The Scarab Path (24 page)

‘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?

‘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 information
. 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.’