Blood of the Mantis

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  His reliance on his slaves and his refusal to travel without them had given him a reputation in the Empire for decadence and a willingness to impose his power on others. Of course, they did not know of his handicap, his burden and his joy, that made all this so necessary.

  I have been waiting for this moment for a score of years at least. Dare I call it fate? Perhaps I do.

  Major Tegrec made a gesture and Raeka opened the door for him, turning a wheel and swinging out the disc of metal-rimmed wood. He could hear the not-quite-silence of several hundred Wasp soldiers waiting for him and, beyond them, in silence absolute, the Moths . . .

  One of his Mantis bodyguards stepped out first, casting a suspicious eye over invaders and locals alike. He wore his clawed gauntlet, the blade folded back along his arm. Then it was Tegrec’s turn, and he paused in the gondola’s hatchway, seeing his invasion force snap to attention and salute. No need for any of you, it seems, he thought. Are you relieved not to have to go down into those tunnels and passageways to root them out? Or disappointed that there’s to be no rape and plunder? He made sure they had a good look at him, standing there with one foot on the rim of the hatchway, one hand on the circular door, his non-regulation blue cloak, secured by a golden brooch, billowing heroically in the wind. Tegrec the conqueror, the only major ever to be made a city governor. An unassuming figure, really, which was why he wore the cloak, the gold armlets and the torc, all to convey the image of a rather greater man. In truth his hair was starting to recede and he was thicker at the waist than a Wasp soldier should really be, and not quite as tall as most. No matter, his soldiers and the Tharen Moths would only remember this moment of his arrival.

  As he stepped down, his most senior captain came to salute before him. ‘No resistance, sir. None at all. Aside from knives and a few hunting bows, not even any arms to speak of. Of course, there may be others concealed further in.’

  ‘And what statement have they made? Do they wish to negotiate? Is this a surrender or merely a truce, Captain?’ Tegrec loved the sound of his own voice, a cherished vanity: it was smooth and supple, and made up for the lack of height and hair.

  ‘A woman speaks for them, sir,’ the captain said derisively. ‘She says they know they cannot resist our superior strength, therefore they will accede to the Emperor’s authority.’

  ‘And you don’t believe that,’ Tegrec noted. It was clear that this veteran soldier wanted his quota of violence. ‘It has been known, captain, that, whether through pragmatism or genuine enthusiasm, some communities succumb to the Emperor’s legions with never a blow struck. Fly-kinden and Beetle-kinden, for example, all sensible and peaceable types. The Empire has, as yet, no Moth-kinden within it, but they are reckoned wise, so why should they not take the sensible course?’

  ‘Sir, they are also said to be clever,’ said the captain, as though this was the ultimate insult.

  ‘You expect an ambush in the dark? Well, it is possible.’ Tegrec had to keep reminding himself that it was entirely possible. The ground he stood on, the plans he had made, were all quite open to change. ‘However, we can torch their fields and besiege them, starve them out, destroy their carvings, even haul Mole Crickets up here to tear away their stone. They know this, captain, because they are not fools. I will parley with their leaders, and explain to them what the Empire shall require in terms of garrison, taxes and the like. I am otherwise willing to spare the Empire’s resources, and the lives of her soldiers.’

  The captain nodded, clearly still not convinced. ‘Their woman, she said that their leaders – she called them something but I can’t recall quite what – would be waiting to offer their formal surrender to you.’

  Skryres, Tegrec recalled, and the word made his heart race a little. ‘Very good, Captain,’ he said calmly, as Raeka stepped up beside him, bearing his sword for him. ‘I see no reason to delay, so lead me to them.’

  They brought him to the Tharen spokeswoman first, a slight, grey-skinned woman of close on his own age. She was dressed in the elegant robes that all Moths of a certain station seemed to wear. So colourless, all of them: grey stone and grey skins, grey robes and white eyes and dark hair. This one was attractive, though, in an exotic kind of way, and he had a reputation for lechery to maintain, both amongst his own people and the slaves he kept. Not Raeka, though, never her. She was too precious to him to use up and cast aside.

