Empire in Black and Gold (29 page)

‘You really do surprise me sometimes,’ was Salma’s response to the whole business.

‘You mean you think I was wrong?’

‘I didn’t say that. I’m just surprised. What happened to all that march-of-progress rhetoric of yours?’

‘I . . .’ If he was going to be so mocking about it, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know it had been his own views that had swayed her. ‘I just felt it was the right thing to do and . . .’

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

‘He’s still out there, waiting for dusk,’ she explained. ‘It’s . . . strange, knowing that.’

‘Well now.’ His smile was merciless.

‘It’s not like that. It’s just . . . strange,’ she said heatedly. And it
wasn’t
like that.
It isn’t!
But Achaeos still lingered in her memory: strange, dangerous, ephemeral. From another world.

And then she thought back to the revolution of the Apt, five centuries gone, when her people had thrown off the yoke. A Spider historian had once described it as the ‘revolution of the ugly’: the solid-built, strong-shouldered slaves, the Beetle-kinden and the Ants.
We do not have their grace
, she admitted to herself. She knew it more than most. Growing up alongside Tynisa would teach anyone that.

Salma was watching her carefully, and she wondered how much her expression had let slip.

‘I think it was the right thing too, whatever may come of it,’ he said softly.

‘Thank you.’

There was a rap at their door, and Che opened it on one of the servants.

‘Excuse me, miss, sir, but Master Monger wishes to speak with you. He’s waiting in the dining room.’ There was a slight edge to the man’s voice, and she felt a chill descend on her.
They’ve found him!
She couldn’t tell whether her fear was for Achaeos or for herself.

She glanced at Salma, who put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Together they went across the main room of Elias’s house into the dining room that occupied one corner. It was a simple affair, as was all of the house compared to the comforts Elias allowed himself in the city. Just a table and half a dozen chairs, and a door into the kitchen for the servants to shuttle food through.

‘Uncle—’ Che started, and then stopped, because Elias, sitting at the table, was not alone. There was a man with him and for a moment Che thought she should know him, but could not place him. It was only when Salma’s punch-sword cleared its scabbard that she realized the newcomer was a Wasp.

‘Wait!’ she cried. ‘Uncle Elias, what’s going on?’ She herself still had not drawn. Beside her Salma had turned, and she heard movement in the main room behind them.

‘Please tell me.’ Che stared at Elias. His look was uncomfortable. He would not meet her eyes.

‘This is Captain Thalric,’ he said. ‘He was . . . very quick to answer the notice I put up, about your friends. It seems you’ve been meddling in things you shouldn’t, girl. You should never have left Collegium.’

Che had stepped into the room, giving Salma a chance to stand back to back. She heard the Dragonfly murmur, ‘Seven here,’ just as the kitchen door opened and another four Wasp soldiers, in full armour, stepped through.

‘But I’m family! Your blood!’ she protested. ‘Uncle!’

‘
Blood?
’ Elias looked up at her with a sudden flare of anger. ‘Because you’re the brat of that brainless oaf Dorvy, the wastrel of the entire family? Or the ward of that obnoxious eccentric Stenwold? This is Helleron, girl. We don’t have time for your charity or philosophy. We’re all trying to earn an honest living here and Captain Thalric represents some of my best customers, whereas you . . . you’re just an inconvenience. Now tell your outlander friend to put his sword down and do the decent thing.’

That did it. Her blade was out in a moment and she was up onto the table in another, charging down it point first at an aghast Elias. Behind her, chaos broke loose as the soldiers rushed Salma, but she knew the intruders at the kitchen door were not close enough to stop her.

Thalric was, however. Che had written him off as the typical officer type, one to stand about and watch others do the dirty work. Instead he lunged forward, caught her wrist and turned it, her blade’s point passing from Elias, across Thalric’s chest and then past him. She rammed into him with some speed and the two of them took the entire table with them as they collapsed to the floor.

