Empire in Black and Gold

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  ‘Oh, I think we’ve seen quite enough of Helleron and the Empire in bed together,’ she said bitterly, and to her surprise there was a current of agreement among the other slaves.

  There might even have been a dialogue, then, the start of community between them. The reminders of their state were never far away, though. Even at that moment the slaver automotive passed another string of luckless captives. It was a caravan of the taloned, white-skinned race that someone identified as Scorpion-kinden. They had a string of pack-mules, and a pair of mule-sized scorpions loaded with baggage, but the pick of their trading stock was trudging along, tied to the end of their chain of animals. They were gaunt, malnourished, coated with dust, their clothes gone to rags that could not hide their lash-marks. Che tried to decide if they were escapees or criminals or honest men and women, but she realized soon enough that all they were was slaves.

  Two lamps, turned low, lit the quartermaster’s quarters, and the quartermaster had prudently agreed to absent himself. It was only a fraction after dusk when Thalric made his entrance, and yet there they were, already waiting for him. Four of them, all Rekef, no doubt, though he only recognized the one.

  ‘Colonel Latvoc.’ He saluted, which was something he had not needed to do for some time. The greying Wasp-kinden, dressed in loose and nondescript civilian clothes, gestured for him to find a seat.

  ‘Major Thalric,’ he said, his face giving no hints, ‘this is Lieutenant-Auxillian Odyssa.’ His moving finger picked out a Spider woman lounging against a sack of dates, which she pillaged occasionally. ‘And Lieutenant te Berro,’ the Fly-kinden who had summoned him. The Rekef, particularly the Rekef Outlander, made much use of foreign recruits. Their promotion prospects were limited.

  The fourth man was a Wasp, thin faced and patient looking. He watched Thalric carefully. The fact that he had neither been named nor referred to was not lost on Thalric.

  ‘You seem nervous, Major,’ said Latvoc.

  ‘Not at all, sir.’ Thalric sat down, feeling his heart stutter. He was sure that his veneer of calm was fooling nobody.

  ‘Very well, in accordance with our charter I declare that we, in this room, are the Rekef presence in Asta, and that our decisions made here shall bind the Empire, and be for the Emperor.’ The formality brushed aside, the old man smiled. ‘We have a problem, Major, that you can help us with.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’ And is it me, this problem? He had seen what happened when the Rekef got its sting into someone. There was no mercy or kindness. He had himself been its agent, and he had known Rekef officers to fall from grace in the past. The Rekef watched the Empire and the army, and the Rekef also watched the Rekef.

  But I have done nothing! And he knew it would not matter.

  ‘You are familiar with a Colonel Ulther, are you not?’ Latvoc had let him stew for long enough, it seemed.

  ‘Colonel Ulther? I knew a Major Ulther, some years ago, sir.’

  ‘The very man. You knew him well, did you not?’

  ‘He was my commanding officer. In the regular army, that is.’ Thalric’s first promotion: it had been in Myna, after the taking of the city, and it had been just before the Rekef had decided he would best serve the Empire from within their cloak of secrecy. ‘I haven’t seen him for some years, but I would say that I knew him well. I heard that he had governance of Myna some while back.’

  ‘Just so, in which position he remains.’ Latvoc looked over to the Spider, Odyssa, who took up the thread.

  ‘Would you say that you respected Ulther, Major?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, when I knew him.’

  ‘Did you like him?’ He felt her Art at the edges of his mind, trying to draw him out, seeking weakness.

  ‘I respected him. As an officer. This was years ago and—’

  ‘That is understood, Major. When you were raised to the Rekef, you did not note any concerns about him?’

  ‘I had no concerns.’ He felt a sheen of sweat start on his forehead. Something had gone wrong with Ulther, apparently. What remained to be seen was whether someone had decided that his, Thalric’s, time in the Rekef’s favour was over, and was using his past association to hammer in the spike.

  ‘There will be war with the Lowlander cities soon,’ said Latvoc slowly. ‘This is not news to you, I am sure. You have been faithfully ensuring that the path to victory for the armies of the Empire will be as smooth as possible.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘It has come to the attention of the Rekef that others are not so dedicated to their duty,’ Latvoc explained.

