The Scarab Path sota-5

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  Berjek and Praeda both stepped forward to take a look. The great column that formed the eastern Estuarine Gate towered above them, incised at every level with those ubiquitous pictographs that Khanaphes had tattooed itself with. Che forced herself to examine them, aware that behind her Manny Gorget had drifted off to accost a sweetmeat seller, while Petri Coggen stood biting at her nails and flinching away from the many Khanaphir that bustled past.

  In frustration, Berjek had dismissed the designs as merely decorative. Che's eyes gave him the lie. They caught on the orderly lines of carving, drawn into following them. On most of the buildings it was like seeing a madman's scrawl, always promising sense, delivering nothing. Here on these ancient stones …

  She blinked. For a moment just then it had seemed as though she saw words, had heard voices almost. In that day… Honour to … So it was … She averted her eyes, her headache stabbing sharply behind the eyes, then forced herself to look again. It was as though the sense they conveyed was hovering like a fish just below the surface — distorted, deceptive, but nevertheless there.

  'Corcoran, tell me,' she said, 'what are these cursed carvings they engrave on everything?'

  'No idea.' He grinned briefly. 'Just part of the Khanaphir way, their traditions. When they build something in stone they have special craftsmen come and put these squiggles on them. It's just what they do.' He gave a half-shrug, clearly not so bothered. 'They say the carvers train especially from a great book of the designs that the Ministers have, that shows all the permitted pictures they can use. Good luck in seeing that, though. Our hosts don't make it easy to understand them.'

  Che filed the information away. I will see that book if I have to steal it.

  'I really don't know what I'm looking for,' Berjek admitted, backing away from the towering structure. 'Or do you mean the statues on the estuary side? We saw those coming in.'

  Didn't we just, Che thought. She had dreamt last night of Achaeos, the drink betraying her. He had been hunting her, the lethal lines of a snapbow in his slender hands, and she had tried and tried to hide, but he had always tracked her down, his white eyes blazing in fury. It had been Khanaphes he was hunting her through, a city empty of people, and with those colossal statues, in their eternal cold beauty, looming at every corner.

  'I have it,' Praeda said at last. 'This is not of one piece. There are four sides to it, and it is hollow.'

  'Very good,' Corcoran smiled. 'You can hardly tell, I know, but the cracks are there. Now look across at the side of the west gate, facing us. You see the groove there?'

  'There is … Is that a chain?' Praeda leant out, alarmingly, over the river. 'It can't be.'

  'They don't call this a gate for nothing,' Corcoran confirmed. 'Below us, way below the draught of any ship, there is a great big, bronze-shod, wooden gate, and inside those towers there must be the biggest drop-weights you ever saw. When they want to close the river, they close the river, though I've never actually seen it done. They tell me it was last raised about forty years ago, so I reckon it's in good working order still.'

  'Still?' Berjek echoed. 'Yes, but "still" from when? Oh, it looks old enough, but then everything here does. When was this mechanism put in?'

  'That I can't tell you,' Corcoran admitted, and when the academics turned sour faces on him, he raised a hand. 'Believe it or not, I wanted to know that as well. I'm an artificer, after all, and you get curious. The locals just say it's been here for ever, whatever that means. No help there, then. But I got friendly with a Spider-kinden captain, and she did a bit of digging for me — in exchange for a cheap deal on some crossbows from the Glove. She found some records of once when a Spider Arista was stopped at the gates by the Khanaphir — some diplomatic incident — and the Spider-kinden families don't forget insults. Their description of the gate is perfect, same then as now.'

  'And when was this supposed to be?' Berjek asked, annoyed by the man's air of showmanship.

  'Hold on to something,' Corcoran said, 'because it was at least — at least, mind — five hundred and fifty years back. And it didn't say anything about the gate being new, even then.'

  Berjek stared at him. 'Well, that's impossible,' he protested, but something tugged at the corner of his mouth and he added, 'Isn't it?'

  'Could Collegium have built this, then?' Che asked.

  'No,' Praeda said simply. 'That long ago is before the revolution, back when we might really have been Inapt.'