Salma was meanwhile doing his best, and two Wasp soldiers were already reeling back with bloody wounds. There was no room for him, though. He could not take flight and they were crowding all about him. A fist caught his jaw, another slammed into his side. He got his short blade into a third man, deep this time, a fatal wound. The soldier hunched about it, clutched at Salma’s wrist as he tried to free the sword. Salma elbowed the nearest Wasp in the face, still wrenching at the trapped blade. One of them was behind him, dragging at him, an arm round his neck. He went down, losing his blade, letting the backward momentum pull him from the soldier’s grip. His hands lashed out, breaking one man’s nose, knuckling another in the eye. In a moment, maybe just for a moment, he was free of them, diving for the hilt of his sword.

Che wrestled furiously with the Wasp officer, Thalric. He had her sword wrist pinned to the floor and was grimly trying to catch her offhand with his own. His face, close enough for her to smell the wine on his breath, had a set, determined expression. Even when she managed to get a solid fist into the side of his head he just grunted. Then he had her, and was casting himself backward and up, dragging her with him. She discovered that he was much stronger than he looked, certainly a lot stronger than she was.

‘Take her!’ he shouted, and without much option she rammed her forehead into his chin. He cursed, and for a second his grip loosened, and she was out of it. Then two solders had grappled her to the floor again. Thalric wiped blood from his lips.

Salma got two fingers on the sword before one of the soldiers kicked him in the gut. He twisted about the blow and put the heel of one hand solidly into the kicker’s knee, sending him to the floor with a crunch of the joint. Another soldier piled on top of the Dragonfly, knocking the breath out of him. Then two of them were hauling him up, a knee jammed in his back. The man with the broken knee had his fist raised, already burning with golden light.

Salma closed his eyes.

The sound was more violent than he expected in the sudden silence of the room, a hissing crackle of violated air. He opened his eyes. The injured man was lying on his front, the back of his head now smoking and charred.

‘Alive!’ snapped Thalric at them. ‘Alive, I said! Not so difficult, is it?’

Salma saw that Che was a captive too, and knew that would complicate matters.

‘Bind him. Use the Fly manacles,’ Thalric instructed. His lip was still bleeding and he wiped at it absently.

‘And the Beetle?’ one of his men asked.

‘Just tie her hands. She won’t be flying anywhere we can’t follow.’ Thalric took a deep breath. ‘Master Monger, your assistance is most appreciated and will, of course, be rewarded.’

‘You’re taking this man’s
money?
’ Che exploded. ‘You’re selling your own cousin for money?’

‘For contracts, Cheerwell,’ said Elias, as if that made it all right.

‘But they’re invaders! They’re going to come here and take over everything!’ she shouted at him.

‘You obviously have not heard of a little something called the Treaty of Iron,’ Elias said airily. ‘The Empire has no interest in us. And besides, nobody takes over Helleron.’ He settled back in his chair. ‘Helleron serves everyone best by remaining as a free city. Everyone has always known that. Here we do business with every city, every general, every merchant. Captain Thalric’s people are no different. In fact, they are some of the best customers Helleron now has.’

‘A lot of good that’ll do you,’ she snapped, ‘when they invade your city using your own weapons!’

‘Enough!’ Thalric was not loud, simply extremely authoritative. ‘I can have you gagged, Miss Maker. Don’t force me.’

Salma had been securely tied, his arms pinioned tightly behind his back, contorting him enough so that he would not be able to summon his Art-wings. He caught Che’s eye momentarily with a look that said,
Be strong.

‘Take them outside. We’ll be heading east tonight,’ Thalric ordered his men, and they bundled Salma and Che out of the dining room, twisting their arms painfully at the first sign of resistance.

‘Well, I’m glad that’s over,’ said Elias primly, looking around the devastated room.

‘We will pay for any breakages, of course,’ said Thalric. ‘And I think I will leave half a dozen men here, as well.’

