The Scarab Path sota-5

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  'Why are you telling me this?'

  'I'm trying out honesty,' he said. 'I'm just telling you what they suggested.'

  'I should go,' she said. He was still hunting chessmen, though, and she did not want to go until he had at least turned to face her. 'Thalric,' she said, more urgently, and he looked at her at last. The expression he had been hiding from her left some traces still, on his face. He looked a little uncertain, a little shaken. She tried a smile on him, saw the corner of his mouth twitch in return.

  Something crashed downstairs and they heard the servants scream.

  Che was out of the room in an instant, reaching for her sword. She saw the Beetle, Corolly, surge out onto the landing, dragging at the string of a crossbow. There were soldiers in dark armour rushing up the stairs already, who reached him before he could cock the weapon. One of them smashed Corolly across the face with the butt of a snapbow, knocking him to the ground. Another put a foot on the Beetle's chest, levelling a long-barrelled weapon at his face. The rest were surging towards Che.

  She brandished her sword, and only then did she recognize them.

  'Totho?' she faltered. The lead figure was wholly concealed in armour, black metal plates cast into elegant flutes and ridges. She was not even sure that she had identified him correctly until he spoke.

  'Che.' She could barely recognize the hollow voice from within the helm. 'You're coming with us.'

  'You!' Thalric spat the word out from behind her, and she felt a sudden plummeting in her stomach at what was about to happen.

  Totho raised some kind of weapon, levelling it directly over her shoulder, but Thalric was quicker. The flash and flare of his sting warmed her cheek before it struck Totho across the breastplate and pauldron. He reeled back with the impact, the short weapon in his hands snapping a bolt into the ceiling. The seething fire from the Wasp's Art merely boiled off his armour, leaving it patterned with pale lines but unbroken.

  'Everybody stop!' Che cried out at the top of her voice. 'What is going on?'

  Totho grabbed her — just reached out, took hold of her tunic and hauled her towards him effortlessly. As her back was pulled hard up against the grooves of his breastplate, she could feel where it was still warm from Thalric's shot.

  Thalric stood in the doorway of his chamber, hand again spitting golden fire. A man beside Totho went down, a fist-sized hole charred through his leather armour. The weapon in Totho's hand snapped again, striking stone-dust from the lintel and forcing Thalric to duck back. Che was struggling to escape from Totho, but he held her close with a grip she could not break. 'What are you doing?' she demanded over and over until he roared in her ear, 'Just shut up for once, Che. You're coming with me!' The vehemence shocked her into silence, mouth left open in mid-complaint. The Iron Glove contingent, some dozen men in all, began retreating back down the stairs. She heard Thalric call her name as he ran out onto the balcony, and his hand blazed again. Then a snapbow bolt tore across his arm and another skimmed his ribs, and he fell back.

  'Where in the wastes are the rest of them?' someone was asking, and she recognized Corcoran's voice. 'Setting an ambush?'

  Totho paused, and Che could almost feel the workings of his mind, transmitted through the armour that was digging into her back. If the rest of the Imperials were elsewhere, then Totho could accomplish more than simply dragging Che away.

  Deliberately she began fighting him again, and she heard his curse echo from inside his helm. Corolly had appeared at the balcony rail again, crossbow loaded now. A snapbow bolt made him duck back. Totho came to his decision.

  'Let's go. We have what we came for.'

  Under the gaze of the aghast servants, the Iron Glove men retreated from the Imperial embassy. They left a dead man on the balcony, irrevocable proof of how they had broken the peace of Khanaphes.

  What can he mean to do? Che asked herself helplessly. They will hunt him down for this. The Ministers will set Amnon and the Mantids and everything they have on him. She envisaged being manhandled to the docks, a swift flight through the Estuarine Gate before the alarm was raised. Totho was not taking her towards the river, though. As she was marched briskly on, she understood where: the Iron Glove factora. He must be mad. What will he do, holed up in there? 'Totho, tell me what's going on,' she pleaded, but he said nothing, just hustled her on through the streets of Khanaphes, under the increasingly concerned attention of the locals.

