the Beetles?’ She shrugged. ‘Or perhaps you’re right, but then we would have to make sure something happened to your oh-so-prestigious family, wouldn’t we? You won’t know this, but the actual truth is always an abstraction in my game. What’s important is that you’ll do what I want. You don’t need to decide whether it’s because your people sent you here as an agent, or because they didn’t, and they’ll suffer for that unless you obey me.’
I’m agreeing to nothing. Just saying the words does not make me theirs. I… ‘What do you want from me?’ I should kill her now, the moment she turns, loses focus. One sting and she’s dead and nobody need know…
Despite his basic army training, Averic had never killed anyone: not an enemy of the Empire, not even a rebellious slave. She was right when she said his family had wealth and power, and as a result he had never been required to use his Art or a blade against a living target. And, if I killed her I would be a traitor to my people.
So what am I if I disobey her?
‘I want you to be ready, Averic. I want you to get over all your little qualms and become a man at last, and do a man’s work when it’s asked of you. I’m here now so you can get your angst and agonizing out of the way, and remind yourself what kinden you belong to. When the orders come to you, you’ll execute them swiftly and efficiently. And when you report to General Tynan, he’ll clap you on the shoulder and tell you that you’ve done well. Or else you’ll die trying to further the Empire’s cause — the only death a Wasp-kinden should aspire to.’
He formed the question, What if I tell them? but he could not force the words out. Yet she read it on his face as if she was a magician.
‘Tell them you’re a traitor to them, after all this time? And become a traitor to us at the same time? Oh, Averic, I’m not sure how far you’d have to run to escape the landslide, if you did that.’ Her look could almost be construed as kindly. ‘Grow up, Averic, and put aside childish things. Remember who you are.’ She stood up. Her palm was no longer directed at him but he had no ability to act on that, stepping back like a good subordinate as she walked to the door.
‘You’ll be hearing from us,’ she told him. ‘Just be ready.’ Then she was gone.
Gesa, who normally went by the name of Garvan, was cautiously satisfied with her work so far. She was playing a dangerous game, and all the more so for the disguise she had chosen. Her great secret, her vulnerability, her own private treason flaunted so openly. It wound her up inside like a clock, tenser and tenser, but the Collegiates did not care, and she made sure not to meet face to face with the other Imperial agents here, simply to leave them messages at the agreed-on drop points. She should have felt freer, here, walking as a woman even if she was forced to hide her kinden, but the habit of secrecy was so deep ingrained in her that she lived every moment on a knife edge, waiting for someone to decry her, not for her race, but for her gender.
Averic would serve, she judged, and he was well placed. The Empire had never tried to infiltrate the College before, but to Gesa that was a grievous omission that had been amended just in time. One could get up to so much mischief in those halls of academe.
The Rekef had been broken against the walls of Collegium more than once. During the brief conflict with the Spider-kinden, an entire Rekef operation had been uncovered and sent home to face disgrace and punitive interrogation, leaving behind barely a trace of Imperial influence in the city. If the Empire had not been able to borrow some intelligence from its new Spider allies, then the war would have been considerably more difficult — and who wanted to have to rely on Spiders?
For that matter, who wanted to have to rely on the Rekef? Army Intelligence was now suddenly at the cutting edge of the agent war. Her heart swelled with pride to think that her mocked and abused corps was suddenly at the core of things, and so was she.
But there was so little time. The insertion of her people had come late in the day, only the influx of refugees from the Felyal giving sufficient cover to accomplish it. She and her fellows now had a great deal of work to do, and precious little time. She was having to allow her subordinates more independence than she liked, as there simply wasn’t enough time for her to mastermind everything properly. She had to trust in her peers, and trust was not something that came naturally to her.
It was worth it, though, for this chance to outshine the Rekef. There were Army Intelligence colonels back in Capitas who would salute her with a tear in their eyes, when she came back from winning Collegium for the Empress. Army Intelligence would succeed where the Rekef had only chalked up repeated failure.
And, for one thing, they would kill Stenwold Maker. Of that she was absolutely sure.
Twenty-Nine
‘Aerial reconnaissance of the Second Army has become essentially impossible with our resources,’ Corog Breaker reported. ‘In all honesty it was hit and miss at the best of times, but now there seems to be a substantial aerial strike force accompanying the Second always. We’ve almost lost several spotters, and we simply don’t have the spare Stormreaders.’ He did not need to elaborate. Each nocturnal attack on Collegium was resulting in more Farsphex slipping through the fraying net of the defending pilots, more damage to the city, more deaths, more panic. And the Second Army was getting close now. The meeting that Breaker was addressing was specifically to determine the battle tactics of the ground force that would shortly be leaving the city.
‘We need to get out there now in order to have a chance of preparing a stand against them,’ said Marteus of the Coldstone Company. His face was as blank and closed as always, but there was a tightness in his voice that spoke of stress. ‘We’re not short of recruits, anyway. Seems like half the fugitives from the Felyal have signed up.’
‘Are they ready to fight?’ Jodry asked him.
‘They have no time left to be made more ready,’ Marteus stated flatly.
Jodry was chairing the council. On his left were Marteus and Elder Padstock, the two chief officers who would be taking the fight to the enemy. Corog Breaker slumped on his right, with the Mynan leader Kymene beyond him, head bowed in thought. Across the table from him was Stenwold Maker, no longer the Speaker’s great friend and ally. Hardly anyone actually knew what had caused the rift, but tension between them sang in the air like a razor.
‘How are the automotives?’ Jodry asked. These days that seemed to be his role in life, to stumble around between the people to whom the defence of the city had been delegated, asking them inane questions.
‘As ready as anything else,’ Elder Padstock confirmed. ‘We have quite a fleet of them now, certainly more than the enemy have of the Cyclops machines the War Master told us of, especially with the help from Sarn.’
‘Sentinels,’ Stenwold reminded her, citing the name that had come in Laszlo’s earlier note of warning delivered by the captain of a merchantman. Where Laszlo had got to was just one more worry for Stenwold right now. ‘And, armour them how we will, they are not a match for the Imperial vehicles. With the exception of the six Sarnesh automotives, not one of them was even built for war. Bolting some plates and a repeating ballista on won’t get us very far.’ The aid from Sarn had been an unexpected bonus: a half-dozen boxy, serviceable war automotives — lumbering tracked machines boasting turret-mounted nailbows and paired smallshotters to the fore. They were not Sentinels, but they were considerably more warlike than any of the makeshift contraptions that Collegium was intending to field. Stenwold sighed heavily. ‘I have asked some experts to join us,’ he told them. ‘They’re waiting outside. They’ve put together some idea of how we might win this fight.’
Jodry was too weary for surprise. ‘Well, send them in then. Let’s hear it.’
They were two more Beetle-kinden: a tall austerely handsome woman in a Master’s robes; and man head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the room, vastly broad across the chest, wearing a Company soldier’s buff coat that must have been made from two garments of the regular size.
‘Mistress Praeda Rakespear of the College faculty of artifice,’ Stenwold introduced them, ‘and Amnon, former First Soldier of Khanaphes.’
There was a reflective pause from around the table, especially from Jodry, who plainly had not received any forewarning, but then Marteus spoke up: ‘Is this a joke? I know this man. He’s a good fighter, but his city doesn’t even have automotives.’
‘Chief Officer Marteus,’ Praeda snapped, even as Stenwold opened his mouth, ‘I would point out that Collegium has no history of fighting wars with automotives either. However, for hundreds of years the Khanaphir have taken chariots to war.’
‘ Chariots? ’ Marteus demanded.
