Blood of the Mantis (14 page)

‘Where he’d only get in my bloody way,’ pitched in Allanbridge, who had repairs to make to the gasbag, and so became an unexpected ally.

Tisamon’s spines had twitched along his forearms, and his lips had compressed thinly, but he had eventually nodded and let Thalric go.

And so here he was off the leash again, in Jerez, back in the
Empire
. A Wasp in civilian clothes it was true – but then that was nothing unusual here. Jerez had so far never resisted imperial rule. There had never been a Skater army lined up against the black-and-gold. There had barely even been a local leader when the Empire first arrived, since the Skaters had seemed to choose and dispose of their headmen virtually every tenday. They had welcomed the Wasps in as the only way to contain the constant infighting and feuding that were so ubiquitous amongst them. Or that was the story, at least. Since then, Jerez had become the eternal thorn in the Emperor’s side: a conduit for fugitives and contraband that the Imperial Army could not stopper. Worse, it was a corruptor of officers, for many previously honest men had seen the opportunity in using their power and rank to dabble in the black market and make themselves handsome profits. Added to all that, this loose, mobile town shifting about on the shores of Lake Limnia produced a bare pittance of tax revenue, tax gatherers who asked too many questions tended to disappear overnight, and any proper census of the town was just impossible. More than one governor had considered trying to wipe the place off the map, but then the Skaters would just pack up their possessions and creep over the lake to somewhere else.

Scyla was obviously familiar with this place, so Thalric knew there was no point in trying to find her directly. She was not who he was looking for, anyway, since she had merely been hired to grab this box for some imperial magnate. That meant that they would be looking for her, sending hunters after her, and there were places that imperial staff tended to frequent when sent to Jerez on missions like this. It was, after all, a regular occurrence for imperial spies to end up looking for someone in this mid-den of a town. Thalric now wanted to see if whoever the Empire had sent was unimaginative enough to follow the usual path.

The answer was clear enough once he had found the two-storey shack that served as a boarding house and tavern, and was known informally as Ma Kritt’s Place. It had a veranda out front with a view of the lake, as if that would appeal to anyone, and Thalric could see three Wasp soldiers seated there at a rickety table, nursing their drinks. They too were in their civvies, but he could tell just from the way they sat that these were not only soldiers but Rekef. Someone high up was still using the poor old service to do his dirty work.

Thalric had found his ideal vantage point, leaning against the wall of a ruinous hut, with his hood up and ostensibly gazing elsewhere. He was a master of surveillance through the corner of his eye, and he had a good enough view not only to interpret gestures, but even to recognize faces.

The man he took to be their leader was called Brodan, and had been a sergeant newly called into the Rekef when last encountered, but must surely be at least a lieutenant now. Brodan had been Reiner’s man, too, if Thalric was able to judge, and a sudden surge of hope came to him.

General Maxin might certainly want him dead, but Reiner . . . perhaps General Reiner would decide that he was worth protecting after all. If, for example, Thalric was able to haul in some useful prisoners, fresh out of Collegium, who knew what this box was supposed to be and why it was so important.

In his time Thalric had run a few double agents, and he knew the strange balancing point that existed there: to keep a turned agent in place, the original employers had to be kept sweet, had to be convinced that the agent was still true. Hence, the traitor must still have useful information to pass on to his former masters, even as he was sending their secrets back. The situation bred a strange kind of uncertainty, for the double agent became unsure about who he was betraying to whom. Thalric had been amazed how many had still professed, despite the obvious contradiction, that they still remained loyal to their original masters.

Of course he had never said to himself,
I would never do that, in their place.
He had never thought that he would
be
in that position himself.

But here he was now, in exactly such a quandary. What did he owe Stenwold and his people? Nothing. What did he owe the Empire, though?

The same nothing, but this was not about what the Empire could do for him, but what he could do for the Empire. Seeing his countrymen over there he felt such a keening sense of loss, of exclusion, as though he was peering into a warm room through a frost-touched window, locked out in the winter cold.

A quick step over to Brodan.
Good day . . . lieutenant, is it now? Remember me?
His mouth went dry all of a sudden. He wondered if Tisamon, or his wretched daughter, was watching from somewhere. If he acted quickly enough it might not matter.