  'But the Khanaphir can't have been Apt for fifty — maybe a hundred? — years longer than we have,' said Berjek, scandalized. 'Just look at them! What happened? Are you telling me that all their artificers just gave up, closed their books and locked their workshops?'

  'I'm not telling you anything,' Corcoran said mildly. 'They do the most impressive things you ever saw with simple mechanisms, and they'll have nothing to do with anything more, even if you promise to install it free of charge. You're right, it makes no sense, but that's the way it is.'

  It doesn't make sense, Che agreed inwardly. And so there must be some reason for it that we have not found. Aptitude? It is all about Aptitude. This city has not truly taken to it, so … so …

  So there may be something left, some survival, that the tide of progress has not washed away.

  She fell back from the bickering academics to join Petri Coggen, who looked at her fearfully. Che could not blame her.

  'You know this city,' Che began. 'You know it better than any of us.'

  'What do you want?' Petri asked her, voice shaking slightly. There was clearly something in Che's expression she did not like, and Che was not surprised.

  'There must be something … Even in Collegium, if one searches hard enough, one can find a mystic, some old Moth or halfbreed peddling prophecy from a doorway. You can't tell me there is nothing of that here.'

  Petri stared at her aghast. 'But … why?'

  'Never mind why,' Che replied, with more force than she intended. 'I want you to think carefully about what I have asked and then, when we can go without these scholars bothering me, you will show me what I want to see.'

  Petri was already shaking her head slowly. 'I'm not sure …'

  'You have told me your fears,' Che persisted. 'I have not dismissed them. In fact, I agree with you: there is something at the heart of this city that is very wrong indeed. But I must use unusual methods to find it.' It was dishonest, putting it like that, but she was desperate. 'Did Master — did Kadro go to those places?'

  There was a very long pause, as shock registered on Petri's face.

  'He did,' she whispered. 'I don't know how you know that, but he did.'

  'Then so shall I.'

  Seventeen

  They had sent Corcoran advance warning of the ship, but the vessel was now three days late and he was not a man to be out sitting on the dock every morning in loyal vigilance. Instead, for a handful of coins he had a boy keep watch for him. He meanwhile did his best to show autonomy and importance, for the position of foreign traders in Khanaphes was an uncertain one. A man had to work hard to get invited to the diplomatic functions that Corcoran enjoyed. Still, when the boy came running to the Iron Glove factora bringing the news, Corcoran got himself to the docks absolutely as quickly as possible.

  He spotted the ship straight away, even amongst the perpetual dance of other vessels docking and leaving. Following his advice, they had come in under sail, but he could see the tarpaulin-covered bulk of the engine and paddle wheel at the stern, which had cut across the Sunroad Sea in defiance of wind or weather. The gauntlet badge of the Iron Glove was displayed on the round shields that lined her rails, a practice borrowed from the Mantis-kinden and more decorative than functional here. The sail was blank, but they seldom had to resort to it: only here, where time stood still, was being at the mercy of the elements considered good form.

  Corcoran got himself to the quay just as the ship drew in, making himself evident in his dark armour and shifting tabard. Though he liked to consider himself a free s
pirit, there were certain people whose continued favour was essential to his livelihood, and one such was currently on this ship.

  And why is Himself taking all this so very personally? A simple message from Corcoran had confirmed when the Lowlanders were expected, and the reply had come back by return: I am coming, and projected times and dates. None of my business, Corcoran decided. He's worried about the competition, no doubt.

  Once the dockhands had finished tying the ship off, a section of its metal-plated side fell open to form a gangplank. Corcoran drew himself up straight as the passengers began to disembark.

  Life alive, he marvelled. He doesn't do things by halves.

  The man in the lead wore armour of black, fluted steel: an intricate mesh of fine mail and sliding plates, and each section cast in ridges and folds to give it more strength for less weight. Nothing of his face showed between the slotted helm and a high gorget. His Iron Glove tabard was edged in silver, but beyond that it was only the sophistication of the armour itself that marked his rank. Behind him came a full dozen Iron Glove mercenaries armoured in leathers, like Corcoran himself, but under plain breastplates and blackened steel helms. They all carried spears and swords, and Corcoran guessed at the disassembled crossbows or snapbows lying hidden in their packs.

