Blood of the Mantis

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  ‘Where were you supposed to take the box?’ the Moth asked.

  ‘Back to Helleron,’ Gaved replied promptly. ‘Believe me when I say I wish I’d never taken on this job. Helleron’s usually as far south as I make it, and I should have kept it that way. This was a fool’s errand: Phin and the Fly dead, and I didn’t even come away with the goods.’

  ‘Which brings us to your companion,’ Achaeos said carefully. He had already made his suspicions known to Che and Stenwold.

  ‘Oh, Scylis?’ Gaved said, in tones of disgust. ‘A treacherous bastard, he is. By now Scylis will be living it up in Helleron with all four helpings of our bounty money.’

  At which point the last man seated at the table said, ‘Scylis?’

  It was the first thing he had said so far. He was similarly unbound, but Tisamon stood close behind him, wearing his clawed gauntlet, and with a stance that said he was looking forward to any attempt at escape.

  ‘Thalric,’ Stenwold acknowledged his query. ‘The name means something to you?’

  It had been an uncertain decision, whether to bring Thalric to this table, but, suspect as he was, he was their authority on imperial affairs, and they had a Wasp to interrogate. The initial reaction between the two men had been one of outright hostility. This was not Gaved hating the deserter but Thalric loathing the mercenary for, despite his turned coat, Thalric’s mind was still black and gold.

  ‘Oh, I once knew a Spider named Scylis,’ Thalric explained. ‘A very . . . able agent. Your niece, for one, should have cause to remember him.’

  ‘We all have good cause, Thalric,’ Stenwold informed him flatly, as Gaved merely looked on frowning. ‘We know something of what this Scylis is capable, and if anyone could walk out of Collegium in the middle of a siege and get all the way to Helleron . . .’

  ‘I had wondered,’ Thalric said, with a tinge of mockery in his voice, ‘if you would finally start believing. It took me long enough, but I suppose your Moth there must have helped to persuade you. Sometimes being credulous can be an advantage. If you decide to go after Scylis, little Moth, I would suggest you take care. When he came limping in after catching your arrow, he was not pleased with you at all. If I had provoked Scylis’s enmity I would not get within arm’s reach of anyone else, ever again.’ He smiled until Tisamon shifted slightly, the metal of his claw scraping on the tabletop, and the smile instantly went sour.

  ‘So Scylis will have passed the box once he got to Helleron?’ Che clarified.

  Gaved nodded. ‘That was the original plan.’

  ‘Then the plan failed,’ Achaeos informed them, ‘for the Shadow Box did not go to Helleron,’ He unrolled a somewhat tattered map across the table. Stenwold studied it but could see little there: the colours and shapes made no real match to places and lands that were familiar to him. It was an old map, he knew, prepared by Achaeos’s own kinden when this city was still theirs. Just as Achaeos could not grasp how to fire a crossbow or turn a key in a lock, so Stenwold could not decipher the way the Moths represented distance and places on a page.

  ‘I have charted the course of this Scylis, or whoever holds the box,’ Achaeos explained, although of his audience only Tisamon could follow his markings. ‘Not to Helleron, in fact, but some severe detour. A detour north and then east, here to Lake Limnia.’

  ‘Jerez,’ Gaved said instantly.

  ‘You know it?’

  ‘I’ve done good business there,’ the Wasp hunter replied. ‘That’s Skater-kinden land: marsh and swamp, bandit and smuggler country. Imperial writ runs thin there and so that’s where the fugitives go, hoping to get into the Commonweal, or even escape over the northern borders.’

  ‘So tell me,’ Achaeos said, ‘why take the box there? Nobody would go into the Empire just to get out again. Scylis could have gone straight north from here and found a pass into the Commonweal.’

  ‘The black market,’ Thalric suggested disdainfully. ‘Skater-kinden, degenerate creatures as they are, they thrive on it.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Gaved confirmed. ‘You can buy almost anything around Jerez.’ He raised his eyebrows at Achaeos. ‘And sell anything, too.’

  ‘Then we have to go to Jerez,’ Achaeos decided. ‘Now. Today if we can.’

  ‘Achaeos, it’s inside the Empire,’ Che reminded him.