He wavered.

He fell.

He stepped out into the open, heading towards the three reclining Wasps, trying to decide whether he was some greater degree of traitor now – and, if so, to whom.

On the waters of the Exalsee, Che watched a sleek boat with blue sails tacking between the islands. She had been on boats enough to recognize a Spider-kinden design, not so very different from the vessel that had carried her and Nero to Seldis.

It was a strange world out here: Spiders ruling a city of the Apt, Flies piloting warlike flying machines, barbarous Dragonfly pirates. It was beautiful, though, for the early-morning sun had turned the great inland sea to liquid gold that rippled out to the distant horizon, the islands in it cast now in black velvet. Below her were the stepped streets of Solarno, the bold red roofs, the blazing white walls. The city was just waking, and she could hear the very beginnings of the bustle that she had encountered as they docked. A city of a dozen kinden. A city of sudden violence and strange politics.

‘Early riser, aren’t we?’

Che turned to see Taki standing in the doorway. The Fly-kinden was now dressed in a simple, much-darned tunic and trousers, not white as the Solarnese preferred but a dark grey. There was a pair of folded leather gloves thrust through her belt.

‘Going to work on your machine?’ Che asked her, recognizing clothes that wouldn’t show the dirt or the oil.

‘Yes, as it happens.’ Taki was a little taken aback by the observation. ‘My poor
Esca Volenti
took a hit or two in the scrap and, even before, she didn’t feel quite in balance. I can’t leave her repairs to the Destiavel’s mechanics. They’ll never get it right.’

‘You have . . .’ Che made an apologetic face. ‘I don’t mean to sound patronizing or anything, but you employ more artifice here than I would have expected. I was expecting the Spiderlands, if you know what I mean.’

Taki smiled. ‘You’ve not seen the Spiderlands then, not properly. The Spiders love their gimmicks and gadgets too, even if they can’t use them personally. There are cities down south that are just factory states, I hear, and Diroveshni – that’s south-west of here on the Spiderlands edge of the Exalsee – makes the best parts for fliers and auto-motives. We get all ours from there. What you mean is that the Spider ladies and lords don’t want to
see
any of that sweaty, greasy stuff, and so they keep it far away from their nice houses. Now, how about breakfast?’

‘Please.’

Taki motioned for her to follow, and they tapped their way downstairs to find a long, low table in the Fly-kinden style already set out with bread, grape jelly, ripe tomatoes and thinly sliced meat. There were about half a dozen people there, mostly the local Soldier Beetle types plus a pair of Flies and a single Dragonfly-kinden who sat cross-legged and stripped to the waist, his arms and chest showing an arabesque of brands and scars. A second glance revealed to Che that Nero was one of the Flies, but he seemed to have become native overnight. He was now wearing the white tunic and loose trousers of a Solarnese, and there was a little box-like hat with a small peak covering his bald head. He looked up at her and grinned, and only then was she absolutely sure it was him.

‘Well look at you, Sieur Nero,’ Taki said. ‘You’re now looking almost civilized – for an old man.’

‘And you, Madam Taki, are looking positively barbarous. Did I overlook some local custom about wearing the worst of one’s wardrobe today?’

Letting that comment wash off her, Taki took her place at the table and signalled for Che to elbow herself a space. ‘If you wish to fit in here,’ she instructed, ‘you will have to learn a civilized city’s methods of addresses. None of your masters or madams. A man is “Sieur”, Sieur Nero, and a lady is “Bella” if she’s your equal, but “Domina” if she’s your better.’

‘What if a man’s your better?’ Nero asked.

‘How would I know? I’ve not met one yet,’ Taki said smugly, to snorts of amusement from her fellow Destiavel employees.

‘These words are very strange to me,’ Che said. Having made no attempt to look like a native she did not mind showing her ignorance. ‘And the place-names, too. You talked yesterday about . . . Princep somewhere.’

The Dragonfly looked at her sharply, while Taki nodded. ‘Princep Exilla, yes. Bane of our lives, most of the time.’

