Authors: Adrian Tchaikovsky
Stenwold felt a worm of unease, for the paper had read, in stark, sharp letters, ‘
Tell Maker I shall be there.
’
Still, there’s nothing that can be done about that, until the time . . .
He was about to move on but the Fly skipped in front of him, coughing politely.
‘Ah, so you’ve not been paid for it.’ He made a wry face and passed her a couple of coins. She bowed neatly, feet already leaving the ground, and was off and away over the city.
Jodry was to be found at his desk, and not alone. A young Beetle lad that Stenwold recognized as Maxel Gainer was sitting mournfully in a chair nearby, as though he was a student about to be disciplined. He looked up hopefully when Stenwold was ushered in.
‘What’s the emergency?’ Stenwold asked. He had not heard that Collegium was now at war with Tsen or Vek, or any Ant city-state, and he was sure that someone would have mentioned it.
Jodry raised his eyebrows. ‘Am I allowed to ask just where you’ve been these last two tendays?’
‘On a cruise for the good of my health,’ Stenwold replied curtly. ‘Jodry—’
‘I need your diplomatic acumen, Stenwold. You know these Ant-kinden better than I do.’
So I’m now Collegium’s special envoy to the entire Ant race am I? What a prime job that would be.
He took a seat, with a sidelong look at Gainer. ‘What’s he done now?’
‘Nigh on started a war,’ Jodry said dismissively. When Gainer began to protest, he held up his hands. ‘Oh, not deliberately, and more down to old Tseitus than him, but, hammer and tongs, Stenwold! You’d not believe the tightropes I’ve been walking, and I’m not a man constitutionally suited for that, I can tell you.’
‘So how have things fallen out with the Tseni and their submersibles, then?’ Stenwold asked. The thought that submersibles might become useful in Collegium’s near-future had not passed him by.
If the Spiders attack, they will come by sea again.
The other thought, which he could not keep from his mind, was
And how friendly is Jodry here with Teornis – with the Spiderlands?
It had always been the Empire, with Stenwold. He had always been hunting for the Imperial agents and sympathizers, marking down men or women as hands that took Wasp coin. He had never stopped to think that others, too, might have designs on his city and on the Lowlands.
‘Their case is that the
Tseitan
is essentially a stolen design,’ Jodry explained. ‘They’re making a big deal of it, as though it’s going to be the next snapbow. Personally, I think it’s just about political leverage and that they want something else from us.’
‘Well, what exactly is the
Tseitan
?’ Stenwold pressed. ‘Is it ours or theirs or what?’
Jodry signalled to Gainer, who cleared his throat. ‘The original submersible, my master’s old boat, was manufactured in Collegium, but Master Tseitus brought along a good half-dozen innovations with him – in his head but ready-made, if you see. I always reckoned they were his.’ The young artificer looked harassed, a man clearly out of his depth. ‘He could have learned them in Tsen, maybe. But we did a lot of our own work on her too, and the
Tseitan
throws out at least a couple of the ideas Master Tseitus came up with, for better ones. He kept improving the design all the time.’ He looked downcast. ‘Wish he was here with us now, I tell you that.’
‘So what do Kratia’s Tseni want?’
‘War with Vek,’ Jodry replied. Seeing Stenwold’s reaction, he smiled bleakly. ‘They haven’t said as much, but that’s what it is. As soon as they got wind that we were cosying up to the Vekken at last, they started to sweat about it. Vek’s armies have been pointing east a long time, so if they’re suddenly happy about relations in our direction, it makes sense that they might turn to Tsen for their next war games. After all, there are a lot more Vekken than there are Tseni.’
‘Well, they can whistle for their war,’ Stenwold said sourly. ‘I’ve spent too long building the peace.’
‘Ah, but these Tseni, I hate to say it, are clever bitches. They’re not like your average Ant-kinden ambassador. They’ve been going about the people, making themselves known. They’ve been guesting with Assemblers. They’ve been talking up Tsen’s role in the war: how they sent soldiers so many miles to fight off the Empire and die in front of Sarn. And Tseitus . . . Well, you’ll laugh.’
‘They’re saying he’s a hero,’ Gainer put in, sounding equally baffled and proud.
