The Scarab Path (26 page)

She
allowed Trallo to guide her towards the most imposing of the edifices bordering
the square, and there she spotted Ethmet, framed by torches. Her eyes met his,
and she found there something quite different from the reserved patience that
she had come to expect. His attention focused on her, just for a moment, with such
intensity that she almost felt the heat of it.

Che had been expecting some kind of formal banquet, perhaps, but what she
got instead was a kind of menagerie, with herself and the visitors from
Collegium the prime exhibits. The building Ethmet stood waiting in front of
looked like a tomb designed for a dead giant. Its exterior promised dingy
windowless rooms and cramped passageways, but instead they emerged into a
massive hall, its lofty ceiling supported by two rows of columns – carved figures
of Khanaphir men and women reaching up to support the colossal weight of the
roof. They were painted, stylized, and the craft that had gone into them was as
nothing compared with those alien faces that topped the truncated pyramid
outside. In between these caryatids, frozen in their eternal labour, light
issued from a hundred shafts that burrowed upwards through the fabric of the
monumental building. The effect tricked the eye into believing that the sun
shone from all directions at once, although the day was growing late even
before Che and the others had entered.

‘There
must be mirrors,’ Praeda had been murmuring. ‘Mirrors and lanterns and lenses
perhaps. It’s remarkable.’

Che
remembered the intricacy of the Moth-kinden architecture at Tharn, and the tricks
they could play with stone. Ancient techniques: Inapt craftsmen making up in
ingenuity for their lack of artifice.

‘Honoured
and Beautiful Foreigners,’ Ethmet addressed them, ‘be so kind as to let me
introduce you to my cousin Nafir, who is Minister for the Estuarine Waters.’
Nafir had been pressed from the same mould as Ethmet, albeit more recently. He
made the same genuflection, spreading hands out from his stomach, and Che did
her best to copy the gesture. The great chamber was scattered with other Khanaphir
men and women, two score at least, and it reminded her enough of the Collegium
Assembly to suggest this was the combined Ministry of the city, gathered here
expressly to scrutinize the foreigners. They did not crowd around: Ethmet would
no doubt lead her past them all in turn. Instead, they were gathered in small
groups, talking quietly. Only a few sat, although there were several stone
benches arranged around the fountain that burbled gently in the hall’s centre.

Nafir
made some polite comments, and was soon left behind. Next a group of three
turned out to be called Hemses, Methret and Pthome, and already Che’s mind was
swimming with the names. Of the faces she had lost all hope because, although
the features varied, their expressions were so unified that she knew it would
be impossible to recall them later.

A
musician had struck up somewhere, playing something plaintive on delicate
strings. At the far end of the room there was food laid out, a complex
arrangement of meat, insects and unfamiliar vegetables. The sight of it
obviously broke the back of Manny’s patience, because he was off in that
direction with a mumbled apology. Che looked around and saw that Praeda had
already abandoned her, was now sitting studying the fountain. The Vekken,
whichever one he was, remained standing sullenly in the shade of a column, the
scale of its carving making him look like a sulky child.

‘And
here …’ Ethmet went on, and introduced her to yet another Minister, and she
smiled and nodded, and reflected that there were certain ubiquitous aspects of
the Beetle-kinden character she could happily do without. Stenwold had always
tried to avoid attending these kinds of receptions, and she wondered now if it
had been to spare the visiting ambassadors from one more bewildering
introduction.

‘… is
Amnon, the First Soldier of the Royal Guard,’ continued Ethmet blandly, and Che
started to repeat her threadbare greetings but, in the end, just said, ‘Oh,’
instead. To start with she was speaking to his chest, because he was more than
a head taller than she was. It was a chest covered in gilt-edged metal scales,
she noticed, for Amnon was wearing the most magnificent cuirass she had ever
seen. She remembered the splendour of the escort that had welcomed them at the
docks, and decided that they must have been wearing their everyday garb,
because this,
this
was a dress uniform. Each scale
had been enamelled in turquoise, and then minute figures painted on top, images
of soldiers parading, throwing spears, giving battle. There was room for plenty
of scales, too, because Amnon was broad as well as tall, his bare shoulders and
arms bulging with muscle. He was grinning down at her with dazzling white teeth
and, despite everything, she felt a flutter within her. She had never met
anyone quite so robustly
physical
before, a man who
looked as though he could break steel bars with his hands.