  Odyssa glanced at Latvoc, and then at the unnamed, silent man, who nodded ever so slightly. Thalric found that he was flexing his fingers as if freeing his palms for battle, and forced himself to relax.

  ‘We have received some reports from agents in Myna that the governance of that city is subject to certain irregularities,’ said Latvoc. ‘Supplies and manufacture that is required for the Lowlands campaign is slow in coming and short in measure. It may seem trivial, and no doubt to the perpetrators it is intended to seem so, but an army cannot march without rations, cannot fight without weapons. Small acts mount up and become large ones, so an army that should have been in readiness at Asta is behind schedule, missing everything from boots to hard tack to spare parts for the fliers.’

  He seemed to be waiting for Thalric to comment, but Thalric had nothing to say, was waiting still for the catch.

  ‘When a man is appointed a governor of a city by the Emperor, Major Thalric,’ Latvoc continued at last, ‘he is put into a position of responsibility and power beyond even that of an army general. It has been known for such power to turn an officer’s head. There is a temptation to consider those resources, the money and the goods that the Empire requests of him, and to hold them back and stint us with excuses. Such things are known, and it is unfortunate that Colonel Ulther has now become the target of some of these rumours. Do you understand me?’

  ‘I understand you, sir,’ said Thalric wearily.

  ‘Although you are technically Rekef Outlander,’ and there was a slight admonition there in him appearing to be content with the lesser wing of the service, ‘your past association makes you the obvious man for us to send. Lieutenant Aagen of the Engineering Corps is heading to Myna to collect supplies in the morning. You will go with him, investigate the situation with your old friend Ulther. Take what action you feel appropriate. Resolve matters. Report to us.’

  Thalric permitted himself a breath.

  ‘Any questions, Major?’

  ‘I have two prisoners. I had hoped to interrogate them here.’

  ‘Aagen is already transporting livestock. Take them with you, if you must. The facilities in Myna are superior. You could give that to Ulther as the reason for your presence. Any further questions?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Dismissed.’

  Thalric stood, saluted, and left. It was a good twenty yards before he permitted himself to relax, and even then the thought remained. Not this time. Maybe next time. Or the time after that. He had never scrupled about taking the Rekef’s reputation by the hilt and using it. He never put that weapon down, though, without knowing that, the next time it was raised, it could be at his own throat.

  Why do I do this? The question surprised him, because he already knew the answer. He loved the Empire. Still, inside his head, where even the Rekef could not catch a treasonous thought, he wondered what sort of Empire they were building, where even the watchmen must fear being watched.

  It was not yet dawn when the voices came from above them. Asta had an uncompromising system for the keeping of slaves. Che and Salma, along with some dozen others, were confined in a sheer-sided circular pit. Salma and any others who looked as though they might take to the air were hobbled, chains drawing their elbows tightly behind their backs. They had not bothered with Che, so she had spent much of the night trying to free him, with no more success than she would have had flying out of the pit herself.

&nb
sp; If only I had concentrated more, dreamed less. That Art still escaped her and, besides, Beetles were poor fliers and everyone knew it. And now it was too late.

  The first voice she heard from above was Thalric’s. She had listened to him talking long enough to know it. ‘Attention!’ it called, then, ‘And is this Aagen of Dinas I see before me.’

  ‘Spit me, but it’s Captain Thalric,’ said another voice, a Wasp with more of an accent than Thalric himself. ‘Well, that’s a five-year spell of good luck broken.’

  ‘Lieutenant Aagen of the Engineering Corps, I see,’ came Thalric’s unseen voice. All of the slaves were awake now, but only she and Salma seemed to be really listening.

  ‘Battlefield promotion during the Maynes rebellion. What can I do for you, Captain?’ asked the faceless Aagen.

  ‘You’re setting off for Myna?’

  ‘Soon as it’s light. You could build a whole new automotive out of the parts I’m missing here. I’m going to take my rank badge and shove it in people’s faces back at the depot until I’m happy.’ Despite the accent and the context, this was so like one of the College artificers speaking that Che felt dizzy.

