The Scarab Path

went. The wretched Mannerly Gorget was left to recover his breath.

They found a dozen greenish Ant-kinden standing some distance from the lodgings as they arrived. Che saw that they had apprehended Praeda already, holding the Beetle woman tightly between two of them. A dark bruise was emerging on the scholar's face. Armed with crossbows and bows, the Ant-kinden were keeping a respectful watch on the lodging-house, and Che noticed movement in one of the ramshackle building's upper windows.

'What's this?' Trallo demanded, touching down ahead of her. 'What's this? Open arrest on the streets of Ostrander?' He pitched his voice loudly enough to carry to all the traders and travellers and caravaneers loitering nearby, all the other foreigners. The Ostranden Ants remained packed close together and Che could see that the incident had already attracted more notice than they were happy with.

It must be the Vekken, she decided, with a sinking heart. Had they not been able to resist antagonizing enemy Antkinden?

'You claim responsibility for these?' demanded one of the Ostranden, a woman. 'They have transgressed against us.'

'What? What have they done?' Che asked. She spotted a pitch-dark face at the upper window, and guessed that the Vekken had crossbows ready up there, and better ones than the locals.

The Ostranden woman stared coldly at Che. 'We demand our rights for trespass,' she insisted.

Che saw Trallo visibly relax. 'Oh, money,' he said, almost dismissively. 'We'll talk money. We'll come to an arrangement. Let's go do it now, before nightfall. There's no need for all this.' He glanced along the street, leading Che's gaze in the same direction. She saw another score of Ants approaching, called by their comrades' silent summons.

The Ostranden turned away, along with her soldiers, then turned back sharply. 'Tell them,' she said, jabbing her spear towards the lodging-house, 'they must leave. If they are still here at tomorrow sunset, we will burn them out, if we must.'

Che stormed off towards the house, determined to set some limits on ambassadorial freedoms. Behind them she heard Trallo begin to negotiate for the return of Praeda.

A crossbow bolt flowered suddenly in the dirt five feet ahead of her. She stopped dead, glaring up at the windows. She saw one of the Vekken there, knowing it would not be the shooter, who would now be out of sight and reloading. I cannot let these madmen have free run of the world, she decided. We must observe reason. She took a deep breath and marched towards the door. There was no second bolt.

She stormed upstairs, and they were waiting for her, standing almost shoulder to shoulder. One kept an eye on the street outside, the other faced her, expressionless.

'What have you done now?' she demanded. They said nothing. She waited a count of five for their answer, and then pressed on. 'There is an entire mountain full of Antkinden just over there, so what do you hope to gain?' She was fighting to keep her tone reasonable, though not entirely succeeding.

The Vekken stared at her for a moment longer. 'We defend ourselves,' said one, who must therefore be Accius. 'They bring the war to us and we defend ourselves.'

'By doing what?' she asked him. 'Trespassing, they said. Where did you go? Were you spying on them?'

There was a dry cough from a corner of the room. She now noticed Berjek Gripshod there, looking somewhat the worse for wear. His robes were dusty and there was a graze across his forehead. She had been so intent on the Vekken that she had missed him entirely.

'My apologies, Madam Maker, but the trespass was mine — mine and Miss Rakespear's.'

Che stared at him and the old man gave her a weak smile. 'We went to look at their home, that extraordinary construction. It would seem we were paying too much interest. One forgets how Ant-kinden can be.'

Che heard footsteps on the stairs and a bedraggled Praeda Rakespear stepped into the room. She had obviously heard the end of Berjek's statement, because she was nodding agreement.

'Suddenly they were looking at us in an unfriendly manner,' she said, always given to understatement. 'We decided to withdraw. They followed. Then they caught me when I stumbled.'

'I'm afraid for our Vekken friends here it was something of a confirmation of all their fears,' said Berjek. He was shaking slightly, but she thought she discerned a dry amusement now that the immediate crisis was past. 'They broke out the crossbows and starting sending out warning shots at the locals. If you and the Fly had not arrived when you did, then matters might have become considerably worse.'

There was no particular gratitude in his voice but Che realized that it was thanks nevertheless. She waved it away, mumbling something about it being due to Manny Gorget's finding her. Underneath, the two scholars were still reeling from having been under such unaccustomed threat so recently. Che felt the Vekken still staring at her. She supposed she should be thankful that they had not shot any of the Ostranden dead. All of a sudden she felt very tired.

'Well, it could have been worse,' she declared.

Berjek exchanged a sidelong glance with Praeda. 'It may even have been worthwhile,' he suggested, choosing his words carefully. 'What expense we have unwittingly incurred, I shall cover from my own funds. Madam Rakespear and I observed some remarkable things in the short space of time we were allowed. It has quite whetted our appetites for Khanaphes.'

That night, for once, Che absented herself from Trallo's company, leaving him to play dice with Manny and a pair of Solarnese he seemed to be looking to hire. Instead she sought out Berjek and Praeda, as they sat together in a corner of the lodging house's common room. The old man nodded when he saw her approach.

'I thought so. Still some scholar there beneath the ambassador.'

'What did you see?' she asked them.

They exchanged looks. 'The building … or perhaps artifact … is entirely artificial,' Praeda explained. 'It is made of stones and earth cemented together. I have never seen anything like it before, and so it is impossible to say how old it is, but …' She gestured to Berjek.

'There are carvings,' the old man continued for her. 'Around the base — to a height of perhaps twenty feet. Continuous carvings, made of many small, discrete images. They have eroded so far that it is impossible to make out the detail, but the style … I have seen some of the papers that Master Kadro sent back to Collegium, though I had to pry them out of Jodry Drillen's hands. The style of carving is Khanaphir, no mistake: Kadro had made rubbings and sketches. The tradition that was responsible for etching this monument, long before these Ostranden took up residence, is alive and well in Khanaphes to this day.'

In her dream she was below ground, walking beside a subterranean river in a darkness that was no darkness to her. The walls she passed were heavily carved, the details obscured by moss and damp. Ahead, where watercourses met and crossed, there was a plinth and a statue rising from the murk. The statue was long ruined. Only its broken base, showing the lowermost folds of a robe, still spoke of whatever dignitary or hero had been immortalized here. It was all so old that, in her dream, she wondered, Is this Khanaphes?

When she awoke she realized that her dreamscape was no more than the sewers beneath Myna: the ones they had rushed her through after rescuing her from Thalric's cells and torture chambers. For a moment she laughed at herself, but then she thought again: old. The Mynan sewers, seeming impossibly large, had been carved for another city — were the only relic of a time when the Apt folk of Myna had been mere slaves. There were also buildings in Collegium — parts of the Amphiophos and the College — that dated back to before the revolution. They had been put up by Beetle hands, but not for Beetle masters.

We know so little. For the Beetle-kinden, history proper began five centuries before, when they had thrown off their chains and driven out their masters. Of what had gone before that she had never really thought, until she had met Achaeos. The world appeared different to him, for he stood on the other side of that historic line. To him, the history of the world stretched back and back, full of ancient wars and pacts and rituals, but had been stripped bare in the last few centuries by the voracious jaws of progress.

And I am standing on his side of that line now. Achaeos knew of entire kinden that his people had once fought, traded with, defeated and cast into the darkness, that were mere myths to the Beetle- kinden, or less than myths. The scholars of Collegium were only now rediscovering the deep roots of the world they lived in, and their tragedy was that they would never understand what they uncovered. Their Aptitude, and therefore the limits of their world-view, would always stand in the way.

There was magic in the world, once. And her fellow Collegiates would never