Authors: Adrian Tchaikovsky
She wondered what mood she would find him in, being a man of more emotional layers than Beetles were generally accorded, by Spider reckoning. The College demagogue gave way to the clever spymaster, with the inspirational war leader waiting ever in the wings. She had met him, she reflected, at the best of times: he had been all these things.
Now the war had stalled, waiting on like a trained dragonfly up high, and the sharper facets of his life had been carefully packed away, oiled and padded against rust. The sober spymaster lurked behind the throne, while the frustrated statesman took his seat, ground down daily by all the minutiae of a world that was no longer under the immediate shadow of the black and gold. Stenwold the warmonger, they had once called him, and now she could almost feel him daring the Empire to bring back its armies, if only to rekindle that old fire.
She pushed open the door of his study, and stopped short.
He was hunched over the desk, and did not even look up at her. With a lens to one eye, he was poring over a single scroll with immense concentration. She felt a quickening in her heartbeat, out of nowhere, that took her back two years.
This was not the bored Stenwold reading Assembly minutes, nor the frustrated Stenwold sifting through correspondence from the ingratiating and the insincere. War Master Stenwold Maker, the intelligencer and hero of Collegium, had again taken up his old lodgings in the forefront of Stenwold’s mind. When he finally looked up, as she stepped into the room, she recognized it in his eyes, that unsheathed edge of a brain working to its fullest.
‘What do you make of this?’ He thrust the scroll towards her without preamble. The gesture made her smile. His squabblings with the Assembly, his reluctant arrangements with men like Jodry Drillen, he did not involve her in. It was not that she could not have helped somehow, but that he was ashamed of such dealings, ashamed of having to bend his own rules to get what he wanted. Now he was the spymaster again, and she was a spy, and he was including her.
She took the scroll, cast her eyes down the lines of crabbed handwriting, led by his annotations. ‘I was never a paper spy,’ she warned him. ‘They saved me for field duties, you know.’
The
They
was the Rekef, but neither of them needed to mention that name, and they had buried it between them before the war’s end.
‘Even so,’ he prompted, and she nodded.
‘This is Failwright’s grievance, is it?’
‘His notes, his summary. Ships out of Collegium heading east. Their captains, their cargoes, their fates, and . . .’
‘Their investors,’ she noted. ‘Who stood to lose money on the deal.’ It would not have been instantly visible, amidst Failwright’s baffling columns, save that Stenwold had marked it all out, name by name.
‘Are you sure you’re not just seeing a pattern where none exists? Or that Failwright wasn’t?’
‘No, I’m not sure at all,’ Stenwold admitted. ‘After all, the sea trade is an uncertain business. There
are
pirates, there are storms. Ships are lost, sometimes. Such information gets blurred by pure happenstance.’ He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. ‘But Failwright and his faction were taking it very seriously. Look, a few months ago they sent some ships out with mercenaries on board. Here, look . . . and here. Not touched, not touched, and . . . and then one lost utterly.’ Stenwold shook his head. ‘And, at the same time, three ships travelling without guard are boarded by pirates.’
‘What’s this column here?’ Arianna’s finger marked out one line of scribbled notes.
‘I think it’s weather reports. Here, where the armed ship was lost, I think he’s marked “no storm” but I’m not honestly sure. I need to speak to him . . .’ There was the sound of someone at the door, the neatness of its closing bringing the name ‘Cardless?’ to Stenwold’s lips. A moment later the servant found them.
‘What says Master Failwright?’ Stenwold asked him. ‘Delighted to receive the attention, no doubt?’
‘Unfortunately Master Failwright was not at home,’ Card-less reported.
‘You left my message?’
‘I did. However, it appears that Master Failwright is considerably overdue. He did not return to his house or his offices last night, and none of his associates knows of his whereabouts.’
Stenwold opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. His eyes sought out Arianna. Between them was that unspoken history: espionage, agents, sudden disappearances.
‘Make further inquiries,’ Stenwold directed, as if Cardless was one of his people left over from the war. ‘Arianna—’
There was a quick rap at the door and Cardless bowed his way out to go and answer it. Stenwold left the sentence unfinished as he waited. When a Fly-kinden messenger stepped into the room, looking flushed and out of breath, he was not surprised.
