‘Why, Master Broiler, as I live and breathe, how splendid!’
Helmess Broiler evidently did not find it so – which argued for wisdom. Matters were out of his hands as of now, though, Teornis decided. He bowed low before the woman. ‘Madam, you have had word of me, I hope?’
‘Some word,’ she agreed, regarding him with narrowed eyes. She was a reasonably comely piece of work, he decided, although close-up she did not compare to one of true Spider blood. Still, a Beetle could do worse, no doubt.
‘Lady, I am Teornis of the Aldanrael, former Lord-Martial of the Grand Army of the Spiderlands, and implacable enemy of Collegium. You, I take it, are of Pellectes’s party, one of the Littoralists?’
The hastily hidden bafflement on Helmess’s face was a joy to see. So I know more than you already, Master Beetle. Therefore beware.
‘Elytrya,’ the woman named herself. ‘I was told you would be of use to the cause. Is that so?’
‘Why else would I be here?’ Teornis assured her. ‘I bring some lackeys also, for your use, but we must have them properly disguised. It would not do for them to enter Collegium too openly, either as sea-kinden or Spiders.’
‘We have clothes, cloaks,’ she told him, still distrusting. ‘There is a carriage waiting, but these will not all fit in it.’
‘They’ll have to jog alongside, like servants,’ Teornis decided. ‘We’ll tell them it’s a landsman custom. The exercise will do them good, since I daresay Claeon doesn’t exercise them enough.’ He was watching carefully, and he noticed the slight crease of humour appear in her face. Oh Claeon, you are held in such low esteem even by your own allies. ‘Shall we go now?’ he offered, and she nodded curtly.
Behind them the Onychoi were fussing over the trial machine, but happily in so far as he could judge. Ahead, just a climb up the cliffs and a carriage-ride away, lay the civilized, land-bound comforts of Collegium. Even Beetle hospitality would serve, after what he had been through.
And there would be eyes watching for his return. Teornis had grown tired of dancing to another’s tune. It was time to make the melody himself.
The Collegium watch knew Helmess Broiler, that was clear, and were obviously used to his nocturnal perambulations. Teornis wondered if the man had publicly cultivated a hobby such as star-gazing, or collecting moths, to justify his habits, or whether he simply relied on his status as an Assembler to deflect rumour. Considering what he knew of him, Teornis suspected the former, and also guessed that the Beetle had arranged for this particular watch officer to have this particular shift, with open hand and blind eye to the ready. Helmess, he assessed, was a workmanlike intelligencer, and one who had kept a great secret for some time. So when did I hear that Broiler had got himself a Spider mistress? It had not seemed important at the time, and it had been quite the fashion after Maker took in Arianna. Waifs, strays and exiles from all across the Spiderlands had ended up as paramours and escorts to the Beetle-kinden men and women of consequence thanks to Stenwold’s proclivities. Teornis had seen no reason to have a spy in Helmess’s parlour, since he had always suspected Helmess was the Empire’s man, and the Aldanrael maintained a spy at the Imperial embassy. So why waste effort on one more old Beetle?
Oh, what we might have learned, had I done so. However, no regrets now. Time to weep for the past when my enemies are dead, as the poet said.
Teornis had made sure that, as Broiler’s four-beetle carriage was forced to halt at the gates to the city, he stepped just out to stretch his legs. Claeon’s people, looking like shabby peasants of no fixed kinden, clustered together behind the carriage, plainly shocked and horrified by Collegium even at night-time. Teornis had laid a reassuring hand on Geontes’s shoulder. I shall spare you too much further discomfort, he promised inwardly. He grinned up at the stars out of genuine pleasure at remaking their acquaintance, and because there would be those looking out for his face, should he ever re-enter the city.
Then they were rattling through the sleeping streets, the Kerebroi shambling along behind again, and only Teornis spared a moment to look again towards the skies. Certainly the sea-kinden would not think to, and Beetles are so earth-bound. His keen eyes caught the shudder of wings up there, and an excitement that had been distant till now began abruptly welling up. I am back in the Dance.