  Knowing the eyes of the army were on him, he gripped the Moth spokeswoman’s chin in one hand and tilted her head back so that he could admire her face, then her profile. In a voice that would not carry past his guards he said, ‘And you are Xaraea, I believe.’

  ‘I am, Governor,’ she said.

  ‘And the . . . the Skryres are waiting, are they not?’

  ‘For the pleasure of your company, Governor.’

  He could see she was on edge. They had never met before, but he had received so many messages from her, or from her Arcanum, that he felt he knew her. He could see the uncertainty behind the proud defiance.

  ‘Take me to them,’ he directed.

  The Moths had lit lamps for him. It was a considerate touch. The lit path led to an amphitheatre, its rings of stone seats quite empty of spectators, but the bluish-white lanterns cast shadows there instead. Three Moth-kinden, none of them young, were awaiting him at the far end. Looking from face to face, he found he could not read them. If they were trembling at the change he brought with him or if they were contemptuous, even if they were plotting to betray him already, he could not tell.

  ‘You may leave us, Captain,’ Tegrec said.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘A simple enough order, was it not?’ Tegrec arched an eyebrow at the man. ‘I have my guards, Captain.’

  The captain eyed the Mantis-kinden guards as if to say they were all very well, but they were not imperial soldiers. ‘Sir, are you . . . ?’

  ‘Do you genuinely fear they will use their Art on me, to rob me of my wits? I assure you, I am proof against it.’

  ‘It’s not that, sir, but . . .’

  Seeing the man’s expression, containing fear and hatred and doubt all mixed, Tegrec laughed quietly. ‘Surely you do not think they will . . . what? Bewitch me? I had not put you down as some superstitious savage, Captain.’

  ‘Of course not, sir.’ The man looked rebellious but saluted, and led his soldiers out.

  And let us see if this gamble pays a dividend, thought Tegrec. For if it does not, then neither Tharn nor I will do well out of it. He nodded to his guards, and they stepped back a pace, leaving only Raeka immediately beside him.

  Seeing the soldiers leave, Xaraea took a place halfway between him and her masters.

  ‘Elders of Tharn,’ he said, his voice, even when pitched low, resonating about the chamber. ‘Skryres of the Moth-kinden, I am Tegrec, Major of the Imperial Army. Do I need any further introduction?’

  ‘You are the one the Wasp Emperor has sent to rule over our city,’ answered the middle of the three.

  ‘I hope I’m more than that,’ he told them. Despite their stern countenances he sat himself down on the lowest tier of seats. ‘A great deal of work has gone into bringing me here: me, rather than some other candidate for the governorship. My work and hers have brought this about, to name but two.’ He nodded at Xaraea, but she had her head down, in respect for her leaders, and did not notice.

  ‘What do you bring down upon us here, Wasp-kinden?’ said another of the Skryres. ‘We know your kind only too well.’

  ‘I bring the Emperor’s rule.’

  ‘And what does that imply?’ said the woman Skryre. Her tone suggested she was one step ahead of the conversation, knowing his answer already.

  ‘An interesting question,’ he allowed. ‘The Empire is only here for two reasons: one concerns the skirmish that happened months before Helleron was even taken, in which your people killed a few of our soldiers. The other is merely a happenstance of geography, since the Empire doesn’t miss out towns along the way. There is no more to
it than that, nor any great burden on me – so I can be whatever kind of governor I like.’

  She smiled thinly. ‘And what would you like, O Governor Tegrec? What is it you want from us?’

  The words almost stuck in his throat, and glancing at Xaraea was no help to him. In the end he could not simply blurt it out. He had hidden his handicap for too long. ‘Do you see this woman here?’ he asked, indicating Raeka.

  ‘Your slave, we take her for,’ one of the other Skryres remarked. Tegrec had the sense of much conversation going on between them that he could not hear, as though they were Ant-kinden who could pass words silently and freely among themselves.

  ‘My slave, indeed. She goes everywhere with me and even sleeps at the foot of my bed. She is very useful, since she can read technical plans and evaluate siege artillery. She can fly orthopters and other such machines. There is one other reason, though, why she is so very essential to me. Can you imagine why?’

  Although they made no sign of it, he was sure they already knew.

