SHADOWSOFTHEAPT

BOOKFIVE

TheScarabPath

ADRIAN

TCHAIKOVSKY

TOR

Contents

Part1

OneTwoThreeFourFive

SixSevenEight

Part2

NineTenElevenTwelve

Part3

Thirteen

FourteenFifteenSixteenSeventeenEighteenNineteenTwenty

Twenty-OneTwenty-TwoTwenty-ThreeTwenty-FourTwenty-FiveTwenty-SixTwenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Part4

Twenty-NineThirty

Thirty-OneThirty-TwoThirty-ThreeThirty-FourThirty-FiveThirty-SixThirty-SevenThirty-Eight

Thirty-NineForty

Forty-OneForty-TwoForty-ThreeForty-FourForty-Five

Glossary

Part1

TheRoadtoKhanaphes

One

HewasKadro,MasterKadroof the Great College of thecityofCollegium,whichwashalf a world away and nohelptohimnow.AlittleFly-kinden man, long hair goinggrey and face unshaven,waiting for the pitchest darkbefore beginning his work.

Oh, Ihavestrivenallmy lifeagainst the way my race isseen. The perception of Fly-kinden as thieves, as rogues,as a feckless, rootlessunderclass in any city youcared to name. He hadthought that he was beyondthat, Master Kadro theantiquarian and historian,whohadstoodbeforeaclassof twenty avid scholars andpropounded his learning. Hehadstoodonabox,certainly,

so as to be seen over thelectern,buthehadstoodtherenonetheless.Andherehewas, skulking

like a villain as the eveningdrew on and the city belowhimgrewquietandstill.Thefarmers would have come infrom their fields by now.They would be lighting thebeaconsalong thegreatwall.They would eventually begoingtosleep.Thosesentriesthatremainedwouldbeblind

to the night hanging beyondtheir small fires.Kadro,whocould see in the dark as thelocals could not, would thenstrike.Itwasapoorwayforaguesttotreathishosts,buthewasbeginningtobelievethathis hosts had not beenentirelyhonestwithhim.

We sighted thewallsofKhanaphestoday. After thewastelandsitwasa

view to take thebreath away.Goldenstoneraisedhigher than thewalls of Collegiumor of any Ant city-state – and withstatuespiledonthat– architecturallybewildering but,given the peoplethat live here, Isuppose it’s notsurprising. Huge

buildings andbroad avenues;every majorbuildingconstructed vastlyout of scale. For amanofmystatureitwas daunting –even for the localsit must make themfeel like midgets.Beyond the walls,the strip of greenthat is the river’s

attendant foliagerunsnorth,asinglechannel of life inthedesert.Everyone

apparently pleasedto see us –especially pleasedtoseePetri–muchpolite interest inCollegium but alittlestandoffish,asthough news of acity inhabited by

their close kin wassomething theyheard every otherday.Eveningof thefirst day, and weseem to have beenabsorbed– foundaplace and nowgenteelly ignored,as the life ofKhanaphes movesaround us like asedate and well-oiledmachine.’

Kadro reread it with ashakeofhishead.HowlittleIknew, then. Crouching highabovetheplaza,withitsgreathollowed pyramid, hewatched the torches of apatrol pass indolently by.Hehad not been noticed, eitherin absence or by presence.His heart was hammering.Thissneakingaroundwasnothis trade.Thedeftnessof theFly-kinden,hisbirthright,hadmouldered for a good long

while before being given anairingnow.Hewasluckyhiswingsstillworked.Howtheywouldscoffatme,backhome.Collegiumbornandbred,andlivingamongstthecumbrous,grounded Beetle-kinden allhis life, he had almostforgotten that he was morethanapedestrianhimself.Now! he told himself, but

still he did not go, lockinginto place instead, clutchingflat against the stone like a

badly rendered piece ofsculpture. They were madkeenontheircarvingshereinKhanaphes. It was obviouslythe main outlet for all theirstuntedcreativity,hedecided.They could never leave astone surface blank whenthey could chisel intricatelittlestoriesandhistoriesintoit. Histories that revealednothing.Storiesthathintedateverything. This whole citywas just a maddening riddle

created specifically to driveanagingFly-kindenacademicinsane. And here was theculminationofhisinsanity.It was totally dark now.

Therewasapatchyspreadofcloud above, too, which hadrecommendedtonighttohim:a rare occurence out here onthe fringes of this namelessdesert. Nameless in the eyesof Collegium, anyway. In alifetime of poring over theoldest of maps, Kadro had

seldom come across the cityof Khanaphes. The nameexistedonly in thoseancient,unintelligiblescrawls that theMoth-kinden left behind,after the revolution hadforcedthemout.ThemapsofBeetle merchant venturersbarely admitted to itsexistence, barely gave itcredenceorfixedlocation,asthough some conspiracy ofcartographers existed todenythat a city called Khanaphes

had ever taken physicalshape.East, somewhere east,thestoriesran:acityfoundedby the Beetle-kinden, andwhose name, to those fewacademics who cared, wasinseparable from legend andInaptfancy.And here he was, looking

