And then of course the street-to-street patrols, rooting out the resistance and hunting down the ringleaders, had been the very action to test the young Thalric, so that by the time the city was firmly in Empire hands he had been made a full lieutenant and the envy of his peers. Ulther had then taken him into his confidence, his inner circle, so Thalric had learned a great deal about the Empire and how it worked.
Ulther had put forward his name to the Rekef, or so he always believed. The irony was not lost on Thalric. He could cling to the hope, he supposed, that the rumours were misplaced and that Ulther remained a pillar of imperial loyalty, but what were the chances of that?
A chill went through him. Even if Ulther had not put a foot wrong in seventeen years, if Thalric went back to the Rekef with that report what would they do? What would they think of him? Would they have sent him at all if they had not wanted a foregone conclusion? Who exactly was under the lens here, anyway?
Too many questions and too little solid ground. He went in search of Aagen and found him supervising the loading of his flier.
‘Lieutenant Aagen.’
Aagen threw him a preoccupied salute, while leafing through a manifest.
‘Lieutenant, I want you to arrange for another pilot to take this machine back to Asta.’
‘Thalric?’ Aagen turned quickly enough at that. ‘I mean, sir?’
‘I’m going to require your services here. Consider yourself deputized, Aagen,’ Thalric continued.
‘But-’
Thalric put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him to one side. ‘Listen, Aagen, I’ve known you for a long time. .’
‘Yes?’
‘I need someone here I can trust.’
Aagen glanced over his shoulder at the local soldiers supervising the loading. ‘But the governor-’
‘Not the governor or his men, understand?’
The artificer’s face fell. ‘Oh spit, like that, is it? Listen, I’m Engineering Corps. I’m not one of your sneaks.’
Thalric smiled. ‘Who knows, Lieutenant, maybe you’ll be promoted. By the way, you’ve done some interrogation work, haven’t you, as an artificer?’
Aagen nodded, though his expression showed he was not happy about admitting it.
‘You might want to revise your notes then,’ Thalric said grimly. ‘I may require your services.’
They were glad of the automotive in the end, with the exception of Achaeos, who would have happily abandoned it. The roads had become impossible for between Myna and Asta there was a constant traffic of black and gold. However the stilt-legged machine that Scuto had found for them was more than capable of making its stuttering way cross-country, with Totho and Stenwold winding the clockwork twice a day.
Are we inside the Empire now? When did we cross the border? But it was a false premise, of course. Stenwold knew that maps took boundaries that shifted like water and tried to set them in stone. The borders were where the Empire wished them to be, unless somebody took a sufficient stand.
And will they finally take a stand? When I go to the Assembly and tell them that the little stopover of Asta is now a nest of soldiers? Or will they just shut their ears again and throw me out?
The land lying east of the Darakyon was rugged, home to a few families of goat herders or beetle drovers. Off the road itself there was no imperial stamp to be seen. What could they do to further oppress this poverty? On one occasion, Stenwold and the others shared a fire with some of the locals: quiet, sullen men with blue-grey Mynan skin. There were many halfbreeds amongst them, mixing blood of Beetle-kinden or of Wasp. They seemed inheritors of an unhappiness that no shifting of political boundaries would change, but they asked no questions and they had fresh meat. This made them more than tolerable fireside companions.
When the imperial patrol did at last find them, they were prepared. Tisamon, Tynisa and the Moth had melted away, ready with sword and claw if matters turned difficult. Stenwold and Totho had meanwhile waited patiently as a half-dozen of the Light Airborne fell to earth around them.
This was when Stenwold had been sure that they were now inside the Empire. If they had been beyond its borders then there would have been blood, and in the confusion of ambush it would have been blood on both sides, likely as not, but clearly these men were bored, sent out from some convoy just to make work for them in conquered territory. They saw only a tramp artificer and his apprentice riding on their antiquated machine, the two of them looking for skilled work in Myna. Was there much work in Myna, Stenwold asked? The Wasp sergeant had shrugged, then made enough loose threats to justify a small offering of imperial coin. A moment later the patrol was airborne again, and receding into the distance.
