And he gave them his best smile, and knew that some, at least, would already be thinking about how this situation could be used to personal advantage. And it would be they who prospered, whilst anyone trying to hold on to what the Assembly had once represented would fall, and probably sooner rather than later.
‘But to business,’ he urged them brightly. ‘The clerks have given you each a list of names, and I’m sure you all recognize them. These are those individuals who have proved such intractable enemies to the Empire that they cannot be allowed to retain their liberty within our new city. Masters, the Empire is currently considering our methods of selecting Assemblers. It goes without saying that anyone assisting the Empire at this crucial time will help to demonstrate to the Wasps the usefulness of our traditional institutions, as well as preserving their own position within our body.’ Unless they’re a halfbreed, of course, or a woman.‘Conversely, if any citizens are found to be sheltering someone on this list, then not only shall they find themselves a guest of the Empire’s interrogators, but that invitation will be extended to their family, friends and associates, because the Empire is very concerned that such dissent not be allowed to spread.’
He scanned the mass of them and made some more notes on his scroll, this time underlining the names — Parrymill’s amongst them — of those he believed would simply not fit in with the new times. If the gears are to mesh smoothly, we must remove any defective components. Also a few individuals that he simply did not like, but then that was a privilege of rank.
‘The curfew meanwhile remains in place, no movement out of doors after dark, until further notice. After all, who, save for dissidents and criminals, would be skulking about at such times anyway? Over the next few tendays, the Empire will be introducing its own overseers into various concerns — factories, the College and the like. I would suggest you avoid unofficial gatherings, as well, since it will take the Wasps a while to learn our ways, and they are likely to misinterpret such events. For now, as we are the leaders of our people, I suggest you use what influence you have to promote order and cooperation. And those who do not will be noted.’
The following day, the names had already started to trickle in.
It was inevitable, Helmess knew, and those few of the Assembly sufficiently idealistic to abstain were already mostly on his list. The rest would bow before the tide of circumstance, as pragmatic Beetle-kinden were renowned for doing. The majority would do so not out of treachery, nor through a wish for advancement, nor even through fear for their own lives. Instead, they would betray their fellows to protect their families, to soften the blow of the Empire’s domination. From such small stones would Helmess build an Imperial city here in the heart of the Lowlands.
He was discharging his duties well, he reckoned. General Tynan would have no complaints. Helmess was determined to prove himself irreplaceable, for there was always the danger that the future governor of Collegium, whenever appointed, might be tempted to dispense with his services. What Helmess wanted was a man with sufficient ambitions for advancement back in Capitas that governing a well-run, profitable Beetle city would prove enough, without needing to meddle in the workings himself. Thus, Helmess should become the sole channel by which the Empire communicated with its vassal state, ruler in all but name.
Unless the Spiders decide to take an interest.
That was always a cause for concern, both because they played the political game better than the Wasps, and because Helmess was honestly not sure what records they might have kept from their previous run-in with Collegium, when he himself had nominally been one of their agents. He had a suspicion that the Aldanrael might be keenly interested in his involvement in that debacle, so he was keeping well out of the way of their Lady-Martial whenever possible.
Yesterday had been given over to the business of telling the Assembly how the world now worked, using words simple enough that even the dullest or most resistant of them could understand. That same evening, Helmess had taken a sumptuous dinner with Colonel Cherten, who seemed to appreciate what Broiler was doing for the Empire. Today he had no formal appointments lined up, therefore it was time for him to indulge himself.
There had already been a few reports regarding those the Empire wanted to arrest, but of course there was one in particular that Helmess wanted to see crossed off his list. He had bitterly assumed that the man had already fled, but recent news had come in to suggest otherwise. Helmess was now going to hunt down Stenwold Maker himself, and the knowledge made him feel as giddy as a child.
There was still a handful of Spiderlands agents within the city, seeded there long ago and now well established, who had avoided every investigation that Maker and his allies had set in motion. It was their reports that had first reached Helmess, mentioning a few possible hiding places for the War Master. Finally, a public-spirited Assembler had provided more definite confirmation, and Helmess knew that he must act quickly before the Empire became involved and took the credit.
