Empire in Black and Gold (69 page)

Greenwise Artector was a man only a few years Stenwold’s senior. His slighter waist was a corset, his fuller head a wig. When they had first met, the younger Greenwise had dyed his hair grey and drawn on wrinkles for the then current fashion of sagacity and wisdom. Now truly a man of that age, he shammed youth now that the tastes of the cultivated had changed. He wore even more finery than Stenwold remembered: his coat was elaborate red brocade slashed with cloth of gold, and the sword he sported had a hilt of rare metals and precious stones, and had surely never so much as left its scabbard. After all, he had other people to draw weapons for him. Three of them hovered at a discreet distance, near the chocolate-house door, Beetle-kinden brawlers with mace and crossbow and mail shirts visible beneath their long coats.

The general expression on Greenwise’s face was the only thing about him that had not changed; it was what had made Stenwold deal with him initially and what brought Stenwold to him now. It was built of world-weary cynicism and a wry humour, and that reflected an honesty of a sort.

‘You’re a troublemaker, Sten,’ grumbled the magnate. ‘Every time you’re in town we find bodies lying in the alleys. One might almost think you make a living as an assassin, or at our age perhaps just broker for them. True?’

‘Hardly.’

‘A shame. It would make you a useful fellow to know. These days a man could be glad of a trusty hired killer.’

The face of Tisamon occurred in Stenwold’s mind but he quickly repressed it. ‘I’m just a concerned citizen, Green.’

‘Of Collegium, though,’ Greenwise noted.

‘And if Helleron suffers, where is Collegium then? And the reverse is equally true. We devise what you profit by, remember. No new device nor advance in metallurgy, no talented technologist or mining engineer is seen in Collegium that does not come to Helleron in time. And I have seen the accounts of the Great College, and I know that the magnates of Helleron ensure that we are well provided for. Don’t think I’ve not seen your name included there.’

‘Not so loud. If I get a reputation for charity I’m ruined.’ Greenwise shrugged. ‘You called and I came, Sten. Since you’ve been of service to me in the past. What can I do for you that won’t bite too deeply into my own interests?’

As succinctly as he could, Stenwold laid out what he knew of the Wasps’ future intentions, the gold-and-black vision he had seen, with their soldiers garrisoned in every city, their flag flying from every spire.

‘And now they’re here right on your doorstep,’ he concluded. ‘And they may be talking peace and profit with you now, but they mean none of it.’

Greenwise nodded. ‘I’m glad you came to me with this, as I happen to agree with you, but if you’d brought it before the Council, you’d be lying at the bottom of a mineshaft by now. The Wasps have recently renegotiated the Treaty of Iron. Which is to say that some of their diplomats came before the Council with a new treaty, and we all signed it with big, strained smiles. They have naturally restated their avowed intent never to set foot in the Lowlands with armed force or hostile intent.’

‘But how does that work when they’re currently marching on Tark?’ Stenwold demanded.

‘Ah well,’ Greenwise said dryly. ‘Surely you must know that Tark is not a city of the Lowlands?’

‘Since when?’

‘Since this new Treaty and the map drawn up on page thirty-two. Turns out those lying Ants have been claiming to be Lowlanders all this time, when in fact they’re actually part of the Dryclaw or the Spiderlands or something. Can you believe the cheek of them?’ There was not a trace of humour on Greenwise’s face. ‘It’s just as well the Wasps are going to give them a slap, we all say, for such pernicious falsehood.’

‘And so the Council just signed Tark away?’

‘With the aforementioned smiles. Because everyone was thinking about all those swords and automotives and explosives and flying machines we sold them. What if they find fault with them, and want to bring them all back for refunds – bring them all back point first?’

Stenwold nodded glumly. ‘And how long before they do that anyway? Haven’t the Magnates at least started to talk about raising a standing army or improving the city defences?’

‘It was mentioned,’ Greenwise admitted. ‘Specifically it was mentioned that if we started rattling our sabres and building siege weapons then the Empire might wonder why we’re keeping back some of our stock in trade, rather than selling it to them, and after that there might be trouble. Besides, have you any idea what most of my peers think the Empire’s chief export is? Money. And they think that because of the way these Wasp-kinden have been spending it recently. Everyone’s had a nasty shock, but you’ll find that both shock and common sense are soluble in a sufficient concentration of money.’