  ‘She opens doors for me. They all think that a great affectation of mine, but in fact it is to hide a certain handicap I must live with. She opens doors because, faced with locks and latches, I can make no sense of them. You understand me.’

  The woman Skryre came forward, staring at him intently. ‘Yes, we see,’ she said. ‘You are Inapt.’

  ‘I am a freak amongst my own people,’ he confessed, without any rancour. ‘What they all take for granted, I can never be a part of. But there are compensations nonetheless. I was always a reader, as a child, and from that, once grown, I passed on to stranger matters. In my library I had several tomes acquired at the start of the Twelve-Year War against the Commonweal: books my kin could never comprehend, but I could.’

  ‘You are a seer,’ the Skryre confirmed, so matter-of-factly, but it was an endorsement he had not been sure of ever receiving. ‘You have taught yourself, then, from books?’

  ‘From books, from Dragonfly prisoners, by whatever other means were to hand. And then the conquest of Tharn was spoken of, even before we had taken Helleron, and soon I began to touch on agents of your factor Xaraea here. From there it was a matter of making sure my name was coupled with Tharn’s at every turn, and so, between your woman and myself . . .’ He smiled. ‘Here I am, a major at thirty, and the Governor of Tharn.’

  ‘We shall not remain within your Empire long,’ said one of the Skryres, ‘Or at least so the majority of our futures show us. Either we shall be free or we shall be destroyed. The future you propose is but a thin thread in the weaving.’

  ‘State your terms,’ the female Skryre demanded.

  Tegrec spread his hands. ‘I see no reason to impose any more on you than I must. A small garrison, for what more would be needed amid such a peaceful folk; some pittance of taxation too, for the Emperor is greedy for such things. Beside that, nothing needs to change. Continue to rule yourselves and your lives as you always have.’

  ‘As we always have,’ echoed one of the Skryres, in a sick tone of voice. ‘You have no idea of always, Wasp-kinden.’

  ‘Then teach me,’ Tegrec said, standing up at last. ‘I have come with an open mind. I have come thirsty for knowledge. I know you have taken students from other kinden before, though never from mine, but there has never been a Wasp like me before. Teach me, then, and make me one of you, and in return I shall shield you from the Empire. If you doubt me, then look within me – as I know you can, as I myself have even done with others.’

  They exchanged glances, and then one asked Xaraea, ‘Your spies, your agents, what do they say?’

  ‘There are no certainties,’ she said. ‘But what choice have we?’

  Twelve

  ‘No sooner do I discover that I have in my house an individual of culture and fame,’ Domina Genissa exclaimed, ‘than he is maimed by the Crystal Standard’s ghastly mob!’ She had Nero settled down comfortably in a bedroom that was clearly intended for much grander folk, and her own personal Spider-kinden physician had cleaned and dressed his wound, and then bound a sweet-smelling poultice to it.

  ‘An individual of culture and fame, Domina?’ Taki enquired doubtfully.

  ‘When I first saw his face, my dear, I had just an inkling that it was known to me,’ Genissa declared. ‘I curse my weakness of memory, that the answer was so slow in coming.’

  Taki and Che exchanged glances, each as blank as the next.

  ‘Why look above you, dear ones. Look over the door.’

  They did and, after a moment Nero chuckled. ‘Oh, neatly done. Very neat.’

  There was a painting executed in a single long band above the doorway, a scene that Che took to represent the Days of Lore, the ‘Bad Old Days’ as the Beetles sometimes termed them. Here were Spider ladies and their lords reclining, scantily clad or sometimes not clad at all, eating grapes and sipping wine from golden goblets, surrounded by coiling vines and leafy trees, as though all this luxury was simply to be had on the bough for the asking. Mantis-kinden in archaic carapace breastplates duelled with rapiers and claws, and to one side she saw a Moth-kinden, a young man that Achaeos might almost have posed for. The thought made her sad, wishing him here with her.

  She peered closely, then, to see the Shadow Box he had spoken of, but of course there was nothing of it. This was no ancient painting but a modern artist’s romanticized portrayal. Nero’s own, apparently.

  ‘Yours, Sieur Nero?’ Taki guessed, a wary respect in her voice.

  ‘Look towards the bottom left,’ he suggested.