over thiscity, thisgreat riverJamail with its acres ofmarshy delta and the desertthatthelocalscalledtheNem–allnothingbutnamestothe

academicsofCollegium,untilnow.It was the war, he knew,

that had opened up so muchmore of the wider world totheLowlands.Suddenlytherehad been a lot of new facesseen in the city, in theCollege even: Imperialdiplomats and their slaves ofmany kinden, Solarnese Fly-kinden or the sandy-skinnednear-Beetles they bred there,SpiderlandsAristoi,andeven

the occasional broodingCommonwealer. The worldwas bigger than it had everbeen, and yet Kadro hadfoundnew territory still.Theever-talking Solarnese hadeventually got around tocomparing maps, and there,lying at the edge of theirworld, had been the windingblue line of a river with ajewel at its mouth:Khanaphes.He shifted on his high

perch,diggingfingersintothereliefs to keep his balance.Theybuildhighhere,yettheynever look up. Rents in thecloud passed bands of silvermoonlightover theScriptora,thebig,broodingmausoleumthat servedKhanaphesas theseatofitsadministration.Theember glow of a rush-lightwas visible in one highwindow as some clerkcontinued working all hoursfor the implacable

bureaucracyheserved.Belowthe window rose greatcolumns that supported thebuilding’s facade, carvedfrom huge slabs of stone toresemble scaly cycads. Thiswas such a serious city,where nobody hurried andeveryone was busy, and itwas all just an act. He wassureofthatbynow.Itwasalltotakeone’sattentionoffthefact that therewassomethingmissing from the public face

of Khanaphes. The city wasintrinsicallyhollow.

This city ofcontradictions. Tofind an outpost ofwhat should becivilizationallthesemiles east ofSolarno, untouchedby the WaspEmpire, untouchedby the squabbles ofthe Exalsee or the

machinationsof theSpiders … and yettofindituntouched,also,bytime.Khanaphes has

welcomed me, andyet excluded me.Petri does not feelit, but she wasalways a dull tool.Thereisadarknessat the heart of thiscity,anditcallsforme.

Last night’s entry. Heshould have left this journalwithPetri,justincase.The heart of Khanaphes

yawned for him, hereoverlooking this grand plaza.They liked their space, here.After theyhadwonavictoryagainst the Many of Nem,they had paraded theirchariots all around thissquare,theirsoldiersandtheirbanners,beforeimmortalizingtheir own triumph on further

expanses of stone. But whohad they been parading for?Not for the ministers, whohad stood with heads bowedthroughout; not for thecommon people of the city,who had been away at theirdailytasks.Ithadbeenfortheothers.There were others. Kadro

was convinced of that now.Theywerespokenofsooftenthat their name becamemeaningless, and therefore

theywerenever truly spokenofatall,asifheldsoclosetothefacethattheycouldnotbefocused on. Here was theheart, though. If Khanapheswas holding a secret, then itwashereinthetombs.In the centre of the plaza

stood the pyramid. It was asquat thing, rising just thirtyfeet in giant steps, and wassliced off broadly at the top,to provide a summit ringedwith huge statues. From his

high vantage, a vantage thatthe structure’s earth-boundbuilders could never haveenjoyed,Kadrocouldseethatwithin the ring of statues’silent vigil there was a pit,descending into a darknessthathiseyeshadyettopierce.It was the great unspokenwhat at the centre ofKhanaphes, and tonight heintendedtoplumbit.Abellrangdeepwithinthe

city, maybe a late ship

warning the docks of itsapproach.The sound tookupallofthenight,lowanddeepas wells, for the bells ofKhanaphir ships were ashugelyoutofscaleastherestof the city. Aside from thefaint scratchings of cricketsand cicadas from theriverbanks,therewasnoothersoundinthedarkness.Petri would already be

looking for him. Bytomorrow she would be

asking questions of theirhosts, in her well-meaningand perplexed manner. Shewould bumble about andmake a mild nuisance ofherself, and yet be utterly,patently oblivious to whatwasgoingon.Thatwasgood.It meant that, if somethingbad happened to him, if hewas caught, then they wouldnot suspect her of anycomplicity. He hoped thatwasthecase,anyway.Hehad

noguarantees.With a flicker and flare of

his wings he coasted gentlydowntostandbetweentwoofthe statues. The Khanaphirreallylovedtheirstatues,andthesewere huge and strange.Ithadbeentheexpressionontheir white stone faces thathad drawn him here in thefirst place. They knowsomething. They were olderthantherest,andbigger thanmost, and better made, and

different. There was no manorwomaninKhanapheswhocould lay claim to thosebeautiful, arrogant andsoullesssmiles.He now crouched between

the pyramid summit’s edgeand the pit. The same rush-light ember still glinted in ahigh-up window of theScriptora, that diligent clerkhard at work. Or perhaps itwas a spy, trackingKadro inthedarkness?TheFly-kinden

huddledcloser,trustingtothebulkof thestatuestoconcealhim. They would have comeforme,bynow, if theyknew.He had no choice but tobelieve it. They had a wordhere: reverence. It was notthe word that the Collegiumscholars thought they knew:here it carried tomes ofunspoken fears. It wasstampedonallthemindsandfacesofKhanaphes.He peered down