  ‘Just a few of us. Myself. Tisamon and Tynisa,’ he told her.

  ‘Just for some box?’

  ‘Che, I have never been more serious in my life,’ he said. ‘You were there in the Darakyon. You saw. I made you see. That is what this is about. You have to trust me.’

  ‘I do trust you but . . . you can’t wander in and expect to find Scylis just . . . sitting there on this box, waiting to hand it over. I don’t care how thin imperial law runs there, it’s still the Empire.’

  ‘Then we shall take a guide,’ the Moth said simply.

  Unwillingly, Che found her eyes being dragged down the length of the table towards Thalric. He and Gaved had both been her captors, and she had made her escape from each before they had truly had a chance to make her rue it. She saw the difference between them: Gaved had some quality in him, something that told her he might have handed her over to worse men but not touched her himself. Thalric had merely been putting off the moment when she would have screamed beneath his artificer’s knife, but it would have come sooner or later. His iron sense of duty would have subjected her to such torture without remorse.

  Stenwold opened his mouth to issue one of his usual blanket refusals, but it was clear in his face that he was unsure whether being in the Empire without a guide would be worse than being there with one.

  ‘If he comes with us, I shall watch him,’ Tisamon supplied, ‘and he knows what I will do to him if he betrays us. There is nowhere in the Empire or beyond that will then shelter him.’

  ‘And I’ll watch him too,’ Che added.

  ‘No,’ Achaeos said, and she had been so ready for Stenwold to forbid her that it was her uncle she glared at before realizing whose voice had actually spoken.

  ‘There is nobody I would rather have as my companion,’ the Moth told her, ‘as you know. But this is a task not fit for you. Stealth and secrecy, Che. A handful of us and no more, to find the box as swiftly as we may, then seize it without fail, and return. I would not involve you in this, as I would not bring along Stenwold or the Ant Balkus.’

  ‘But . . .’ She looked half angry with him and half aggrieved.

  ‘Your uncle will have other tasks for you, I am sure,’ he reassured her. ‘We all must play our parts. I am already taking from him two of his closest allies and, Master Maker, you cannot understand why I must do this, but I must. Tisamon has agreed, and Tynisa also, I am told. Will you allow us Thalric? He was a spymaster of the Empire, so he will have ways of hearing things, uncovering things, that we don’t have.’

  Stenwold glanced at the ex-Rekef major whose face remained a watchful blank. ‘I am a fairly decent judge of people,’ he said. ‘Remember, I have been in the intelligence game for twenty years, almost: that gives me the right to say no more than that I am a decent enough judge. I do not trust you, Thalric, and I would almost rather have Tisamon kill you here and now than risk your betrayal. I know you will attempt one.’

  ‘Then you have more foreknowledge of my future than I do,’ Thalric said implacably. ‘What would you have me swear by? I seem to have lost most of the things I used to own.’

  ‘Gaved,’ Stenwold turned to the Wasp seated at the far end. ‘A word with you.’ He stepped away from the table, far enough that his low tones would be lost to those who waited for him. Gaved rose, his eyes fixed cautiously on Tisamon, and followed him. Stenwold looked him over once more, registering the long greatcoat made of tough leather that had seen patches added and tears stitched up in its time, and noting the burn-scar on his face, the self-consciously unmilitary posture.

  ‘So you’re a mercenary, indeed?’

  ‘I try to be.’

  ‘That can’t be
an easy resolution to keep, for a Wasp living inside the Empire.’

  Gaved studied him for a long moment, then lowered his eyes. ‘That’s true, and I do work for Empire coin, on matters too shabby for the Rekef and too delicate for the army. But I work for others too, Master Maker, private work, for those that pay: tracing, hunting, finding.’

  ‘You value your freedom?’

  ‘All the more for it being hard come by.’

  Stenwold shook his head. ‘I had not thought that a Wasp might be just as much a prisoner of the Empire as any of its slaves.’ He met Gaved’s suspicious gaze again. ‘I have a commission for you.’

  ‘You want me to go after this box?’

  Stenwold was watching him closely, watching every blink of his eyes. ‘I have the impression you know the country?’

  ‘Better than any save the locals. My trade does well there.’

