The Scarab Path

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  ‘No …’ Che sat down on the steps. She could feel something slipping away from her, and she thought it might be her hopes. Beyond Praeda’s concerned face the stone pump ground minutely on, obstinately destroying everything she had come here to find.

  Am I alone now? Now that the Khanaphir are just Apt, and merely backward, rather than some great survival from the Age of Lore? Can I admit to myself that I’m a freak and a cripple, and simply get it over with?

  ‘Che, what’s wrong?’ Praeda asked. And then Ethmet was there.

  ‘Forgive me, forgive me, Honoured Foreigners,’ he said. ‘Alas, you are used to better hospitality than our poor city can afford. Forgive me that we have bored you thus, that you have fled us into these unfit places. I shall call for dancers. I shall have Amnon order his men to fight for your pleasure.’

  ‘Please, First Minister,’ said Praeda, abruptly stand-in diplomat. ‘I think that Che … that is, Miss Maker is ill.’

  ‘Alas!’ He crouched beside her and, despite Petri’s predictions, his lined face showed nothing but concern. ‘We shall have a physician sent for at once.’

  ‘No, please.’ Somehow Che got herself to her feet. She saw that Corcoran had made himself scarce as soon as the Minister arrived, perhaps not eager to be implicated in robbing this man of his guests. ‘Please, I just need to rest. I just need to go to my rooms.’

  ‘Well, it is late,’ Ethmet agreed. ‘I shall have some servants escort you.’

  They have servants for everything, she thought muggily. Even to make their machines work. They have machines that are powered by people, how strange. She was wailing inside her head. She wanted to go home – away from this place that had so decisively betrayed her – but Collegium was just as strange, and she could not now say in what quarter home lay.

  They all headed back to the embassy together in the end. Manny was singing loudly, a girl on each arm, and Che was glad that her room was located at the opposite end of the building from his. Not that I will sleep, anyway. The discovery that had so thrilled Praeda had filled her with dread. I had everything worked out, and what a fool I’ve been! At every step, she felt she should plunge into the chasm that had suddenly opened up before her. Nowhere to go, she kept thinking. I have nowhere to go. This has been a fool’s errand, and I was the fool for it. Another hour, another dawn facing that realization seemed unbearable.

  ‘Manny,’ she said, and then repeated, ‘Manny!’ when he wouldn’t stop singing.

  ‘What can I possibly do for you, Honoured Ambassador?’ he drawled, and the girls giggled. Possibly, in their eyes, he seemed full of exotic allure. Overfull, maybe.

  ‘You have drink, strong drink?’ she enquired, though she already knew it to be true.

  ‘I am drunk,’ he considered. ‘Also, I do have drink. Do you wish to retire with me and my new friends to my room so we can explore just how strong it is?’

  She grabbed his robe hard enough that he halted abruptly and almost toppled over. ‘If you ever dare say anything like that to me again, Mannerly Gorget, I will cut off your parts.’ It was not fair, really, since she was not angry at him. He was just a broad and easy target for how very angry she felt with all the world, and with herself. ‘I want at least two bottles of strong drink from wherever you’ve stashed it, but I will not be sharing them, do you understand?’

  He goggled at her: her stern expression brooked no argument. She released him and strode off through the arch and into the Place of Foreigners.

  This world has too many sharp edges, she brooded, and I have cut myself too often on them. I will blur them and blur them, and perhaps tonight I will not dream, and tomorrow I will not feel like putting a knife to my wrists.

  Sixteen

  The pen scratched as it went dry, and Thalric shook it irritably. He would have preferred a simple quill of rolled chitin, but the Regent must have only the best. These reservoir pens – manufactured in Helleron, or copied in Sonn – carried their own store of ink. No more constant dipping and messy inkwells. He found that they worked unreliably and that his handwriting became unrecognizable. Such was progress.

  It was long past dark now, and well into the silent watches that dragged their way towards midnight, and Thalric was still writing his report.

  Contact made with the Khanaphir First Minister. Relations generally friendly. The precise power structure here is opaque. Mentions have been made of certain ‘Masters’, but this would seem to be a purely ceremonial position, from my observations.

