The old servant chuckled. “She has borne three children of her own. You think she has never heard such noises before?” He shook his head. “Be at ease, I tell you.”
The girls were still hesitant. With most majordomos, they would not have dared to press the matter further. But this old man . . . he had been kind to them, oddly enough.
“Why?” asked the younger sister, almost in a whisper. “A great lady should have experienced maids, not . . . not kitchen drudges.”
Kindly the old man might be, but the look he gave them now was not kind in the least. A hard gaze, it was. As if he were pondering the same question himself.
Whatever answer he might have given went unspoken. For a new voice echoed in the girls’ little sleeping chamber.
“Because I say so.”
The girls spun around. Behind them, standing in the doorway, was the man who had rescued them from the slave brothel so many months earlier.
They were so delighted to see him that they almost squealed with pleasure. The youngest even began to move toward him, as if she were almost bold enough to clasp him in an embrace.
The man shook his head, although he was smiling. The headshake turned into a small gesture aimed at the majordomo. Making neither argument nor protest, the august head servant immediately left the room.
After he was gone, the man bestowed upon the girls that calm, hooded gaze which they remembered so well.
“Ask no questions,” he said softly. “Just do as you are told. And say nothing to anyone. Do you understand?”
Both girls nodded instantly.
“Good,” he murmured. “And now I must leave. I simply wanted to make sure all is well with you. It is, I trust?”
Both girls nodded again. The man began to turn away. The older sister had enough boldness left in her to ask a last question.
“Will we ever see our father again?”
The man paused in the doorway, his head turned to one side. He was not quite looking at them.
“Who is to say? God is prone to whimsy.”
A little sob seemed to come from the younger sister’s throat; almost instantly squelched. The man’s broad shoulders seemed to slump a bit.
“I will do my best, children. More than that . . .” Whatever slump might have been in the shoulders vanished. They stood as square and rigid as ever.
“God is prone to whimsy,” he repeated, and was gone.
* * *
“This is an unholy mess,” grumbled Ajatasutra. “By the time I get back to Ajmer, Valentinian and Anastasius and the Kushans will have been festering for weeks in that miserable inn. When they hear about this little curlicue to your schemes, they will erupt in fury.”
“All the better,” snapped Narses. “Imperial Ye-tai troops aren’t chosen for their timid ways, you know. And I can’t have a smaller escort than ten—a dozen would be better—or the whole affair will ring completely false.”
“Make it a dozen,” chuckled Ajatasutra harshly. “Imperial Ye-tai be damned. Against those two Romans? Not to mention Kujulo and that pack of cutthroats he brought with him.”
The assassin ran fingers through his beard. Then, smiled grimly. “You know what would be perfect? Have the escort led by some high Malwa mucky-muck. Nothing less than a member of the dynastic clan itself, anvaya-prapta sachivya. Some distant cousin of the emperor’s. A young snot, arrogant as the sunrise and as sure as a rooster. He’ll fuck up the assignment—probably insist on having himself and all the Ye-tai at the head of the convoy, leaving Rana Sanga’s wife and kids to trail behind in the dust. Easy to separate them out and—”
As he spoke, Narses’ eyes had widened and widened. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he choked. “Of course!”
He eyed Ajatasutra oddly. “This is a little scary. I’m not sure I like the idea of you outthinking me.”
Ajatasutra shrugged. “Don’t get carried away with enthusiasm. Nanda Lal will have a fit, when you raise the idea.”
“Not worried about that,” retorted Narses, waving a casual hand. “If he gives me any argument, I’ll just go right over his head. Great Lady Sati and I have an understanding.”