It was lucky that Collegium was such a large and complex city. Tynan’s troops might be inventorying everything, workshops and businesses and cartels surrendering their accounts and manifests for the Empire, but there were whole swathes of the city yet unexamined. Imperial priority would not be to check the College first. So far it had remained inviolate — and within its vaults hid a prize.
Stenwold Maker never left the city. He retired, ailing, to the College infirmary. And he is there right now.
Waving his newly awarded major’s badge had earned Helmess the services of a dozen Wasp infantry, although he could see that they were not exactly keen to be at his beck and call. They would share in his reflected glory, though, so he expected their attitude to improve markedly once Maker was firmly in their custody.
The looks that he received, as he marched his troops through Collegium, were priceless. He had always known the envy of lesser folk — the scowls of those whose inadequate enterprise had guaranteed them a place as his inferiors — but now the masks were off. There were definite winners and losers in Collegium, and every stare, every fearful averted face, each half-hidden glare spoke only of validation.
And then he was standing before the College itself.
Not the whole College, of course, because the institution was spread in separate buildings across in the city, and this was not even the largest section of it. It was the oldest, though, and had been old before Collegium’s new masters decided to adopt the College as the basis of their city’s new name. Here were located the library and the infirmary, some of the social history departments, and a network of cellars housing laboratories, study rooms and a rather fine collection of wine. A collection wasted here now, of course. I shall have to remove it to somewhere more practical.
The academic edifice was somewhat more self-contained than most, with a walled courtyard, high walls and remarkably small windows — all the columns, statues and adornment of Beetle hands had done little to disguise the original architecture of the Moth-kinden, who had little use for the sun. Ridiculous place to house a library, after all. Helmess recalled years of straining his eyes in that dimness within. Perhaps I should remove the library while I’m at it.
There was a pair of Wasp soldiers outside, who saluted Helmess without hesitation, because a major’s rank badge was a good thing to have.
‘Arrest anyone that I indicate to you, and don’t hesitate to get rough with them,’ Helmess instructed his sergeant. ‘There may be a few idealists amongst the students who need to learn that scholarly debate is no longer the fashion.’
There were about a dozen students loitering in the courtyard, and a couple slipped away almost immediately. The rest looked alarmed, but nowhere near as much as they should be. Their education had hardly prepared them for the sort of world that they would now be living in.
‘Good day to you,’ he declared grandly. ‘Perhaps you’d be so good as to summon any of the College Masters who are currently in the building. I’ve a few words for them.’
/> A few others sidled out, whether to obey him or to hide themselves away, he couldn’t say. Perhaps the latter would be wiser. It seemed likely that he would have to have someone shot at some point, just to ram his point home.
But now others were emerging, so that was good. He recognized a few of them as Masters: that tall fellow was Berjek Gripshod, the historian, and Helmess recalled that the man had been somewhat pally with Maker recently, so perhaps it would be best to haul him in now. The woman beside him was some manner of artificer, he recalled, or maybe a naturalist. And there, too, was that Fly woman who had taken on teaching Inapt studies. He couldn’t remember her name, therefore she wasn’t really important.
More students came filing out, and he was amused to see that a surprising number of them still wore their Company sashes — even a few buff coats and breastplates. Oh the poor fools, they have no idea.
The courtyard was becoming full, and mostly of young, worried faces. He cast his eyes over them, these Beetle-kinden boys and girls who had abandoned their studies in engineering or political theory to come out and hear the most valuable lecture of their lives. The other faces, the outsiders, leapt out at him: a couple of Ants, a Spider or two, a band-skinned Woodlouse-kinden in a Coldstone Company sash, a Dragonfly, some half-breeds. They’ll have to go, for a start.
‘Now, then.’ Helmess raised his hands to quieten the incessant muttering that students were so prone to. ‘No doubt you’re all desperate to get back to your studies, and-’
‘You strung up the Speaker!’