  He had already written his assessment of the Khanaphir people, their character, their defences. He concurred with Vollen:

  If the Empire brings force against Khanaphes, then there seems no prospect of a successful resistance. Their ground defences seem antiquated, and the Khanaphir have no visible means of defending their city or its holdings from the air.

  So far so good. Yet he had barely written a new line for over an hour now, the pen poised, then scratching out letters, then crossing them through, pages being copied to disguise his indecision.

  It was all academic, of course, since Marger would be preparing his own report. If the purpose of this expedition fell into Rekef territory, then it would be Marger giving the orders. Thalric was only an adviser. Still, here he was playing the Rekef officer because it was all he knew how to do.

  I have made contact with the Collegium embassy. Their ambassador is Cheerwell Maker, niece of their general, Stenwold Maker.

  He crossed it out and started again. His Rekef past and his more recent past hung on scales in his mind, each balancing the other. He found he did not want to be the man who put her name into the thoughts of General Brugan. The Rekef remembered names and he had no way to describe the two sides of Cheerwell Maker. List her accomplishments – fomenting rebellion in Myna, resistance in Solarno and Tharn – see her that way and she was such a threat that the Rekef death-orders would be signed the moment his report found home.

  And yet I know she is just a foolish girl. She bumbles about the world meaning well, and trying to do the right thing, then gets it wrong as often as not, and must run to catch up with events. No, he did not want to be the man responsible for putting her on the List – inscribed beside her uncle – of those people the Rekef would remove when the new war broke out.

  I am a poor Rekef man, a poor Imperial soldier. He had always tried to be loyal to his friends and comrades, but that had almost never worked. So where is my loyalty now? It seemed absurd that the sticking point for his muchabused fidelity could be a Beetle-kinden girl working for the opposite side.

  Everyone else recognizes the risks. Maybe that was it. Che Maker never seemed to realize the danger she constantly put herself in. Watching her progress through life was like witnessing a constant series of near-misses, like seeing someone sleepwalk through a battle.

  He shook his head. Once more he had written, The Collegium ambassador is known to me, but that begged the obvious question. He put down the pen and rubbed his eyes, smudging ink across his cheek. He was willing to bet that Marger would have completed his own report hours before, despite having the added chore of reporting on Thalric.

  There was a scream from outside, so shrill with terror that Thalric leapt up instantly, spilling everything from the desk. He went to the window, found it too narrow to exit through. There was a lot of shouting from downstairs and from across the square. The scream was repeated, like the desperate cry of a man on the rack. An attack! But on who? He grabbed up his sword, discarded the scabbard and bolted out of his room.

  He ran into a half-dressed Marger on the stairs, and with a common glance the two of them made for the door. As they hit the cool night air they found Gram outside, sword already drawn, the other hand held out with palm open towards the building on the other side of the Place. There were people spilling out of it, too, and Thalric spotted one of the Vekken already armoured, and glimpsed Che’s Flykinden as well. Both of them held crossbows.

  Oh, this could get messy. Gram and the Fly be
gan shouting at each other, each demanding to know what the other had done. Without having to look, Thalric knew that Vollen, with his sting ready, would have taken station at one of the windows.

  ‘There!’ Marger snapped, and pointed. Thalric saw the body at the same time. Near the larger arch, a man lay on his back, one hand upraised as if to ward something off, the other arm flung over his eyes.

  It was Osgan.

  Thalric’s heart sank as he ran across, dropping to one knee beside the fallen man. There was a lot of shouting going on, the pitch of tension rising and rising. ‘Get them to shut up!’ he told Marger, who backed away to quieten things down.

  Osgan was shaking violently and he clung to the proffered arm as Thalric went to touch his shoulder. His face was a mask of tears and he reeked of alcohol. He kept pointing, though, and was trying to get some words out. Thalric followed the trembling finger, and for a second felt a twitch of what Osgan must be feeling. Then he cursed the man wearily and rounded on the escalating confrontation behind him.

  Che had emerged now, bundled up in a grey Mothkinden cloak and calling for her own side to back down. Thalric could sense that Gram was more than ready for a fight, and even Marger had abandoned his easy manner and had drawn his sword.