  It's not a delegation, it's an invasion, he thought. Already there would be word rushing upriver towards the Scriptora, so they would receive their official welcome soon enough.

  'Welcome to Khanaphes, Sieur,' he said. The eye-slit of the helm waited, and he hastily corrected himself, 'Sir, rather.' And why they have to use Imperial, rather than good honest Solarnese words, I don't know. 'Are you not hot in all that armour, sir?'

  The man gave a hollow laugh. 'A little, but giving the right impression is important. What is the situation here? Where do we stand?'

  'Would you not rather retire to the factora first, sir?'

  'I'm sure I will be required to speak with the locals shortly, so tell me what I need to know.'

  'Well then, nothing much has changed,' Corcoran explained. 'The Collegiates have been here almost a tenday now, and they've been meeting with the Ministers and poking at the statues, all what you'd expect. The only business was some kind of midnight scuffle with some Imperial types a few days back, but nothing further seemed to come of that.'

  'How long has the Empire been here?' the helm enquired.

  'Oh, about a couple of days longer than the Lowlanders. And yes, I know, obvious conclusions: one of them's here to watch the other. Or both of them are.'

  His superior nodded. 'And the Lowlander ambassador is … who I suspected?'

  'She is, yes.'

  'So.' There was a fierce edge to this single word that made Corcoran guess that Che Maker was in for a complicated future. 'Where have they put her?'

  'The old embassies. They've reopened them.'

  'Make sure you have people watching her constantly. Know where she goes, who she meets.' The gauntleted hands clenched.

  'Of course, sir.' And why's that then? But it was not Corcoran's place to ask questions of this man.

  'And now I think we have our welcoming committee.'

  Corcoran turned to see a full score of Khanaphir guardsmen hurriedly pushing their way through the crowds towards the docks. Although not caparisoned in the gilded splendour of the Royal Guard, they had the great form of Amnon striding at their head. They halted and formed up at a respectful distance as the two groups of armed men watched each other cautiously. Corcoran, caught in the middle, began to feel exposed.

  'Now then, who have we here?' boomed Amnon as he stepped forward. When he came to stand before Corcoran's master he seemed quite oblivious of the spear-tipped ranks poised ready to close on him. 'Iron Glove, then? More of you? We're a little taken aback, my good friends, since we were not expecting such numbers. Our hospitality may not stretch to it.'

  'We don't need much,' replied the Iron Glove leader, as he tilted his helm back, revealing a tan-brown face with that slight mismatching of feature that spoke of mixed blood.

  'You must think our streets very dangerous, to come in such numbers,' Amnon murmured. His countenance was all good humour, but Corcoran could sense his displeasure, ready to make a fight of this if the Iron Glove's answers did not satisfy him.

  I only hope they read everything I wrote to them about how to deal with the Khanaphir, he thought. Corcoran wanted to edge away, to slip out of that invisible line of tension strung between the city guard and the mercenary newcomers, but he had an image to maintain. The Iron Glove did not show fear.

  'The world's not safe. Without these men I'd not have arrived at all,' the Iron Glove leader replied. 'Indeed, some pirates saw our little trading coaster here and marked it as an easy prize.'

  Amnon nodded. 'And did you outrun them …?'

  'They discovered their mistake.'

  'I hate pirates.' Amnon's face split in a grin. 'Those that dare strike near the mouth of the Jamail are the rightful prey of my ships. I am glad to hear you sent them to the bottom.'

  'Not at all. I put men on their vessel and had them sail her back to Porta Rabi. We of the Iron Glove are well known as traders, and wealthy ones. We become targets, by land or sea. We show them in exchange that we who sell war can use what we trade in. That way they will soon realize that we always fight, and that any attacks will cost them more than they could ever gain from us.' He glanced back at his followers, still standing at the ready. 'So there you have the reason for this force. As for my men, they can lodge here on the ship, or wherever you wish in the city.'