‘Why didn’t they arrest us?’ Totho had demanded.
‘Arrest who? An old artificer and his boy?’
‘But you’re Stenwold Maker. They must know-’
‘Know what? Who’s Stenwold Maker? I doubt every imperial soldier carries a picture of me in his pocket, Totho. Besides, they wouldn’t know we’re coming, because. .’ He had turned to see Achaeos and the rest now approaching, the Moth’s face invisible within his cowl. ‘Because there is no way that we ourselves could have known,’ Stenwold had finished awkwardly.
They halted the wheezing automotive within sight of Myna itself, counting on sufficient distance to hide them. Myna was built on a hillside with the airfield at its highest point, as Stenwold and Tisamon had good cause to remember, so they made their vantage point on another hill, looking across a lower rise to the city.
Stenwold had his telescope out from his pack, the dust of years brushed off it only recently, and was now squinting through it at their objective keenly.
‘The walls are refortified. Looks like there’s less artillery though. I suppose they’re not so much worried about an actual siege as internal trouble. The Wasp stripes are flying from the towers. .’ he carefully moved his point of view across the city, or as much as he could see of it, ‘and someone’s built the world’s biggest wart of a building where the old Consensus used to stand. Demonstration of power, I suppose. And the airfield looks busy, so I’d guess this is a major stopover on the road to Asta and the Lowlands.’ He took the device from his eye and carefully folded it away. ‘This is going to be difficult.’
‘It always was,’ Tisamon confirmed, and the two of them looked at their younger companions. A Spider, a Moth and a half-caste artificer — not the most inconspicuous of travelling companions.
‘I’ll get inside-’ the Mantis started, but Stenwold cut him off.
‘Not this time. This one’s mine.’
‘Stenwold,’ Tisamon said reasonably, ‘you’ve absolutely no gift for creeping about.’
‘You forget my great advantage though. I’m Beetle-kinden and my race live all over the Empire. A tramp artificer can get work anywhere there are machines.’
‘They’ll be looking out for you,’ Tynisa warned him.
‘Probably,’ Stenwold agreed, ‘but in a city that sees such a lot of traffic, it’s a job and a half to spot one man, and because they’re expecting either one man or a whole group, I’ll take Totho along with me as my apprentice. A tinker and prentice should be inconspicuous enough, all right, Totho?’
The young artificer swallowed nervously, but nodded.
‘And what will you do once you’re inside?’ Tisamon asked.
‘Start dropping names,’ Stenwold said. ‘There must be someone left that we used to know, and if there’s any kind of resistance movement, they’ll undoubtedly be involved.’
‘Be very careful,’ Tisamon warned him. ‘You don’t know for sure that they’ll welcome you with open arms.’
‘They’ve no reason to, but I don’t see any other choice. We can’t exactly break into the prisons of Myna on our own. When I’ve made contact there, we’ll sort out the best way of getting you three in. If there’s no easy way, then at least Totho and I — who, as you say, aren’t built for the shadow stuff — will be inside the city. After
that, you three can make your own way. Agreed?’
‘And meet you where? I don’t want the same mess as in Helleron,’ Tynisa said. ‘Especially in a city riddled with Wasps.’
‘There are two plazas in Myna, or at least there were. At the east plaza there used to be a merchant exchange run by an old Scorpion-kinden named Hokiak. He might even run it still.’
Tisamon remembered. ‘That was a low place.’
‘I hope it still is,’ Stenwold said. ‘Hokiak was a black marketeer before the Wasps moved in, and if we’re lucky he or his successor still is. That sort of trade is useful to all sort of malcontents and revolutionaries, so it’s a good place to start looking. I’ll leave word there for you, if I can.’