  She stumbled, as a memory revived within her like a cold knife in her, leaving her suddenly sick with the thought. It is just like before. She pictured a mountainside outside Helleron, and a sudden abduction by a familiar face. It had been her lost Achaeos that had stood before her then, rather than Thalric of the Empire, but the face of her kidnapper had still been Totho's.

  But it was not truly him, not then. That first time, it had been the Spider-kinden shape-changer, Scyla. And now we are come full circle, and this time he really has done it.

  Twenty-Six

  She had expected Totho to at least sit down and talk to her, after they bustled her into the Iron Glove factora. He seemed to have no time for her, though. She had assumed at first that this was some mad impulse of his, and that he could not know what a nest of hornets he would be stirring. Now she saw that he had planned everything.

  They had moved her from room to room within the factora, ahead of a wave of fortification. Allotted such primitive facilities, the Iron Glove were not content to let them lie: the solid stone framework of the factora building was being re-edified even as she watched. She caught brief moments of the process as they moved her deeper inside. They were fixing metal grills over the windows, with apertures large enough to admit a snapbow's barrel. They had replaced the main door with something iron-bound and reinforced. Iron Glove people were running everywhere, now, strapping on breastplates and buckling on helms, checking the workings of crossbows and snapbows.

  He's making ready for a siege. She could understand the logic. The Khanaphir could not stand by and allow these foreign merchants the run of their city. But they are not merchants. The staff of the factora had transformed their headquarters into a fort, and themselves into soldiers. She had no doubt that they practised regularly with all the different weapons that they sold.

  At last she caught a brief glimpse of Totho again, helmet pushed back, his face appearing almost transformed. It was a look she remembered from when she had found him engaged in some artificing project or other, where everything was coming together just at the last moment.

  She called out his name, even as two Iron Glove men began manhandling her up some stairs. She saw his head turn, then he strode over, leaving half a dozen metal-clad men waiting on him. He still wore his own elegantly fashioned mail, that made the serviceable equipment of the others look like something that should be hanging in a museum.

  'Later,' was all he said, from the foot of the stairs, and then turned to go.

  'Totho, tell me what's going on!' she cried, struggling furiously with the men that held her. 'This is me, Totho!'

  'Yes, it is.' He turned sharply back to her, and he was actually grinning. It was an expression of desperation and elation all muddled together. 'Oh, I'll tell you all right what's going on, but not now. Soon enough I'll tell everybody what's going on.' Then he was off once more, marching back to his troops, and Che continued being hauled backwards up the stairs.

  'Curse you!' she shouted after him. 'You can't do this!' She was about to add that he had no right, but Thalric's words came back to her, about what her 'rights' were worth.

  'Bring her in here now.' She recognized the voice as Corcoran's, though his helm left him as anonymous as all the rest.

  'You are all going to regret this so much,' she warned him, because she had nothing else to say.

  'I imagine you're bang on the money there,' Corcoran concurred. 'Mind you, it's too late to be having second thoughts now, but I'm sure Himself will find a way out of this.'

  'He's gone mad,' she hissed. Poised in the door
way to her latest prison, Che wrestled around to confront him, seeing his leather-clad shoulders rise and fall.

  'And what manner of man hasn't said the same about his employer, once or twice?' was all Corcoran could offer before they propelled her inside. She heard a click — and saw that even the lock was new, bolted on to the solid Khanaphir door. She had to concede that she had clearly not done herself proud as a diplomat.

  Are ambassadors kidnapped on a regular basis? And what is the diplomatic response? Are you supposed to remain calmly polite and thank everyone for the personal service?

  The room they had put her in was located two storeys up, and they had not yet barred up the window. The opening was barely big enough for a Fly-kinden, though, which meant there would be no escape there. Scuff marks on the floor suggested that the Iron Glove had been using this as a storeroom, but now it was practically empty.

  Someone else moved inside the room, and she froze, reaching automatically for the sword they had taken away from her. He had been standing by a desk in the corner of the room, small and still enough for her not to have noticed him.

  'Trallo …' She heard the uncertainty in her own voice, on realizing he was no prisoner. A Fly-kinden could go in and out of that window as often as he pleased.