cautiously, into the black.The shaft fell into a gloomthat even his eyes wrestledwith. The Royal Tombs ofKhanaphes, he told himself,andKadro ofCollegiumwillbe thefirstoutlander toenterthereinathousandyears.Thethought brought a rush ofexcitement that dispelled thefear. He had always been aman to dig in strange places.Back in Collegium he hadbeen a bit of a maverick,

dashingallovertheLowlandsto look at unusual rocks ortalk to wizened mystics.There had always beenmethod in his research,though,ashenegotiatedwithgrimMoth-kindenorbandiedwords with shrewd Spiders.Therehadalwaysbeenatrailto follow and, although hecould not have known at thestart,thattrailledhere.All around him the statues

keptsilentguard,andheeven

summonedcourageenoughtogrinatthem.IftheKhanaphirhadwanted to keep him out,they should have posted alivingwatch here. Thewhitefaces stared impassively outinto the night over thesleepingcity.Kadro hunched cautiously

atthetopofthesteps,staringdownwards. Fly-kinden hadno fear of darkness orconfining walls. They weresmall and nimble, and left to

their own devices they builtcomplex warrens of narrowtunnels, impossible for largerfolktonavigate.Therewasacoldbreathcomingfromthatholebelowhim,though:chilland slightly damp, and hewondered whether the tombsconnectedtotheriver.No matter. He had not

dared this much only to fallvictim to his ownimagination. He shifted thestrapofhissatchelandtooka

deep breath. Into history, hespurredhimself.He glanced across the pit

and saw one of the statuesstaringathim,itsblindwhiteeyes open at last, and nowdarker than the night skybehind. Something movedclose by, and he gave out ahoarseshoutandcalleduphiswings to take flight, but bythenitwasalreadytoolate.

Two

It was all over before theyarrived,thecharredwoodandash gone cold, and just thesmoke still drifting into acloudless sky. The sail-mill,the warehouse, the miller’shome, everything had beensystematically razed. By thetime word was rushed to

Collegium by theneighbouring hamlet, itwould already have been toolatetostopit.Stenwold stared at the

ruins,hishandshookedinthebeltofhisartificer’sleathers.Themillerandhisfamilyandstaffwould all be dead. Thiswas the third attack to occurhereabouts and the patternwas dismaying in itsprecision. Around him theguardsmen from Collegium

were fanning outwards fromthe automotive, some withtheir shields held high andothers with snapbows at theready.‘Youthinkwedidthis.’He looked around to see

one of the Vekkenambassadors staring at him.The Ant-kinden’s expressionwas one of barely controlleddislike. The man’s handrested on his sword-hilt asthough he was waiting for a

reason to slice Stenwoldopen. Stenwold was wearingabreastplateoverhisleathersandhewasgladofit.‘I don’t think anything as

yet,’ he replied patiently. Alot of effort had beeninvolvedinthereevenbeingaVekken here to talk to, andmostofitwashiswork.‘Yet you have broughtme

here for a reason,’ the mansaid. He was smaller thanStenwold, shorter, stockily

athleticwheretheBeetlewasbroad. Hewould be strongerthan Stenwold too. His skinwas dark, not the tan of theSarneshorthedeepbrownofStenwold’sownpeople,butaslightlyshinyobsidianblack.‘You insisted on coming

with us,’ Stenwold remindedhim,‘sowebroughtyou.’Hebit back anything else.‘Touchy’ was anunderstatement, with theVekken. Stenwold’s men

were moving cautiouslyfurther out. There was stillenough cover left, in fallenmasonry and half-standingwalls, to conceal somebanditsor…No bandit work, this. But

who,then?Collegiumhaditsenemies, more than everbefore, but there wascurrently supposed to be ageneral peace. Someoneclearly had not beeninformed.

Heheardascrapeandscuffas the automotive disgorgedits last passenger. His niecehesitated in the hatchway,looking unwell. She shookherheadathimashemadeamovetowardsher.‘Just give me a moment,’

she said, as she eyed thewreck of the mill bleakly.‘Thisisbad,isn’tit?’‘Quite bad, yes.’ Seeing

the officer of his guardsmenbackingtowardshim,hesaid,

‘Che, would you look afterourVekkenfriendherewhileI see to something.’ He hadnotmeanttoputsomuchofastressontheword,but ithadcomeoutthatway.Chedroppedtotheground

and staggered, beforecatching her balance. Thejourneyhadbeenhardonher.The Vekken was staring ather, but if her discomfortmeantanythingtohim,itwaslostinagenericexpressionof

distaste for all thingsCollegiate.‘Do you think …?’ His

look did not encouragediscussionbutshepressedon.‘Doyouthinksomeonecouldbe causing trouble betweenourcities?’ In theabsenceofa reply, she added, ‘We arewest of Collegium here, andVekistheclosestport.’‘AsIsaid,youbelievethis

isourwork,’theVekkensaidflatly.