Broiler choked on his words. ‘Who said that?’ He found the culprit almost immediately: a man who looked too old to be a student, in a wine-stained and filthy tunic and standing at the sort of angle that made it plain that more wine had recently gone in than out. He was pointing a finger in Helmess’s general direction, and those nearest were trying to restrain him as he blurted out, ‘He did, he did!’
The soldiers nearest to Helmess had their snapbows levelled, and he recalled that thrusting out a hand at someone was tantamount to an assassination attempt where they came from. ‘Enough!’ he boomed out, in his best public-speaking voice, and gestured the soldiers’ weapons down. ‘Who is this sot?’
‘He’s Raullo Mummers. He’s an artist, Master Broiler,’ said a student from the front of the crowd. ‘Forgive him. He’s drunk.’
‘Shut him up, then, or he’ll be the worse for drink.’ Helmess realized that he recognized the speaker. ‘Hold on, aren’t you Leadswell?’
The chief officer of the ridiculous Student Company nodded. Like many there, he still bore his sash, but he had stripped off his armour.
‘Why that’s marvellous,’ Helmess beamed. ‘Sergeant, grab this one for a start. Master Leadswell, you must know that the Empire wishes a word with you.’
‘I’d guessed as much.’ Leadswell replied calmly. There was a surprising upsurge of discontent amongst the surrounding students, but when the sergeant and a couple of other soldiers stepped forwards to lay hands on him, he did not resist. And as well for everyone else here that he didn’t. Sensible lad. . But then the Leadswell boy always had a good mind and a gift for speeches, didn’t he? Helmess’s eyes narrowed as he studied him. Hadn’t Leadswell been the one to go on about coming to an accommodation with the Empire, and avoiding war? Maybe he and the Wasps really would have something to talk about, after all. An image was quick to find a place in Helmess’s mind: Eujen Leadswell leaving General Tynan’s presence with a rank badge and a mandate to bring Collegium and its conquerors closer together. A rival, in other words.
He stared at Leadswell in a colder light. Make an example of him, maybe? But the crowd was still unruly, if not quite rebellious, and there was such a thing as pushing your luck.
‘Eujen!’ A halfbreed woman from the crowd came shouldering forwards, almost barging into the sergeant. She was still in uniform, Coldstone Company again, and for a moment Helmess thought that everything might ignite there and then, as the sergeant shoved her backwards.
‘Straessa, peace,’ Leadswell was saying, even though Helmess was willing for him to incite his own execution. ‘It’s going to be fine.’
There was a garbled exclamation to the contrary from the reeling artist Mummers, and the halfbreed woman — the Antspider, is it? — looked as though she was going to attempt something unwise. Then Leadswell said something more, and she backed off reluctantly.
Ah, shame.
‘Now, Master Gripshod, I see there.’ Helmess mentally washed his hands of the altercation and turned to more important matters. ‘I take you for the senior hand here, so why don’t you arrange to go and bring me out Stenwold Maker.’
The old historian Gripshod retained a creditable card-player’s face, but the ripple of anger and shock passing among the rest of the students betrayed him. Yes, Maker was here. Yes, they all knew it.
Even so, Gripshod raised his head and declared, bold-facedly, ‘The War Master has surely fled the city, Master Broiler.’
‘Master Speaker, you’ll address me as,’ Helmess replied venomously. ‘Or Major Broiler if you prefer, Master Gripshod. And I know full well that Maker’s here and, given that you’re already marked as his accomplice, I’ll ask again that you have him brought out. Or else I’ll have you executed right here and now for resisting the Empire’s authority.’
There were two snapbows already levelled at Gripshod, and those closest to the old man began shuffling aside, staring at him, staring at the Wasps.
‘It’s true, Maker’s not here,’ Leadswell protested, whereupon the sergeant backhanded him across the face, viciously hard yet utterly impersonally, as though this was some habitual gesture of his that he had no real control over. Helmess noticed the sudden surge of students towards their captive leader — just a minor ripple in the crowd, but the situation was clearly becoming undisciplined.