‘Only, I know it’s just a name, but it sounds as though it should
mean
something too. I wondered . . . in Collegium there are some ancient tablets that are inscribed with letters nobody can read. These words you use sound almost like a different language, or . . .’

‘It’s all the Dragonflies’ fault,’ Taki interrupted. ‘Isn’t it, Dalre?’

The scarred and branded man gave her a terrifying scowl that, Che realized later, was meant in humour.

‘Dalre’s people have been here a lot longer than we have – they came here way back in the bad old days to found their colony. They brought their own talk too, like a different kind of gabble to their everyday speech, so the words are close enough that you can almost understand them, but not quite. They use it only as a secret language now, but I think that way back it was kind of formal lingo for their bigwigs and wise men. It’s like one of those private clubs for the gentry, where if you don’t speak right you don’t get in. After the Spiders came to Solarno and heard it spoken, they tell me the titles and talk are all over the Spiderlands too. Poetic, you know, just how the great ladies like it.’

‘So Princep Exilla means . . . ?’ Che asked.

‘The Exiled Princedom, or something like that,’ Taki replied. ‘And there are place-names like that all over. Even ordinary streets here in Solarno. Speaking of which, I need to go down to the machine shop to make sure the greasy-handed ones aren’t going to ruin my poor
Esca.
How about I take you and Sieur Nero to the Venodor, so you can get to watch how Solarno really operates.’

There was a slight edge to her glance as she said it, and Che, while nodding in agreement, thought,
She wants to get us out of here. To keep us out of the way of her Spider mistress perhaps, but why?

‘Who are they?’ Che asked, raising her voice to talk over the rain. Taki leant out into the street from the covered forecourt of the taverna to see the group she had indicated, and sighed theatrically.

‘You foreigners certainly know how to pick the best of our lovely city. Those, Bella Cheerwell, are chaotics.’ She glared at the little knot of blue-hatted men and women, mostly Solarnese but with a couple of her own kinden, who were standing at a street-corner within the Venodor and glaring right back at Taki and everyone else. ‘You have those too, where you come from?’

The Venodor was Solarno’s chief market, Che now understood. It was not decently located in a single open space but in dozens of cluttered streets in which, it also seemed, ordinary people were attempting to reside. Nero explained that this followed a pattern found throughout much of the Spiderlands.

‘Agitators, you mean?’ Che probed and, when Taki nodded, she admitted, ‘We have a few ourselves, I suppose. Students in Collegium who want this or that changed within the city, or protesting about someone somewhere else doing something they don’t like. And in Helleron the protests can become quite violent, they say, but there’s usually an element of crime involved as well.’ She shrugged. ‘That’s what I hear, anyway.’

‘Near enough the truth,’ Nero confirmed. He had not even bothered to peer out at the chaotics, or else had already seen them as they arrived at the taverna. He just lounged on the wood-slatted bench at one corner of the low-walled forecourt, while above them the rain drummed on a waxed awning before sluicing off it in sheets.

‘Well this lot can become as violent as you like. They’re supporters of the Crystal Standard Party,’ Taki explained. ‘You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? I can’t understand how you get on in your Lowlands, without politics.’

‘We do have politics,’ Che said, feeling obscurely proud. ‘In Collegium our citizens cast lots to elect the greatest of us to the Assembly, so the city is governed by its people.’

‘That sounds quite mad,’ Taki told her. ‘I may have to go there, just to see this prodigy for myself. Stories of faraway places are always strange, it’s true, but usually when you meet a traveller from those parts you find out it’s all nonsense and they’re just like we are. Apparently you’re not.’

‘So what’s all this business with rival parties here?’ Nero asked.

‘Now concentrate, as this will get complicated, you poor innocent foreigners,’ Taki warned them with a grin. She sketched a broad circle on the ground with her foot. ‘Here is the Corta Lucidi, which includes representatives from all the major families of Solarno. Each family has, oh, four, six, up to a dozen representatives, depending on their wealth, their status, the trades they control. And also the number of their supporters,’ she added, flicking an idle glance in the direction of the chaotics, who were now shouting out something hostile at several hurried passersby. The group of agitators was only half out of the rain but did not seem to care.