  'I will have rooms prepared at your factora,' Amnon decided. He had been nodding with approval throughout the man's speech, and with these words the tension eased, his guards standing down with a tiny shuffle of feet. 'Well then, allow me to welcome you to our city. I am Amnon, First Soldier among the Royal Guard.'

  The Iron Glove commander threw a brief glance at Corcoran for confirmation, before announcing, 'Ah, so we have a gift for you, I believe.'

  Amnon nodded. 'That is no surprise to me, after all the measuring and prying that your man here has done.'

  'It may surprise you yet,' the Iron Glove man remarked. 'I am glad to be here in your city.' He thrust forward his armoured hand and clasped Amnon's larger one. 'My name is Totho, once of Collegium. I think you have some of my kin here.'

  'Apparently there's going to be a hunt of some kind,' Manny reported. The other Collegiates looked up from their breakfast in mild interest. 'Their big fellow, Amnon, came round yesterday while you were all out,' he went on. 'We're all invited. In fact it's in our honour. I, for one, am looking forward to it.'

  'Are you sure you're feeling well?' Berjek asked him. 'This hunt, presumably it will involve some manner of exertion — running around or that kind of thing. Not your favourite pastime at all, I would have thought.'

  'Very funny.' The fat man gave him a sour look. 'I am a natural historian and a cartographer, do not forget. Neither of which I can do much about while sitting idly here in this city. I want to go out and make a few sketches, and this hunt sounds like the best chance I'll get — anyway, it's on the river and so all I'll have to do is recline in a boat while some local beauty fans me with a frond or something.'

  'Some local bald beauty,' Berjek pointed out.

  Manny's expression remained supremely unconcerned. 'I happen to find that quite attractive.'

  'Are you planning to deflower the entire female population of Khanaphes before we're done here?' Praeda asked testily.

  'They don't object.'

  'They've probably been warned that their families will be executed if they don't indulge the important foreigners,' she said. 'That's the only way I can account for it.'

  'Trallo, what sort of hunt is this likely to be?' Berjek turned to the Fly. 'Dangerous?'

  'Could be, if you get too close,' Trallo replied. He had been idle recently, his work in Khanaphes already done, and Che suspected he might soon ask for his pay and take his leave. 'The
y usually put the spectators out in mid-river where they can watch safely, while the real business goes on in the shallows or on the shore. Of course, they'll respect you all the more if you ask to take part.'

  Petri Coggen appeared just then, bleary-eyed. Che studied her with a matching expression. Her own dreams had been bad again, too, but Che remembered only fragments. When she awoke the ghost was boiling in the air beside her bed and, in conjunction with her latest nightmare, she had not been able to suppress a scream. Its seething frustration was palpable: she could feel its thoughts, and they were all contempt and rage at being trapped, and all directed at her, for keeping it so.

  'I'm sorry!' she had cried out to it. 'Please, tell me what to do!'

  But instantly it had been gone, just as Trallo had burst in, half-dressed and with a crossbow in his hands.

  I can't take much more of this, she thought. This city that had promised so much had betrayed her, and she was falling apart.

  Praeda and Berjek were heading out into the city again. Che was still not quite sure what they were looking for, and she guessed that neither were they. Once they were out of the door, Manny laughed vaguely. 'She might come over all Mistress Detached, but I know something she doesn't. Remember that party at the, what's the place called?'

  'The Scriptora,' Che supplied.

  'Right. Their man Amnon, he had some interesting questions to ask me.'

  At the mention of the name, Petri shuddered, but Manny was too concerned with his story to notice.

  'He was asking me, you see, whether our Praeda Rakespear had a man back home.' He smirked. 'I think he thought that she and I might be … you know, but when he found out we weren't, he was asking if there was anyone else. I think our big dumb brute has taken a liking to the Cold One.'

  'And you wouldn't have encouraged him in that at all?' Trallo tried to sound stern, but could not hide his grin.