The Scarab Path

'And what manner of man hasn't said the same about his employer, once or twice?' was all Corcoran could offer before they propelled her inside. She heard a click — and saw that even the lock was new, bolted on to the solid Khanaphir door. She had to concede that she had clearly not done herself proud as a diplomat.

Are ambassadors kidnapped on a regular basis? And what is the diplomatic response? Are you supposed to remain calmly polite and thank everyone for the personal service?

The room they had put her in was located two storeys up, and they had not yet barred up the window. The opening was barely big enough for a Fly-kinden, though, which meant there would be no escape there. Scuff marks on the floor suggested that the Iron Glove had been using this as a storeroom, but now it was practically empty.

Someone else moved inside the room, and she froze, reaching automatically for the sword they had taken away from her. He had been standing by a desk in the corner of the room, small and still enough for her not to have noticed him.

'Trallo …' She heard the uncertainty in her own voice, on realizing he was no prisoner. A Fly-kinden could go in and out of that window as often as he pleased.

'Hello, Che,' he said, with an awkward look on his face, suggesting they had at last punctured his cheer. She gave herself a moment to rein in a temper that had been increasingly on its own recognizance of late.

'Just how many people,' she asked sharply, 'are paying you to 'look after' me?'

He grimaced. 'Well, the thing is, you see … after that scuffle in the Marsh Alcaia, your Iron Glove fellow sent me a message, wanted to do business. Now, you know, in my line of work, you don't want a bad name with any of the big traders.' Seeing her darkening expression, he hurried on. 'And it was just … I was watching out for you anyway, and at the time it didn't seem that there'd be a problem about it.'

'I'm sure the shiny money blinded you to the obvious. And now?'

'And now I have what's known as a conflict of interests,' Trallo admitted. 'How was I to know that this Totho fellow would lose his mind so completely?'

Che stared out of the window. There was no crowd gathered yet, but it would only be a matter of time. It was not that she herself was so very important, but the sovereignty of their hosts had now been challenged. She knew how seriously they would take that. 'He's not mad,' she decided. 'I don't really know what he is, any more, but he's not mad.'

'Old friend of yours, he claimed.'

'He was, yes.' She thought about the man she had met after the Battle of the Rails, where it had still been possible to see her friend somewhere behind the scars that his recent history had scored across him. But the man she had met in Khanaphes had been all scars, and barely a hint left of the shy, awkward boy who had once helped her in her studies. Have I done this to him, somehow? Or is it Stenwold's doing? We cannot leave the Empire with all the blame.

She heard a rattle at the lock, and then they were around her again, bolting a grid across the window. This time she went with them without a struggle, accepting defeat. Trallo pattered along beside her, the Fly finally caught in the trap of his own diverse loyalties. She found she could muster scant sympathy, especially as he had taken her down with him.

They led her down one floor and into a long hall, where Totho was waiting with a dozen of his men.

'Now,' he addressed her, 'no more secrets.'

'Then tell me,' she said.

'I will, right now and, more than that, I'll make it a public proclamation.' He seemed on a knife-edge, as if waiting to see whether his carefully crafted project would succeed or fail. Out of everything about him, only that was painfully familiar. 'Come out onto the balcony with me,' he said.

'Totho …'

'No, no, let's …' He put on a smile. 'Let's — what do they say? — take the air? They're all out there now. The Empire, your people, lots of the locals.'

'I'm not surprised.'

'Neither am I, because it's what I wanted,' he told her. 'I've armoured this place up so that it's even given Amnon pause for thought, and now they're going to hear me out. And so are you. Come on, Che. You say you want to know what's going on? Now's your chance.'

Who would have imagined any of this? Looking over the gathering crowd, Thalric confessed to himself that he was surprised that some paltry Exalsee traders could achieve so much. Diplomatic history was being made. It was a tactic he might recommend to the Rekef: manufacture a common enemy and the world falls into your lap.

They were all here, that was his initial conclusion. Probably there were some people somewhere in Khanaphes who knew of Cheerwell Maker but had not turned out, but he could not think of any names. Her fellow Collegiates were here, of course. The three academics — old man, fat man and distant woman — were standing in a close-knit clump and looking worried. Separated from them by a pointed distance were the two Vekken ambassadors, who had arrived with their crossbows and their closed expressions. Near them was gathered the formal delegation from the Scriptora.

Ethmet himself had put in a personal appearance, together with at least a dozen of his fellow Ministers. They stood in their simple, one-shouldered robes like a gaggle of clerks, save for the respectful space that everyone else gave them. Behind them was the army, or that was how it looked to Thalric. Amnon had turned out the Royal Guard in their gilded scale mail, with their pointed shields, spears and bows. The big man was looking angry. What had happened here was a personal affront to his authority and, with perhaps a hundred men at his back, his authority was looking more and more sensitive to insult.

Did the halfbreed know what he was asking for when he opened the door on this? Thalric wondered. Looking at the way the Iron Glove had turned their factora into a fortress, he had to conclude that, yes, he had. But why? Is the man so mad for Cheerwell Maker that he will see his entire delegation slaughtered? Beyond the guardsmen were a mass of the ordinary Khanaphir, many holding staves or sickles or slings. Word of the outrage had gone quickly through the streets, no doubt tacitly encouraged by the Ministers.

Any welcome for the Iron Glove has finally expired, Thalric thought with satisfaction.

There was a silence falling on them now, a quiet focused on Ethmet, although he had made no sign. More soldiers were just arriving, who carried, slung between them, a bronze-shod tree-trunk. Appreciating the hush, they lowered it gratefully to the ground. Thalric eyed the reinforced door and decided the ram would burst it open after a dozen or twenty blows. He could see movement behind the metal-latticed windows, and knew the Iron Glove would be ready to defend themselves. There would be two prodigious bloodlettings, in Thalric's professional opinion: one to get the door open, and another inside once the horde of the Khanaphir began tearing every single Iron Glove man apart.

Up on the balcony that extended above the door, a handful of the Iron Glove emerged, bearing snapbows but keeping them low. The archers amongst the Khanaphir already had arrows to the string, just waiting for the command to draw.

Totho came forth next. Although most of those come to cause his ruin would not have recognized him, the sight of his armour, and the way his men deferred to him, singled him out. One of his men passed him a speaking horn, and Thalric felt a wrinkle of contempt for a man without a parade-ground voice.

Cheerwell was pushed out to stand next to him, looking angry and stubborn, and Thalric felt a twitch of relief to see her still alive. He had not expected otherwise, but still …

Totho coughed into the cone, the noise emerging garbled and tinny. 'Is everyone here?' he asked. His voice boomed back across the crowd, echoing from the walls across the street.

'Explain this!' Ethmet demanded, needing nothing but his own lungs. Thalric would not have thought the old man had it in him, but he would have made a fine drill sergeant. 'What is this insurrection? Have you declared war on the Masters of Khanaphes, O merchant? What is this barbarism?'

And not just on Khanaphes, Thalric thought, but the Lowlands and the Empire, all in one. I would not have thought it possible to make so many enemies so swiftly.

'You're owed an explanation,' Totho replied, and his voice, even amplified, was that of an awkward artificer trying to sound forceful. 'I will give it, but I wanted everyone to hear it. What I have to say is important.'