Twenty-three
It was a throne room. The design was copied from the imperial chambers at Capitas, and Thalric was uncertain whether this counted as honour or presumption. The long room had an arcade of pillars to either side, and shafts had been cut into the high ceiling above to make a further double row of columns composed solely of slanting sunlight. The pale stone was set off by the ochre of the pillars, while a mural running across the circuit of three walls was painted in a style that Thalric knew to be local.
A servant youth in plain dark clothes, also local, announced him at the doorway, and now Thalric began the long trek towards the seven seats at the far end. The Emperor held court at the centre of eleven thrones, of course, but this display in Myna was still something of a liberty.
Only five of these seats were occupied. Ulther lounged in the central throne with three other Wasp-kinden on one side and a Beetle on the other, all watching the newcomer’s approach intently.
‘Thalric!’ Ulther’s voice, though not loudly spoken, rang the entire length of the chamber, showing that the builder had done his work well. ‘Captain Thalric, as I sit here! Now tell me, how well have you done for yourself, since we parted company?’
Thalric saluted smartly before the tiered dais, although it took considerable skill to keep his initial reaction to the man’s changed appearance off his face. It’s been more than ten years, he reminded himself sharply but, excuses aside, being governor of Myna obviously suited the old man too well. That his hair was white now, instead of grey, was time’s due, but his belt now strained to keep his waist in check, and even the tailor’s skill was not enough to have the fine gold shirt conceal the man’s bulk. There were two chins resting above the topaz gorget, and a face that had been merely heavy when Myna had fallen was jowly now.
His hesitation was noticed. ‘Oh sit, sit,’ Ulther insisted without rancour. ‘When you’re my age even you will want to find a more sedentary way of serving the Empire — and then see where it gets you. The way I look at it, if I had simply gone home to my family and managed the farm, then I would look just as bad and nobody would mind. I don’t see why things should be so different just because I’m on public display all the time.’
Thalric ascended the steps and found a vacant seat, eyes flicking across to the others there.
‘Captain Thalric served with me during the conquest, and a fine officer too,’ Ulther explained for their benefit. ‘Thalric, these here are my advisors, at least for the present. Captain Oltan is Quartermaster Corps, and Captain Rauth is Intelligence.’ The two Wasps nodded towards Thalric suspiciously. ‘And then Masters Draywain and Freigen, who are with the Consortium of the Honest.’
The Consortium was the Empire’s attempt to regulate trade but, from what Thalric had heard from his Rekef contacts, it was a narrow battle over exactly who was regulating whom. He gave the Beetle-kinden and the bored-looking, middle-aged Wasp a nod. Perhaps it’s one of these who is responsible for strangling the supply lines. Perhaps I can exonerate Ulther after all.
And is that what the Rekef wants?
‘What brings you here, Captain? Come seeking promotion?’ Ulther grinned at him, and that grin, for all that aged and fleshy face, remained wholly familiar. Inwardly Thalric twisted. He had wanted a private audience with this man, a chance to speak frankly.
‘A change of pace, Colonel,’ he said easily. ‘It’s been a long time on the front line for me. I’ve been asking for a chance to rest my feet for months. They sent me here. Do I get my wish?’
‘We’re always busy here, Captain,’ Ulther said. ‘However,’ he added, avuncular, ‘I’m sure I can find you a tenday to lick your wounds. Make yourself at home in my city.’ When Thalric raised an eyebrow at that, Ulther’s smile broadened. ‘I’ve got Myna firmly in the palm of my hand, Thalric, and when it twitches I squeeze. It’s a simple lesson, though they never do seem to learn it.’ He clapped his hands and a moment later a dozen servants came in from a door behind them, bearing trays with flasks and goblets. ‘Let me show you what Myna can offer, shall we?’
‘I’m surprised, in a way, that you’ve not moved inwards, towards the capital,’ Thalric said. The servants attending them were all women, he noted, and all of them young. Not one of them was Mynan, either, which was undoubtedly a wise precaution for body slaves. Ulther had obviously ransacked the Empire for servants pleasing to the eye, and there were even a couple of Wasp-kinden amongst them.
