The Scarab Path

not you under any circumstances. Perhaps she was more monstrous to begin with. Something to do with her kinden, probably.'

When Che said nothing, he began to look around, imagining that she had moved elsewhere. 'When I found out about her, about her loss, it made a kind of sense of her, of all her other habits — of the blood. But you … I find I don't honestly care. I know you. I know you're not what she is.'

Am I not? Perhaps not, but I think I could understand why she does what she does. 'I've only ever told Uncle Sten,' Che admitted. She had just realized that her secret, her terrible secret, was now known by two others, and one of them was a Wasp.

He reached out and, more by luck than judgement, brushed her hair, then found her uninjured shoulder. She held his hand there with her own. He does not flinch or struggle, at having to touch the monster.

'You don't believe in magic,' she said. 'How could you?' It reminded her of a conversation she'd had once with Salma, long ago. 'But you must have seen some things, during your life …'

'Some,' he acknowledged grudgingly. 'I saw the spy, Scyla, doing her tricks with my own face. It was no Art, and yet she did it — and I cannot say how.'

'The world is full of the inexplicable,' she said. 'I find it easier to see that now.' She felt his hand tense for a moment, then relax. 'Or at least, I cannot explain such things for you, but I can navigate them. Would you believe that?'

'Just because I cannot explain something does not mean that there is no rational explanation,' he replied. There was a faint edge to his voice that told her, He's frightened. He knows just enough to be frightened.

'If I told you that I sensed the trap, where you saw nothing, you would say it was because my eyes and my Art let me see better. If I told you that I can read these carvings because of what I have lost, you would say it was merely because I had studied.' It made her feel lonely, saying it out loud, the way that she had been cut off from so much of the world. 'If I told you that I did believe in magic, you would think me mad.'

Through each revelation, she could feel him on the point of pulling away from her, but he never quite did. 'Che …' he began. His hand tightened. 'Actions are more important than beliefs. You believe what you want, so long as you don't start bathing in the blood of slaves.' His lips twitched, the long-absent mocking smile coming back. 'An Inapt Beetle? You've finally found a way to make yourself completely useless to everyone.'

'What?' she snapped, and pushed him in the chest, hard enough to make him stagger. She tried to follow up, but now he had the measure of where she was. In a moment he was holding her against his chest, her forehead on his shoulder. She did not dare look up and see what unguarded expression he wore.

She had expected him to let go, while he made some other barbed comment, but instead he stood quite still, his breath rising and falling against her.

'Thalric …' It felt strange, comfortable and horribly guilty all at once. She kept expecting the spectre of Achaeos to loom large in order to castigate her, but it seemed to have absented itself since enticing her to this place. 'What if I told you now that I could open the doors to this room, from what I have learned in the carvings here? Would you say it was just artifice?'

His breath quickened. 'You can open this room up?'

'I don't know, for sure,' she said. 'But the carvings say I can, if I try.'

'Then I'd say it was magic and not care who heard me,' he said quickly, but she knew that was not true. Achaeos was right: belief is easy in the dark, but soon banished by sunlight. If we ever get out of this he will invent some explanation to settle his mind.

She pulled away, was held tight for a moment and then released. Oh this is wrong. Stenwold would be mortified. In fact the list of people who would recoil from her was long: Tynisa, Achaeos, Totho … How many was she betraying by feeling this way about a Wasp, a Rekef Wasp? About Thalric.

It had been growing on her since she spotted him in this city, a face if not friendly then familiar, amid an ocean of strangers. It had been growing since she found such common territory with him, her opposite number, her old adversary. Now, looking at his face, she did not any longer automatically think of the cells in Asta and Myna, of the interrogation and what he would have done to her, for the Empire's sake. The past had reclaimed its own. She had acknowledged the account was settled, through what he had done later.

'I remember Myna,' she said, and saw him stiffen, expecting rebuke. 'The second time, I mean. I remember that you gave yourself up for the resistance — and for me.'

'These things never quite work out how you plan them,' he said.

I remember Collegium, too, and the signing of the Treaty of Gold. That moment we were able to speak freely, before the diplomacy claimed him.

She felt a wellspring of emotion about to burst, and fought it down. Not now. Not here. But how strange that it should come to this. 'You try and rest,' she advised. 'You look as though you need it. I'll work on getting us out of here.'

Thirty-Seven

We have reached a turning point, I think, was Accius's conclusion. The two Vekken were crouching in the shadows of the archway that linked the Place of Foreigners to the square fronting the Scriptora. They had, from one vantage or another, been watching the pyramid since last night, taking turns to sleep for short periods, knowing that the sleeper would wake the instant the sentry called on him.

Last night they had tracked the fugitive Beetle ambassador, street by street, silently and with grim determination. The Wasps had helped. The Vekken had followed Cheerwell Maker's trail by watching the sky and hunting the hunters. Their chase had been tireless, careful, and the Wasps had never guessed that they were acting as beacons in a greater pursuit.

They had been in time to see the Maker woman and her co-conspirators bearded at the pyramid. They witnessed the Wasp advance, one fugitive captured, the other, along with Maker, disappearing into the edifice itself. Two Wasps had followed them. There had been a sound.

Cheerwell Maker had not returned from inside that pyramid. Nor had any of theWasps, either her companion or their pursuers. The Imperials above had fled the structure, seemingly without cause or warning.

The Wasps still keep watch, Malius noted. They believe as we do, then, that they are still within.

There was a moment of silence between them, an understanding close enough that even unspoken words were not needed. Neither one said, We could let this rest here, but each knew the other was thinking just that.

I do not like that place, Accius decided. It is an irrational reaction, but something I cannot define disturbs me about it. He compared his perceptions with those of Malius, and was comforted to find the same disquiet in his colleague. The behaviour of the Wasps cannot be fully accounted for. They fled very swiftly, from nothing that was apparent to us. I cannot say what, but some other force is at work here — some force as yet invisible to us. We can see only its effects.

Agreed. Malius hunkered down lower, while checking the action of his crossbow. Again there was a pause in their thought-conversation, each steeling himself.

Our suppositions to date are challenged. It was Malius who voiced this silently. The Collegium ambassador's game is not so simple as one of loyalty or betrayal. There is division in the Imperial camp also. We came here to determine the Collegiate plans, and how they might affect our city. We know less now than we thought we did yesterday. We cannot return without gaining more concrete information. Otherwise we would have failed our city.

It is clear, then, that whatever the Collegiate ambassador is up to, it is substantially more complicated than we thought, Accius agreed with a sigh. Only a proper interrogation will reveal it, and for that we must catch her alive. And for that …