War Master's Gate (70 page)

At last one of the medical staff was bustling over to protest – Sartaea te Mosca, and why so many of the healers were Flies he had no idea – with her hands extended, insisting that
he at least sat back down. The resistance she provided was gratifying. It gave him something to lean against.

‘Chief Officer Leadswell,’ he snapped, ‘who do we have here?’

‘Master Vendall of the Vendall Balkhead workshops. Storvus the machinist from Faculty Row. Someone from Grounder Imports. A couple from the Messengers’ Guild. Possibly more by
now.’ Eujen shrugged.

‘You’ve been busy,’ Stenwold remarked.

‘We have very little time.’

‘Then let me speak to them.’

‘Hard to think that from this dismal ruin ruled the power that might once have challenged the Empire,’ General Tynan observed. Around them extended the broken teeth
of the Amphiophos: half-crumbled walls, caved-in domes, a maze of back rooms mostly roofless, everywhere tumbled, fire-blackened stones.

‘They probably think it still is,’ Mycella remarked, standing at his elbow. There was a cordon of Wasp soldiers strung about the place, looking out for any Collegiate citizen showing
an unhealthy amount of civic pride, but Tynan had little fear of that.

He was here, at last, in the heart of the enemy’s city. After so long, he had broken them.

‘I know you were here before, with your fleet – sorry, your
armada
is the term in the Spiderlands, isn’t it? I know that they’ve wounded you – and I
can’t even guess at the situation back home that forces you to be here. Even though you’ve told me about it, I still can’t really guess.’ He smiled at her, and some of her
Fly servants appeared with a decanter and small glasses and set them up on one of the toppled stones, casting a cloth down first so as not to contaminate the vintage with the dust of
Collegium’s fall. ‘What you may not understand, though, is what this means to me to be here at last. Three times, I’ve marched against this city. Three times I’ve taken the
road from Tark, fought the bloody Felyen, got right to their walls, and . . . the Emperor dies, or we lose our Air Corps and I give the order to fall back, because maintaining a siege in such
conditions would be suicide. And then the Empress tells me, no, straight back in you go. And we rewrote the textbooks when we took that gate: Light Airborne and the Sentinels and no real artillery?
They’ll be saying we set the science of war back twenty years. But we did it, my boys and your followers.’ He chose a piece of overturned Collegiate government to sit on and received
his tiny glass with its oil-black contents. ‘Here we are,’ he concluded.

Mycella was regarding him with a curious expression, but it was mostly fond.
Of course
, he had to remind himself,
what are such expressions worth?
But that was only form, for
he had relaxed with her in slow stages, and now he wanted to interpret the outer show for the inner thought.

‘Is Aldanrael honour now avenged?’ he asked her.

At that, her face lifted slightly. ‘Thank you for believing that we have any. The Mantids would tell you we’ve none – the Collegiates too, most likely. Treachery and deceit are
bred into our bones, they say. But, yes, here I stand, joint mistress of all I survey, and the voices of my slain son and niece are quieted for me. And when I return home again it shall be as a
conqueror, with my power and influence restored. I shall have redeemed my family with a currency my people
must
recognize: success.’

‘And the alliance with the Empire?’

‘That also. Given the mess that came out of our states actually locking swords last time, I think it’s in everyone’s interest, except the rest of the world’s.’ And
she raised her glass and rolled the contents over her tongue, savouring the liquid. Tynan did likewise – finding it was something like sweet vinegar, far beyond his normal taste and yet he
knew it was a vastly expensive delicacy for her people.

An acquired taste, but I am fast acquiring it.

‘There is an occupation force mustering – perhaps already on its way,’ he remarked. ‘Then some lucky colonel will be made governor of this place. And the Second will
resupply and reinforce and set off towards Vek, assuming Roder can do his job up north. And you?’

She gave a delicate little one-shouldered shrug. ‘If you’d asked me that a month ago, I’d have said the Spiderlands for sure, but who knows . . . it would be stretching
credibility to say that I’d heard Vek was lovely at this time of year, or at any time, but perhaps I’ll see its walls with you, nonetheless.’

When he placed a hand to her chin, the better to admire her, he heard the slight shift of her bodyguard, Jadis. But the man was not close by, and Tynan could virtually plot the intimacy of his
relationship with Mycella on a graph by assessing the distance off that Jadis stood over time, each day a little further away.