  ‘Good,’ said Thalric. ‘Are you heading there with an empty hold?’

  ‘No waste in this man’s army, Captain. Got a special delivery to make. I hear you might want in on that.’

  ‘And two prisoners. You’re set up to carry prisoners?’

  ‘I’m carrying prisoners already. One prisoner, anyway.’

  The noises from above now sounded like men moving large crates. There had been a ragbag of automotives up above, as the slaves were being housed, so Che guessed they were loading one of them prior to Thalric’s mooted journey. That she and Salma would be unwilling travelling companions of the man seemed overwhelmingly likely.

  Thalric had been silent a moment, and now he asked, ‘Just one prisoner? I thought they didn’t waste space in your army, Lieutenant?’

  ‘Don’t make the rules, Captain, just follow the orders. Special delivery, like I said.’

  The artificial lights of the workmen above had given a little definition to their prison pit’s mouth, but now Che saw that there was a growing greyness there. Dawn failed to enliven her. Her very recent life had made her long for the rest that night brought. At least in dreams she was not chained.

  There was a shape silhouetted up there, cutting into the rim: a head looking down. When it spoke, she picked it as Thalric.

  ‘Clear for the hoist,’ he called down, and ducked out of the way as a wooden platform was winched across and began descending on them at some speed. There was a scatter of limbs withdrawn and bodies moved, and then the lift touched bottom.

  ‘Cheerwell Maker and Salme Dien,’ Thalric called. ‘And don’t make me go down and fetch you.’

  Salma exchanged glances with Che. ‘Later,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll have our chance.’

  She shrugged and wasn’t sure she believed him.

  They had to cling together on the platform, or rather, she had to cling to him as his arms were pinioned. The chance of escape remained conspicuously absent, too. The field above, of which the slave pits formed only one edge, was a bustle of activity. The Wasps rose early.

  Salma started, and she followed his gaze across the field to see a ripple of halted motion as working Wasps paused to gawp. A figure was now being led towards them, and Che identified it as the Butterfly-kinden, Grief in Chains.

  ‘So that’s your special delivery, is it?’ Thalric asked her handler as they approached.

  ‘None other,’ said the man leading her, who must be Aagen, from the voice. ‘They told me she should get the hold all to herself, but your orders are over any other, Captain.’

  Thalric clapped him on the shoulder, which surprised Che. It was such a casual, human gesture from this harsh man.

  Grief in Chains was not pinned like Salma, but there was a collar at her throat for the slender chain in Aagen’s hand. The Wasp artificer went to a vehicle nearby and was unlatching a hatch at the back. This machine was a squat, ugly-looking thing, large and brick-shaped, entwined with the swept funnels of a steam engine. It had a pair of propellers at the rear, and one huge prop underneath, only inches from the ground, almost clipping against its four stumpy feet. Che found it incredible that anyone would inflict such an ugly thing on the air.

  The space within would clearly provide more room than they had been allowed for some time. Grief in Chains stepped in first, for all the world like a Spider-kinden princess escorted to her carriage, and then Aagen secured her chain to a ring on the interior.

  ‘Good job you’re coming with us, really,’ said the artificer. ‘If it were just me and the stoker alone with her, who knows? She’s quite a piece of work, isn’t she?’

  Thalric looked unmoved, or at least affected to be. At a signal from him, Che and Salma were bundled inside. The Wasp looked at them critically: the bound Dragonfly, the awkward-looking Beetle.

  ‘Chain them anyway,’ he told the soldiers. ‘Necks to the wall, like the woman. I’m not a man for gambling.’

  ‘Will you look at that,’ Stenwold breathed, peering through his telescope. He had known, he should have known, what he would see here, but it still shocked and frightened him. All these years he had been preaching it, and now here was proof, but how much he would rather have been wrong.

  ‘Is that Asta?’ asked Tisamon, hunching over his shoulder.

  ‘If they still call it that.’

