’ Mara fluttered her fan. ‘Do you think he hopes that our rivalry will help him to drive a tough bargain?’

      The hadonra pursed his lips, thinking. ‘That I cannot say. It is possible. Should he have wares of unusual worth, the house that gains concessions will benefit greatly.’

      That settled Mara’s mind on the matter. She must not allow the fatigue of pregnancy to cede any advantage to the Anasati uncontested. She clapped for her runner and dispatched him to the kitchens to fetch a cook who would serve her as taster. She also asked for Saric and Lujan, since further counsel might be required of them later.

      Janaio met her precautions with obsequious approval. ‘Most wise, Lady Mara. Though I assure you, my intentions are only honest.’

      Mara crossed her hands over her middle without comment. No precautions were too stringent when she was so near to term with Hokanu’s child. She waited, unresponsive to Janaio’s attempts to make conversation, until her adviser arrived at her summons.

      Saric’s look of surprise as he entered revealed he had taken the man to be Midkemian, sporting Empire fashion. One glance at the Acoma First Adviser caused Janaio to straighten where he sat. As if his instincts warned that Saric’s insights were to be respected, he crisply listed his sureties. ‘For the sake of easing your worry, great Lady, since the foodstuffs I carry are so exotic that no one in this land will be familiar enough with their taste to detect any tampering, I propose that I share each cup with you.’

      Unimpressed by gold chain and grand rhetoric, Saric met this pronouncement with a lack of expression. He watched intently as the trader made a display of pushing back his sleeves, to show that he wore no ring or bracelet, and that nothing was contained within his robe. ‘If you will have your servants prepare hot water, three pots, and cups from your own stores, I will provide the ingredients. Then you may choose which cup I am to taste and which you will.’ Smiling in the teeth of Saric’s quiet, he said, ‘If it please you, Lady, I will bear the risk equally.’

      Intrigued in spite of her First Adviser’s reserve, Mara said, ‘What are you attempting to bring to our Empire?’

      ‘Fine beverages, mistress. A wonderful assortment of flavors and pungent drinks that will astonish your palate. Should this venture prove profitable, and I assure you it will, then I will also bring exotic wines and ales to the Empire from the finest vintners and brewers in the Kingdom of the Isles.’

      Mara weighed her impressions. No wonder this man had remained on Midkemia. He might have served as a house soldier before the final battle of the Riftwar, but he was a born merchant. She cast a sidelong glance as Lujan arrived and marched smartly to take his place behind her. If fate had cast him on the other side of the rift, given his glib tongue and facile mind, he might perhaps have been the one to sit here, selling exotic wares.

      The surmise СКАЧАТЬ