she was walking away, pale and grey as before.
Paladrya had done her best to bring Aradocles up to date with the current politics of Hermatyre, naming all the current powers of the sea-kinden to him: Heiracles, Rosander, Nemoctes, Mandir of the Hot Stations – and Claeon, of course. She and Phylles had introduced him to Wys, and to the convalescing Laszlo, and the five of them were in deep conference when Stenwold found them.
Looking at Aradocles, Stenwold could help not but think, He is so young for what they will ask of him. There was a set, determined look to the Kerebroi youth’s face, though and if it reminded Stenwold of anyone, it was surely of Salma.
He sat beside Paladrya, letting her speak, while he himself contributed little to the conversation, glancing sidelong at her occasionally. Grief’s words to him still echoed in his memory.
Shortly after he rejoined them, Sfayot tracked them down and informed them that the Monarch wished to see them all at the airfield.
A crowd had gathered there, a great motley of all the kinden and half-kinden that made up Princep Salmae. It was rare that their beloved Monarch walked amongst them, and Stenwold and his followers had to push and shove through them to make headway. He expected to find Grief surrounded by a ring of her Dragonfly guardsmen, but she had come with only a pair of adherents: the Beetle Ordly Penhold and the ubiquitous Sfayot. The massed citizens meanwhile maintained a respectful distance.
‘Ah, Master Maker,’ she addressed him, when he managed to extricate himself from the crowd. ‘Come stand with me.’
He did so apprehensively, wondering whether she intended to show some manner of favour by this public display. This seemed unlikely, given her attitude so far, so he made his way with caution across the open space to where she stood, almost in the shadow of the flying machines. Aradocles strode at his side, seemingly entirely at ease, and the rest of the sea-kinden followed, with Laszlo jostled and cursing in their midst.
‘I have arranged your conveyance, Master Maker, to take you from my city,’ she informed him, ‘and your pilot also.’ She reached out as if to touch the nearest machine, although her hand stopped a few inches from its metal hull.
Stenwold frowned, recognizing the black and gold of its painting. ‘There must be some mistake,’ he said slowly.
‘Indeed?’ she enquired archly. ‘Ambassador, will you come forth?’
From around the Imperial heliopter’s side stepped a familiar figure. He was not dressed in uniform, but was a Wasp nonetheless, and one that Stenwold was well acquainted with through recent bouts in front of the Assembly.
‘Ambassador Aagen,’ he identified the man.
‘There are some few that I shall always be glad of, Master Maker,’ Grief declared. ‘Aagen is one.’ Her tone made clear that Stenwold himself was not in that number.
‘So I see.’ Despite himself, Stenwold felt slighted. ‘Well, Salma told me of the history between you and Aagen. I suppose freedom is a great gift.’
‘Hope is a greater one,’ Grief told him. ‘He comes of a cruel kinden, and yet he is kind. Consider that.’
Stenwold sighed, sourly. And so I come from a peaceful one and yet make war, is that it? What does the woman expect me to do? Where does she think we would all be, if we hadn’t fought the Empire?
He looked at Aagen, who nodded to him levelly.
‘Aagen has sworn to me that he will take you to Collegium as fast as his machine can carry you,’ Grief explained. ‘Otherwise, Master Maker, you must rely on your feet.’
Stenwold could feel the sea-kinden growing restless, obviously sensing an insult but not understanding the cause. Only Aradocles held himself apart from it all, and no doubt he was used to the Butterfly woman’s ways by now.
‘You want to see if I can trust my enemy,’ he said tiredly. ‘Well, I gladly accept the assistance of Master Aagen. I am no Mantis-kinden, to cut off my own fingers rather than clasp hands with someone opposed to my city. ‘
It was clear that she considered this some kind of victory, and Stenwold could not help but think, And when the Empire comes again, where will all this love and tolerance get you? He derived a certain spiteful pleasure from the thought.
‘Master Maker,’Aagen said, without mockery, ‘shall we go?’
They made a swift departure, after Stenwold left a message instructing Jons Allanbridge to follow on to Collegium with all speed, and after Ordly Penhold had clasped Aradocles’s shoulder and given him some almost fatherly words of advice. The sea-kinden’s reaction to being in the belly of the flying machine, with its shuddering and clattering and the roar of its engines, was a sight to behold, and Stenwold spent most of the time with his arm about Paladrya, listening to Laszlo swearing at every jolt and lurch. Just once he went forward to where Aagen sat alone, the Imperial ambassador out flying without any staff or soldiers. The two of them exchanged a few civilized words on recent developments in artificing, and even on a play they had both watched the month before.
By silent mutual agreement they studiously avoided talking politics of any kind.
Forty-Two
There was a sound from downstairs, and Helmess Broiler stirred sleepily. It must only be his servants pottering about, rising for the day to come.
Which meant it was later than he inwardly felt it should be. He yawned and stretched. Beside him, Elytrya murmured something, and Helmess again wondered precisely how late or early it was, and whether she could be persuaded into a little exercise.
He opened his eyes, looking for the grey of pre-dawn leaching through the east-facing shutters, but the room was near pitch-dark, and the only radiance that outlined the shutters was the faint rose of the street lighting outside.
So why are the servants…? He frowned, and wondered, Am I being robbed? Thieves seldom dared to intrude where Collegium’s great magnates lived. The city guard was prolific and dedicated in those privileged streets, and the lighting well maintained. He listened again but heard nothing.
Perhaps I imagined it. But an uncomfortable feeling was growing on him. Something had certainly awoken him; his imagination was not to blame. Helmess sat up and slid his feet over the side of the bed, hearing Elytrya complain wordlessly as she, in turn, was awoken. He reached for a nightshirt and dragged it on.
Should I call the servants anyway? he wondered. If it’s nothing, after all, I’ll look a proper fool. But if it’s something… It could be Teornis and his murderous rabble of Dragonflies, back from Princep. Creeping into the place unannounced would probably seem hilarious to that Spider Aristos. The more Helmess thought about it, the more that seemed likely, rather than mere robbers. It was surely about time for Teornis to blight Helmess’s life again, and so Helmess would have to find a way to do away with the Spider and his minions, and secure Aradocles for the sea-kinden. If the heir had been found, of course. If the wretched youth wasn’t years dead already. Helmess sighed. His world had become particularly vexing recently.
‘What is it?’ Elytrya sat up, brushing her curls out of her eyes. ‘Helmess…?’
‘Probably nothing,’ Helmess assured her, and then there was a distinct creak outside, a heavy footfall on the stair. He remained motionless, as his speculation suddenly broadened to include all manner of possibilities: What if the Empire has tired of me, after all, and these are Wasp assassins? What if Teornis has sent that traitor Sands after me? What if…?
The door opened, and Fly-kinden began filing in, so silently and politely that he wondered if he was dreaming. There were almost a dozen of them, men and women, all of them looking like absolute villains and armed to the teeth. Their leader seemed to be a black-bearded fellow who looked particularly ferocious even though he stood no higher than Helmess’s chest. Beside him was a little woman in artificer’s leathers, with a businesslike crossbow aimed at Helmess’s face.
The Beetle magnate stood up slowly, regarding this silent mass of Flies. Most of them looked straight back at him, save for a couple at the periphery who were obviously admiring a particularly expensive Commonweal
