The Scarab Path (30 page)

Corcoran
got himself to the quay just as the ship drew in, making himself evident in his
dark armour and shifting tabard. Though he liked to consider himself a free
spirit, there were certain people whose continued favour was essential to his
livelihood, and one such was currently on this ship.

And why is Himself taking all this so very personally?
A
simple message from Corcoran had confirmed when the Lowlanders were expected,
and the reply had come back by return:
I am coming
,
and projected times and dates.
None of my business
,
Corcoran decided.
He’s worried about the competition, no
doubt
.

Once the
dockhands had finished tying the ship off, a section of its metal-plated side
fell open to form a gangplank. Corcoran drew himself up straight as the
passengers began to disembark.

Life alive
, he marvelled.
He doesn’t
do things by halves
.

The man
in the lead wore armour of black, fluted steel: an intricate mesh of fine mail
and sliding plates, and each section cast in ridges and folds to give it more
strength for less weight. Nothing of his face showed between the slotted helm
and a high gorget. His Iron Glove tabard was edged in silver, but beyond that
it was only the sophistication of the armour itself that marked his rank.
Behind him came a full dozen Iron Glove mercenaries armoured in leathers, like
Corcoran himself, but under plain breastplates and blackened steel helms. They
all carried spears and swords, and Corcoran guessed at the disassembled
crossbows or snapbows lying hidden in their packs.

It’s not a delegation, it’s an invasion
, he thought.
Already there would be word rushing upriver towards the Scriptora, so they
would receive their official welcome soon enough.

‘Welcome
to Khanaphes, Sieur,’ he said. The eye-slit of the helm waited, and he hastily
corrected himself, ‘Sir, rather.’
And why they have to use
Imperial, rather than good honest Solarnese words, I don’t know
. ‘Are
you not hot in all that armour, sir?’

The man
gave a hollow laugh. ‘A little, but giving the right impression is important.
What is the situation here? Where do we stand?’

‘Would
you not rather retire to the factora first, sir?’

‘I’m
sure I will be required to speak with the locals shortly, so tell me what I
need to know.’

‘Well
then, nothing much has changed,’ Corcoran explained. ‘The Collegiates have been
here almost a tenday now, and they’ve been meeting with the Ministers and
poking at the statues, all what you’d expect. The only business was some kind
of midnight scuffle with some Imperial types a few days back, but nothing
further seemed to come of that.’

‘How
long has the Empire been here?’ the helm enquired.

‘Oh,
about a couple of days longer than the Lowlanders. And yes, I know, obvious
conclusions: one of them’s here to watch the other. Or both of them are.’

His
superior nodded. ‘And the Lowlander ambassador is … who I suspected?’

‘She is,
yes.’

‘So.’
There was a fierce edge to this single word that made Corcoran guess that Che
Maker was in for a complicated future. ‘Where have they put her?’

‘The old
embassies. They’ve reopened them.’

‘Make
sure you have people watching her constantly. Know where she goes, who she
meets.’ The gauntleted hands clenched.

‘Of
course, sir.’
And why’s that then?
But it was not
Corcoran’s place to ask questions of this man.

‘And now
I think we have our welcoming committee.’

Corcoran
turned to see a full score of Khanaphir guardsmen hurriedly pushing their way
through the crowds towards the docks. Although not caparisoned in the gilded
splendour of the Royal Guard, they had the great form of Amnon striding at
their head. They halted and formed up at a respectful distance as the two
groups of armed men watched each other cautiously. Corcoran, caught in the
middle, began to feel exposed.

‘Now
then, who have we here?’ boomed Amnon as he stepped forward. When he came to
stand before Corcoran’s master he seemed quite oblivious of the spear-tipped
ranks poised ready to close on him. ‘Iron Glove, then?
More
of you? We’re a little taken aback, my good friends, since we were not
expecting such numbers. Our hospitality may not stretch to it.’

‘We
don’t need much,’ replied the Iron Glove leader, as he tilted his helm back,
revealing a tan-brown face with that slight mismatching of feature that spoke
of mixed blood.

‘You
must think our streets very dangerous, to come in such numbers,’ Amnon
murmured. His countenance was all good humour, but Corcoran could sense his
displeasure, ready to make a fight of this if the Iron Glove’s answers did not
satisfy him.

