It took Stenwold a moment to disentangle that one, but then he understood. ‘My condolences,’ he said, thinking of that old, old Fly-kinden man he had seen just once, aboard Isseleema’s Floating Game, who had been a notorious pirate, from a line of notorious pirates, in his prime.
Tomasso nodded shortly. ‘It doesn’t change our bargain, Master Maker. It only makes me want to remind you of it, because it’s time for my family to try out respectability, for a generation or two.’
‘I hope you know me well enough by now to trust my word,’ Stenwold remarked.
‘I think I do, at that,’ allowed Tomasso. ‘Mind you, you’re a man who seems to be trying to arrange his own death at any given moment.’
‘Well, as to that,’ Stenwold said, with a strained smile, ‘I went over the disposition of my affairs recently, and I’ve left what assistance I can to you, should this venture go wrong. Believe me, you and your people have been more help than I could have asked for.’
‘Looking after our investment, nothing more,’ Tomasso said gruffly. ‘Ah, and here come our intrepid explorers.’ He fixed the glass he carried to his eye, and Stenwold followed suit. Laszlo and his fellows had come up on deck again, tiny figures even through the lenses. Laszlo himself hopped up and stood on the barge’s rail, where he waved a white cloth theatrically at the Spider vessel, finishing with a flourishing bow. Stenwold heard Tomasso snort.
‘Boy’s going to get himself killed one of these days,’ observed the Tidenfree’s master, ‘while baring his arse at a Spider lord, probably.’
Laszlo and the other two remained standing at the barge’s rail, waiting. Stenwold turned his magnified gaze towards the other ship and saw a trio of figures lift off from it, with the barge clearly as their destination. The whole process, search above and below decks, was now to be repeated by Teornis’s people. The Vekken shipwrights themselves would never have gone over the craft in such fine detail.
‘Oh, there’s nasty,’ Tomasso murmured.
Teornis’s auditors were not Fly-kinden, as Stenwold had expected. A closer examination showed that they were Dragonflies, wearing light armour of chitin and wood, and carrying fantastically carved longbows. They were not the civilized and elegant Commonwealers that Stenwold had guardedly dealt with during the war, but the denizens of some Spider satrapy, gone half savage. Stenwold was vaguely aware that, back in the Days of Lore, at some point long before the Collegiate revolution, the Commonweal had suffered some kind of great exodus: malcontent nobles and their followers being forcibly ejected into the wider world. Dragonfly soldiers had supported Teornis when he raised the Vekken siege, and there was a city of piratical Dragon-flies on the Exalsee to trouble Solarno’s shipping, and who could know where else they had found safe havens?
Stenwold could wish that Teornis had not been so wise in choosing his soldiers. Tomasso’s present discomfort was well-founded, for Dragonflies were as nimble as his own kinden in the air, whilst being almost as swift and deadly as Mantids when it came to a fight.
‘There are so many things that could go wrong with this,’ the bearded Fly muttered, ‘and if it goes bad, it’ll go stinking rotten and all at once.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Stenwold agreed. He searched for his own feelings on this and found not fear, but a flutter of excitement. It’s like shipping out with these Flies in the first place. I used to live like this once, before I got respectable. Being finally seen to be right about the Empire has nearly blunted me. He felt an odd, lost yearning again for those fast-and-loose days before he had shouldered the burden of being a war hero and a statesman to whom people listened. Oh, Tisamon, what I wouldn’t give to have you here right now.
He had to hope that Danaen would prove to be the next-best thing.
There was a footstep on the deck behind him, and he turned to see Arianna. She had come attired for battle, wearing a leather cuirass, and with a strung shortbow holstered across her back. It was what she had worn, close enough, when she had come to fight at his side against the Vekken, and he found himself smiling at her wanly.
‘The boat’s ready,’ she told him, ‘for when they are.’
‘They’re coming up already,’ Tomasso remarked. Indeed, the Dragonfly-kinden were back on deck, all three of them, their search having obviously been cursory. Is this Teornis telling me something? Stenwold wondered. Has he told them to be brief to show he trusts me? Or are they just better at killing than at diligence?