Then there was a new Fly-kinden at her elbow, slipping in so swiftly and suddenly that half the Airborne there were still trying to take aim at him even as he got too close for them to do so. He
was dressed in a tunic of Collegiate fashion, but he knelt before Mycella nevertheless.

‘General, one moment.’ There was a shadow of worry on her face as she stepped aside.

The report her agent made to her was brief and to the point, murmured low enough that Tynan caught none of it. But the moment the man had finished, she returned to his side.

‘We may be a little premature, it seems. My man has received details of some considerable unrest near the College. He thinks that your soldiers might have some work to do there
yet.’

Tynan wanted to scoff, because the city was his, and in his hands, and he had
known
himself to be the master of it. He had not come this far, though, without discovering that her
sources of intelligence – and her instincts – were superior to his own. A gesture, and he had a soldier before him, ready for orders.

‘Get me Colonel Cherten, and I don’t care what he’s doing,’ he commanded. ‘He needs to hear this.’

Castre Gorenn, Commonweal Retaliatory Army and currently feeling every inch of it, crouched atop the courtyard wall, keeping an eye on the street below. To her left was Officer
Serena, formerly of the Fealty Street Company before it was disbanded, with another Fly-kinden to her right. Both had snapbows, held out of sight, and both were out of uniform and doing their level
best to appear simply interested in the view. Gorenn herself was sufficiently foreign that, though she kept her bow below the level of the wall top – with a half-dozen arrows lying ready on
the stonework for swiftness – she had kept her buff coat and sash on, because it hardly seemed that they would make much of a difference.

And still the Wasps did not arrive. She had assumed that there would be a patrol, or a fly-over, or even just someone putting their Wasp-kinden head around the corner, but her sharp eyes had
seen none of that, though by now everyone in the district must be aware that
something
had happened. After all, there had been a lot of shouting and dying only two hours ago, and even
these lumpen Beetle-kinden had ears.

But nothing, and she began to wonder about the turncoat Beetle nobleman – or however the hierarchy worked here – who had turned up with those soldiers in tow. Could it be that he
hadn’t
told
anyone he was coming here?

The Wasps wouldn’t just overlook a dozen missing soldiers when they were tallying up their troops – she knew enough about how they did things – but what if they had no clues,
what if . . .?

Then some Wasps arrived just as she was pondering this, a little squad of five, and she froze, one unseen hand reaching deftly for her first arrow. But the Wasps were approaching without any
overt caution, so maybe in their minds
missing
had not yet become
dead.
Even so, the moment they drew near, surely everything was going to go to the black pit, because none of
these Beetle-kinden could dissemble worth a damn.

‘Good day, soldier . . . Sergeant?’ Serena’s high, clear voice sang out, and she projected just the right combination of nervous good humour and concern. ‘Can we . . .
can we help you?’

The lead soldier stared up at her, and then made a short, ugly gesture to beckon her down. For a second Serena hesitated, hands still on her snapbow below the wall’s lip, but then she
silently set it down and hopped over the edge, drifting down on her Art wings.

Gorenn crouched even lower and listened intently.

‘I’m looking for your chief, Boiler the Speaker,’ the sergeant stated. ‘He’s somewhere around here with a dozen soldiers he’s not entitled to. You seen
him?’

‘Helmess Broiler?’ Serena appeared all bafflement. ‘Why would he be here?’

‘Why the piss would I know?’ the sergeant demanded. ‘Have you seen him or haven’t you? He came this way, for sure.’

‘Not a sight of him,’ Serena insisted and, at the man’s suspicious look, added, ‘What?’

He moved in closer, forcing her to skitter back a couple of paces. ‘You’re lucky one of yours is being trusted like he is. If he’s been cooking up some business with you here,
then you’ll be having a Wasp as the Speaker of your whatever-it-is, and no mistake.’

Serena’s incredulity was unfeigned. ‘Believe me, we’re not
covering up
for Helmess Broiler. He’s not popular around here.’

That last sounded altogether too heartfelt for Gorenn’s liking, especially given that Broiler’s mortal remains were still suspended from a beam inside, but the sergeant seemed to
take it in good humour.