‘I thought they were saying he was a thief ?’ Stenwold demanded.
‘That’s what happens when you go off on a cruise for your health,’ Jodry observed pointedly. ‘The world doesn’t just wait. It turns out now that Tseitus was a hero of Tsen come to help his good friends in Collegium. I’ve already had one request that his work in the war be recognized officially, Sten. His work in sinking the Vekken flagship, of course.’
Stenwold nodded dourly.
‘And let’s face it, he did.’ Jodry threw up his arms. ‘And, yes, the Vekken were trying to kill us all, and that’s not exactly ancient history. So people are starting to mutter.’
‘I can imagine.’ For Stenwold, it was like feeling the leaden, icy waters close over his head. He was drowning in Collegium politics yet again. ‘Let me think on this. There must be a way.’
‘Take all the time you need – but not too much,’ Jodry said. ‘Master Gainer, at least, has profited from this. Not only is he seen as a hero’s apprentice now, but the donations towards the
Tseitan
project have now become almost adequate. Throwing good coin at a boat that sinks looks like madness to me, but you never can tell with people.’
‘I just want to continue Master Tseitus’s work,’ Gainer said stubbornly. ‘I don’t care about all this other stuff.’
‘My advice is to use it while you can,’ Jodry recommended. He turned back to Stenwold. ‘Now, are you glad I called you in so quickly?’ he gave a broad, sardonic smile.
‘No,’ Stenwold replied shortly. ‘But you were right to do so, curse you. The last thing we need right now is trouble with the Ants. With any Ants.’
Jodry nodded. ‘You’re probably also aware that those Wasp soldiers sitting near Myna’s borders haven’t gone anywhere. They’re saying the whole Eighth Army is marching up and down there like it’s the Empress’s birthday or something. War here in the Lowlands is probably just what they’re waiting for. If we have to look away for ten minutes, we’d probably find that the whole Three-City Alliance has vanished like a conjurer’s hat by the time we look back.’
And how much more true will that be if we end up crossing swords with the Spiderlands
, Stenwold reflected.
They’ll celebrate all over the Empire, if they find that their two great enemies have come to blows. And then they’ll march.
As he stepped out of the office, he paused to run over the conversation in his head, prying at the gaps.
Any suggestion of betrayal there? Any hint of a Spider lurking behind the words? Perhaps Jodry’s just too accomplished a statesman.
In truth his gut feeling was that Jodry had nothing to do with the piracy business, but he knew he could not take the chance of assuming so. Absolute secrecy, then: the knowledge, burning inside him like hot metal, would not be let out that way.
And, in all honesty, if he is innocent of any complicity, he is better off not knowing, and Arianna the same. I will keep this between me and the
Tidenfree
until I know for certain.
Stenwold trailed his slow way home, still carrying the burden of knowledge he felt unable to vouchsafe to anyone.
He paused in the doorway of the Merraian Taverna, and a moment of bittersweet nostalgia caught him, seeing its familiar interior. The place had been a landmark of his intelligencing work since long before the war. The owner knew him well – and his money – but it was something more than that . . .
How long has it been?
Three years and more since he had sent them off. It had been the end of innocence for his niece and his ward and two of his students.
Except Tynisa had already killed a man the night before, and Salma had known more of loss and death than any youth of his age should do.
Standing there, in the doorway of the little Fly-kinden establishment, he felt such a fierce stab of loss that instead of heading on to the back room he sat down, dropping to the floor beside one of the low tables, overwhelmed by his memories.
I’ve lost them all. Hammer and tongs, but I’ve lost them all.
Tynisa had fled who knows where, and Totho was now a deserter from the Imperial army, become some kind of artificer-prince off the Exalsee. Che was running wild with Thalric –
Thalric
! – as her only companion, and Salma . . . well, the war had claimed him, dying with sword in hand at the place that they were now calling Malkan’s Folly or Malkan’s Stand, depending on whose side you had fought.
Add them all to the list.
The Moth, Achaeos, had died of his wounds in Tharn, and Scuto during the Vekken siege. Tisamon, Nero, Marius lanced by a crossbow bolt in Myna so long ago, Atryssa in childbirth.
I’m running out of friends.