‘Easy for the Wasps to spend what they have taken by force from others.’

‘Well, pirated gold is still good gold in this man’s town.’ Greenwise sipped his bitter chocolate thoughtfully. ‘You want Helleron to turn away their money? Helleron takes
anybody’s
money, and the moment we stop is the moment we breed enemies. We have never taken sides and never will. That way we have grown rich stoking the fires of other people’s wars, and never, ever having a war of our own.’ He shook his head. ‘Oh, when we were both young I could jeer at the rich old men who practised such trades. Now I’m one of those rich old bastards, Sten, and it’s a bloody business all round. Two years ago I went north, do you know that? To what used to be the Commonweal, apparently, though I never visited there when it was. Your black-and-gold boys are all over it now. I know you’re right, Sten, but nobody would believe me, let alone believe you. And if I wouldn’t shut up about it, I might find my properties burned down, or my servants attacked, or worse.’

‘The Wasps would do that openly?’

Greenwise gave him a pitying smile. ‘Why should they need to, when my profiteering peers would gladly do it on their own initiative?’

‘I think I understand.’

‘I’m sorry, Sten. Until the Wasps actually start looting parts of this city nobody else here will take a blind piece of notice, and even then, they’d have to loot somewhere fashionable for anyone to care. Until then, well, the Wasps are just sitting there spending their money with us, and if they wanted to cause trouble they could have surely done so by now. But I know they’re . . . waiting, Sten. They’ll swarm when it happens, whatever it is, but until then they’re our best friends and best customers.’

‘So what
are
they waiting for, do you think?’

‘Some say they’re after the Commonweal again, but as I told you, they’re well entrenched north of here already. They don’t need to sit on our doorstep for that. Others say they’ll go south, give the Spiders some bother, or Tark, or even harass the Scorpions of the Dryclaw. Anywhere so long as it isn’t here. You know the mentality.’

‘I do.’
I’ve missed something, though
. Sitting there, where the rich and powerful took their ease, Stenwold felt shackled and helpless. Something was eluding him, and he had a keen sense that time was running out, the hands of the clock sweeping towards the last hour.

He stood. ‘Thank you for at least talking to me.’

Greenwise shrugged yet again. It was a frequent gesture that seemed characteristic of him now, and had not been so evident before. ‘Good luck, Sten, and one more thing . . .’

‘Yes?’ Stenwold felt a sudden tension, and his hand strayed near his sword hilt.

‘We were followed on our way here. So watch yourself, as you leave.’

With Greenwise’s warning in mind, Stenwold left the chocolate house cautiously. At first there was no hint of trouble, for this was a wealthy area, with guardsmen and private militia all over it. Then his eyes met other eyes fixed on him, belonging to a lone Wasp-kinden across the street. There was no pretence at subterfuge: just a man, a little short of Stenwold’s years, in a striped tunic and unarmed. As soon as he had Stenwold’s attention he came walking over, smiling as though meeting a friend.

Stenwold realized he had seen this man before, but his mind failed to place him – the realization coming only with the introduction.

‘Master Stenwold Maker of the Great College?’ the Wasp said, stopping just out of sword reach. ‘A good day to you. My name is Captain Thalric of the Imperial Army.’

‘Yes, you are, aren’t you.’ For as soon as the name was mentioned, Stenwold recalled seeing this man in the Assembly chambers. He had been standing beside that smooth statesman of theirs as though he was some menial, but Stenwold had seen through it. ‘You’re the one who turned my niece into a slave.’

Thalric actually smiled at that and Stenwold felt anger rising in him.
Steady yourself. It’s supposed to be they who have the tempers.
A fight here would end badly for whoever started it.

‘She was technically not a slave but a prisoner of war. A captured spy, if you will. I understand that you yourself put her into that line of business.’ The Wasp spoke mildly but it was obvious he was angling for a response.

‘What do you want, Captain?’ Stenwold asked him. ‘Are you come to bribe me, perhaps? Offer me a rank badge to serve your Empire?’

‘What would be the point? You wouldn’t accept,’ Thalric replied, still smiling, but it was a complex expression, that smile. There was both mockery and melancholy contained within it. Stenwold had an odd sense that there were other things the man wanted to say, but could not feed them past the filter of his duty.

