Ten

The frail man began trembling even harder. Partly from the cold, partly from the sheer terror of standing before a royal senopati.

“H-he is... the son... of Ki Soma...”

“What?” Natpada grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair and yanked his head closer, cupping an ear toward him. “I didn’t catch that.”

“He says the young man who offended you yesterday is Ki Somanagara’s son, My Lord,” the soldier named Pangat explained.

“Ki Somanagara? The rice and jewelry merchant from Karang Bendan?”

“Yes, My Lord. This man is from Brabo as well. He attended the feast with those three last night. The moment he confirmed their identities, he rode after us immediately. Out of loyalty and devotion to the Sultanate of Pasir.”

Natpada’s fist clenched.

“So the little bastard lied when he said his name was Bajul.”

“Yes, My Lord. He didn’t want you to know who he really was. His face is well known throughout Karang Bendan. The real Bajul is the other young man—the one who introduced himself to you as Murti. And Murti... is actually the one who called himself Seta. His real name is Wisnumurti. He truly is from Mount Cakrabuana. He’s one of the finest disciples of the great Panembahan Singgih.”

Blinded by fury, Natpada lashed out without thinking. His boot slammed into the informant.

He cried out as he was launched headlong into a dense patch of thorn bushes. After that, there wasn’t so much as a twitch.

“Bastards!” Natpada snarled. “I got played by a bunch of children!”

Every soldier instantly dropped to one knee.

“Give the order, My Lord!” Bekel Damar said for the group. “We’ll deal with all three of them.”

Natpada dismissed the suggestion with a sharp wave.

“No. Later,” his voice turned hard. “Right now, we return to the palace. Immediately. Move!”

The soldiers scrambled for their horses as their commander spurred his mount forward.

Within moments they had vanished down the road, leaving the place to its usual silence once again.

***

The small cottage stood on the northern edge of Kenipir, surrounded by cassava patches and banana trees.

At this hour of the morning, the quiet was hardly unusual. The husband would be out working the fields by now, while the wife was likely busy in the kitchen.

So when the hunchback Remak reined in his horse a few yards from the front door, he wasn’t entirely sure he had the right place.

He tied the horse to a nearby tree and strolled inside as casually as if he were returning to his own home.

Remak was in his late thirties. Fate had cursed him with a grotesque hump that rose from the back of his neck like the hump of a bull, a deformity that had kept women far away his entire life. His late father—whose face he could barely remember anymore—had always claimed it was punishment for sins committed in a previous life.

Or perhaps, his mother had once joked, a demon had crawled into her womb while she was pregnant.

Either way, Remak no longer cared. There were always more important things demanding his attention.

If anyone got in his way, he had the hardwood staff in his hand. That usually settled the matter.

His sharp eyes, set in a face scarred by severe acne, locked onto something beyond the main room.

A delicious aroma drifted in from the back of the house.

He crossed the modest living room, furnished with nothing more than a wide bamboo bed and a wooden chest for clothing.

The scent led him straight into the kitchen. He had found the right place.

“Done?” he asked simply.

“You couldn’t have arrived at a better time.”

Suwung Saketi lifted several pieces of fried meat from a pan and arranged them on a clay plate lined with banana leaves.

“Get the rice.”

Unlike Remak, Suwung Saketi looked every bit the nobleman.

His skin was smooth and pale, his face meticulously groomed, his beard and mustache always neatly trimmed. Combined with his lean frame and flat stomach, he looked nearly ten years younger than his true age, which was approaching fifty.

If Remak resembled a heap of roadside trash, Suwung Saketi was his complete opposite. He looked like a man born to command.

Smoke billowed through the kitchen as Remak extinguished the fire beneath the clay stove.

A second earthenware pot sat over the neighboring firebox, filled with freshly cooked rice. He scooped out enough into a woven bamboo rice basket before carrying it to the amben—or the bamboo platform—in the front room.

Saketi was already waiting.

Two thick pieces of golden fried meat sat on the plate before him, still sizzling.

Beside them rested another dish filled with bright red chili paste whose aroma was almost irresistible.

Cooking, after all, was Suwung Saketi’s second greatest talent. His first was killing people with his bare hands.

“What meat is this?” Remak asked, grabbing one of the pieces while it was still blistering hot without the slightest hesitation.

“Leg,” Saketi answered.

Then he watched.

“Well?”

Remak bit into it, completely unfazed by the heat. He followed it with a mouthful of rice drenched in chili sauce.

“Excellent,” he chewed thoughtfully. “Perfectly cooked. Nice and crisp. I love the richness. Makes you want another bite... and another.”

“And the meat?” Saketi asked. “Still too stringy?”

Remak stared off into space while carefully working each bite around the gaps left by several missing and broken teeth.

“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t know how you managed it, but you’ve taken all the toughness out. Anyone who didn’t know better would swear this was chicken... maybe goat.”

Saketi nodded with quiet satisfaction.

“The practice paid off.”

He reached for his own meal.

“So? Did everything go smoothly?”

Remak nodded between mouthfuls.

“Not a hitch. The event’s tonight. You’ll need to be in the kitchen before noon to start cooking. There’ll be extra guests, which means you’ll be working harder than the other cooks.”

“Doesn’t matter. For the vengeance of the House of Wiramukti, we’ll do whatever’s necessary.”

“And don’t forget,” Remak said, ‘we’ve still got another score to settle. Salem.”

“We’ll get to that soon enough,” Saketi replied. “Once this is finished.”

“Any word from Bocor in Pajang?”

“Nothing good. They reassigned him. He’s been sent to Kedu and Bagelen as a tax collector. No telling for how long.”

Remak paused.

“Kedu and Bagelen are even closer to Pasir territory. The Duke of Karang Bendan once talked about annexing Bagelen so he could keep a closer eye on our people in Saba.”

Saketi shrugged.

“Maybe he’ll stumble across something useful in his new assignment.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Remak took another bite and smiled.

“I never would’ve guessed leg meat could be this tender. It practically melts in your mouth.”

Suwung Saketi merely raised an eyebrow. He offered no reply.

The man lying face-down beside the bamboo bed wasn’t in any condition to answer, either. Thick blood still pooled beneath the gaping wound that had nearly severed his neck.

Another wound—one that had bled just as heavily—marked his right leg.

Something was missing.

Everything below the knee, down to the foot, was gone.