Dragonfly Falling

And he was. She had seen enough evidence of that. The voice of his nailbow, spitting its powder-charged bolts with a sound like thunder, remained with her from the battle around the great railway engine called the Pride.

‘Here,’ he said at last and ducked into a little taverna that seemed mostly deserted. The owner, a greying Beetle-kinden, nodded cheerily to him, and did not object when he hurried Che into a back room. She had a brief glimpse of a Fly-kinden in a broad-brimmed hat, sitting apparently asleep at one table, who was one of her uncle’s men here. He had one eye still slightly open, enough to watch the door.

‘So what is going on?’ she demanded, and fortuitously it was Stenwold himself beyond the door to answer her questions.

She was reminded of the Taverna Merraia, where she and her friends had been briefed by Stenwold the first time, then sent off at short notice to Helleron and the first step in a course of events that had brought her betrayal, slavery, love, and the stain of a dead man’s blood on her hands.

Balkus sat down by the door and unslung his nailbow, taking up a filthy rag in a vain effort to clean it out. Stenwold sat at a table with a mess of papers strewn across it. Beside him was thorny Scuto and Sperra, a young Fly-kinden woman who was still recovering from the injuries she received during the Pride battle. Across the table sat Achaeos, and Che went over to him instantly. She was aware, as she was still always aware, of their eyes on her as she hugged him. They certainly made an odd pair. Partly it was that she was broader than he was, and not so much shorter, for the Moths were a slight kinden, but mostly it was because Moths generally resented Beetles, despised them and loathed them for their invasive technologies and their crass profiteering. In truth, Achaeos was no different, for he had fought her race over the mines at Helleron. He would make an exception for her, though, having already done many things and travelled a great many miles specifically for her sake.

‘We move within the next hour,’ Stenwold announced. ‘They’ve been watching me close enough but we’re in the clear here, and when we leave it’ll be underground. By the time they pick me up again, we’ll be in business.’

‘You’ve a plan,’ Achaeos observed.

‘We’ve always got a plan,’ Scuto agreed. ‘And just like before, last minute’s best.’

‘When we leave here, Scuto is taking the rail to Sarn,’ Stenwold explained. ‘I will see the Collegium Assembly soon enough, and if I have to tattoo the threat of the Wasp Empire on every Assembler’s forehead to get my point across, I’ll do it. But Collegium cannot stand alone. Sarn has been our ally now for just a little while, but the Ants of Sarn have proved themselves faithful before. They came to relieve the siege when Vek had us invested. We need them to rally to our flag now too. Scuto, you’ve still got your contacts in Sarn, yes?’

‘Oh they’ve been quiet enough.’ Scuto’s grotesque, thorn-pocked face wrinkled. ‘A decent shout in the earhole’ll get ’em moving, don’t you worry.’

‘Then you’re to go shout at them. I need you talking to the Royal Court at Sarn, or at least to someone within it. Tell them about Tark. Tell them about Myna and Maynes. Tell them about the Empire, most of all.’

‘They ain’t going to want to see me,’ Scuto said. ‘Ain’t nobody wants to see me. I’ll get a mouthpiece, though. I’ll get your message through.’

‘Good man. Take Balkus and Sperra to help you.’

Balkus cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me, Master Maker, but you might just notice my skin-shade here.’

Stenwold looked at him blankly, seeing only a Sarnesh Ant, larger than most, and wearing a glum expression at that moment. Then he recalled another such: Marius, who had died at Myna. They had both been considered renegades, and if an Ant turned from his city there was no easy way of going back.

‘I suppose you won’t be going back to Sarn any time soon,’ Stenwold admitted. Marius had left Sarn because all those years ago his superiors would not listen when he warned them about the Wasps. Yet he had left to better serve his city, while Balkus, Stenwold was sure, had left for less noble motives. The outcome was the same.

‘I’ll be good just with Sperra,’ Scuto said. ‘I ain’t no greenhouse flower, chief. You up for a trip, Sperra?’