‘Che, get back in theautomotive,’ Stenwold saidsuddenly. ‘You too …’ Helooked at the Vekken andobviously could not put aname to him. The Vekkensquared off against him,wanting to seewhateverwasbeinghiddenfromhim.‘Now!’ Stenwold shouted,

and then everything went topieces. Without a sound,there were men popping upfrom all sides, their

crossbows already clackingand thrumming. Everyshadowy corner of themill’swreck that could afford ahiding place was disgorgingattackers. One of Stenwold’ssoldiers was down in thatinstant, another reeling backwith a bolt through the leg.All aroundwas the sound ofmissiles blunting themselvesagainstshields,orrattlingoffthe automotive’s armouredhull.

‘Pull in!’ the officershouted. ‘Protect the WarMaster!’‘Uncle Sten!’ Che cried.

She was already halfwayback inside the automotive,an arm reaching out for him,whenshenoticedtheVekkenambassadorwas sprawled onhis back. Amoment later hewas lurching to his feet, buthehadaboltembeddeduptoits metal fletchings in hisshoulder.His swordwasout,

offhanded,buthedidnothingbutstandthereinplainview.She rushed over to him, gotherhandonhisshoulder.He cut viciously at her. If

not for his wound, he mighthaveloppedherarmoffattheelbow. She retreated, seeinghimloomoverherwithbladeraised, at that momentprepared to kill her withoutanother thought. She was anenemy of his race and haddared to touch him.Hemust

reallyhavebeenwhatpassedfor a Vekken diplomat,however, because he letsomethingstayhishand.‘Get inside the

automotive!’ she urged him.‘Please!’‘I am in no danger,’ he

replied, and she thought shehad misheard him at first,barely catching the wordsover the shouting. Stenwoldcollided backwards into theautomotive’s side with a

curse, as a soldier thrust himback, one-handed.Therewasa bolt lodged through theman’s left arm, and with hisother hand he pressed hissnapbowintoChe’sgrip.‘Take it and use it. Come

on,MasterMaker!’‘Wait!’Stenwoldcrouched

lower.‘Wait–lookatthem!’The attackers had mostly

stopped shooting now, andinstead were forming up aline of shields, preparing to

rush in and finish the job.Meanwhile the automotive’sdriver was pointedly lettingthe steam engine whine andrumble,asiftryingtogettheidea of escape across. Chelookeddownat thesnapbow,glinting fully loaded in herhands.IfonlyIcould.Butitwasa

deadweight, useless to her.She dropped it into theautomotive’swaitinghold.‘Look at them!’ Stenwold

wasshouting,pointingforthebenefitof theVekkenenvoy,and Cheerwell suddenlyrealized what he meant. Theline of attackers, who weremoving in even as theCollegium guard tightenedaround the automotive, wereall Ant-kinden. Specifically,theywereAnt-kindenofVek.‘They are a detachment

from Tactician Akalia’sforce,’ the Vekken – theirVekken – explained. ‘They

aremerely obeying their lastorder, which was to harassCollegium in any waypossible.’‘Buttheyshotyou!’‘My people are skilled

soldiers.’ The Vekkensounded insulted. ‘I had notime to announce mypresence to thembefore theycommencedtheirambush.’Stenwold was shouting

now. ‘Then tell them you’rehere,youfool!’

‘They are already aware,’said the Vekken, as anothervolley of crossbow boltsdrove the Collegium menfurther back towards thevehicle. ‘They have advisedmetoleavebeforetheybegintheirshield-charge.’Stenwold reached for him

in frustration, but thenthought better of it. ‘Tellthem that the war is over.You’reanambassador–Vekis sending ambassadors to

Collegium,forWaste’ssake!’‘I donothave authority to

countermand a Tactician’sorder.’At that moment Stenwold

wasphysicallyshovedfurtherinto the shelter of theautomotive’s hatch by theinjured soldier. ‘Tell them!’he roareddesperately. ‘Don’tyou think that if your Kingwasherehewouldorderthemtostop?’The idea of second-

guessingtheMonarchofVekwas obviously beyondconsideration for thisparticular Vekken. He juststood there, staring atStenwold with patentloathing.The guardsmen hadnow raised a cordon ofshields around him andCheerwell,withsnapbowmenducking down behind it toreload,thenupagaintoshoot.Chenoticedthattherewereagood few Vekken dead as

well,astheboltstorethroughtheirshieldsandarmourboth.‘Well?’ Stenwold

demanded. ‘Can’t you admittologic,justthisonce?’‘Your men are the only

ones still shooting,’ theVekkenobserved.Stenwold forced his way

out of the automotive again.‘Put up your bows!’ hecalled.‘Hold!’The Collegium soldiers

waited tensely, the

snapbowmen with theirweapons still levelled abovethe shields of their fellows.The Vekken force mirroredthem, big shields steady,crossbows loadedandaimed.There was a long, fraughtpausewhile Stenwold caughthisbreath.‘We cannot go on like

this,’hedeclaredat last.TheVekkenambassadoreyedhimasthoughhewasmad.‘Putupyourbows,’hesaid

again without anger,soundingonlytired.The officer repeated the

orderwithobviousreluctanceand the barrels of thesnapbowslifted.‘What is going on?’