I only hope they read everything I wrote to them about how to
deal with the Khanaphir
, he thought. Corcoran wanted to edge away, to
slip out of that invisible line of tension strung between the city guard and
the mercenary newcomers, but he had an image to maintain. The Iron Glove did
not show fear.

‘The
world’s not safe. Without these men I’d not have arrived at all,’ the Iron
Glove leader replied. ‘Indeed, some pirates saw our little trading coaster here
and marked it as an easy prize.’

Amnon
nodded. ‘And did you outrun them …?’

‘They
discovered their mistake.’

‘I hate
pirates.’ Amnon’s face split in a grin. ‘Those that dare strike near the mouth
of the Jamail are the rightful prey of my ships. I am glad to hear you sent
them to the bottom.’

‘Not at
all. I put men on their vessel and had them sail her back to Porta Rabi. We of
the Iron Glove are well known as traders, and wealthy ones. We become targets,
by land or sea. We show them in exchange that we who sell war can use what we
trade in. That way they will soon realize that we always fight, and that any
attacks will cost them more than they could ever gain from us.’ He glanced back
at his followers, still standing at the ready. ‘So there you have the reason
for this force. As for my men, they can lodge here on the ship, or wherever you
wish in the city.’

‘I will
have rooms prepared at your factora,’ Amnon decided. He had been nodding with
approval throughout the man’s speech, and with these words the tension eased,
his guards standing down with a tiny shuffle of feet. ‘Well then, allow me to
welcome you to our city. I am Amnon, First Soldier among the Royal Guard.’

The Iron
Glove commander threw a brief glance at Corcoran for confirmation, before
announcing, ‘Ah, so we have a gift for you, I believe.’

Amnon
nodded. ‘That is no surprise to me, after all the measuring and prying that
your man here has done.’

‘It may
surprise you yet,’ the Iron Glove man remarked. ‘I am glad to be here in your
city.’ He thrust forward his armoured hand and clasped Amnon’s larger one. ‘My
name is Totho, once of Collegium. I think you have some of my kin here.’

‘Apparently there’s going to be a hunt of some kind,’ Manny reported. The
other Collegiates looked up from their breakfast in mild interest. ‘Their big
fellow, Amnon, came round yesterday while you were all out,’ he went on. ‘We’re
all invited. In fact it’s in our honour. I, for one, am looking forward to it.’

‘Are you
sure you’re feeling well?’ Berjek asked him. ‘This hunt, presumably it will
involve some manner of exertion – running around or that kind of thing. Not
your favourite pastime at all, I would have thought.’

‘Very
funny.’ The fat man gave him a sour look. ‘I am a natural historian and a
cartographer, do not forget. Neither of which I can do much about while sitting
idly here in this city. I want to go out and make a few sketches, and this hunt
sounds like the best chance I’ll get – anyway, it’s on the river and so all
I’ll have to do is recline in a boat while some local beauty fans me with a
frond or something.’

‘Some
local
bald
beauty,’ Berjek pointed out.

Manny’s
expression remained supremely unconcerned. ‘I happen to find that quite
attractive.’

‘Are you
planning to deflower the entire female population of Khanaphes before we’re
done here?’ Praeda asked testily.

‘They
don’t object.’

‘They’ve
probably been warned that their families will be executed if they don’t indulge
the important foreigners,’ she said. ‘That’s the only way I can account for
it.’

‘Trallo,
what sort of hunt is this likely to be?’ Berjek turned to the Fly. ‘Dangerous?’

‘Could
be, if you get too close,’ Trallo replied. He had been idle recently, his work
in Khanaphes already done, and Che suspected he might soon ask for his pay and
take his leave. ‘They usually put the spectators out in mid-river where they
can watch safely, while the real business goes on in the shallows or on the
shore. Of course, they’ll respect you all the more if you ask to take part.’

Petri
Coggen appeared just then, bleary-eyed. Che studied her with a matching
expression. Her own dreams had been bad again, too, but Che remembered only
fragments. When she awoke the ghost was boiling in the air beside her bed and,
in conjunction with her latest nightmare, she had not been able to suppress a
scream. Its seething frustration was palpable: she could feel its thoughts, and
they were all contempt and rage at being trapped, and all directed at her, for
keeping it so.