  ‘Down! Swords down! Back inside!’ Thalric bellowed, and for a moment he was neither Rekef nor traitor, but Captain Thalric of the Imperial army shouting at a bunch of recalcitrant soldiers. ‘We are not about to restart the war with the Lowlands here in Khanaphes. There is no problem, there is no attack. Everyone get back inside and go to sleep!’ Even as he shouted it he could hear his words echoed by Che Maker ordering her people to do the same.

  ‘Accius, listen to me,’ she was yelling. ‘Or Malius, whichever. Just … I will find out what’s going on …Trallo, put that cursed crossbow down.’ An old Beetle had come out, wearing a nightshirt and carrying a sword, until Che turned and swore at him, telling him to get back inside and leave this to her. ‘This isn’t a fight,’ she insisted. ‘Nothing’s happened.’

  Not yet, Thalric thought, but it very nearly did.

  ‘That man of yours is a liability,’ Marger remarked disgustedly.

  ‘Right now we’re all liabilities,’ Thalric told him grimly. ‘I’ll deal with Osgan. You get your men back inside.’

  It seemed to last for ever, this moment on the edge of violence. Then Marger turned away, and Gram followed him with such a belligerent backwards stare that Thalric guessed he must have scores to settle with the Lowlands, left over from the war. The Vekken had already stamped back inside and Che was shepherding the rest of her errant people out of sight.

  Osgan had crawled over to the pond and was splashing water on his face. In the sudden quiet, Thalric could hear the ragged catch of his breathing.

  ‘You bloody fool,’ he said, but quietly. Osgan rolled over onto his back. He looked ill.

  ‘You can’t know …’ he got out, ‘what I saw—’

  ‘I know exactly what you saw,’ Thalric snapped, ‘and be grateful I understand enough not to hand you over to Vollen and Gram,’ He glanced over at what had spooked Osgan: just a statue. It was partly overgrown, hidden in greenery until now, and depicted a Mantis-kinden standing with his clawed gauntlet on, the blade folded back along the line of his arm. And I do understand. Tisamon could have modelled for it.

  The release of tension left him feeling weak, shaking his head. He had no will left to discipline Osgan. The whole business just seemed ridiculous. He sat down heavily on one of the benches as Osgan eyed him cautiously.

  ‘I’m sorry, Thalric. I’m sorry,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ Thalric said, without rancour. We could have been killing each other, over this. He chuckled despite himself, resting his head on one hand and staring into the water.

  ‘Midnight manoeuvres for the Imperial army, is it?’

  He jumped up and turned to find Che standing not ten feet away, still clutching that grey cloak about her. He snorted half a laugh before he could stop himself.

  ‘Just an … It’s not a problem.’

  ‘Is he all right?’ She peered round him at the prone figure of Osgan.

  ‘He’s fine. He’s drunk.’

  ‘Lucky him.’ To his surprise one of her hands came up holding a clay jar from which she took a swallow. ‘He’s more than drunk. What happened?’ She asked the question without guile, not a Lowlander agent prying for information – just Cheerwell Maker and Thalric caught up in another awkward situation.

  ‘He ran into that statue over there, the Mantis one, and it gave him a bit of a fright,’ Thalric explained. One harsh winter during the Twelve-year War, he had crossed a frozen lake on foot, his armour weighing him down too much for flight. He was reminded of that now: just pressing on carefully while waiting for the ice to give way, for everything to fall apart.

  ‘Well, I can understand that.’ She sat down with a whoosh of breath, raising the jar to her lips again.

  Everyone gets a drink tonight except me, he thought. Now is that fair? ‘I don’t suppose,’ he said, still negotiating the ice, ‘there’s enough there for a swig?’

  She gave him a long look, and in his mind he heard the ominous creaking and cracking, but then she passed it over. He knocked back a gulp, tasted harsh spirits, far stronger than he had expected. He choked, forcing it down, then handed the jar back wordlessly.

  Che gave a delighted shout. ‘You know, I always thought temperance was one of your lot’s virtues. I don’t think I ever saw a drunk Wasp before.’

  Osgan began to protest about being called drunk, but he slurred the words so much he was incomprehensible.