The Dragonflies were now airborne, heading back towards Teornis’s vessel, and a moment later Laszlo and his comrades were winging back towards the Tidenfree as well. Stenwold took a deep breath and headed amidships for the boat. It was a narrow launch hung out over the Tidenfree’s side, ready to be winched down by two of the more Apt members of the crew. His boarding party were standing ready: Elder Padstock and two of her people, with snapbows at the ready; Danaen and two of hers, with swords and bows, arm-spikes and Mantis bloody-mindedness.
Stenwold joined them, with Arianna at his back, and a moment later Laszlo dropped down in their midst, making the Mantis-kinden twitch and scowl.
‘You know what we’re about,’ he addressed them. ‘Keep your eyes open, shout out if you see something out of place. We’re taking no chances. Do not act, unless they act first, or unless I order it. If we see violence today, I do not want my party to be the instigator.’
‘Very good, War Master,’ Padstock assured him.
‘Then let us be about it,’ he said, and carefully stepped down into the rocking boat. They joined him one by one, with Danaen’s warriors taking the oars. Last down was Laszlo, who perched himself at the bow as the boat was winched into the water. He had his bow ready, an arrow to hand, a small but martial figurehead.
As the Mantis-kinden hauled on the oars, Stenwold took his glass out again and tracked down the other ship’s launch. It was a grander, broader affair, and four of Teor-nis’s eight were rowing, and making no greater headway. The Spider lord himself could be clearly seen, reclining in the stern. Assuming it is him and not some lookalike relative, the unpleasant thought came to Stenwold. At this distance, though, he could not bring that face into sharp focus no matter how he adjusted the lenses.
At least we can be glad of one thing regarding his Dragon-flies, another idea struck. If they had been some Apt kinden, Flies even, then perhaps they could have set some incendiaries or explosives within the ship. Be thankful for Inapt enemies.
They were nearing the barge, a low-sided craft, cumbrous and bulky in the water. The Vekken had been no great shipwrights, and what skill they possessed they had reserved for their warships. The barge seemed so close to the water that any large wave would swamp the rails. Hammer and tongs, if the weather grows poor she may founder and sink out here, and would that not be an irony? Teornis and myself clinging to the same plank.
Laszlo’s wings hauled him into the air before the prow of the launch nudged the barge’s side. He had tugged a rope ladder with him, and after a moment’s securing he let it down. Danaen stood in the launch, shifting her balance in perfect time with the waves, and let her own wings bring her up to the barge’s deck, and her people followed suit as Stenwold tied off the launch. A wise precaution, bringing Mantis-kinden who can fly. He was uncomfortably aware of his own shortcomings in that regard, and how much of a trap this ship could become, and beneath it all, of the appalling depth of water below, which could swallow all the schemes that he and Teornis together might hatch until the end of time.
He put such thoughts out of his mind and began climbing.
Of the two launches, he had arrived first, and he chose the stern as his standpoint. Padstock and the two from the Maker’s Own company fanned out behind him, snap-bows cradled in their arms. Stenwold watched as the three Mantis-kinden took their stand to one side, further forward than he would have liked. Danaen’s hands were seldom far from her sword hilts.
There was a light touch on his shoulder, and he took Arianna’s hand briefly. She looked serious, nervous
even, but he supposed that was only natural. Teornis is one of the Aristoi, after all, and it must take a lot for Arianna to set herself against him.
Laszlo had fluttered over to look over the far rail, and now he was on his way back. ‘Guests are here,’ he said shortly as he looked upwards, and Stenwold guessed he was missing a handy spread of rigging to find a seat in. The Vekken barge was moved by steam-engine, though, and not sail.
A moment later, a pair of Teornis’s Dragonflies dropped on to the deck, barely twenty feet away. The violence nearly started then and there, with weapons springing into the hands of the Mantids and the Dragonflies responding with half-drawn bowstrings. The moment passed, though, and a few moments later the man himself appeared.
The Spider Aristos looked like a tragic hero from some high-class play. No, Stenwold corrected his first impression, he looks like the man those actors are trying to resemble. He wore a long jacket of black silk, glittering with complex traceries of silver thread that were thickest at the cuffs of his full sleeves. Over this he had donned a cuirass of chainmail worked fantastically fine, looking lighter and easier to move in than Stenwold’s leather and canvas. I’ll bet he can swim in that, if need be, and then, Fine mail over silk, maybe enough to slow a snapbow bolt?