  'Hello, Che,' he said, with an awkward look on his face, suggesting they had at last punctured his cheer. She gave herself a moment to rein in a temper that had been increasingly on its own recognizance of late.

  'Just how many people,' she asked sharply, 'are paying you to "look after" me?'

  He grimaced. 'Well, the thing is, you see … after that scuffle in the Marsh Alcaia, your Iron Glove fellow sent me a message, wanted to do business. Now, you know, in my line of work, you don't want a bad name with any of the big traders.' Seeing her darkening expression, he hurried on. 'And it was just … I was watching out for you anyway, and at the time it didn't seem that there'd be a problem about it.'

  'I'm sure the shiny money blinded you to the obvious. And now?'

  'And now I have what's known as a conflict of interests,' Trallo admitted. 'How was I to know that this Totho fellow would lose his mind so completely?'

  Che stared out of the window. There was no crowd gathered yet, but it would only be a matter of time. It was not that she herself was so very important, but the sovereignty of their hosts had now been challenged. She knew how seriously they would take that. 'He's not mad,' she decided. 'I don't really know what he is, any more, but he's not mad.'

  'Old friend of yours, he claimed.'

  'He was, yes.' She thought about the man she had met after the Battle of the Rails, where it had still been possible to see her friend somewhere behind the scars that his recent history had scored across him. But the man she had met in Khanaphes had been all scars, and barely a hint left of the shy, awkward boy who had once helped her in her studies. Have I done this to him, somehow? Or is it Stenwold's doing? We cannot leave the Empire with all the blame.

  She heard a rattle at the lock, and then they were around her again, bolting a grid across the window. This time she went with them without a struggle, accepting defeat. Trallo pattered along beside her, the Fly finally caught in the trap of his own diverse loyalties. She found she could muster scant sympathy, especially as he had taken her down with him.

  They led her down one floor and into a long hall, where Totho was waiting with a dozen of his men.

  'Now,' he addressed her, 'no more secrets.'

  'Then tell me,' she said.

  'I will, right now and, more than that, I'll make it a public proclamation.' He seemed on a knife-edge, as if waiting to see whether his carefully crafted project would succeed or fail. Out of everything about him, only that was painfully familiar. 'Come out onto the balcony with me,' he said.

  'Totho …'

  'No, no, let's …' He put on a smile. 'Let's — what do they say? — take the air? They're all out there now. The Empire, your people, lots of the locals.'

  'I'm not surprised.'

  'Neither am I, because it's what I wanted,' he told her. 'I've armoured this place up so that it's even given Amnon pause for thought, and now they're going to hear me out. And so are you. Come on, Che. You say you want to know what's going on? Now's your chance.'

  Who would have imagined any of this? Looking over the gathering crowd, Thalric confessed to himself that he was surprised that some paltry Exalsee traders could achieve so much. Diplomatic history was being made. It was a tactic he might recommend to the Rekef: manufacture a common enemy and the world falls into your lap.

  They were all here, that was his initial conclusion. Probably there were some people somewhere in Khanaphes who knew of Cheerwell Maker but had not turned out, but he could not think of any names. Her fellow Collegiates were here, of course. The three academics — old man, fat man and distant woman — were standing in a close-knit clump and looking worried. Separated from them by a pointed distance were the two Vekken ambassadors, who had arrived with their crossbows and their closed expressions. Near them was gathered the formal delegation from the Scriptora.

  Ethmet himself had put in a personal appearance, together with at least a dozen of his fellow Ministers. They stood in their simple, one-shouldered robes like a gaggle of clerks, save for the respectful space that everyone else gave them. Behind them was the army, or that was how it looked to Thalric. Amnon had turned out the Royal Guard in their gilded scale mail, with their pointed shields, spears and bows. The big man was looking angry. What had happened here was a personal affront to his authority and, with perhaps a hundred men at his back, his authority was looking more and more sensitive to insult.