‘If you’ve men here, to make an end of me, then you had better summon them, Captain,’ Stenwold said, hand now resting on his sword hilt. The crowds buffeted them both constantly. A single passing killer, a blade beneath the ribs? Stenwold tried to hold himself in absolute readiness, as if he were Tisamon or some other professional designed for such business.

Thalric’s smile was wintry. ‘Your voice has fallen on deaf ears all these years, Master Maker. My people tell me you have buzzed your tale in the Assembly for over a decade, and were simply brushed away for your pains. The discovery of your murdered corpse, on the other hand, might speak most eloquently, and remind them too readily of all your living words of warning besides. No, it is nothing so sinister that brings me here, Master Maker. I merely wanted to see you, speak with you. We have been enemies for a long time, since long before each knew of the other’s existence. The game is nearly done now. Only a few days until the world looks very different. I might then not have another chance to see my adversary.’

‘I did not think Wasp officers were allowed to be so indulgent,’ said Stenwold, innocently enough, but to his surprise a muscle twitched in the man’s face, a nerve touched.

‘They are not.’ Thalric looked away. ‘They are not, lest they fall. Will you drink with me, Master Maker?’

‘What?’

‘One drink. No poison, I promise, although I hear trying to poison Beetles is an uncertain business.’

‘You want . . . to drink with me?’

Thalric stared back at him, saying nothing, just waiting, and in the end it was sheer curiosity that made Stenwold accept.

Stenwold chose the drinking den himself. It was only four streets from the chocolate house, but a different character of place altogether, a vice den where rich dilettantes came to spend their money. Whilst a Spider-kinden woman danced and undressed in tired and practised stages, he and Thalric shared a jug of sharp and acrid Forta Water that made their eyes sting.

‘I will not speak of the superiority of the Empire,’ Thalric said. ‘I’ve beat that drum quite enough.’

‘And do you still like the sound of it?’

The Wasp gave a short laugh. ‘You’d try to recruit me, would you? Master Maker, nobody ever understands that I have only one love, and that is the Empire.’ He said it in such a way that Stenwold saw that ‘nobody’ included those of Thalric’s own party. He remembered the story of infighting at Myna that Kymene had told. ‘No, I just wanted to see you, to gain your measure, as no doubt you are similarly gauging me.’

‘You strike me as an unusual man, for one of your race.’

‘I try to be anything but. Perhaps that is what makes me unusual.’ Thalric drained his bowl without flinching, and poured some more. ‘Your niece is a remarkable woman.’

‘She said you were going to torture her.’

‘And?’ Thalric raised an eyebrow.

‘And I can read between the lines. You could have done so. Perhaps you would have, if she had not been freed.’

‘I would have had to, eventually.’

Stenwold frowned. ‘You’re not a happy man, Captain.’

‘Nor are you, Master Maker. I may have only now met you, but on paper I know you very well. College scholar, artificer, traveller – so what brought you to this sordid trade?’

‘You mean
your
trade.’

‘I do, yes.’

Stenwold had his own bitter smile for that. ‘You did – perhaps not personally, but your Empire. I was in Myna at the conquest. I realized the future then.’

‘A hazard of ambition is to make enemies,’ Thalric acknowledged. ‘Would it make things easier for you to know that I was part of that conquest. I was much younger then, of course.’

‘We all were, Captain Thalric. But you’re not here for Helleron.’

‘Am I not? If you don’t already understand, you can’t think that I will tell you.’ And there was a glint in Thalric’s eye that chilled Stenwold through and through. ‘Would you join me in a toast, now, Master Maker? It is a Lowlander habit, and I adopt it in deference to the . . . current allegiance of our surroundings.’

‘Name your toast,’ Stenwold said.

Thalric had been about to say something cutting, a needle-comment to bait him with, but at the last moment something twisted in him, that part of him that had clapped Aagen on the shoulder, and had once been Ulther’s prote´ge´, and instead he said, ‘Everything is going to change, Master Maker. The old will be swept away, the new will march in. The Lowland cities are no different to two score others that now serve the Empire. You have striven mightily against us, against the apathy and cupidity of your own people, and at last it has come to this. We meet now, because even if you stabbed me through the heart right here and now you would still be too late to turn aside the course of history. But I admire you, because at least you have tried. Because you also believe in your people, however misplaced that belief may be. So let us have an old toast, while we still can. To absent friends.’