  ‘I will pay some now, some later, in good coin, if you would go with them, aid them in their task and, most especially, keep an eye on Thalric,’ Stenwold told him.

  ‘So you trust me, do you?’

  ‘More than him,’ Stenwold admitted. ‘Once the box is recovered, you can even make your own way home, if you want, although it will mean missing half of your money.’

  Gaved took a deep breath. ‘The Empire hired me to find that same trinket, Master Maker. That contract’s dead to me, if you now hire me, but . . .’ He shrugged, groping for the right words.

  ‘But how can I know for sure that you won’t sell us out?’ Stenwold finished for him. ‘I had considered myself a fair judge of men of any kinden, and by asking that question you’ve confirmed my judgment.’

  Gaved looked away from him back to the group gathered around the table. ‘And your Mantis will kill me if I so much as look at him in a funny way?’

  ‘Of course,’ Stenwold agreed.

  Gaved smiled slightly. It tugged at the burn-scar and did little to enhance his features. ‘You have a deal, then.’

  Three

  The war with Vek had made many names newly famous in Collegium, but none so comfortable with it as Teornis of the Aldanrael, Spider-kinden Aristos and Lord-Martial of Seldis, whose naval assault had broken the Vekken army, burning their ships and landing his mercenary soldiers along the beaches to drive the Ant-kinden from the city. He had been paraded through the streets in triumph and, though he had been in the company of a great many others, it had been Teornis that the men and women of Collegium had talked about afterwards, especially the women. He was young and handsome and always impeccably dressed.

  And of course it had not been long before rumour had whispered of his other victory against the Wasp Empire that threatened them even now. Why, he had held off an entire Wasp army for whole tendays with only 200 men . . .

  For accommodation he had been given the best rooms in the guest wing of the Amphiophos, and he had not let them suffer beneath their somewhat overblown Beetle style, but had lavished them with draped silks and cushions – or rather his servants had. What matter that he would be staying there only a few days?

  When Stenwold entered, Teornis was lounging on a couch, with two brightly clad Fly-kinden servants dancing attendance on him. Servants or slaves? Stenwold wondered. Slavery was outlawed in Collegium but was the cornerstone of Spiderlands society, and nobody was inclined to pose that question for fear of the reply. It helped, all the same, that there was not a manacle to be seen, and Teornis’ staff were dressed as richly as Collegium’s merchant magnates.

  ‘Master Maker,’ the Spider greeted him in a pleasant, reassuring voice. Like the best of his kind he was the consummate socialite, all things to all audiences. ‘Thank you for accepting my invitation. Pray join me.’

  Stenwold cautiously moved to the couch facing him, accepting a goblet of wine from one servant, a honeyed locust from the other. Behind Teornis, a sultry Spider maiden reclined on her side amidst the cushions and watched Stenwold curiously, but the Beetle found himself thinking, I have a sultry Spider maiden of my own, and he smiled at that.

  ‘War Master Maker, I should have said,’ Teornis added.

  Stenwold swallowed the locust and held up a hand. ‘Please not that title, Lord-Martial. I have no stomach for it.’

  ‘Then I shall call you Stenwold, and you must call me Teornis.’

  ‘You are too kind.’

  ‘I am just kind enough,’ said the Spider. ‘You are now a hero to your people. I shall flatter you outrageously until you agree to my every demand.’ His smile was the whitest Stenwold had ever seen. ‘I always thought myself fond of titles, but even I find mine has begun to weigh on me. There seem to be ever more matters martial to deal with these days.’

  Stenwold nodded. ‘Someone in a hurry addressed me just “War Maker” today.’

  ‘A hazard of a practical surname.’

  ‘It could be worse.’ Stenwold found himself smiling again. ‘When I was a student here, there was a fellow called Hiram Master who entered into the Assembly. Nobody had thought about it, but suddenly he was Master Master. He resigned a tenday later.’

  Teornis laughed politely. ‘Stenwold, are you currently in the right frame of mind to discuss Spiderland politics?’

  ‘Is there ever a right frame of mind, for my people?’