The headband that Teornis wore was plain gold, setting off the darkness of his hair and narrow, pointed beard. At his belt he had a rapier with an elaborately twisted guard, while on his left hand he wore a heavy glove of embroidered leather, a duellist’s parrying tool. He even had a knife hilt visible in the top of one of his high boots.
His followers had filed up after him: two more Dragon-flies, and a quartet of the Kessen Ant-kinden with their large shields and shortswords. But not snapbows, Stenwold noted. We have that advantage yet. He was uncomfortably aware that, by bringing Laszlo as messenger and Arianna as adviser, he was putting himself at a disadvantage if it came to brute force.
‘Lord Teornis,’ he said, letting his voice ring out as though he was in the Amphiophos.
‘Master Maker,’ the Spider allowed.
Stenwold stepped forward until he was at least level with Danaen. ‘I thank you for agreeing to meet with me.’
‘Why should I not meet with my old friend, Stenwold Maker?’ Teornis answered. ‘Albeit he has levelled some hurtful accusations at my own family recently.’
‘We will talk frankly, or there is no point to this,’ Stenwold told him. ‘We are here without witnesses other than these, who are sworn to each of us. If we cannot speak openly of what we know, what’s the point of any of it?’
For a moment Teornis’s expression admitted nothing, but then he smiled readily. ‘Well then, speak.’
‘Pirates under orders from your family have been preying on Collegiate shipping,’ Stenwold started. He stopped when Teornis raised a hand. ‘If you’ll deny that, then—’
‘When pirates take orders, Master Maker, they are privateers, and that is a different game entirely,’ Teornis corrected him. ‘Do proceed.’
‘Why? Why give such orders?’
‘I am not obliged to lay out the plans of the Aldanrael to you, if you cannot fathom them for yourself,’ Teornis replied evenly.
‘And now? Will you declare war before the Assembly? Or will I have to make public the papers we took from the captain of the Very Blade?’
‘After her death,’ Teornis put in coldly.
Stenwold stared at him. ‘Do you claim that she was none of yours?’
‘Oh, she was mine, Maker. She was my cousin, Elleria of the Aldanrael. She always was too bold and incautious in her dealings, poor creature, impatient of the proper precautions when dealing with codes and letters. She was, in short, a fool, and doubly a fool for being willing to play pirate captain rather than practise prudence on land. But she was family, and your minions killed her.’ His eye took in the three Mantis-kinden with barely disguised loathing.
‘She was leading an assault on Collegium’s citizens,’ Stenwold pointed out, angry at being put so spuriously on the defensive. ‘Do you call her death an injustice?’
Teornis’s smile had an edge on it that would put Danaen’s blades to shame. ‘No, Maker, I do not. It was just, because she was killed in due reprisal for her actions. It was just, because she was killed by her own recklessness. However, she was family, a true member of the Aldanrael’s female line, and her death has set in motion events that care nothing for Beetle justice. Your people speak at endless length about rights, Stenwold. They bleat on about humanity’s mutual regard, and who can do what to whom. There are no rights. You are entitled to only what you can cut or charm out of life. If our armada does bring its full force to bear on your city, and breaks your defences, and kills your soldiers, and enslaves your people, then, yes, that will be unjust, but the world will not care. Justice is like some unnatural hybrid flower you people have bred. It will not live long unless you keep it sheltered and warm.’
‘And is that what you want? Collegium in chains?’ Stenwold asked him, privately considering that Sarn and the Ancient League and, yes, perhaps even Vek might have something to say should those ships arrive.
‘No, of course not,’ Teornis said, seeming genuinely angry, frustrated even, ‘but you are binding my hands, Maker. My family will not be easily pacified now. I advise you to find a means of mollifying them, for if the armada sets sail, then nothing in the world will stop it, and it will make the fleet I led against the Vekken seem like nothing. And we both know what will happen while we are at each other’s throats. The Black and Gold will be at Sarn’s doorstep before we’re done, and probably Seldis’s as well.’