‘Sounds as it should be. You see him, tell his sergeant to get the man straight back to command. I imagine you’ll be glad to be rid of him, to hear you.’

Serena nodded. ‘You know how it is, Sergeant,’ and he certainly seemed to, and Gorenn saw Serena’s wings flicker into being to carry her back to the wall. But there were more
Wasps suddenly, a half-dozen running out of the machine shops down Faculty Row, and Gorenn could hear a noise – a sort of liquid, rumbling sound – that at first she did not realize
emerged from human throats.

‘Sergeant, trouble!’

‘Report like a soldier!’ the sergeant snapped back. He had forgotten Serena but she lingered down there beside him, because this was obviously news.

‘Looks like some of the locals are having a go, Sergeant. There’s a mob – maybe two score – and it’s all artificers’ workshops down there, so who knows what
they’ve got.’

The sergeant swore. ‘Go, contain the situation if you can, pull back to here if you can’t. I’ll fetch more some men.’ At his brief gesture, the soldiers were hurrying
back the way they had come, the sergeant’s four alongside them. Left alone, the Wasp’s own wings flicked out and . . .

Gorenn shot him. Coming up from behind the cover of the wall in one smooth motion, she lanced an arrow straight through his open mouth, then dropped back on one knee to fit another shaft to the
string.

‘You . . . what . . .?’ Serena turned a pale face up towards her, showing a spatter of blood across one cheek. ‘We were just—’

‘Go tell the War Master they’ve started without him,’ Gorenn ordered her, even though the diminutive woman had been an officer not long before. ‘They’re all still
inside there. Beetles, always talking at the wrong times. Go tell them it’s started.’

‘You think Helmess Broiler has started a rebellion?’ Tynan demanded.

Colonel Cherten shook his head hastily. ‘It’s the last thing I’d believe . . . but the fact remains that we can’t find him, and our men have just been thrown out of
everywhere within three streets from the College library – with casualties. There are Beetles out in force, and most of them armed – not with snapbows, mostly, but they don’t lack
for crossbows, and some have worse.’

‘You’ve sent in enough men to form a perimeter?’

‘General, yes, but it may not be enough. We’ve seen this sort of thing before in cities throughout the Empire. The next insurgence could come anywhere across the city.’

Tynan considered this information. ‘Around the College, you say?’

‘From the Airborne reports, some of the College buildings are at the heart of it. They are at least passably defensible.’

‘Get some artillery in, including some of the wall engines we took from the Collegiates. Push in and break it open.’

‘General, we can’t,’ Cherten protested.

Tynan fixed him with a cold stare. ‘Justify yourself, Colonel.’

‘We have orders to retrieve certain texts from the library. The Empress herself has given me a list of topics . . . It’ll mean a month’s work or more for the new governor, but
it’s imperative that—’

Cherten was babbling too quickly, too nervously, and Tynan silenced him with a look.

‘Cherten, we were
bombing
this place from the air not so long ago. What would have happened if the College had caught a charge and burned to the ground?’

The intelligence officer swallowed. ‘Then perhaps we’d have found ourselves on crossed pikes. I don’t
know
, General, but these orders came via Captain Vrakir, after
you were ordered to press forwards. The Empress . . .’ He glanced around, but the two of them had Tynan’s recently appropriated quarters to themselves. ‘Her orders are . . .
difficult, inexplicable sometimes. The privilege of her exalted position, no doubt. But they’re clear, in the main. Even if we can contain the fighting to the College, if we can disperse the
troublemakers on the streets, then we will have to storm the place in the old way, with soldiers forcing the entrances.’

Tynan growled, deep in his throat, but nodded. ‘Mycella has gone to mobilize her people. She reckons they might be better at street-to-street skirmishing than ours – certainly come
nightfall I reckon they’ll play all sorts of games with the locals. But for our initial response . . . Collegium has such good wide-open streets.’

Cherten regarded him steadily. ‘I see, General. How many?’

‘Three Sentinels should make them think again. I heard good reports of their effectiveness in Myna, when the Eighth was pushing into the city. Get me grenadiers and nailbowmen as well, and
we can make best use of our snapbows if they’re short of them. Men on roofs, men in windows – make every street a killing ground. Anyone who isn’t fleeing when they see the black
and gold, they’ve earned themselves a death. Who’s this?’