Stenwold took the proffered scroll and unrolled it. His face remained blank as he read.
‘Tell him I will be present,’ was his only response, and the Fly was off on the instant.
Arianna gave him a questioning look.
‘The Empire has taken Khanaphes,’ Stenwold revealed. ‘Jodry’s called the Assembly together. I have to go.’
Major Aagen had, to Stenwold’s understanding, two expressions only. He was late of the Imperial Engineering Corps, and possessed a zealous fervour for all things technical. He had learned more of Collegiate artifice by way of kindred enthusiasm than had all of the Rekef spying during the war. His other expression was one of stolid acceptance, and Stenwold guessed it would remain the same whether he was faced by a pitched battle or a room full of surly Assemblers.
He was standing even now, holding a scroll in his hands. He had never so far made a response to the Assembly that was not prepared by his shadow, Honory Bellowern, and it seemed mad to Stenwold that Imperial diplomacy should result in a guileless Wasp artificer mouthing statements prepared by a plotting Beetle-kinden handler.
Aagen nodded to Jodry Drillen, whose voice was still echoing a little within the Amphiophos chamber. ‘I can confirm,’ he read out, ‘that an Imperial force is currently receiving the hospitality of the Khanaphir administration.’ There was a surprising amount of angry muttering, but then the people of Khanaphes were Beetles themselves, recently popularized as Collegium’s backward cousins. Jodry had been capitalizing on his exploratory success, so the average Beetle-kinden in the Collegium street had become newly aware of his distant relatives, in a patronizingly protective way.
‘I should stress . . .’ Aagen continued. He had been a war-artificer, used to repairing automotives in the heat of battle, so a little shouting would not put him off his stride. ‘I should stress that the Empire is present there at the invitation of the Ministers of Khanaphes. You will be aware how the city has suffered recently from incursions by the desert Scorpion tribes, and is therefore in a considerably weakened state—’
‘Incursions brought on by the Empire!’ someone called out. To Stenwold’s surprise, it was not Stenwold himself.
Aagen paused a moment, and Stenwold saw Bellowern’s lips move as he prompted. The Wasp went on smoothly, ‘The Empire is still dealing with the last of its pretender governors. If one of them has fled into the Nem to rouse the natives into an army to threaten Khanaphes, then the Empire’s duty in protecting our neighbours from the results of our own internal conflict is plain. The people of Khanaphes understand this, and I would hope the people of Collegium do so also.’ He unrolled the scroll by another hand’s breadth, still calm in the face of simmering discontent. ‘Furthermore, the Assembly will be aware that the Dominion of Khanaphes is not a signatory to the Treaty of Gold, nor mentioned therein. In this matter the city of Collegium therefore has no standing.’
That made them even angrier, but mostly because he was right.
And should we have written the whole world into that treaty? And if we had, it would just be broken sooner.
Stenwold ground his teeth and stood up, hearing the chamber fall quiet for him.
‘I would ask the Imperial ambassador whether he is aware of the Collegiate observers who were present in the city during its recent troubles with the Scorpion-kinden. They state definitively that members of the Imperial embassy to Khanaphes were later seen assisting the Scorpion invaders, and that the walls of Khanaphes were breached not by native ingenuity but by Imperial leadshotters.’
Again that moment of swift tutelage by the unflappable Bellowern, and Aagen replied, ‘I am assured that there was no formal embassy to Khanaphes from the Empress. Master Maker will be aware how most of the pretender governors claimed for themselves the mantle of Emperor. The confusion of his observers is therefore understandable.’ As with most of his puppet pronouncements, Aagen delivered the words with a slightly shrug, a bland expression. ‘I stress again that this matter does not infringe the Treaty of Gold between the cities of the Lowlands and the Empire. However . . .’
The last word came out unexpectedly and was left hanging. Stenwold narrowed his eyes as Aagen unrolled more of his crib sheet.
‘As we are here,’ the Wasp said, ‘I would like to bring to the Assembly’s attention the work that some here are doing to undermine that treaty, and thus bring a return to the conflict that we had all hoped was behind us.’