‘I . . .’ Elias eyed him, for the first time with a little suspicion. ‘I’m not sure that will be necessary.’

Thalric smiled sardonically. ‘For the Empire’s love, Master Monger, do you think I’m going to garrison Helleron house by house, starting with yours? You forget, Stenwold Maker has arrived in Helleron, and doubtless he will come here, and soon. I have a great respect for his abilities to follow a trail of information, especially information I have planted for him to find. When he does, my men will seize him and then he will cease to trouble you.’

Achaeos lay back on the hay bale and closed his eyes. He was not sure what was happening, but he knew it was bad.

The Beetle-girl, Cheerwell, had just been dragged out of the house as a prisoner, along with some unknown Commonwealer. There was a whole pack of soldiers about them, their black-and-gold striped armour gleaming. Even now they were hauling the Dragonfly about by his bonds, jeering at him, boasting of how many of his race they had killed.

Achaeos tried to recall the wars the Commonweal had fought. He could have listed every major conflict of his own people in the thousand years before the revolution, but more recent history was hardly their strong point up in Tharn.
Always fighting old battles.
He cast the saddening thought away angrily.

He had a dagger but he was injured. He did not know whether he could even fly. He had lost his bow and quiver in the fighting last night. The one had leapt from his hand when the crossbow bolt found him over the mine workings. The other he had cast off himself, for more speed, as he had fled – fled here, and some sanctuary it had turned out to be. Still, he had successfully evaded Beetle soldiers before and he would do so again if he must. They were clumsy things and even if a very few Beetles could see in darkness almost as well as the Moth-kinden, none could see so well as to see him.

He peeked through the crack of the stable door and saw that the Dragonfly had fallen to his knees and been jerked roughly up again.

There had been a war just recently. The Moths had seen some of it, by scout and by distant divination. There was some new tribe on the march in the east, but that had not been important to the Moths of Tharn, who had their own battles to wage.
Battles lost a long time ago . . .

He wanted to dash airborne from the stable, to put his blade to use and get the debt he owed off his shoulders. Moths were not bound to honour as the Mantids were. They would break a promise or let an insult slide if circumstances suited. Still, they never did so without knowing it was a choice they had made deliberately, to turn their backs on something significant. Achaeos
wanted
to act but his back was being turned by his very situation. He was in no condition to help the girl.

And she’s only a Beetle
. But that thought didn’t help. Strangely, he felt even more moved to help her, to show her that her people had no monopoly on good deeds. In some strange way his race’s reputation was now at stake.

There were more soldiers than ever out there and one who seemed to be in charge was giving them orders. One squad went back into the house, the rest were moving off elsewhere.

Achaeos bared his teeth.
If I act now, then what?

As always, he fished in his pouch for the bones. It was a habit for him, especially when cut off from his own people. Good or bad, the omens never ultimately decided his actions. Bad omens just made him more careful.

He dropped to one knee and cast a handful of these shards of bone onto the floor, noting which sigil fell where, which of them touched another, which were alone. It was a bad spread but, unlike some of his comrades, he did not then try for a second opinion. The bones were warning him that he would not succeed if he ventured out now. Had he been already determined to go, this would not have stopped him, but here it merely confirmed his opinion. He let his hand stray from his dagger.

Good fortune, Beetle-girl. I cannot help you.
The bones spoke of the future. He hoped that meant she would have some chance to free herself before she fell victim to the fate of so many female prisoners. The thought did not sit well with him.
But there is nothing I can do!

He told himself that he would fly at nightfall, if he could. He could then look for her, even – if he felt his indebtedness stretched so far. Or he could simply go straight home and forget about Cheerwell Maker and her fate. No doubt his mentors in Tharn would find his quirks of conscience on this matter ridiculous. Five centuries ago their rule of the Lowlands had been shattered, defeat after defeat at the hands of their slaves’ new weapons. In the Moths’ minds a battle line had been drawn with the revolution, and they had been engaged in ideological warfare ever since.