  ‘What’s Asta?’ Tynisa asked. Beside her, Totho stirred in his sleep. He had been working on the automotive the whole night through.

  Tisamon went instantly quiet, and Stenwold sighed inwardly. To his knowledge neither of them had even tried to reach out to the other. Such reticence, at least, Tynisa had inherited from her father.

  ‘When we passed through here last, this was a tiny village, little more than a caravan stopover point. It was fairly cosmopolitan, more Beetle-kinden than anything else, though the name’s from the Scorpion. There’s an oasis there, you see. Northernmost one of the Dryclaw. Now . . . well, just look at it.’

  They were now at the very bounds of the Lowlands. Whilst to the south and the west the Lowland world was bounded by sea, and to the north by the great landslip of the Barrier Ridge, the eastern edge of its expansion had been checked by the desert. The great barren waste of the Dryclaw stretched for hundreds of miles, and there were only two ways round. South of the desert lay the narrow coastal Silk Road that led to the Spiderlands, and north . . . well, north was here.

  Passage north of the Dryclaw was never easy, but it had been easier in the past. The land had left its people only two roads. One led south of the Tornos mountains and north of the Darakyon Forest, a rocky and unappealing path of steps and leaps. The other ran south of the forest, where the land turned from wood to scrub, from scrub to desert, and here was Asta, this little caravanning town, the oasis.

  Except that Asta was no longer little, nor was it trade that drove so much traffic between it and the eastern world. The original mud-brick buildings of the village were now surrounded by a great host of sheds and long, low halls, all with the appearance of having been hastily constructed. Beyond them extended a veritable tent city and all of it was rendered in black and gold. The Wasps had come to Asta and it was no longer a village. It was a staging post.

  ‘This is an invasion in the making,’ muttered Stenwold. If only the old men of the Assembly were here with me now! If they could see this then how could they doubt me? He was suddenly afraid for his home city, for poor blind Collegium with all its flaws. Would realization come to the Assemblers only when the Wasps were at their walls?

  He silently watched the automotives and pack trains coming in, the dash back and forth of the flying sentries, and the thunder of the orthopters, the drilling squads of soldiers. Even for the Imperial Army there was a huge concentration of troops down there.

  ‘How are we going to find them, in all of that?’ Tynisa asked.
r />   ‘Nightfall,’ said Tisamon. ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Stenwold asked.

  The Mantis nodded. ‘In the meantime we have another problem. Any closer and they’ll see us. Especially in this device.’

  ‘We’ll leave it here for now,’ Stenwold confirmed. ‘We can use the cover of the trees to get closer.’

  He sensed a sudden change in mood behind him. Craning back to look, he saw that Tisamon was shaking his head slowly. ‘You forget,’ the Mantis said, ‘this is the Darakyon.’

  ‘Oh, not this again—’

  ‘It is not a place that we should go,’ Tisamon said implacably. ‘Any of us.’

  ‘I told you,’ Achaeos had been silent all day, hunched in the rear of the automotive with his hood up. Now he pushed it back, eyes narrowing in the sunlight. ‘My people know more of this than any of you, and they do not venture into the Darakyon without good cause.’

  ‘That’s because your people are superstitious,’ Tynisa told him. ‘It’s just a forest.’

  Tisamon did not look at her. ‘My people once claimed the Darakyon: a hold of we Mantis-kinden. No longer. Now no man may live there, and only fools travel its paths unprepared. You are all unprepared.’

  ‘What . . . what happened?’ she asked him, but he just shook his head, still turned away from her.

  ‘Don’t just—’ she started, but there was a sudden light touch on her arm. Achaeos’s expression had lost some of its aloof distance.

  ‘Crimes were done there,’ the Moth said, ‘by my people and his, together. After the revolution, when we feared to further lose our waning power. More than that is a secret held only by the Skryres, who know and see all. But this is known: those who did these terrible things, they have not left. They are still there and they do not receive visitors well. Why do you think the Mantis-kinden will not live here any more? Why do you think the Wasps or the Beetles have not already felled these trees for their furnaces? Time has been stilled within these trees for five hundred years.’