The Scarab Path sota-5

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  The stone visages that met her gaze were those of cowled Moth-kinden. In that first glance, the male of the pair had seemed close enough to Achaeos to nearly stop her heart.

  A lot of people were talking to her, but she could not focus on what they were saying. For a moment the air about the statue blurred, and she feared that his ghost would emerge from it to chastise her. The impression was soon gone, though, the blur due only to the heat. She felt stifled by the sheer number of people trying to find out what was wrong with her, and she virtually elbowed her way past Berjek and Manny and Trallo, until faced by the old man Ethmet.

  She had finally elicited a genuine expression out of him, and it was surprised concern. Nobody had laid this trap deliberately, it had all been mere chance. Predictably, the Vekken had drawn their swords, but she did not feel she had the strength to reason with them again.

  'It was … it was nothing,' she got out.

  'We have displeased you,' Ethmet said mournfully. 'You must forgive us our ignorance of your ways.'

  'No, no, please,' she said, and she looked the statue directly in its cold face.

  Can I live with this, even for a tenday? What should I say, if I cannot? How could I explain?

  I must live with it. The alternatives are too humiliating.

  'Please …' she said. 'Please, it is just … the journey was long and I am tired, very tired.' The Vekken resheathed their blades sullenly, obviously resenting their inability to use them.

  'Of course,' said Ethmet. He made a quick signal and the porters began moving the expedition's baggage inside. Che heard a startled cry from within, but she was already gazing around at the other embassies, the other statues that adorned them. She saw Spider-kinden, clearly recognizable by their features, although the garments were strange. She saw long-faced, hunchbacked people she could not name, and beside them were lanky Grasshoppers. There were even two that might have been Dragonflies.

  'How long … how old …?' she murmured to herself. The carvings that circled the pillars and scaled the walls writhed under her gaze, and now seemed on the threshold of forming actual words, to reveal terrible secrets of time and antiquity.

  She heard the sound of running feet behind her, and the all-too-familiar leather whisper of the Vekken drawing their swords again. A Beetle-woman burst out of the Moth-flanked embassy, knocking over a porter in her urgency. Che stared at her, wondering What is wrong with her? and seeing a moment later that it was the hair, of course. She had hair, which meant she was no native. When the woman cried out, 'Please, wait. Listen to me!' she had a Collegium accent.

  Everyone had gone quiet, waiting for what she would say but, after a sidelong look at old Ethmet, she said nothing. The pause grew awkward.

  'I'm sorry,' Che addressed her, 'who are you?'

  'I'm … Petri Coggen. I'm Kadro's assistant,' the woman got out. She looked as though she had not changed her clothes or combed her hair for a tenday. Her eyes were wide and flinching. Che shared a frown with Berjek, then knelt beside her.

  'What is it?' she asked. 'What's the matter?'

  Petri's eyes kept being drawn to Ethmet, despite all her efforts to stop them. Che recognized a physical struggle within her, to control some outburst.

  'I have to tell you things. Please-'

  'Where's Master Kadro?'

  'Ssh!' Petri's eyes went wider still. 'Not that — never that!'

  Trallo had said as much when he briefed Che in Solarno. 'Where is … Sieur Kadro, then?' It seemed disrespectful to give a Master of the College nothing more than his name, and so Che compromised on the Solarnese title.

  'Disappeared. Gone.' The words were barely a murmur on Petri's lips. 'This place …' Again her eyes were dragged over Che's shoulder towards Ethmet, whose expression suggested polite puzzlement at the ways of foreigners.

  'Perhaps we had all better go inside,' said Che loudly, part worried about this woman's state of mind, part embarrassed at making a spectacle in front of their hosts. The porters had completed their job and Che saw a row of Khanaphir men and women lined up in the entrance hall, obviously the staff waiting to greet them. Glancing back she saw that the two Vekken still had their swords drawn, standing shoulder to shoulder, tilted away from each other.

