Empire in Black and Gold

catch.

‘When a man is appointed a governor of a city by the Emperor, Major Thalric,’ Latvoc continued at last, ‘he is put into a position of responsibility and power beyond even that of an army general. It has been known for such power to turn an officer’s head. There is a temptation to consider those resources, the money and the goods that the Empire requests of him, and to hold them back and stint us with excuses. Such things are known, and it is unfortunate that Colonel Ulther has now become the target of some of these rumours. Do you understand me?’

‘I understand you, sir,’ said Thalric wearily.

‘Although you are technically Rekef Outlander,’ and there was a slight admonition there in him appearing to be content with the lesser wing of the service, ‘your past association makes you the obvious man for us to send. Lieutenant Aagen of the Engineering Corps is heading to Myna to collect supplies in the morning. You will go with him, investigate the situation with your old friend Ulther. Take what action you feel appropriate. Resolve matters. Report to us.’

Thalric permitted himself a breath.

‘Any questions, Major?’

‘I have two prisoners. I had hoped to interrogate them here.’

‘Aagen is already transporting livestock. Take them with you, if you must. The facilities in Myna are superior. You could give that to Ulther as the reason for your presence. Any further questions?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Dismissed.’

Thalric stood, saluted, and left. It was a good twenty yards before he permitted himself to relax, and even then the thought remained. Not this time. Maybe next time. Or the time after that. He had never scrupled about taking the Rekef’s reputation by the hilt and using it. He never put that weapon down, though, without knowing that, the next time it was raised, it could be at his own throat.

Why do I do this? The question surprised him, because he already knew the answer. He loved the Empire. Still, inside his head, where even the Rekef could not catch a treasonous thought, he wondered what sort of Empire they were building, where even the watchmen must fear being watched.

It was not yet dawn when the voices came from above them. Asta had an uncompromising system for the keeping of slaves. Che and Salma, along with some dozen others, were confined in a sheer-sided circular pit. Salma and any others who looked as though they might take to the air were hobbled, chains drawing their elbows tightly behind their backs. They had not bothered with Che, so she had spent much of the night trying to free him, with no more success than she would have had flying out of the pit herself.

If only I had concentrated more, dreamed less. That Art still escaped her and, besides, Beetles were poor fliers and everyone knew it. And now it was too late.

The first voice she heard from above was Thalric’s. She had listened to him talking long enough to know it. ‘Attention!’ it called, then, ‘And is this Aagen of Dinas I see before me.’

‘Spit me, but it’s Captain Thalric,’ said another voice, a Wasp with more of an accent than Thalric himself. ‘Well, that’s a five-year spell of good luck broken.’

‘Lieutenant Aagen of the Engineering Corps, I see,’ came Thalric’s unseen voice. All of the slaves were awake now, but only she and Salma seemed to be really listening.

‘Battlefield promotion during the Maynes rebellion. What can I do for you, Captain?’ asked the faceless Aagen.

‘You’re setting off for Myna?’

‘Soon as it’s light. You could build a whole new automotive out of the parts I’m missing here. I’m going to take my rank badge and shove it in people’s faces back at the depot until I’m happy.’ Despite the accent and the context, this was so like one of the College artificers speaking that Che felt dizzy.

‘Good,’ said Thalric. ‘Are you heading there with an empty hold?’

‘No waste in this man’s army, Captain. Got a special delivery to make. I hear you might want in on that.’

‘And two prisoners. You’re set up to carry prisoners?’

‘I’m carrying prisoners already. One prisoner, anyway.’

The noises from above now sounded like men moving large crates. There had been a ragbag of automotives up above, as the slaves were being housed, so Che guessed they were loading one of them prior to Thalric’s mooted journey. That she and Salma would be unwilling travelling companions of the man seemed overwhelmingly likely.

Thalric had been silent a moment, and now he asked, ‘Just one prisoner? I thought they didn’t waste space in your army, Lieutenant?’

‘Don’t make the rules, Captain, just follow the orders. Special delivery, like I said.’

The artificial lights of the workmen above had given a little definition to their prison pit’s mouth, but now Che saw that there was a growing greyness there. Dawn failed to enliven her. Her very recent life had made her long for the rest that night brought. At least in dreams she was not chained.

There was a shape silhouetted up there, cutting into the rim: a head looking down. When it spoke, she picked it as Thalric.

‘Clear for the hoist,’ he called down, and ducked out of the way as a wooden platform was winched across and began descending on them at some speed. There was a scatter of limbs withdrawn and bodies moved, and then the lift touched bottom.

‘Cheerwell Maker and Salme Dien,’ Thalric called. ‘And don’t make me go down and fetch you.’

Salma exchanged glances with Che. ‘Later,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll have our chance.’

She shrugged and wasn’t sure she believed him.

They had to cling together on the platform, or rather, she had to cling to him as his arms were pinioned. The chance of escape remained conspicuously absent, too. The field above, of which the slave pits formed only one edge, was a bustle of activity. The Wasps rose early.

Salma started, and she followed his gaze across the field to see a ripple of halted motion as working Wasps paused to gawp. A figure was now being led towards them, and Che identified it as the Butterfly-kinden, Grief in Chains.

‘So that’s your special delivery, is it?’ Thalric asked her handler as they approached.

‘None other,’ said the man leading her, who must be Aagen, from the voice. ‘They told me she should get the hold all to herself, but your orders are over any other, Captain.’

Thalric clapped him on the shoulder, which surprised Che. It was such a casual, human gesture from this harsh man.

Grief in Chains was not pinned like Salma, but there was a collar at her throat for the slender chain in Aagen’s hand. The Wasp artificer went to a vehicle nearby and was unlatching a hatch at the back. This machine was a squat, ugly-looking thing, large and brick-shaped, entwined with the swept funnels of a steam engine. It had a pair of propellers at the rear, and one huge prop underneath, only inches from the ground, almost clipping against its four stumpy feet. Che found it incredible that anyone would inflict such an ugly thing on the air.

The space within would clearly provide more room than they had been allowed for some time. Grief in Chains stepped in first, for all the world like a Spider-kinden princess escorted to her carriage, and then Aagen secured her chain to a ring on the interior.

‘Good job you’re coming with us, really,’ said the artificer. ‘If it were just me and the stoker alone with her, who knows? She’s quite a piece of work, isn’t she?’

Thalric looked unmoved, or at least affected to be. At a signal from him, Che and Salma were bundled inside. The Wasp looked at them critically: the bound Dragonfly, the awkward-looking Beetle.

‘Chain them anyway,’ he told the soldiers. ‘Necks to the wall, like the woman. I’m not a man for gambling.’

‘Will you look at that,’ Stenwold breathed, peering through his telescope. He had known, he should have known, what he would see here, but it still shocked and frightened him. All these years he had been preaching it, and now here was proof, but how much he would rather have been wrong.

‘Is that Asta?’ asked Tisamon, hunching over his shoulder.

‘If they still call it that.’

‘What’s Asta?’ Tynisa asked. Beside her, Totho stirred in his sleep. He had been working on the automotive