  Did the halfbreed know what he was asking for when he opened the door on this? Thalric wondered. Looking at the way the Iron Glove had turned their factora into a fortress, he had to conclude that, yes, he had. But why? Is the man so mad for Cheerwell Maker that he will see his entire delegation slaughtered? Beyond the guardsmen were a mass of the ordinary Khanaphir, many holding staves or sickles or slings. Word of the outrage had gone quickly through the streets, no doubt tacitly encouraged by the Ministers.

  Any welcome for the Iron Glove has finally expired, Thalric thought with satisfaction.

  There was a silence falling on them now, a quiet focused on Ethmet, although he had made no sign. More soldiers were just arriving, who carried, slung between them, a bronze-shod tree-trunk. Appreciating the hush, they lowered it gratefully to the ground. Thalric eyed the reinforced door and decided the ram would burst it open after a dozen or twenty blows. He could see movement behind the metal-latticed windows, and knew the Iron Glove would be ready to defend themselves. There would be two prodigious bloodlettings, in Thalric's professional opinion: one to get the door open, and another inside once the horde of the Khanaphir began tearing every single Iron Glove man apart.

  Up on the balcony that extended above the door, a handful of the Iron Glove emerged, bearing snapbows but keeping them low. The archers amongst the Khanaphir already had arrows to the string, just waiting for the command to draw.

  Totho came forth next. Although most of those come to cause his ruin would not have recognized him, the sight of his armour, and the way his men deferred to him, singled him out. One of his men passed him a speaking horn, and Thalric felt a wrinkle of contempt for a man without a parade-ground voice.

  Cheerwell was pushed out to stand next to him, looking angry and stubborn, and Thalric felt a twitch of relief to see her still alive. He had not expected otherwise, but still …

  Totho coughed into the cone, the noise emerging garbled and tinny. 'Is everyone here?' he asked. His voice boomed back across the crowd, echoing from the walls across the street.

  'Explain this!' Ethmet demanded, needing nothing but his own lungs. Thalric would not have thought the old man had it in him, but he would have made a fine drill sergeant. 'What is this insurrection? Have you declared war on the Masters of Khanaphes, O merchant? What is this barbarism?'

  And not just
on Khanaphes, Thalric thought, but the Lowlands and the Empire, all in one. I would not have thought it possible to make so many enemies so swiftly.

  'You're owed an explanation,' Totho replied, and his voice, even amplified, was that of an awkward artificer trying to sound forceful. 'I will give it, but I wanted everyone to hear it. What I have to say is important.'

  'Release the Collegiate ambassador,' Ethmet snapped back at him. 'We will listen to nothing until she is free.'

  'She will be released,' Totho said. 'I won't hold her. I wanted her out of the hands of the Empire, that's all.'

  'Do you make your merchant venture a sovereign state now?' Ethmet called. 'How do you dare meddle in the affairs of your betters? Release her!'

  'Oh yes, we are ambitious, we in the Iron Glove,' said Totho, and his confidence was already building. 'You may not know, but Che here can fly. She can leave us right now.' He turned from the speaking horn to say something to Che, and Thalric saw her glance at the Iron Glove snapbowmen. Her wings flickered, putting her up on the very rail of the balcony.

  'Say what you have to say,' she told Totho, loud enough for many of the crowd below to hear. Thalric saw another figure nip out to join her on the railing, and it took him a moment to recognize the Fly, Trallo. The sight gave him a slight edge of unease. And what has that villain been doing with the Iron Glove? Had they captured him, for information about me?

  'Thank you.' Totho had returned to the horn. 'As I say, I owe you an explanation. I beg you to hear me.'

  'Explain, and then gather yourselves to leave,' Ethmet told him.

  'You have been deceived,' Totho's voice boomed out. 'You are victims of your own generosity, O Ministers. You are betrayed by your very guests.' There was a moment's murmuring before Totho caught up with the crowd's response. 'I don't mean myself. I don't mean this,' he said. 'This is nothing, a moment's misunderstanding, to be soon forgotten.' He waited, letting the murmur die down. His eyes sought out Thalric.

  'There is an army marching on Khanaphes even as we speak,' Totho declared. 'An army of the Scorpion-kinden called the Many of Nem. Your enemies.'