‘I’m
sorry!’ she had cried out to it. ‘Please, tell me what to do!’

But
instantly it had been gone, just as Trallo had burst in, half-dressed and with
a crossbow in his hands.

I can’t take much more of this
, she thought. This city
that had promised so much had betrayed her, and she was falling apart.

Praeda
and Berjek were heading out into the city again. Che was still not quite sure
what they were looking for, and she guessed that neither were they. Once they
were out of the door, Manny laughed vaguely. ‘She might come over all Mistress
Detached, but I know something she doesn’t. Remember that party at the, what’s
the place called?’

‘The
Scriptora,’ Che supplied.

‘Right.
Their man Amnon, he had some interesting questions to ask me.’

At the
mention of the name, Petri shuddered, but Manny was too concerned with his
story to notice.

‘He was
asking me, you see, whether our Praeda Rakespear had a man back home.’ He
smirked. ‘I think he thought that she and I might be … you know, but when he
found out we weren’t, he was asking if there was anyone else. I think our big
dumb brute has taken a liking to the Cold One.’

‘And you
wouldn’t have encouraged him in that at all?’ Trallo tried to sound stern, but
could not hide his grin.

‘Perish
the thought.’ Manny winked.

Tiring
of this conversation, Che caught Petri’s eye and jerked her head towards the
next room.

Out of
earshot of the others, she said firmly, ‘Today, Petri.’ It had been several
days since she had first made her request, and she knew that Petri was trying
to put her off.

‘I’m
really not—’

‘Today,’
Che repeated quietly. She sat down on a canvas-covered stool. ‘You are not the
only one of us this city is destroying.’

‘You
don’t understand.’ Petri actually knelt before her. ‘This thing, it is banned
by the Masters … the Ministers, I mean. It is illegal. What would they think if
they found you …? They call the very practice “the Profanity”.’

In Che’s
mind the ghost howled again, and Achaeos’s blank eyes held only hatred. She
could feel her hands shaking, ever so slightly.
I will
break
, she decided,
if I cannot claw some release
from this city
. ‘I don’t care,’ she told Petri. ‘Let that be my worry.’
The words tasted foul in her mouth.

‘But the
people … you must see, the people who practise Profanity, they are criminals,
outlaws, outcasts. If you venture among them, they might just cut your throat.’

‘I am
looking for mystics, whatever shabby oracles and seers this place can throw
up,’ Che said stubbornly, ‘not for some den of murderers.’

‘They
take their mysticism very seriously here. If the guard caught them, they would
be executed. It is … a vice, an illegal pleasure.
Fir
,
they call it.’

‘Fear?’

‘Fir,’
Petri pronounced it more carefully. ‘But it is not like taking some Spiderlands
drug, or exotic women, or that kind of vice. There is … a whole under-society
based around it, and they are mad, unpredictable. They might kill you on the
spot – you can never tell. Kadro, he was good with such people, but he still
didn’t like to go looking for the Fir-eaters.’

Che
clenched her fists in frustration. She felt as though she was already
experiencing withdrawal from some drug, cut off from a normality that she had
breathed and eaten and slept with for twenty years.
I
cannot be doing what I am now doing. I am Cheerwell Maker, scholar of the Great
College, citizen of Collegium, niece of Master Stenwold Maker. I am no
criminal. Give me some other way to turn!

‘But
they
are
mystics, or at least they talk like mystics
do, about the past, and … impossible things,’ Petri continued hoarsely. ‘I do
not know who else there is.’

‘Then
take me to them,’ Che demanded, before she could change her mind.

*

The man
Petri found was a starved-looking Khanaphir. He was bare-chested and Che could see
each of his ribs distinctly beneath that taut skin. It was clear that
sustenance came second to some greater love in his life.

They met
him at an ‘open house’ near the docks, meaning a place where the locals offered
drink and other services to foreign mariners, so that they would not be tempted
to venture any further into the city. The place was crowded, squalid, the outer
shell of an older building fitted out with as many benches and tables as
possible. Solarnese and Dragonfly and Spider-kinden sat shoulder to shoulder,
and argued and drank and brawled.