  'Please forgive us … First Minister.' In between turning to him and remembering his proper title she had caught, for a brief instant, a strange expression on Ethmet's face. It was the look of a man listening to a voice only he could hear. Are these people mindlinked too, like Ants? But this was something else, and she realized what it reminded her of. As she stepped over the little bridge, she put a hand on the Moth statue's shoulder, remembering how the magicians of the old races could speak to one another, distance no object. Achaeos had told her so many times.

  The races who had graced this square in times past were all Inapt. The lords of the Days of Lore would have sent their emissaries here, before the revolution had put paid to their world. Those days, those far-off days, were engraved here in the very stone, enshrined in the reeds and the water, in the very faces of the locals. She felt her own loss, her deficiency, very keenly, but it was different here. Here, amongst the Khanaphir, it was surely no deficiency. Instead, it put her closer to them. Have I found a home here? Will they have words for what I have become?

  Fourteen

  'They're setting up right opposite from us,' Vollen observed. 'That's convenient.'

  'For them and us,' Thalric mused. With Marger and Corolly off making arrangements with their hosts, Thalric had been left with the two other Wasps in Marger's team, a pair by the names of Vollen and Gram. Vollen was taller, thinner, and Thalric reckoned his role was the specialist sneak, perhaps even an assassin, whereas Gram, even out of uniform, looked every bit the professional soldier.

  'I count four Beetles: two men, two women. There's a Flykinden there, too, and a couple of Ants,' Vollen went on.

  'Ants? What city?'

  Vollen shrugged. 'You should look yourself. You're the Lowlander expert, sir.'

  I suppose I have no choice but to go to the window then. Thalric went over, displaced Vollen from his post, and looked down. He experienced an odd sense of trepidation as though he might fall. Everyday sounds reached him — cicadas out in the greenery, the clatter as Osgan organized their supplies and gave orders to the servants below — but it all seemed to come from very far away. He felt very detached, looking only at the knot of people assembled across the Place of Foreigners.

  She was there, of course. Cheerwell Maker, I didn't think I'd see you again this soon, perhaps ever. She was wearing Mynan colours, which made no objective sense, but made sense to him. He would always associate her with that city.

  Did I pay my debts, through what I did in Myna? He felt emotionally split, his mind running on different rails at the same time. Part of him was thinking of old Stenwold Maker, how he had sent his niece out into danger yet again. Did it mean that this mission of theirs was so important to the Lowlands that he had risked his own flesh and blood to guide it? He never would keep her safe; it was an odd blind spot to Stenwold. Ever since Thalric had known him he had been doing his best to get his family killed. On the other hand, perhaps Che had put herself forward, and if she had done so then all of Stenwold's careful attention would not have been able to stop her. Yes, that would be just like her.

  He caught the thought, the slight smile, and killed it. Enough of that.

  Underneath such personal considerations ran the professional: how to proceed now against the Lowlanders. Their hosts were playing games in this place, it was clear. The Empire and the Lowlands could spy on each other here without even going outside the door, while the Khanaphir could keep an eye on them both. 'Do you think we can infiltrate a spy amongst their servants?' he asked.

  'I don't know the local character well enough,' Vollen replied. 'They seem poor, subservient. We should be able to corrupt one.'

  Or perhaps they would simply expand their game, double our agent back on us, feed us false i
nformation. Thalric was a man used to finding his way around in strange cities, amongst strange people, but Khanaphes had yet to open up for him. There are important things that are kept hidden here. I can almost smell them.

  'What city, sir?' Vollen asked him abruptly. Thalric blinked, losing the point of the question and then remembering. The Ant-kinden? He frowned when he looked to the two identical men standing a little apart from the rest.

  'Vekken,' he declared, and ransacked his memory for news of Vek following the abortive siege of Collegium that he had been so instrumental in prompting. Had there not been some word of Vekken ambassadors in that city, since? He thought maybe there had, but why were they here?