Stenwoldasked.‘As Ihavesaid, thesemen

were given their last ordersbefore Tactician Akalia’sforce was defeated.’ Thatdefeatwas obviously a bittermemoryfortheVekken.

‘Andnow?’‘They will seek further

instructions,ontheoffchancethat their orders will now bechanged.’‘Off chance?’ Stenwold

exploded.The Vekken’s expression

suggested that attackingCollegiumagriculturewasaneminently appropriate thingfor bands ofVekken soldierstobedoing.‘Andarethereanymoreof

thesesoldiers?’There was a pause while

the Vekken remained silent,obviously communing mind-to-mind with his kinsmen.‘Yes,’ he replied at last. AsStenwold drew breath tospeak he said, ‘I havesuggested, as an officer ofVek, that this bandrecommend they too seeknew orders. I have noabsolute authority, however,and they may disagree with

myassessment.’Andyousecretlyhopethey

will.Stenwoldfeltanurgetostrangle the man. Hecautioned himself:Diplomacy, remember. Hehad tried so hard, so veryhard, to make things work.He had started with thispremise:theyarepeople,justasweare,butheshouldhaveknownbetter.Sincethenhe’dhad plenty of cause toremember that Ant-kinden

were not remotely like thesortofpeopleheunderstood.The Vekken were now

attending to their wounded.‘Do youwantme to providethemwithdoctors?’Stenwoldasked, seeing theopportunityforapeaceoffering.‘TheyrequirenoCollegiate

doctor,’ the Vekkenambassador snapped,withouthesitation.‘At least let us attend to

yourwoundthen…’

The look he received waspoisonous. ‘My own peoplewilltendtomeinduecourse.For now, should we not bereturning,asyouhavesolvedyourmystery?’Stenwoldtooktenminutes’

respite from diplomacy, asthe automotive began torumble its way back toCollegium,tothinkeveryvilethought he could about boththe city of Vek and itsbloody-minded inhabitants.

Afterthatsatisfactionheleantforward toaddress theenvoyagain.‘Do you at least see now,

though,whyyourpresenceinour city is so necessary?Misunderstandings occur sovery easily, between ourpeople. Surely you mustunderstand that there is noneed for this violence, notanymore?’There was no hint of

understanding in the

Vekken’s face, in fact noexpression of any kind.Stenwoldsighedagain.‘YouarehereinCollegium

for a purpose.’ A purposeother than spying on us,surely,headdedtohimself.‘Master Maker,’ the

Vekken replied, ‘we are herefornow,buthowlongdoyouthink your plan will work?We are here because youhave spoken so many wordsthat some within our city

have become curious. Weknow that your people hateus.Weknowthatsupportforyou in your ruling bodywanes. Matters will soonresume their natural course.What do you hope toaccomplish?’It was a surprisingly long

speech, for one of his kind.Stenwold sat back andreflected. The Vekkeninitiative had been his idea,true, and almost a single-

handed effort. He had tradeda lot of the prestige he hadaccumulated during the warfor this chance at a lastingpeace.Andhe’sright,thebastard.

He sees it very clear. Itwouldn’t takemuchofashiftofopinionintheAssemblytohave us rattling our spearsagain.TheVekkenwaslookingat

him without expression,except for a tiny wince of

paineachtimetheautomotivejolted. The studied loathingstill evident in his eyespresagedthefuture.

Three

‘Khanaphes,’ said MasterJodryDrillenand,althoughitwas twelve years since themanhadbeenateacherattheCollege, Stenwold still heardin his head the squeak ofchalkonslate.‘Khanaphes, indeed,’ he

murmured. The two of them

had appropriated one of thesmaller conference rooms attheAmphiophos.Nearby, theAssembly, the great electedmobthatgovernedandfailedtogovernCollegiuminequalmeasures, had only recentlyfinishedsitting.‘Somethingmustbedone.’

Master Drillen was a great,fat Beetle-kinden man a fewyears Stenwold’s senior. Hehad exchanged academia forpolitics years ago and never

looked back, his influenceand waist expanding intandem as though by somedemonstrable formula ofstatesmanship. At themoment he wore a littlegreying goatee beard in theSpider style,whichStenwoldthoughtlookedridiculousbutwas apparently all thefashion.Stenwold shrugged. ‘The

cityofKhanaphesisaliving,breathing city, rather than

something consigned to thehistories of the Inapt. That’sno great surprise, is it?Afterall, the Moths left us withonly the scraps from theirtable, academically speaking.Nowonder,fivecenturieson,we’re still rediscoveringthings that they have knownallalong.Asforwhatyoucanmean with your “Somethingmust be done” then it’ssimply one more field ofstudy for the College

geographers, unless you’renow proposing going to wartowipe itoff themap. Ithasbeen only recently added bythe cartographers. The paintis probably still wet.’ It wasnow two tendays after theincident at the mill, andStenwold was feeling, atleast, a bit more rested. Anygood humour these daysseemed to be fleeting, so hemadeanyuseofithecould.‘Sophist.’Drillengavehim

a grin that was surprisinglyboyish. ‘You know why thisisimportant.’‘DoI?’‘It’s all the fault of the