The obvious question loomed:
Who will be next? Will my games get Jodry killed perhaps, or Arianna? Maybe I’ll cut a swathe through the
Tidenfree
crew.
He felt sick with it, but forced himself to stand, nodding to the owner as he ducked into the back room.
They had been waiting for him: Tomasso and Laszlo were already sharing a jug of light Fly beer under the dim light of a guttering gas lamp.
‘Master Maker,’ the bearded man said, as Stenwold settled down opposite from them. ‘You’ve spent the meantime wisely, I hope?’
‘I have.’ In the three days since he had stepped off the
Tidenfree
, Stenwold had been receiving reports from the docks, perusing manifests, asking questions.
‘You look troubled,’ Tomasso put in.
‘Nothing relevant to our business.’
Or I hope so, at any rate.
‘You’re docked . . . ?’
‘Beyond the wall again,’ Tomasso replied. ‘There’s no harsh weather expected, and we’ll attract less notice there.’
‘How?’ Stenwold pressed. ‘How is it that the port authorities don’t run you off, or drop rocks on you?’
‘Because the Collegium harbour has a long history of corruptibility that probably goes back to before the Revolution, for all I know,’ Tomasso explained. ‘Besides, there’s nothing in your laws that says which side of the wall a ship must moor. Believe me, I’ve looked. A few coins here and there makes sure it isn’t publicized. It’s only a secret because so few ever go out onto the wall and look over, and because the goings-on at the docks seldom reach eminent people like yourself, Master Maker.’
Stenwold nodded, wondering whether he should feel moved to do something about this little pocket of lawlessness he had uncovered, but finding no motivation whatsoever. ‘How is . . . ?’
‘Himself ? No better, but breathing still, thank you for asking.’ Tomasso drained his bowl and had Laszlo refill it. ‘Business, then?’
‘We’re not complete yet,’ Stenwold noted. ‘I was hoping for—’
Laszlo coughed pointedly, and Stenwold went still. The back room was not large, nor yet cluttered, but he saw now how the two Flies were sitting oddly close to each other, for men with all the intervening space to choose from. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening hard, scenting the air, because he needed to re-experience the room, re-evaluate it and take it
all
in this time, without being fooled. What he guessed at now was an Art that he had known Tisamon use, sometimes, but not as skilfully as this.
She was there when he reopened his eyes: not invisible, not shading into the background, but keeping so very still that she had slipped by him, his eyes flicking over her towards the Flies, without registering. She was kneeling before the table, close enough to have already stabbed him: a Mantis-kinden woman with dark hair cut close and a pointed face. She would have looked young, even pretty, without the scars, for a jagged blade wound stretched from her chin to the mess it had left of her left ear, now long healed over. One of her hands was shiny with burn marks that he recognized as Wasp-sting, although she moved the fingers easily enough as she took the beer jug off Laszlo. She wore a leather cuirass studded with chips of chitin, and bracers of bronze-inlaid wood cut to let her arm-spines stand free. To one side of her belt were two short blades, narrow as rapiers but no longer than shortswords. They had guards that hooked back down their hilts in a clutch of jagged spurs.
Stenwold produced the brief note he had received from the messengers. ‘Yours?’ he asked.
Her eyes barely glanced at it. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘And you are . . . ?’
‘Danaen,’ she said. He knew her by reputation, by notoriety. It was what he had been looking for. The Mantids of Felyal had not been good neighbours always. The Collegium-spawned logging towns at the edge of the Felyal had been profitable, but they had sent tales back with the lumber: fights, people disappearing. Every so often some pedlar would go into the woods and not come back, or a merchant who assumed too much would be found with his throat cut. Sometimes, once every decade perhaps, things would go bad and the Felyen would close their borders for a month or so. It was part of the trade.
That was the least of it, of course. Longships from Felyal plied the waves between their own treeline and the isle of Parosyal, and they were jealous of their seas. Every so often they would come out in force, and then the ships of Kes or Collegium would have to take care, and keep some goods back ready to appease them. Of course the Mantids’ real targets had been Spider-kinden merchantmen. Whenever the raiding days came upon them, brought on by some irregular and inscrutable calendar all their own, no Spider-kinden was safe on the seas.