  Because whatever Che Maker was searching for in this place, it was important. Whether it was seeking an alliance or information or ancient buried treasure, the Vekken were obviously interested, perhaps even willing partners. That seemed next to impossible, considering the way they regarded Collegium, but if anyone could solder together that breach, then it would be Stenwold.

  The Lowlanders were going in now. If their embassy was anything like the Empire's, they would find an embarrassment of riches and service to get used to, giving the Empire a day's clear start in keeping an eye on them. Thalric watched closely as Che herself went in, the others filing dutifully after her. She's definitely in charge, good for her. Only when she had gone from sight did he permit himself the liberty of the third line of thought that had been brewing. It was a notion that had sparked when he had seen her at the docks, having gone there to see who the Lowlands had sent. Having seen, he should have backed into the crowd: Gram had been plucking at his sleeve, but he had stood his ground, watching. Unprofessional, for a man of your experience. The answer to that question was there in plain sight, but he had avoided it, up until now.

  You wanted her to know that you were here.

  He tried to make some capital out of this action, for the Empire. Surely he could wrestle it around to benefit his mission. He felt Vollen watching him, and knew that he was not above reproach, here. Brugan probably told them to keep me on a careful leash.

  'I recognized their leader,' he said lightly. 'An old acquaintance.'

  'Sir.' Vollen's tone remained carefully neutral.

  Thalric turned away from the window, putting himself out of sight of the building opposite. 'It gives us another option, in working out what they're after.'

  Vollen nodded, waiting for enlightenment.

  'I'll make contact,' Thalric declared, sounding very relaxed, almost flippant. 'Since they know the Empire's in the city, I'll think up some story and make contact. For old times' sake, you know.' What have you been told about me? he wondered, looking directly into Vollen's face. What have you been warned about?

  Vollen appeared all business though. 'That would make sense,' he agreed. 'We can hardly keep avoiding each other, being lodged so close. We might as well have some formal contact, and it sounds as though this is why the General sent you along with us.' Thalric saw no hint of suspicion, nothing but a Rekef man mulling over a problem.

  Is it quite so easy? Are my treasons forgotten? But that was the curse of running agents and spies, of course. Consider those men and women who spent their lives under false pretences, and how was their spymaster — how was anyone — to know their true nature? How, eventually, was even the spy himself to know where his loyalties lay? Pretend hard enough and it builds a shell of reality, as difficult to scrub off as barnacles from a boat. I remember learning that the hard way from my agents in Collegium. He felt a stab of regret at that, and shame at his own failure. They had been good Imperial agents until he had told them that Collegium must be destroyed, and it was then they had discovered that they were really citizens of Collegium, ready to fight him to protect their city. No one could have known that, until he had put them to the test.

  And now I am put to the test, am I? Who would I betray, given the chance? Then a pang of self-pity: Is there anyone I would not?

  'What do you make of this city, Vollen?'

  The other man shook his head. 'Speaking frankly, sir, it's an armpit. You saw those fields on our way down the river. My people are farmers, back home. I know how it's done. We didn't spot a single automotive on the way in, nothing but a few watermills. They do everything by hand or by beast labour here. The guards don't even have a crossbow between them. If the Empire wanted this place, we could walk in tomorrow.'

  'Just a primitive little backwater, then?'

  'Exactly.' Vollen's expression precisely indicated a Rekef man who wanted to be elsewhere: this assignment was not, his face said, the stuff a career was made of. Thalric realized, with a stab of guilt, that the man was talking to him as one Rekef to another, without any of the reserve that had marked their journey so far. Vollen must have caught himself at the same time because he added, 'Sorry, sir, if I've been too blunt.'

  'Be as blunt as you like,' Thalric told him. 'If it helps, I agree with you.' Only he didn't agree, merely wanted to. It was clear to him, he who had made a career out of finding his feet in foreign cities, that there were parts of Khanaphes still being kept hidden from him. There were too many inconsistencies all around him. If only, though … because, if Khanaphes was just some misbegotten hole of peasants and primitives, then it could not in any way be important. And if it was not important, then it could not really matter what he did here, since nothing was at stake. After all, my purpose — my true purpose — in coming here was to escape the Empress, if only for a little while.