‘Who would they get to replace me?’ Ulther took a goblet and watched appreciatively as a Spider-kinden slave poured it full. ‘I know Myna better than any, even better than the pestilential natives themselves. I keep a lid on the pot, you see, boil as it may. They would have risen up a few years back when Maynes did. They were all set, but I knew it in advance. Crucify a handful on the crossed pikes, arrest a few more, and then the families of the ringleaders packed off as slaves to Great Delve. A firm slap early on will stop a tantrum later.’
‘Very creditable,’ agreed Thalric. He helped himself from the tray of sweetmeats proffered to him, glancing up at the slave who served him. She was one of his own kinden, fair-haired and handsome, but she kept her eyes lowered, as slaves should.
‘These two,’ he said, indicating the pair of Wasp slaves. ‘Objectors or Indebted?’
‘Indebted, to the best of my knowledge. There’s a lot of them on the market these days, especially from the capital itself. Terrible, terrible situation.’ Ulther’s sympathy was transparent. ‘Still, I try to give ’em a good home, where I can.’
The young woman remained very still, and Thalric wondered what trauma she was now thinking back to: sold to pay her husband’s debts, or her father’s?
‘I’ll send her to your quarters later, if you want,’ Ulther offered. ‘We might as well make your stay here a memorable one.’
‘I’ll take you up on that,’ Thalric said. He sensed the woman stiffen slightly: a Wasp’s pride against being passed from hand to hand like a chattel. She was a chattel, though, merely a slave and a commodity. There was no more to it than that.
Thalric raised a goblet, and he and Ulther touched rims across the face of Captain Oltan.
‘Here’s to “memorable”,’ said Thalric, but he felt sad as he said it. Memorable, yes, but for all the wrong reasons.
Ulther settled more comfortably into his padded throne. ‘Speaking of memorable, or so I hope, I have now a little entertainment for you: a new jewel in my collection. I even understand that you yourself escorted her to my city.’
Thalric raised an eyebrow, even as he filed the repeated my city away for later perusal.
In answer, Ulther clapped his hands once more and the serving slaves retreated several steps behind the crescent of chairs. A moment later two men walked in, of local appearance. One was white-haired and bearded, and he cradled a stringed instrument that Thalric did not recognize, something like a stretched lyre. The other was little more than a boy and carried a small drum. They made themselves unobtrusive amongst the pillars and sat waiting. Thalric had already guessed what would come next, for a pair of soldiers then led the Butterfly-kinden dancer into the hall. Aagen’s special delivery. Inwardly, he made another note.
‘Well at least take the chain off her,’ Ulther directed. ‘She’s not a p
erforming felbling.’
One of the soldiers closed the door whilst the other carefully unlatched the chain from the woman’s collar.
Thalric sipped his wine, which was sweeter than his taste preferred, and settled in for a wait. He had never much appreciated dancers or the like. He had caught a glimpse of this one performing before and she was good, but it was not his choice of entertainment.
The woman, named Grief in Chains as he recalled, stepped out until she was within a shaft of sunlight. It fed her skin so that the shifting colours there glowed and burned. From their unseen niche the musicians struck up, a slow picking of the strings at first, the drum a low but complex patter.
Grief in Chains moved, and she took the sunlight with her. It sparkled on her skin and ghosted like mist in the air behind her. And she began to dance.
Thalric maintained his lack of interest until the music changed tempo, the pace quickening bar after bar until she was spinning and leaping across from sunbeam to sunbeam. Then she was in the air, the iridescent shimmer of her Art-wings unfolding about her, and his breath caught despite himself.
She had always been chained before, so the slavers had not seen half of what she could do. With the music soaring and skittering all around them, the plucked notes becoming hard as glass, the drum like a dozen busy feet, she danced and spun, coasting in space and swooping at the pillars’ tops. She seemed to embrace the very air, to mime love to it, and Thalric had never seen the like before. Even he, for the moments of that airborne ballet, even he was touched.
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