The Scarab Path

'Some local custom …?' Berjek suggested, and then a stringed instrument, high and plaintive and intricate, had added its voice to whatever was going on. As one they passed out onto the balcony to see.

Whatever it was, it was happening right below them, where they would have the best view. Khanaphir servants had staked out torches that blazed with a steady, rosy light, outlining a rough circle on their side of the pond. Che saw some movement in the Imperial embassy across the way, the Wasps emerging to watch in equal puzzlement.

The two musicians, still playing quietly, sat cross-legged outside the circle. Four soldiers had stepped inside it: slender Mantis-kinden wearing chitin and hide cuirasses and helms, and bearing spears. They knelt at four points, spears pointing upwards and inwards, their razor tips describing a smaller space within the larger.

'Is this a play?' Berjek wondered.

'Or an execution?' Che said darkly.

Another figure came striding up towards the circle, and Praeda said, 'Oh, hammer and tongs, look at him,' hand to her mouth, for it was Amnon. The torchlight picked out the grim expression on his face. He wore only a kilt of white with a golden belt, and the dancing red light picked out the lines of his musculature. In each hand there was a sword, not the broad leaf-bladed things his soldiers carried, but blades like curved razors, thin and wicked- looking and extending longer than his arm. He went to the heart of the circle, within the threat of the four spear- points, and Che saw him take a deep breath. He raised the swords, one held forward, one underhand. Che glanced at Praeda and saw the woman had a look of exasperation on her face, one of clear disapproval at whatever the big man was going to do. The thought came to Che, And yet she is still watching, to see what it is all about. If her mind had matched that face she would be back inside already.

The music stopped.

Amnon looked up, and Che knew he was seeking the face of Praeda Rakespear. His expression was so bleak that she thought, He's going to kill himself. This is some kind of Khanaphir suicide ritual.

The drum exploded into greater life, the strings rattling alongside it, and Amnon began to dance.

Che had never seen anything like it. Like a man possessed, the First Soldier had gone mad. From that utter stillness he had become a leaping, spinning maniac and, wherever he went, the swords were weaving about his body in a blur of killing steel. He was in and out of the spearpoints, over and under them, whilst the Mantids that held them kept absolutely still, without a tremor. The swords passed everywhere, cut nothing. Amnon looked neither at the swords nor at the spears nor at his feet. His eyes were always fixed upwards, seeking out Praeda Rakespear.

It should have been ridiculous. Without the music it would have been ridiculous, but the swift, insistent rhythm was working some magic all of its own. Che felt something catch at her emotions, even though this entire spectacle was for a purpose to which she was purely incidental. He wants to reach out to her so much … But that great-framed man could not just bare his heart. Behind the armour of his office and the worship of his troops, he was as human as them all. He was dancing to display his vulnerability, even as he danced to show his skill.

Che glanced over at Praeda; the woman's face still showed nothing. The Cold One, that's what they called her. It seemed impossible that Amnon would not injure himself, or kill one of his soldiers, but the music forced him on and on. The sweat glowed on him, and Che wondered if there was an end to this, or whether he would go on until he took one wrong step and drew blood.

The music was still building, she realized. There is more to come. Amnon's feet moved in a rapid patter, yet every step in perfect place. There was no margin for error in his dance, no chance to recover from placing a foot wrong. The spears glinted ivory in the red light; the swords seemed already stained with blood. Even the musicians seemed gripped by the same frenzy that made Amnon leap and spin.

He gave out a cry that must have come echoing back from the river, then sank down on one knee within the fence of spears. The swords, still unstained, were raised above his head, but the spearheads, all four, lay severed about him on the ground. At last he was looking down. At last he had freed Praeda from the barb of his attention.

Praeda had one hand to her mouth and there was a colour to her cheeks that seemed alien to her. Che's first thought was that she had found the whole thing embarrassing. Praeda would not meet anyone else's eyes, as she hurried inside.

Below them, with Praeda gone, Che saw Amnon finally allow himself to relax. His bare back heaved for breath, and he lowered the swords to the ground.

What would I feel, if that had been for me? Che wondered, and felt, at the edge of her mind, just a flicker of that fierce attention. In the face of the brief stab of envy she felt, despite herself, she wondered whether her assessment of Praeda's reaction had been correct. She's cold, but you'd have to be frozen through not to feel that warmth.

'Remarkable customs,' Berjek said, returning inside himself, giving every impression of being the muddled academic missing the point of everything he had just witnessed. In his wake, Che was now left with only one person on the balcony beside herself.

'Help me,' Petri Coggen implored her, as she stood there in her nightshirt, hands clutching each other before her. 'Please, Che, before it's too late.'

It had not occurred to her that the First Minister of Khanaphes would be waiting for her. Of course, he made a great show of finishing up business first. When she stepped into the great hall of the Scriptora, with its traitor fountain playing its serenade to the Aptitude of its creators, she found him at the far end, giving quick instructions to a clutch of clerks. Even as Che approached him, though, the menials began to disappear, bowing backwards off into oblivion, leaving Ethmet to turn and beam at her politely. She knew, then, that he had been here for this reason only: to meet with her.

'O Beautiful Foreigner, O Ambassador,' he said to her, 'what favour may the city of Khanaphes enact for you?'

'I need to speak with you,' she said. She had resolved to be blunt, because she needed answers both for herself and for Collegium.

'Of course. Nothing would be of more pleasure,' he assured her. 'Would it displease you if I pass about my duties as we speak?' If he had been a younger man, and of another city, she might have accused him of mockery. The Khanaphir could revile you to your face, though, and you would never know it for sure.

'We would need privacy, I think,' she said. He was already turning away, pottering off into the next room, so she was forced to follow.

'Ah, well, there are only servants to hear us, and they know their duty is to keep their ears close about them,' Ethmet said absently. He plays the part of the avuncular old man so well.

The room he had passed into gave her a moment's pause. It was a library, she guessed, or perhaps just some grand office of government. The circular floor was picked out in an intricate mosaic design devoid of meaning, and the walls were lined with wooden racks, criss-crossing diagonal beams that reached up to the high windows visible far above Che's head. Steps on either side led to balconies for access to the higher shelves and, when they entered, there were at least two score clerks removing scrolls, filing them, or amending and updating them. Within a minute of Ethmet's entrance, and without any signal that Che could discern, they had all carefully rolled up their work and departed from the room. Each one's manner suggested merely that they had been about to do so in any case, and that Ethmet's entry had not swayed them in the least. A moment later, as the shuffling of sandals receded, Che and Ethmet were left alone in the echoing room.

'You wished, I believe, to have words with me?' the old man enquired. He was standing at the nearest desk, a simple slab of stone with some half-furled scrolls resting upon it.

Che seized her courage in both hands, determined to crack the First Minister's shell. 'What happened to the scholar, Kadro?' she asked.

Ethmet did not even blink. 'We have been unable to locate him, I am sorry to say.'

Che gritted her teeth. 'It has been … suggested to me that he may have been asking awkward questions, that the Ministers of Khanaphes may not have approved of his researches.'

Ethmet's smile remained distantly polite. 'I understand only that your compatriot was given to asking his questions, impolitic or not, in unwise places. He was seen much in the Marsh Alcaia, even out in the desert, where