  Thalric felt himself smile. ‘Oh, bring three bottles of this gutrot to my room some time, and I’ll show you one.’ He waited for the final crack, the sudden icy cold, but she laughed out loud, the sound ringing around the Place of Foreigners. What Marger and the rest must have thought, he had no idea.

  ‘I’m not … not that drunk. I’m not that … that drunk,’ Osgan muttered, getting one elbow on to a bench and dragging himself into a sitting position. ‘That … not that drunk … but … but I saw – it, him …’ The words fell off into a choking sob.

  Thalric gave Che a look of exasperation but realized she was nodding. ‘Oh, the Khanaphir are far too good at statues,’ she agreed. ‘I had enough of a fright when I saw our door guards.’

  Thalric glanced across at the Collegium embassy, not understanding for a moment, then reinterpreting the stone Moth-kinden there. ‘Of course,’ he added more quietly, ‘he is dead.’

  ‘Yes,’ Che echoed. ‘Yes, he is dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Are you really?’ And the ice began to give way, just as it had in the Commonweal.

  ‘You forget, I knew him,’ Thalric said, in a tone that was quick and clipped. Why do I care what she thinks I think about her dead Moth? ‘We went through that mad business in Jerez together. For that matter, I did my best to stop him getting stabbed.’

  She was nodding, slowly. Another step taken and he hadn’t fallen yet. ‘I wasn’t there. He wouldn’t take me with him.’

  ‘You … wouldn’t have been able to change anything,’ he declared.

  She glared at him. ‘Would I not, then?’

  He turned away from her to look into the water again, his own expression looking as distant as those of the statues themselves. ‘It’s just what one says, in these situations, to spare people. To tell the truth there were things happening that night that I will never understand.’

  There was a long pause, and he found her studying him, nodding slowly. ‘I believe you,’ she said, almost too softly for him to catch. ‘I believe you, because I understand it a little, now.’ He frowned at that and she shook her head, casting around for another topic of conversation. ‘What’s your friend got against Mantids?’

  Osgan gave a hollow laugh. ‘You can’t know. You weren’t there.’

  Che frowned at Thalric. ‘Where?’


  Osgan struggled further up onto the next bench, and lay back on it, gasping like a dying fish.

  ‘He was …’ It was not a pleasant tale, would seem even less pleasant to her. Thalric pressed on regardless. ‘He was a guest of the Emperor during a celebration to mark the anniversary of the coronation. There was a big blood-fighting match. He had the honour of serving as the Emperor’s scribe for the evening. For the Consortium it’s a real accolade.’

  ‘Oh, I was doing well, back then. Well, well, well,’ Osgan interrupted. ‘I was flying high.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Che asked. ‘Did the Emperor—?’

  ‘Oh, the Emperor nothing,’ Thalric said. He waited for Osgan to speak, then filled in the silence. ‘It was because of your friend. I wasn’t there, but I’ve heard all about it. Your friend the Mantis.’

  ‘Tisamon.’ Che breathed. The very name seemed to make the night more chill, and she shivered under the cloak, leaning closer to him, anxious to hear the rest.

  ‘He was fighting for the Emperor’s pleasure, but he got up into the stalls somehow. He went … mad,’ Thalric said slowly. ‘Tisamon went mad, that’s what I heard. There were guards that tried to stop him, but …’

  ‘You … weren’t there,’ said Osgan clearly. ‘You can’t know. They tried to stop him. They ran in from in front of the Emperor, and from all sides, and they flew from across the pit. They tried … they had stings and spears and swords, and they were trying to get between him and the Emperor, but he just … killed them.’ His voice sounded raw, like an unhealed wound. ‘He killed them and he killed them, and they didn’t have a chance. They were throwing themselves on to his blade. They – so many – they were … so brave, all of them so brave. They were dying for the Emperor, and the Mantis wouldn’t stop killing them. They didn’t have a chance.’ He choked again, descending back into his misery. ‘So brave,’ he got out one last time.

  Che was looking somewhere beyond Thalric now, while automatically passing the jar back to him. ‘She never said,’ she murmured. ‘Tynisa would never say just how it happened.’