Solarnese,ofcourse,allthosesquabbling little provincialshuddledaroundtheExalsee–whyareyoulaughingnow?’‘Those “squabbling little

provincials” have beenteaching our artificers thingswewouldn’thaveworkedoutfor another ten years,’

Stenwoldsaidmildly.‘Butdogo on. You were blamingthemforsomething.’One of Drillen’s servants

arrived just then, havingfinallytrackeddowntherightvintage in the Assembly’scellars,andthetwostatesmentook a moment to sip itappreciatively. ‘TheSolarnese,’ said Drilleneventually, ‘with their stupidnames with all those extravowels … what was that

ambassador they sent? Ohyes, he wrote it asCaidhreigh, but then whenyou introduced him it turnedout he was called Cathray.Anyway, everyone seemsagreednowthatthey’resomekindofstablehalfbreedstock,Ant-kinden and Beetle-kinden combined. You canseeitintheirfaces,andmostespecially you can see it intheir Art, after we finallyconvinced them to talkabout

it. They’re like those otherfellows you were alwaysbangingonabout.’‘Myna,’Stenwoldagreed.‘Exactly. But they’re

obviouslynorelationbecauseof their skin colour, and sotheethnologistsstartedasking“Where did they comefrom?”’‘Nobodycaredwhenitwas

justMyna,’Stenwoldsaid.‘Two reasons,old soldier.’

Drillen enumerated them on

his chubby fingers. ‘One:publicattitudesweredifferentback then. Two: Myna’swithin spittingdistanceofanAnt city-state – and not sovery far from Helleron. Nomysteries there, then. Thereare no Beetle-kinden aroundthe Exalsee, and yet theethnologists are adamant intheir conclusions, so whencethe Solarnese? Well, ofcourse, we ask them thatquestion, when politeness

permits, and they show ustheir maps, and tell us theirearliest word-of-mouthrecords say their ancestorscame from Khanaphes. TheBeetle-kinden city ofKhanaphes, no less, just assome of our ancient-historyfellowshavebeenbangingonaboutforages.Sonoweveryscholar in that field ispublishinghis flightsofutterfancy, saying that we camefrom there, that they came

from here, all manner oflunacy.ItmakesyouwishtheMoths had been just a littlemore forthcoming with theirmenials, before therevolution. If there’s onething a man of the Collegehatesit’sfeelingignorant.’‘You are still a scholar at

heart then?’ Stenwold said.‘Thatamazesme.Ihappentoagree with you, but I’msurprised that a man ofimportance like yourself can

still find time to concernhimself with such abstruseacademicmatters.’‘There is more at stake

here than scholarship,’Drillen said fiercely. ‘Youmustbeawarethatpeoplearelooking at the world in adifferent way now, after thewar.Forme, I’d justas sooneveryone went back to notreallycaringwhat layeastofTark and north of Helleron,despite all the trouble that

attitudehascausedus,butit’stoo late now. Go into anytaverna in thecityandyou’llhear scribes and guardsmenand manual labourers alltalking about places likeMaynes and theCommonweal and bloodySolarno, as though theywereplanning on going theretomorrow.’ Drillen wasbecoming quite excited now.Stenwoldsippedhiswineandwatchedhimwithinterest.

‘Andtheromances!’thefatman continued. ‘Have youanyideahowmanytalentlessclerks are writing “true”romances boasting of theirsupposed travels in distantlands? And still the printinghouses can’t get them to thebooksellers fast enough tosatisfy public demand.Everyonewantstoreadaboutforeigners,andI’llwagerthatnot one of those peoplewriting about them has so

much as stepped outsideCollegium’s walls. It’s alllies, but people are gobblingit whole. Foreign isfashionable. People arefalling over themselves to bemore misinformed than theirneighbours about distantlands. And then there’sMasterBroiler.’Stenwold pressed his lips

together, locking away hisautomaticreactiontotheveryname. The fact that Broiler

had always been his vocalpolitical opponent wassomething Stenwold couldlive with: such free debatewas after all the cornerstoneof Collegium governance.However, he had his ownsuspicions about preciselywho had bought the man’sloyalties.‘What is Broiler doing

now?’‘Courting public support,

as usual, by pandering to the

latest fashion.’ Drillenreached into his robes andcame out with a smudgilyprinted volume whose titleproudly proclaimed MasterHelmessBroiler,HisAtlasofthe Known World and HisAccount of His TravelsTherein.‘The shameless fraud,’

growled Stenwold, thehistorian in him genuinelyshocked.‘Quite,’ Drillen agreed.

‘He’s taken every damnmaphe could copy from thelibrary, put them all togetherin no particular order, eventhe ones that are obviouslymade-uporwrong,andcalledit “The World”. And he’swritten about his incredibleadventures, this man whowould get lost just walkingfrom his house to themarketplace. I swear thatHelleron appears in threedifferent places in his so-

called “Known World”, andon at least one of the mapshe’s got the sea and the landthe wrong way round. Andyouknowwhat?’‘People are reading it?’