Stenwold sought out the face of Jodry Drillen, two rows behind him, but the politician shook his head slightly, uncertain where this was leading.
‘Imperial agents have recently discovered that elements within Collegium are providing considerable quantities of arms to the Three-City Alliance, most particularly to Myna – to those states that stand immediately on the border of the Empire. This must stop.’
‘The Empire does not decide on Collegiate trade,’ Drillen snapped, not even standing. ‘You yourselves were happy enough to buy Beetle weapons before the war.’
‘In arming our closest enemies, Collegium is attempting to destabilize the Empire, to have the Mynans and their allies grow bold enough to attack us, and thereby to start a new war. No doubt when the Imperial army is driven to defend our borders, this will be interpreted as an act of aggression allowing the Lowlands cities to march against us.’
‘Myna has a right to defend itself,’ Stenwold called out, to some approval.
‘As does the Empire,’ Aagen replied, with feeling now. ‘Master Maker, I was there when we signed the Treaty of Gold. The men and women of this Assembly were responsible for the wording. Why did we stand there, out in the wind before the gates of this city, if we have so little faith in it all? The arming of Myna and its Alliance constitutes an act of war, and a breach of the treaty. I would ask the members of the Assembly to think very carefully before endorsing such a step.’
Honory Bellowern was nodding sagely, the very picture of reasonable respectability. There was a great buzz of talk now, from all sides but most of it centred on Drillen. Across the chamber a familiar figure was standing, waving for silence. Reluctantly, Jodry ceded him the floor, knowing that to refuse would stir up enough protest to forestall any other business. Stenwold turned a loveless gaze on Helmess Broiler.
‘Well, here we are,’ said Stenwold’s perpetual adversary. He said it again, as the chamber quietened. ‘Some of us have been waiting for this moment for a year or more, so I’m surprised it’s taken so long.’ He took a deep, sorrowful breath. ‘Masters, what do we want? Do we really want another war, just so we can hand out another round of titles?’
War Master
hung in the air, unsaid, but Stenwold saw enough heads turn his way.
‘There are parts of this city still being rebuilt,’ Broiler continued, sounding every bit the weary old veteran. ‘The city of Tark, for those that are interested, is at least half ruin even now, and they lack the sheer manpower to restore it. Imagine that! A city of Ant-kinden and not enough hands to lay stone on stone?’ He let the thought sit in their minds for a moment. ‘With apologies to those of us who are, we are not Spider-kinden.’ He even raised a small laugh from this. ‘If there are those of us who have entered into this treaty with the Empire merely to move the battlefield from our own gates to the gates of Myna, then they are not worthy to speak for their city. We all remember when the Second Army was at our walls. I recall a certain War Master who was even their guest. Did they enact a final vengeance against us, before marching away? Did they put Master Maker’s head on a pike? They did not, and from that same forbearance the Treaty of Gold was sieved. How do we repay them now, indeed how do we repay our Mynan allies, if we seek to foment conflict at the borders of the Empire?’
It was a fine speech, Stenwold considered, and he hoped that the Empire had paid good money for it. The Assembly was looking to him now. He glanced at Jodry but there was no help there.
‘Anyone who has turned an eye to the lands beyond Helleron,’ Stenwold responded heavily, ‘will know that there are Imperial troops stationed upon the Mynan border.’ He held up a hand to forestall the expected protest. ‘No doubt they will claim that they fear Mynan aggression, reprisals from a city that they once enslaved. You will forgive me if recent history makes it difficult for me to see the Empire as victim. What
we
see, here in Collegium, is a fragile balance, like a fencer’s pose, and the slightest lowering of our guard becomes an invitation to those forces to begin the work of retaking the Empire’s recent losses. Occupation of Khanaphes is hardly the way to assure us that the Empire wishes only peace, and the Empire should remember that the Three-City Alliance
did
sign the Treaty of Gold. War with Myna is war with Collegium, is war with all the Lowlands. I humbly submit to the Empress that she should think very carefully before she resumes the work of her brother, and think also what might happen if the Dominion of Khanaphes calls on its cousins here for aid.’