duchess inclined her head, and he turned to Kaab. “No cream. Chili, corn, and allspice.”
The block of chocolate, solid in her hand, wove its odor through the sharp scents of the spices, filling Kaab with a sharp pang of longing for Binkiinha, which she might never see again, and for her mother, might they one day be reunited in the houses beneath the earth. But this was hardly the time for reverie. She served the duchess first, the cup delicate in her steady hand, and then Chuleb, looking him in the eye, neither of them betraying any emotion. Picking up the tray again, comforted by its weight, she went to stand by the door. The duchess paused, her cup halfway to her mouth, looked at Kaab, looked at Chuleb, raised a perfect eyebrow.
It would be much better if the duchess thought her incapable of understanding the implications of the gesture, but if she allowed her uncle to speak he would certainly send her out of the room, so she chose the smaller of two jaguars. “In our country, mistress, bad luck servant leave, chocolate not finished.”
Chuleb’s face was as impassive as the duchess’s. “Have no fear, my lady,” he said. “My servants are as silent as the grave.” He looked over at Kaab mildly. “They know how severe my anger is when their foolishness leads them into error.”
Her hand on her heart, she bowed to the duchess as Chuleb sipped his chocolate; the duchess gave a very small shrug and joined him.
The duchess took a sip of chocolate, shut her eyes. This woman could never have tasted a chili pepper in her life; the burning sensation in her mouth had to be frightening, and yet she smiled with satisfaction, as if the liquid pouring down her throat had exceeded all her hopes. No. Not a woman to be underestimated at all.
“Delicious,” she said. “I must try serving chocolate this way at my next party.” She put the cup down and breathed a barely audible sigh. “The duke was speaking to me the other day about some Council matter or other—a tedious subject between husband and wife, but he likes to try his thoughts aloud—when he happened to mention the crushing import tax burden under which you labor.”
“Ah.” Kaab admired Chuleb’s composure. The tax was high, and the Kinwiinik had tried before, unsuccessfully, to get it lowered. The chocolate import tax ensured that it remained a luxury good in the city. But its inhabitants were developing more and more of a taste for it, and would gladly buy more, if prices were reasonable. The Balam had had occasion to bewail how easy it would be to sell them a lower grade of chocolate for less; but Xanamwiinik taxes did not distinguish between the different varieties, and so all of it, from the rarest of Caana down to basic south coast street cacao, was priced accordingly.
“At first I was certain I had misheard him; it was the ridiculous number he gave that caught my attention to begin with. But when I asked him about it, he explained more thoroughly, and I must say I find it shocking.”
“One might.” Chuleb gave nothing away.
“And hardly a way to show courtesy to those who venture on the perilous seas to bring us such delights! As I say, I take no interest in politics, but I do think justice should be served. The duke has a great deal of influence in Council. I feel confident that, if I were to help him see how unjust the situation is, he would feel it his duty to exert that influence in an effort to do something about the tax.”
This time it was Chuleb whose eyebrow rose. “That would be a feat indeed.” The duchess’s only reply was to incline her head. “If you were to extend such abundant courtesy to the Kinwiinik, as guests in your city we would be most grateful.”
“It would be nothing. A matter, as I say, of justice.”
“As you say.” He toyed with a writing brush on the desk. “But in our country, a guest who is received with courtesy must show courtesy in return.”
The duchess’s eyes widened. “As if I would allow you to do anything in return!” Chuleb cocked his head, waiting. She took another sip of chocolate. “Yes,” she said; “this drink is truly remarkable. But perhaps I was wrong about serving it at a party. I think few of my fellow nobles would appreciate this particular blend as I do.”
“With all respect,” Chuleb said, “I think you may be right.”
Kaab kept her eyes on a mural celebrating the exploits of Kinwiinik heroines in the service. This was a game between two very skillful politicians. She must not betray herself.
“You come from far,” the duchess said, “and have seen much of the world. I myself have never left these shores. Your knowledge of the ways of many peoples is much greater than mine. Tell me: How do folk in your country respond to gifts there?”
“That would depend on who the giver was. From a mother, a kiss! From a patron . . . good service.”
“And from a friend?”
“Why, friendship in return. And a promise to share all other gifts equally, as good friends should.”
“Ah.” The duchess nodded. “I see your people, too, have a fine sense of justice. No wonder there is sympathy between us.”
Chuleb leaned forward. “You honor me. I rejoice in it, and will speak of it tonight to my evening star, Ixsaabim.”
“Oh?” A faint note of surprise suffused the duchess’s voice.
“My wife.” Chuleb was altogether too pleased with himself, Kaab thought. Love did strange things even to businessmen. “She is the second daughter of a first daughter of the Balam. I am but a minor noble in my own right, who had the fortune to marry into the first Trading family of the Kinwiinik. Ixsaabim is a woman well-traveled, who knows the customs of many lands, and the value of friendship.”
“She sounds delightful. I must take chocolate with her someday, your . . . evening star? What a poetic name. You must have many such endearments in your tongue. I’m sure our poor language cannot compare. Doubtless we could learn much from you.”
Not a muscle in Kaab’s face moved. But this was a slip. By one who could not possibly be given to slips. The duchess was very, very worried. About what, Kaab could not guess. Yet.
“Perhaps my lady will honor us with another visit someday?”
“I will await your invitation, Master Balam, and that of your people.” To her credit, she drank the last of her fiery chocolate. Then, in a flurry of silk fine as a flower’s petal, Duchess Tremontaine stood, setting the Kinwiinik cup down on the table beside her.
Uncle Chuleb rose with her. “It has been a very great honor to have you in my home, Madam Duchess.”
“The honor has been mine. Few in the City have been so privileged as to taste chocolate of this singular quality.”
Chuleb inclined his head, just like a Local. “To our great friends, we serve none but the finest of cacao.”
“Then I hope,” the duchess said, “that our friendship may long continue to prosper.”
She looked around the room, her gaze passing over Kaab just as it passed over the furniture and the cotton feathered-serpent wall hangings. “It has been a delightful visit, Master Balam. Thank you for the invitation.”
Kaab seized her opportunity, having no particular interest in being subjected to Chuleb’s opinions of her subterfuge. “I show you door, mistress,” she said.
“No,” said her uncle. “Dzan has certainly returned from his errand by now. He will escort the duchess to the door. I wish to speak with you on another matter.”
Kaab bowed again as the duchess walked through the door. Then she and Chuleb stood very still, looking at each other. The murmur of voices in the hallway, the opening and closing of the front door. How angry would he be? Silence. Stillness. This was becoming unbearable, but Kaab knew better than to move too soon. Ten more breaths. Ten more.
And then Chuleb exploded.
“What in the name of the gods and their parents were you thinking?” he shouted. “That woman is as subtle as a jaguar in the night! I