Stenwoldsaid.‘People are lapping it up,’

lamentedDrillen.‘TheythinkBroiler’s the best thing sincethe revolution. Stenwold, it’stime for Lots soon enough,meaning all change at theAssembly. We have to do

somethingbeforethen.’‘We?’‘I have to do something,’

Drillencorrected,‘and,unlessyouwanttoseeBroilerasthenewSpeaker,sodoyou.’‘WheredoIcomeintothis,

then?’ Stenwold asked,thinking again about theVekkenandhisfinalwords.Iamfightingforourfutureandmy footing is being erodedlikesandshiftedbythesea.‘The people like you,

Stenwold.’‘But the Assembly loathes

the sight of me,’ Stenwoldpointed out. ‘I remind themof how they were wrong.’ Itwasapointofpridewithhim.‘Yes, but the people like

you. Everyone out on thestreet there remembers howyouwonthewar.Theyfoughtalongsideyou.TheywatchedyougooutandsendtheWasparmy packing. People – I’mtalking about that majority

withoutpoliticalaspirations–respect you. That’s onereason why I’m going to beseen shaking handswith youin as many places aspossible.’‘Why should I prostitute

myselflikethat?’Drillen’s grin resurfaced.

‘BecauseImakesurethatyouget what you want. I wasalmost the only personbacking your Vekkeninitiative, when you put it

forward, but I wrestledenough support to push itthrough. You’re not asdetached as you pretend, oldsoldier.You don’t give a figfor power, but there arethingsyouwantdone,andforthatyouneedpeoplelikeme.Whichisconvenient,becausepeople like me need peoplelike you in order to defeatpeoplelikeHelmessBroiler.’Stenwold scowled, but he

hadnoargumenttohandthat

could refute the other man’slogic.‘I need to trump Broiler’s

atlasifI’mtogetenoughlotscastinmydirectiontosecurethe Speaker’s podium,’Drillen explained. ‘Now, Icouldjustmatchhim,mapformap,butIhavenoguaranteethat my fraudulentcartography would be anybetter than his, so I ratherthought I might producesomething genuinely

scholarly, just for the fun ofit.’‘That is not the thing the

politicalfutureofthecitywillhangon,’Stenwoldtoldhim.‘Believe me, stranger

thingshavebeenknown.Ourcousins, our kinsmen, ourestranged family ofKhanaphes…Ihaveplanteda few seeds of rumouralready. People are alreadybeginning to talk about it. Iwill raise some pertinent

questions at the Assembly,andyou…’‘What?’ Stenwold said

finally. ‘What do you wantfromme?’‘Your seal of approval. I

happen toknowa littlemoreabout Khanaphes than most.You remember Kadro theantiquarian?’‘Vaguely, yes. I haven’t

seenhimaroundrecently.’‘I’m not surprised, as he’s

been in Khanaphes for

several months. He’dfollowed the Solarnese traillong before anyone waslooking in that direction. Iknow because he’s beenwritingtomeformoney,andI’ve been sending it. Thatmakeshimmyman.’‘And what has your man

foundout?’‘Mymanhasbeenkeeping

hiscardsclosetohislittleFlychest.’ Drillen grimaced.‘Which is why there will be

anexpeditionsenttohelphimout. The first officialCollegiate expedition toKhanaphes.Ourambassadorswill extend the hand offriendship to our estrangedbrothers. Master Kadro willreceive his due, but I needresults.’Stenwoldnoddedpatiently,

letting the quietness spin outuntilhewas finally forced toask.‘SowheredoIcomeintoallofthis?’

‘Aren’t you roused by thesheeracademicchallengeofitall?’ Drillen asked, stillgrinninglikeafool.‘As it happens I am, but

wheredoIcomein?’‘You propose the

expedition, which I thenagreetosponsorandfund.’‘DoInow?’‘Because if I tried it

myself,thenBroilerwouldbeall over me, and I’d befighting tooth and nail every

step of the way to stop himmaking it his expedition andhis triumph. You, though…Broiler hates and loathesevery inch of you there everwas, but more than that, hedoesn’t have the guts to takeyou on. If it’s yourexpedition, he’ll mutter andcomplain, but he won’t darestick his neck out, and youknowwhy.’Stenwold cocked a

surprised eyebrow atDrillen,

seeing that his ownsuspicions about Broiler’sloyalties were obviously notunique. He shruggedphilosophically, waiting forthecatch.‘Please,Stenwold,’Drillen

said, in a pleading tone thatsurprisedbothof them.Afteran awkward pause the fatman continued, ‘I’m adevious bastard whose onlyaim ismy own betterment, Ifreely admit it, but I’m also

on your side. A coupinvolving Khanaphes couldbeenoughtoswingthevotingnext Lots. We need eachother.’Stenwoldsighed.‘Thissort

of politics has always beenexactly the sort of thing I’vetried to avoid. So you wantmetogotoKhanaphes?’‘No,no,Ineedyouhereto

continue shaking hands withme inpublic. I justwantyoutodrumupa fewscholars to

go there in your name, withmy money. So people willlikememoreandBroilerless.And also the academicknowledge of the Collegewill be expanded by anotherfewfeetofshelfspace.That’sasecondaryconsiderationforme, but I do still care aboutit.’‘I know,’ said Stenwold

tiredly. ‘That’s the onlyreason why I’ve beenlisteningtoyouforthislong.’