The little Fly-kinden nodded wearily.

‘You up to go speak to a Queen for me?’ Scuto pressed.

‘Not on your life,’ she said.

‘Sure, you’ll come round to it,’ Balkus told her. ‘Now for me, I’ll stay right here and look after the chief. That sound like a good plan? I’m a handy fellow to have around.’

‘Might not be a bad idea,’ Scuto agreed. Stenwold looked from him to Balkus and back again.

‘I’m going to have Tisamon and Tynisa right here should I need them, but. fair enough. Another pair of hands and eyes won’t go amiss.’ He looked over at his niece and her lover. ‘Che and Achaeos, you’re going to Sarn as well, but for different reasons.’

Che put on a stern expression. ‘You wouldn’t be trying to keep me safe again, would you? Because that didn’t work so well the last time you tried it.’

Stenwold’s smile was bleak. ‘The Wasps are invading the Lowlands, niece, so there isn’t anywhere that’s safe any more. Scuto and I operated out of Sarn for a while, way back, and we had some unlikely misadventures that owed nothing to the Empire. Specifically, we had a fairly heated run-in with a band of fellows called the Arcanum.’

Achaeos hissed at the word. ‘What kind of run-in?’ he demanded.

‘They fought with us at Helleron, didn’t they?’ asked Che. ‘They’re the Moth army or something?’

‘A secret society of sorts,’ Stenwold explained. ‘But mostly they’re spies and agents for Achaeos’s people. All a misunderstanding, the trouble we had then, but it’s left us knowing a little about them that should be useful. Between what Scuto can furnish you with and the fact of having Achaeos on our side, I think we can hope to make contact.’

‘You want us to convince the Arcanum to fight on our side?’ Achaeos asked, in a tone of voice that suggested it could not be done.

‘I want you to do whatever you can. Your people in Dorax have been left alone more than those in your own city, and that makes them, I think, less leery of outsiders,’ Stenwold said. ‘We still get a steady trickle of them at the College, at least, and they send the odd ambassador to Sarn. I’m hoping that they will at least consider lending us some aid. I know we can’t expect armies from them, but even a little information would be useful. Will you do it?’

Achaeos looked to Che. ‘And you?’

‘I’ll do whatever I have to,’ she said. ‘I’ve met with your people before. These Arcanum can’t be worse than the Skryres at Tharn.’

His face wrinkled at that reference, but he turned back to Stenwold. ‘I cannot promise anything, but what can be done will be done.’

Stenwold had chosen that same taverna because it had possessed an underground exit leading to the river, from way back when the temperance drive was running riot in the Assembly and the wine-duty had been sky-high. He now watched Scuto and Che, Achaeos and Sperra disappearing down it, to make their way to the rail station as swiftly as possible. At the same time another man of his, dressed in a spiky wooden harness and swathed in a cloak, would be poking about the automotive works located along the Foundry West Way. Stenwold and Scuto had discovered a long time ago that difference could provide a disguise in itself if, like Scuto, you were so different that the difference was all people saw.

Tisamon and Tynisa would be back at the College by now, unaware that the wheels of the plan were turning already. He had lied to Che in the taverna’s back room. Sarn was by no means safe, but he had a feeling it would be safer than Collegium over these next few days. He would get to see the Assembly sooner or later, and put his case to them, though the Wasps no doubt had men bribed there to speak against him. At this late hour nobody could predict whether the old men and women of Collegium might recover the wisdom of their predecessors. For this reason, he knew, the Wasps would be looking to stop him making his speech.

With Balkus lumbering behind him he set off back for the College. The big Ant was something of a mystery to him, being Scuto’s man, not Stenwold’s own. He knew him for a mercenary and yet the man had asked for no payment. That was either a happy turn of events or a suspicious one.

‘Tell me, Balkus, what’s in it for you?’ he asked boldly.

‘Don’t trust me, is it?’

Without even glancing around, still presenting his broad back to the theoretical knife, Stenwold shrugged. ‘It’s