‘So you propose,’ Stenwold laid out slowly, ‘that in return for your family plundering half of the eastbound cargoes Collegium has sent out over the last six months, killing our mariners and practising this deceit on us – in return for all of this we should offer some grand gift and beg your forgiveness for having offended you?’
‘As I say, manifestly unjust, but then consider your alternatives,’ Teornis told him.
A new voice spoke up, ‘I have an alternative.’ It was Danaen.
Stenwold frowned at her uncertainly for a moment, but decided to follow her lead. ‘My Mantis-kinden would have me give the order to kill you,’ he said. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘Are you suggesting that would solve anything?’ Teornis asked him.
‘It would solve my immediate problem. Perhaps it would send the right kind of message to the Aldanrael. But, no, it is not a course of action I am eager to try. I remember when you and I stood on the same side, Teornis. I never looked for anything but your friendship, but neither can I stand by and let my city fall victim to . . . pointless acts of brigandage. So what am I to do?’
‘Let me kill him,’ Danaen said promptly.
Teornis curled his lip. ‘Your Mantis makes great presumptions about her capabilities.’
‘This is not helping,’ Stenwold stated. ‘We came to talk, not to fight.’
Danaen spat. ‘I’ve told you, Maker, there’s only one way to deal with Spiders. If you won’t take that step, I will.’
‘You will not!’ Stenwold snapped in return.
Her eyes blazed rebelliously. The Dragonfly-kinden that Teornis had brought were reaching for arrows.
‘Felyen! To me!’ Danaen yelled out. There was a moment’s startled pause and then a half-dozen Mantis-kinden were clambering over the sides of the barge, dripping wet but armed to the teeth. The Dragonflies had their bows bent instantly, and Teornis’s Ants formed up around him, with shields raised.
‘Why, Maker? Why use Mantis-kinden?’ Teornis cried out. ‘Any other race might possibly exercise some self-control, some rational restraint, but Mantis-kinden? You might as well have cut the throat of any chance for peace between us.’
Stenwold was barely listening to him. ‘Danaen, what is this?’ he demanded, aware that Padstock’s people had brought their snapbows up.
‘You do not need to ask, Beetle,’ the Mantis lead
er told him. Her reinforcements had now spread out across the deck in a loose crescent, ready to descend on Teornis’s guards.
And on Teornis’s ship someone will be watching the sky to ensure nobody comes flying to our aid, Stenwold thought wildly, but they will not be watching the sea. Who would think that they could just swim over?
‘What of Mantis honour,’ he demanded, ‘that commodity you speak so highly of ? The Mantis-kinden I have known would not betray me so!’
The look Danaen turned on him was of pure scorn. ‘The Mantis you knew was a blood traitor, a breeder of abomination,’ she hissed at him. ‘Do not think you know us, Beetle. Do not think you know us, at all.’
Stenwold must have missed a signal then: not from the Mantids but from Teornis himself. The next thing he knew was the cold line of a dagger against his throat, and someone holding him tightly from behind. His first thought was that it was one of the Mantids, but then he heard Arianna’s voice whisper, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Everyone still now,’ Teornis commanded. ‘Mantis swords back in Mantis sheaths, and you Beetles can aim those bows down at the floor. If you’re talking about justice, Maker, your people have a poor way of showing it.’
Stenwold stared only at him, because to twist his head to look at Arianna would hurt too much, above and beyond the knife. He expected to see contempt in his opponent’s face, that a man who set himself up as a follower of the Dance should fall for such a transparent trick, but instead he surprised a pinprick of sympathy in the man’s expression.
‘Now, we will talk,’ Teornis declared.
‘You mistake us, Spider,’ Danaen said, with evident relish. ‘Have your traitor gut the fat old man if you wish. What is he to me?’
Teornis’s reserve held. ‘He is the spokesman of your new adopted city, or would you betray that as well?’ he demanded archly.
She sneered. ‘In even considering dealing with the likes of you, he has betrayed all right-thinking people. Kill him, or I shall kill him. I care not which.’
Teornis’s eyes found Stenwold’s gaze again, and his expression seemed to carry the accusation: Your death be on your own head, since you chose to deal with these fanatics.
The Sea Watch Page 24