  ‘Nonetheless, there are matters we must discuss. I have been called back home. My mother and my sisters and my aunts have decided that my military skills, such as they are, are now required at Seldis. The Wasps are liable to take the annihilation of their Fourth Army rather badly. We will, of course, say that we have no control over those reckless Mantis savages and never have had. We have even sent messages of condolence, though I would not want to be one of those messengers.’

  ‘You think the Wasp Empire will attack the Spider-lands.’

  ‘The Empire will have to do something about Seldis, at any rate. Whether they will simply keep troops on hand to deploy against us, or whether they will actually seek to take the city, I cannot say, but they will do something.’ Teornis drained his wine and let a Fly servant refill it. ‘It is a strange thing, how the borders of our lands are intentionally blurred. On our maps, Merro and Egel are ours, and all the land to the edge of the Felyal. Some overly ambitious cartographers even place Tark and Kes within our borders. We like owning things, we Spiders. And yet, at the same time, living in Seldis gives one a strange perspective on life. For the Spiderlands proper it is a backwater, a place for the disgraced and the clumsy, but, playing our games there, and looking with amusement at our northern neighbours who cannot – forgive me for saying it – ever match us in our dances . . . Well, we find that the borders are blurred both ways. That, strangely, we are Lowlanders even as you are. Lowlanders and Spiders both. This is why the Aldanrael, and several other families under our banner, have acted as they have. You must allow that our disposition and actions will be important, in the months to come. We are no mere onlookers.’

  ‘You have proved that very ably, Teornis.’

  ‘Our army at Seldis grows, ready to repulse a Wasp invasion should matters become so dire, and we are seeking assistance from the cities south of us: Siennis and Everis-on-the-Isle. There is a complication, though, and this is where you can dabble in Spider politics, if you wish.’

  ‘I wish anything but,’ Stenwold told him, ‘but continue, please. What is your complication?’

  ‘It is that we have another point of contact with the Empire. Over the last few years the Wasps have expanded along the eastern edge of the Dryclaw, until they have reached our own sphere of influence. If they were to put pressure on us there, then there would indeed be a complication. Military attention would be divided but, more importantly, so would political attention. Those with interests in that area might call for peace, even collusion. Self-interest, you understand, is a significant force in our culture.’

  ‘In all cultures,’ Stenwold agreed. ‘Where are we on the maps exactly, Teornis? The eastern edge of the Dryclaw is not well known to us, and the Scorpion-ki
nden discourage exploration.’ As do your own people, but that was a thought best kept silent.

  ‘The desert is a triangle of sorts, broad at the northern edge, but narrow towards the Range of the Tail, as those unimaginative Scorpion fellows call it. South from there lies a large lake, and land that is my people’s and yet not my people’s, and a city named Solarno.’

  Stenwold nodded. ‘I’ve heard it mentioned.’

  ‘The Aldanrael has no interests or agents in Solarno, Stenwold, but I have heard that the Wasps have been seen there, speaking much of peace and trade and sizing up the local militia. Solarno is a renegade city, founded by those who had failed in the Spiderlands. Exiles and outcasts mainly, and officially we have no traffic with them. Unofficially, however, it is a thriving market, a stopping point for eastern-bound travellers, an oubliette for those who have slipped in the dance. The Spiderlands maintain Solarno’s pretence of independence simply because it is useful, you understand?’

  ‘And now the Wasps are there.’

  ‘And the rulers of Solarno, I’ll wager, are not taking them seriously. They will instead play their games and try to use the Wasps against their local enemies. Solarno is the Spiderlands in miniature, if you will, for they are only one city but divided against themselves. If the Wasps catch them unawares, Solarno will turn from our plaything into the Wasps’ own gateway into our lands. At that point any chance of aid such as we have recently rendered to Collegium will cease, because we will have our own worries to keep us busy.’

  ‘You want me to send some of my people to this Solarno?’ Stenwold asked him.

  ‘Spider-kinden agents would only be caught up in the dance,’ Teornis confirmed, ‘and worse, they would have their own agendas. At this juncture I trust your agents more than my own. Someone polite and diplomatic is called for, Master Maker, not swift to take offence nor quick to be deceived. Most certainly – mother preserve us! – not that Mantis. But I trust your choice in this.’