  There was a crash of breaking pottery below, and he took it as his cue. 'I'll see how Osgan is managing.'

  Vollen's expression showed just what he thought of Osgan, but he nodded.

  I was a traitor for such a short time, he thought as he descended the stairs. Why do I miss it so much? Prisoner and fugitive, beaten, hunted. Such times, he thought drily, but there was a nub of truth there. His life as Regent was no garden, after all, and it had not even honesty to recommend it. It had been different when he had been a traitor.

  What was Che to him? He realized that she was the closest thing to an old comrade he had.

  He wondered if Cheerwell Maker would want to talk over old times.

  'So tell me what happened here,' Che said.

  Petri Coggen stared at her, wide-eyed, then her gaze slid over towards the servants who were carefully setting down Che's meagre baggage. The other academics crowded about them as well, so that Che felt a sudden surge of claustrophobia.

  'Out, everyone out,' she said. 'Let me talk to Miss Coggen alone. You all go … pick your rooms or something.'

  Mannerly Gorget was first out the door, his future comfort very much in mind, and the rest began to follow him.

  Berjek went last, frowning. 'Are you sure …?' he enquired. 'If there's something amiss here we all should know it.'

  'Master Gripshod …' Che began, and saw the servants visibly flinch. She gritted her teeth. 'Berjek, please,' she continued, 'I don't think an extra pair of hands is going to help, here.' With a tilt of her head she tried to indicate Petri Coggen, who now sat on the bed, looking dishevelled, shaking and red-eyed, hugging her knees.

  Berjek pursed his lips in irritation, but nodded and made his exit. Che waited for the servants to go too, but they continued patiently unpacking.

  'Sorry, could you leave us alone for a moment.' She had to say it twice before they registered that she was actually talking to them. Their expressions were those of frozen surprise, as though a chair had just spoken to them. Servants, or slaves? Che wondered. She remembered her brief sight of the Spiderlands, on the way to Solarno. There had been slaves everywhere, yet they had been invisible, for that was the custom: it was considered bad manners even to look at them. 'I'm sorry,' she addressed the servants again. There were three of them — two young women and a middle-aged man, all as bald as the rest of the locals — wearing simple white tunics that hung off one shoulder.

  'Where I come from, we are not used to such hospitality,' Che e
xplained carefully. 'Please would you leave us for a little while.'

  Blank-faced, they filed from the room, and Che closed the door after them. From recent experience she thought instantly, Have I locked myself in now? But there was no catch on the door, only a loop of cord and a hook. The sight of such Inapt measures was absurdly thrilling to her. This is it. I've found it. There can be no mistake.

  'They're still listening,' Petri Coggen said in a whisper.

  Che opened the door again, quickly, but no eavesdropping servants were revealed. The nearest one, dusting a display of pottery down the hall, could have heard them only if they shouted.

  'No one's listening.'

  'They're always listening,' Petri insisted.

  Che closed the door and took a deep breath. 'How long since you slept, if I might ask?'

  'Four days. I … If I sleep, they might …' The woman shuddered. 'I don't want to sleep.'

  'Where's Master — where's Kadro?' I need to break myself of that habit as quickly as possible.

  'He's disappeared!' Petri almost wailed, surely loud enough for any servants outside to hear whether they wanted to or not. 'He was investigating the city … he had found something, their great secret. He told me as much, and then, and then … gone. Just vanished.'

  'What was this secret?'

  'He didn't tell me that, just that he was so close — that he knew where to go.'

  Che took a chair and sat down across from her. 'What sort of investigations was he making? Where did he go?'

  'He went everywhere — at night, mostly. You know how Fly-kinden can see in the dark. He would copy down inscriptions from the oldest buildings. He went into the desert once, too, to see some ruins out there. Or he would go out beyond the gates to the Marsh Alcaia — the black market. He was always asking questions, piecing things together.'