‘It is
of course a pleasure to meet one so distinguished,’ he announced, and made an
elaborate genuflection, beginning with the stomach and ending with the forehead.
‘I shall look forward to when I know you and your fellows better. The First
Minister has suggested that I arrange a hunt in your honour.’

‘I’m
sure that won’t be necessary,’ stammered Che, but he was already magnanimously
overruling her.

‘The
great land-fish of the Jamail have grown fat and fierce,’ he declared grandly,
‘and the Marsh folk wait only for my word before they take up their spears and
bows. No personage of distinction should be absent, for it shall be the
greatest hunt in a tenyear.’

‘Well,
that’s very kind,’ she managed. The sheer robust presence of him was
overwhelming. She was grateful when Ethmet moved her on to meet someone less
energetic.

Eventually,
of course, she was left to her own devices, with her head already leaking names
and faces and titles. Ethmet had proved the perfect, mild-mannered host
throughout, so it had been difficult to countenance all the dire warnings of
Petri Coggen. She had bearded him at the end, though, declaring, ‘The work of
the First Minister of such a great city must be hard.’

‘It is
not so,’ he had assured her modestly. ‘I am only here to give reality to the
wishes of my Masters.’

‘And how
might a poor foreigner seek an audience with those Masters?’ she had asked
carefully.

His
smile had not altered. ‘Alas it cannot be so. If they request to see you, then
so be it, but you may not petition them. They are beyond such dealings, and you
must content yourself with this poor servant.’

She had
responded to that with the necessary compliments, and all had been well. There
had not been the slightest pause in their conversation to warn her of dangerous
ground, but she had felt the pit yawning at her feet, despite it.

She
looked round to check up on the rest of her party. Manny was in close
conversation with two of the women, who Che thought were young enough to be
servants rather than Ministers. She decided it was probably the safest place to
leave him. Praeda was still sitting at the fountain, staring silently at the
waters as they swelled and leapt from their bed of coloured stones. As Che
watched, she beckoned a servant over and put some question to him. Beyond her,
Che noted the dark form of the Vekken ambassador, standing near the display of
food but obviously unwilling to risk eating any. She felt a sudden misplaced
surge of sympathy for a man so obviously out of his depth.

She was
already regretting the impulse before she reached him, but she pressed on
regardless. His glance towards her was less suspicious than usual, but only
because their strange surroundings had already stretched his capacity for
suspicion to breaking point.

‘Are you
… Is there anything you need?’ she asked him. ‘Should I introduce you to anyone
here?’

He
looked at her as though she was mad, not unreasonably given the interminable
round of meeting and greeting she herself had just endured. ‘I am waiting,’ he
replied flatly.

‘Waiting?
For?’

‘You
know what I mean.’

She
sighed, because she did. He was still waiting for the trap to be sprung. He had
been holding his breath for it, no doubt, ever since he had left Vek.
How can anyone live in such a ferment of constant hostility?
She wanted to explain to him that there was no great dark motive for their
coming here, but he would never have believed her and, besides, was that
actually true?
I have my own motives and they are not those
of my uncle, or the scholars accompanying me. Perhaps the Vekken have sensed
that
.

‘If they
wanted to kill us, it would not be by poison,’ she said tiredly. ‘We are
defenceless in their city. We would be dead if they wanted us dead.’
Deliberately, she broke off a sliver of meat and swallowed it. It was tender,
flavoured with honey, and she discovered that she was hungry enough to take a
larger piece. His eyes followed her hands as though she concealed a knife in
them.

‘We
can’t win, can we?’ she said, still chewing. She felt the sudden need to be
candid with him: his mulishness drove her to it. ‘If, at the end of the day, we
sail back to Collegium with no evidence of plots, no tricks, nothing but an
academic study, then you’ll just think that you didn’t manage to root it out,
that we hid it from you successfully. Is that it? Is there no chance of any
trust?’