They encamped at Broiler’s townhouse, the Beetle magnate now looking harried, and with good cause. Claeon’s men he had already been expecting, and no doubt he felt confident of handling the bewildered, land-lost Kerebroi, but Teornis provided a rogue factor, an element that his planning had not taken into account. The game had changed.
And yet Teornis made sure to appear meekness personified. Though their conversation had been slight, he had shown himself, on the journey, to be Claeon’s man, relieved only to be out of the depths. ‘Oh you cannot imagine,’ he had whispered to Helmess Broiler, ‘the darkness, down there, the sense of weight. It is no place for us landsmen, no place at all.’ Even so, the Beetle had not seemed convinced.
Geontes and his fellows ended up squatting about Hel-mess’s parlour, their shabby cloaks over their Hermatyre riches giving them the look of larcenous tramps. Helmess’s servants were mostly absent, no doubt promptly sent away to avoid telling tales of these remarkable strangers. There was only one on hand to serve some drinks, a stocky man with a cultured air who Teornis tentatively identified as a halfbreed, albeit a very subtle one. Spider blood, so worth watching.
‘Sands,’ Helmess said when asked about him. ‘Forman Sands, my man of all work.’ He wore a steely little smile as he said it. Teornis knew the expression from his dealings in Helleron long ago. It was polite Beetle parlance for someone that removed obstacles in business and personal life, by whatever means.
‘He seems a handy fellow to have around,’ Teornis remarked.
‘Oh, he’ll do,’ Helmess agreed, the implicit threat hovering. The Spider only smiled politely.
While the Kerebroi were being served bowls of wine, most of which ended up slopped on the floor, Teornis went to the window and leant out, taking in a deep breath of cool air. Sensing Helmess at his shoulder, he said, ‘I am not quite used yet to having a sky up there,’ which was true. He smiled back at his host whilst, at the windowsill, his fingers busily spun glinting strands. ‘Tell me, Master Broiler, what do you yourself seek from all of this?’
‘Why?’ Helmess asked him, eyes narrowed. He was suspicious, yes, but suspicious only of the question. The instructions that Teornis’s hands were sketching went unseen, save by the eyes outside the house that they were meant for. It was not just the sea-kinden that possessed a silent finger-language.
‘Have they promised you a governorship? What on earth does Rosander intend to do with the place, once he has it?’
‘I doubt he’s thought it through,’ said Helmess, drawn into speaking, despite himself. ‘And so he will need someone to think for him. I fancy that Elytrya and I shall be appointed king and consort of the city. Surely, Rosander has no clue how to govern the place, and after sufficient raids from the sea he will wish for something more permanent. I will be waiting, and of proven loyalty.’
I cannot think of any phrase less fitting for you. ‘As you know, my own people will descend on this place soon enough,’ Teornis told him, wondering absently if the ships had even left harbour yet. ‘Once the back of the Assembly is broken, by whatever means, the picture you sketch may be attractive. An ostensibly independent Collegium will look better to us, and I am sure you will be happy to let our ships ply the sea trade on your behalf. It was all we ever wanted, after all. Such a great fuss over a few coins here or there in a merchant’s purse.’ He brushed off his hands, their work done, strands of glittering thread ghosting away into the night air.
He turned away from the window, smiling at Helmess, and placed his back to the wall. The Kerebroi sat sullenly as Elytrya spoke to them about the great things that the Littoralists would accomplish, once their long-lost land had been reclaimed. Helmess drank sparingly and remained suspicious.
His man of all work stayed close to his elbow. It was impossible to tell from his face just how far into this conspiracy Sands was. Has potential, that one, Teornis noted. Just how much potential, we’ll see in a moment.
Perhaps half an hour later his people came bursting through every available window.
They were his Dragonfly-kinden, and so had been able to go to ground in Collegium with ease. To the Beetles, Dragonflies meant the Commonweal, who were enemies of the Wasps and therefore nominal friends of the city. Most Beetles had very little idea what a Commonweal Dragonfly should look like and so these men and women, lean and hard in their armour of chitin and hide and with their personal histories written on their skins with scars and tattoos, easily passed muster. The Commonweal was known to be a strange and backward place,