  There were other kinden depicted in the picture, although the eye was carefully led away from them. Huddled in the corners Che saw Ant-kinden hauling casks of wine, Beetle-kinden hammering steel at a forge, Fly-kinden bearing platters of meats. One of the Fly servants was facing outwards, looking over his shoulder and straight out of the painting: a bald man with a knuckly face.

  ‘Better than any signature,’ Nero explained with satisfaction.

  ‘But you said you’d never been to Solarno before,’ Taki said, genuinely thrown. ‘That’s painted right onto the wall.’

  ‘That’s because it’s just a copy,’ the artist replied, grinning. ‘The original’s in Siennis, but someone from here must have gone travelling there, and liked it enough to commission this copy. And it’s a good reproduction, don’t get me wrong.’

  Genissa’s face had fixed slightly at first when he spoke, but now she warmed again. ‘I hope you are not offended, Sieur Nero.’

  ‘Flattered only, Domina.’

  ‘Bella, please. Bella Genissa. It would please me.’

  Behind her back, Taki raised her eyebrows at Che. ‘I take it you and Sieur Nero have much to discuss, Domina. A commission perhaps?’

  ‘A commission indeed,’ Genissa said happily. ‘When he is fit for it. Until then I would hear of his business in the Spiderlands, for I am sure we must have mutual acquaintances.’

  ‘If it pleases you, I’ll take Bella Cheerwell out to see more of our city, Domina.’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ Genissa waved them away, and Taki tugged at Che’s sleeve.

  Nero gave her a quick nod, as if to confirm: I know what I’m doing here. Che sent him an encouraging smile back, and then followed where Taki was leading.

  Once they were out of earshot of the bedroom, and Taki had taken a precautionary look around for eavesdroppers, the Fly woman said, ‘Don’t be fooled by any of that performance.’

  ‘By Genissa?’

  ‘She loves that act, all the flowers and fluff, but don’t forget she’s the head of the Destiavel, and you can’t be that without all your knives good and sharp.’

  ‘She’s your employer,’ Che noted.

  ‘Don’t think I’m not grateful for it. Her money keeps my Esca in the air. She’s also much better than a lot of the family heads. Still, she’s no fool and right now she assumes your friend is a spy from the Spiderlands. That’s what she’s really talking to him about, though he may not guess it.’
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br />   ‘Nero’s smarter than he looks, as well,’ Che pointed out loyally.

  ‘That can’t be too hard. So, I’m going to show you more of the city. Do you know the best way of seeing Solarno?’

  When Che shook her head, she continued: ‘From the air.’

  ‘You mean . . . from an airship? Or an orthopter?’

  ‘That’s just exactly what I mean. I’m sure I can find some pilot with a two-man who owes me a favour.’

  ‘Actually . . . I can pilot a flier.’ Ever since seeing Taki duel with the pirates over the Exalsee, the thought had been with Che. ‘Not well enough for fighting or anything, but I can pilot a flying machine.’

  Taki looked doubtful. ‘Well, I could commandeer you something from the house hangers, but . . .’

  ‘I’d be really, really careful with it.’

  ‘I’m more worried about you, yourself. If I got into real trouble, I could always bail out and fly, but—’

  ‘I can fly,’ Che insisted and, when Taki still looked doubtful, she let her wings flare a little, a shimmer passing across her shoulders.

  ‘Sink me,’ Taki swore. ‘You really are a foreigner, right enough. The locals certainly can’t, I’ll tell you that much. I don’t know how they ever dare take to the air. Bella Cheerwell, you have yourself a flying machine. This may all work out better than I’d hoped.’

  The Stormcry seemed very fat and ungainly next to Taki’s Esca Volenti, which comparison Che supposed was fitting enough. It – or she, as Taki introduced the machine – was a block-bodied fixed-wing with broad pinions that each bore a propeller, with an extra prop mounted above the pilot for good measure, ahead of a box-kite tail. The rear of the pilot’s seat touched up against a compact little steam engine that drove all three, and Che suspected it would get particularly hot in just a short space of time. The entirety of it was built of light wooden planks, brass bound. Che had to admit that out here beyond the edge of civilization they seemed to know their artificing, at least when it pertained to flying machines.