The Scarab Path

'No …' Che sat down on the steps. She could feel something slipping away from her, and she thought it might be her hopes. Beyond Praeda's concerned face the stone pump ground minutely on, obstinately destroying everything she had come here to find.

Am I alone now? Now that the Khanaphir are just Apt, and merely backward, rather than some great survival from the Age of Lore? Can I admit to myself that I'm a freak and a cripple, and simply get it over with?

'Che, what's wrong?' Praeda asked. And then Ethmet was there.

'Forgive me, forgive me, Honoured Foreigners,' he said. 'Alas, you are used to better hospitality than our poor city can afford. Forgive me that we have bored you thus, that you have fled us into these unfit places. I shall call for dancers. I shall have Amnon order his men to fight for your pleasure.'

'Please, First Minister,' said Praeda, abruptly stand-in diplomat. 'I think that Che … that is, Miss Maker is ill.'

'Alas!' He crouched beside her and, despite Petri's predictions, his lined face showed nothing but concern. 'We shall have a physician sent for at once.'

'No, please.' Somehow Che got herself to her feet. She saw that Corcoran had made himself scarce as soon as the Minister arrived, perhaps not eager to be implicated in robbing this man of his guests. 'Please, I just need to rest. I just need to go to my rooms.'

'Well, it is late,' Ethmet agreed. 'I shall have some servants escort you.'

They have servants for everything, she thought muggily. Even to make their machines work. They have machines that are powered by people, how strange. She was wailing inside her head. She wanted to go home — away from this place that had so decisively betrayed her — but Collegium was just as strange, and she could not now say in what quarter home lay.

They all headed back to the embassy together in the end. Manny was singing loudly, a girl on each arm, and Che was glad that her room was located at the opposite end of the building from his. Not that I will sleep, anyway. The discovery that had so thrilled Praeda had filled her with dread. I had everything worked out, and what a fool I've been! At every step, she felt she should plunge into the chasm that had suddenly opened up before her. Nowhere to go, she kept thinking. I have nowhere to go. This has been a fool's errand, and I was the fool for it. Another hour, another dawn facing that realization seemed unbearable.

'Manny,' she said, and then repeated, 'Manny!' when he wouldn't stop singing.

'What can I possibly do for you, Honoured Ambassador?' he drawled, and the girls giggled. Possibly, in their eyes, he seemed full of exotic allure. Overfull, maybe.

'You have drink, strong drink?' she enquired, though she already knew it to be true.

'I am drunk,' he considered. 'Also, I do have drink. Do you wish to retire with me and my new friends to my room so we can explore just how strong it is?'

She grabbed his robe hard enough that he halted abruptly and almost toppled over. 'If you ever dare say anything like that to me again, Mannerly Gorget, I will cut off your parts.' It was not fair, really, since she was not angry at him. He was just a broad and easy target for how very angry she felt with all the world, and with herself. 'I want at least two bottles of strong drink from wherever you've stashed it, but I will not be sharing them, do you understand?'

He goggled at her: her stern expression brooked no argument. She released him and strode off through the arch and into the Place of Foreigners.

This world has too many sharp edges, she brooded, and I have cut myself too often on them. I will blur them and blur them, and perhaps tonight I will not dream, and tomorrow I will not feel like putting a knife to my wrists.

Sixteen

The pen scratched as it went dry, and Thalric shook it irritably. He would have preferred a simple quill of rolled chitin, but the Regent must have only the best. These reservoir pens — manufactured in Helleron, or copied in Sonn — carried their own store of ink. No more constant dipping and messy inkwells. He found that they worked unreliably and that his handwriting became unrecognizable. Such was progress.

It was long past dark now, and well into the silent watches that dragged their way towards midnight, and Thalric was still writing his report.

Contact made with the Khanaphir First Minister. Relations generally friendly. The precise power structure here is opaque. Mentions have been made of certain 'Masters', but this would seem to be a purely ceremonial position, from my observations.

He had already written his assessment of the Khanaphir people, their character, their defences. He concurred with Vollen:

If the Empire brings force against Khanaphes, then there seems no prospect of a successful resistance. Their ground defences seem antiquated, and the Khanaphir have no visible means of defending their city or its holdings from the air.

So far so good. Yet he had barely written a new line for over an hour now, the pen poised, then scratching out letters, then crossing them through, pages being copied to disguise his indecision.

It was all academic, of course, since Marger would be preparing his own report. If the purpose of this expedition fell into Rekef territory, then it would be Marger giving the orders. Thalric was only an adviser. Still, here he was playing the Rekef officer because it was all he knew how to do.

I have made contact with the Collegium embassy. Their ambassador is Cheerwell Maker, niece of their general, Stenwold Maker.

He crossed it out and started again. His Rekef past and his more recent past hung on scales in his mind, each balancing the other. He found he did not want to be the man who put her name into the thoughts of General Brugan. The Rekef remembered names and he had no way to describe the two sides of Cheerwell Maker. List her accomplishments — fomenting rebellion in Myna, resistance in Solarno and Tharn — see her that way and she was such a threat that the Rekef death-orders would be signed the moment his report found home.

And yet I know she is just a foolish girl. She bumbles about the world meaning well, and trying to do the right thing, then gets it wrong as often as not, and must run to catch up with events. No, he did not want to be the man responsible for putting her on the List — inscribed beside her uncle — of those people the Rekef would remove when the new war broke out.

I am a poor Rekef man, a poor Imperial soldier. He had always tried to be loyal to his friends and comrades, but that had almost never worked. So where is my loyalty now? It seemed absurd that the sticking point for his muchabused fidelity could be a Beetle-kinden girl working for the opposite side.

Everyone else recognizes the risks. Maybe that was it. Che Maker never seemed to realize the danger she constantly put herself in. Watching her progress through life was like witnessing a constant series of near-misses, like seeing someone sleepwalk through a battle.

He shook his head. Once more he had written, The Collegium ambassador is known to me, but that begged the obvious question. He put down the pen and rubbed his eyes, smudging ink across his cheek. He was willing to bet that Marger would have completed his own report hours before, despite having the added chore of reporting on Thalric.

There was a scream from outside, so shrill with terror that Thalric leapt up instantly, spilling everything from the desk. He went to the window, found it too narrow to exit through. There was a lot of shouting from downstairs and from across the square. The scream was repeated, like the desperate cry of a man on the rack. An attack! But on who? He grabbed up his sword, discarded the scabbard and bolted out of his room.