He
blinked quickly three times and she saw his hand move to his sword-hilt, not to
draw the weapon but for the comfort of it. She could not put an age to him but
his naivety made him seem as young as she was. She was about to assure him that
he need not answer when he said, ‘What is it, to trust? It is to know, beyond
doubt, the heart of the other. Yet you are silent to us. Your minds throng with
all deceptions and lies, and we can never know you.’ He was quivering slightly,
still blinking rapidly. ‘How can we trust such silence?’ Almost defiantly he
grabbed for the food and, not even looking at it, forced a piece of fruit into
his mouth. Then he was gone again, stalking off into his own personal silence.
I wish I hadn’t asked
, she thought, having found out more
than she wanted to know about the Vekken.
How can mere
diplomacy hope to break through those walls?

‘The
First Minister offered to introduce us,’ said someone close behind her, ‘but I
explained that we were already old friends.’

Although
she had been half-expecting it, the voice opened a door in her mind, releasing
a flood of remembered images: a dusty chain of slaves marching from Helleron;
the interrogation rooms in the governor’s palace at Myna; the dingy back room
of Hokiak’s Exchange.

‘Thalric,’
she replied, and she turned to face him, only with reluctance. He had dressed
the part, in a pure white tunic and cloak edged with little geometric patterns
picked out in black and gold. She knew enough to look for the delicate
chainmail concealed beneath the cloth, and even without a sword his kinden
never lacked for weapons. ‘What do you want?’ she asked.

‘Diplomatic
relations?’ He smiled easily. ‘The war’s over, hadn’t you heard?’

‘I
thought it was only my side who were supposed to believe that.’

‘Oh,
good, very good.’ His glance about the room told her that their meeting was
being observed. ‘You look harassed, Che. Surely the locals aren’t getting to
you? We’ve both been in worse places than this.’

She felt
a sudden rush of frustration and, for a moment, she nearly hit him, and would
not have cared who was watching. ‘Why can’t you decide just whose side you’re
on, Thalric?’ she hissed between her gritted teeth. ‘Why keep crossing the same
old road, back and forth? You’re Empire now, aren’t you? So what do we two have
to talk about?’

She had
done it again, just as on the first time she had ever met him: ten minutes of conversation
inside his tent, and she had chanced on some random barb that had struck home
and drawn blood. She saw his face tighten, his stance change as he mentally
rolled with the blow.

‘We
could talk, for a start, about what Collegium is doing here so far from home,’
he said.

‘We
could talk about why the cursed
Empire
is here, for
that matter,’ Che countered. She had known he was here and had been waiting for
this, and yet he had caught her wholly off balance. Just seeing him and hearing
his voice, she was instantly ready for a fight, reaching for the sword she had
not brought with her. She looked into his face and saw the signs of tension
pass. His smile returned, or at least some ghost of it.

‘Well,
perhaps you can tell me why
I’m
here, and I’ll tell
you why
you’re
here,’ he suggested.

That
nearly caused her a twitch of the lips. ‘Why here, Thalric?’ she said. ‘You’re
the lord high grandee of the Empire. Surely that’s guarantee enough that I
can’t just keep running into you.’

‘Apparently
not.’ He paused, and she imagined that he was measuring the distance between
them – not the physical space, but the miles that time and allegiance had
interposed. ‘I apologize, Miss Maker … Ambassador Maker, I should say. I now
formally present myself as your … opposite number here in Khanaphes. I’m sure
your staff will see fit to call on my own staff, in due course.’ The words were
said crisply, with a blithe smile, but she detected the wintry sadness behind
them.

He
nodded his head, took a few steps back, and then turned to find someone else to
talk to. Che was left knowing there were other things she wanted to say, but
still uncertain as to what they were.

She
heard Mannerly Gorget’s braying laughter from across the room and saw him
talking now with the First Soldier of the Royal Guard. Amnon was nodding and
grinning, and she hoped Manny was not being undiplomatic. With that thought,
she looked around for Praeda, and felt a lurch in her stomach as she realized
that the woman was no longer in the hall at all.
Vanished?
Like Kadro?
She shook this dark thought off irritably and beckoned a
servant over.