The Scarab Path

Empire is here because we are. Hypothesis two: the Empire has an independent reason for being interested in Khanaphes. Which leads us on to hypothesis three: We are here because the Empire is here, and Uncle Sten didn't trust me with the information. So when was I going to find out?

She knew now that she had to seek out their people in Khanaphes as soon as possible. In light of this new discovery, it made sense that they must be Stenwold's agents as well. She had heard not a whisper that Stenwold had been plying his trade this far out, but then a lifetime in the intelligencing business had made him highly secretive, even with his own niece.

Too cursed secret, Uncle Sten.

But there was nothing she could do about it now. She pushed forward a little to walk alongside Ethmet, very conscious both of the Khanaphir honour guard around them, and the twitchy Vekken following just behind her.

'Excuse me, First Minister.'

'What may I provide you with, O Beautiful Foreigner?' he asked, with an elegant gesture of his spreading hands, from his stomach outwards. The mode of address put her off balance, for all that it was an obvious formality.

'Well … I was wondering, there are some scholars from Collegium in the city already. I was hoping to meet with them soon, just to catch up with their news.'

'Why, this has already been anticipated,' Ethmet replied, with a small smile. 'You shall see as much, when we reach your dwelling.' His manner should probably have reminded her of the magnates of Collegium, but he lacked their vigorous pomp and vanity. There was a quiet, self-contained authority to him, an assurance that put her more in mind of Spider-kinden Aristoi or the seers of the Moths. Here was a man who was absolutely sure of his place in the world.

She fell back until she was close enough to Berjek Gripshod and the others to converse with them. 'Well?' she said.

'Speechless,' Gripshod admitted. 'I mean, look at the place — so much stone and so large. How long did it take to piece all this together?' He shook his head. 'We were right to come here. I've never seen anything like it.'

'But we build in stone,' Che pointed out.

'Not like this,' he insisted. 'New buildings in Collegium are constructed of brick, or perhaps wood and plaster, at least above the first storey. It's only the grand old structures, the College and the Amphiophos, that are entirely of dressed stone. And that's only because they date from before the revolution. Our erstwhile masters preferred stone — and so, clearly, do the Khanaphir. And look — every piece is carved. Every piece.'

With all the rest on her mind, after seeing Thalric here in Khanaphes, she had not noticed it. Now the facades of the riverside warehouses and residences came into focus as rank upon rank of elaborate inscriptions. These carvings were hand-sized, square-ish, abstract, and everywhere, arranged in rows as high as a man could reach, on every surface of stone she could see. On some buildings, which looked older, they reached even higher, ascending all the way to the flat roofs. The myriad pictures swam before her eyes, marching for ever and for ever along every stone in an innumerable sequence.

'I've seen similar, and not just on the big mound-fort at Ostrander,' Berjek continued. 'I believe they tell stories, even histories, in pictorial sequence, but they're so stylized as to defy comprehension. So much to study here! Give me another twenty years!' He shook his head sadly. 'Give me a Moth-kinden's lifespan and I'd unravel it.'

Che felt suddenly dizzy, stumbling so that Berjek had to grab her elbow to keep her upright. For a moment she had seemed to perceive something more in the carvings. It was as though she had seen the message behind them, not just a series of drawings but as though words had been scribed there — jumbled words, nonsense words. She felt the world lurch for a moment, on the edge of some revelation that would still not come.

'Steady there,' Berjek murmured. 'The heat, I know. We all feel it.'

She shook her head, frightened at the sudden shift in perspective. The carvings were just carvings. She did not look at them, again, but focused ahead or glanced downwards. Yet still she was aware of them, pressing on every side.

'Look at the bridge,' Praeda Rakespear murmured suddenly. Khanaphes rose on both sides of the river, and a solitary bridge spanned the flow to link the divided city. It was a single soaring span resting on three pillars, and all faithfully inscribed with large and comprehensible representations of hunting and farming surrounded by the endless little pictograms continuing their never-ending procession.

'Architecturally remarkable,' Praeda declared, and Che knew her well enough to see how impressed she was beyond that cool exterior.

'Socially remarkable,' Berjek countered. 'Look how low it sits. Then consider the docks behind us and think about it.'

Che understood instantly. 'A ship couldn't pass beyond the bridge — not without taking down its mast at least.'

'And so they have total control of the river, simple as that,' Berjek agreed. 'There must be riverside docks on the other side. Anything coming in, anything going out, of any size — it must stop at Khanaphes.'

The city had grown strangely, its original plan still visible but blurred by time. They observed many great buildings, statues, columned arcades, palaces and gardens, and in between them were the smaller homes of the artisans and labourers of the city, huddled close together and yet always in sight of beauty. At first Che approved. How much better was this than the squalid stews of Helleron! Then she began to wonder if it had been intended that way at all. It seemed to her now — she could almost envisage it in her mind — that there had once been empty space between those grand edifices, and the people had taken over that space and made it their own, built houses and workshops where once the great lords had strolled. It was as though the architects had lost interest in their original design, abandoning it to those who would actually live there.

The mere sight of the gold-trimmed guards served to clear them a path ahead. The locals stepped aside into side streets, into doorways, and watched in silence. Che expected the fear that armed guards seemed to generate everywhere, even in Collegium, but there was none of it here, only a quiet respect.

'I am afraid we have received no emissaries from your people previously.' Ethmet clasped his hands apologetically. 'So we have had to borrow an embassy building for your use. I hope that we will have caused no offence through our choice.'

'Ah … I'm not sure I understand you. We weren't expecting you to have, what … built something for us …' Che replied uncertainly.

'Ah, no indeed, but we have played host to foreign potentates before, though none for some time … not until recently.' The guards stopped suddenly, and Che nearly crashed into the one in front of her. Ethmet had stopped simultaneously with them, of course, and his expression generously overlooked her clumsiness. 'We are now at the Place of Honoured Foreigners. Pray do me the honour of following, and I shall show you what we have managed to set aside for you.'

He stepped into a smaller side street overlooked on one side by three-storey facades marked out with small doors and smaller windows, and on the other by a looming blank wall whose expanse was pierced only by an arch. Ethmet stepped through this entrance, and Che and her company could only follow.

She bent to whisper to Trallo, 'Do you know what's going on now? Is this their usual welcome?'

The Fly's lips were pressed together and he shook his head.

They stepped out again into a world of sunlight and wonder and the sound of running water. Che's breath caught in her throat at the sight of it.

The Place of Honoured Foreigners was a broad open square, lined on three sides by great buildings, veritable palaces. There was a continuous band of rushes fringing the open space, interrupted only where little bridges crossed them to reach the steps of each palace, and where two archways gave access to the wider city beyond. In the centre was a pool, a marble-floored rectangle floored with an intricate mosaic that promised meaning and delivered nothing, just like the ubiquitous pictograms. Che could not stop herself from running over to stare into it. The water was clear as glass, no more than twelve inches deep. Tiny fish and water insects sculled across it, wholly oblivious to their audience. Benches of carved stone lined the pool's two long sides, and the quarters of the square around it were set with four crescents of green, tall grass and ferns.

Che shook her head. 'It's beautiful,' she said, forgetting diplomacy and just divulging what was in her mind.