‘Very well,’ he proceeded. ‘Master Gripshod, kindly fetch me my old friend Stenwold Maker at once, or I’ll have Leadswell here executed. How about that? I’ll give you a slow count of ten to allow you to make your choice.’ And either way I win, I think. And if I do get Maker now, Leadswell can have a tragic accident at some other time. And then occurred a blink: a sudden disconnection between the world as Helmess knew it to be and what his eyes were seeing. Why does that student have a snapbow?
There was a general motion now in the crowd, and it was not the vacillating of a confused and unhappy mob. It was military.
His eyes kept alighting on the glint of steel: barrels, air-batteries, swords.
‘Sergeant,’ he hissed. ‘The Student Company was disarmed along with the rest, wasn’t it?’
The sergeant’s head snapped round to reveal an expression entirely blank. ‘What’s a Student Company, sir?’
In Helmess’s mind there rapidly coalesced a possible train of events, a series of communications between agents and the army, detailing Collegium’s strength, and then the order coming back to disarm the Companies. Which Companies? The Merchant Companies, of course.
Because students were students, and soldiers were soldiers, and really, with their entire male population pressed into the army, what an ironic slip it was for some Wasp to make.
That was a broken second’s worth of thought, as the soldiers around him caught sight the same weapons, but they were not sure what his orders were. The sergeant was staring at him, perhaps coming to the same abysmal conclusion, and-
Half the sergeant’s head was suddenly gone, a fist of blood and broken bone leaping from the cavity that was left, and the shooting started. Helmess dropped to his knees, hands over his head, hearing shouts and screams — but all of it so brief, so brief. The dozen men he had brought along were horribly outmatched from the start, and by mere students! Even as they tried to discharge their own snapbows they were cut down, and then the Dragonfly vaulted straight over him, ending up on the wall and shooting down at the two sentries even as they burst in to see what was going on, one arrow piercing straight down alongs
ide the collar of each man’s armour, loosed almost faster than Helmess could register.
In moments, only moments, Helmess was cowering alone before that great angry host of the young.
‘Who shot?’ Eujen demanded. And then, because the question was plainly twenty snapbow bolts too late, he amended it to, ‘Who loosed first?’
A terrible silence had otherwise fallen now that the Wasps were dead. The mood of the mob tilted between feeling aghast at what they had done to being fully determined to do more.
One man pushed his way forwards, his eyes locked on Eujen. Pale among the Beetle majority, he was an alien that fate had surely never intended to be standing there, not in that uniform and with a Collegiate snapbow in his hand.
‘Averic,’ Eujen identified him.
‘I couldn’t let them take you,’ the Wasp said flatly. There was a great deal of emotion in his voice, but none of it suggested regret. ‘I know what they’d do to you.’
‘You couldn’t-’ Eujen started, but Mummers broke in.
‘They’d have picked you apart, man! And what about the War Master?’ the artist slurred.
‘Since when were you such an admirer of Stenwold Maker?’ Eujen demanded of him.
‘But he’s right,’ old Berjek Gripshod put in. ‘So what now?’
Why are they all staring at me? was Eujen’s only thought. But he wore the sash still, chief officer’s badge and all, and something iron and businesslike descended like a gate inside his mind. ‘How many hurt on our side?’
‘Peddic Gorseway and Laina Mowwell are dead,’ reported Sartaea te Mosca promptly. ‘Four injured beyond that — one seriously.’
‘Get them to the infirmary,’ Eujen ordered. Yes, ordered. That was the word for it. ‘Get. . there’s a Student Company armoury in the blue dormitory. Anyone who’s with us, wherever the pits we’re going, and wants a snapbow and bolts, go get them.’ Then: ‘Straessa?’ For of course, the Coldstone Company had been disarmed just like all the regulars.
War Master's Gate sota-9 Page 50