Inside he was fighting hisownbattle.Therewasalotofhim saying that once hestartedmakingthesedealshewas on a slope – and hiskinden were notoriouslyclumsy. That the future ofCollegium might depend oncloset conspiracies like thisonemadehimfeelsickaboutthe whole business. Drillenwas right, though: Stenwoldneeded support in theAssembly, and he must pay

foranyservicesrendered.And he was intrigued.

Despite himself and despiteeverything he was intrigued.A Beetle-kinden city locatedbeyond Solarno.What mightwe learn there? And on theback of that, another thought– the possible solution toanotherpersonalproblem.‘I’ll do it,’ he said. ‘I’ll

regretit,butI’lldoit.’‘That’s my old soldier!’

Drillen clapped him on the

shoulder with a meaty hand,and poured out another twogobletsofwine.Stenwold took his and

drank thoughtfully, turningimplicationsoverinhismind.‘I suppose you’ll wanteverything to lookspontaneous,’hemused.‘Oh, of course,’ Drillen

agreed heartily. ‘Theserendipitousmeeting of twogreatminds.’‘Best if it looks thatway,’

Stenwold muttered darkly.‘I’m not thinking aboutBroiler now, but about theImperialambassador.’Drillen blinked at him

blankly.Stenwold looked unhappy

ashecontinued.‘Thinkaboutit: Stenwold, implacableenemy of the Empire,entering into secretnegotiations that will sendagents toacity that isnotsovery far from the Empire’s

southernborder.’‘Thewar’sover.’‘The war isn’t currently

active.BoththeEmpireandIunderstandthedistinction.’Drillen shrugged.

‘Whatever you want. You’rein charge. It’s yourexpedition.’

Shewasstillinmourning,butmourning was difficult forher.

In Collegium the officialcolourofmourningwasgrey.True, it was not customaryany more for widows andgrieving family to paradearound the city in drabvestments for tendays, oreven just days, but forfuneralsatleast,greywastheorderoftheday.For Cheerwell Maker,

though, grey was his colour,therefore a life colour, thecolour of her happiness, in

the sameway that black andgold had become colours ofdeath. She could not makegrey the colour of hermourningbecause thatwouldbeanegationofhislife.In the end shehad tracked

downaMoth-kinden,apallidtrader from Dorax, and notleft him alone until he hadexplained the customs of hispeople. For the Moths, theconcept of colour seldomentered their lives,since they

lived in a midnight worldwhere they could seeperfectly without need forsunlight or spectrum. Fordeath, though, they made anexception. For shed blood,theytookonthehueofblood.ShelearnedhowMantidsdidthe same, dressing theirhonoureddeadinscarlet,andthen entrusting them to thered, red flames. The Moths,who had been the Mantis-kinden’s masters since time

immemorial, had becomeinfected by suchsuperstitions.And redwas the colour of

the Mynan resistance, theiremblem of red arrows on ablack backgroundproclaiming their impossibletriumphovertheEmpire.AndMynahadbeenwherehehaddied, for her, though he hadbeensomanymilesaway.SoCheworered,and thus

caused public comment. She

wore a tunic of deep winecolours edged with black, orelse black arrowed withresistance scarlet. EventhoughshealsoworeaMothcape of grey sometimes,nobody realized that shewasmourning.When she had gone to

Tharn, after the war, theywould not let her in nor tellher what rites had beenperformed over the body ofpoor Achaeos. They would

barely spare two words forher. With the Empire beatenback, the old hatreds hadresurfaced. She was Beetle-kinden, therefore a despoilerand an enemy. Her previoushistoryasaMothseer’sloverhad been erased and, in theend, the Moths had forcedher,atbow-point,backon tothe airship. Only theintervention of JonsAllanbridge, the aviator, hadpreventedherbeingshotdead

thereandthen.She had tried to tell them

of themark, of the afflictionshe had been leftwith in hiswake, but they had notwantedtoknow.Insteadtheyhadtoldhertoleavepromptlyor they would throw her offthemountainside.Mourning was so hard for

Che.Herownpeoplehadnotunderstood her choice oflover, and now they did notunderstandhergrief.Shewas

surrounded by her own folk,yet feeling more alone eachdaythatpassed.Yet not alone enough.

Sitting here on her bed,withthebrightlightofdayblazingin through the window, shefeltasuddenpresencebesideher. It always happened thesameway:themovementdidnotmanifest as such, at first,neither flicker nor shadow,but just as a concreteawareness of there being

somethingthere.If she moved her head to

look,itwouldbegone.Ifshestayed very still, though, andemptiedhermindthewayhehadtaughther,andwaited…then sometimes there wouldbe a greyness at the edge ofhervision,atremorintheair,asomething.Mourningwas difficult for

herbecausesheknewthathewasstillthere.Hehadbeenamagician,afterall,whichshe

now finally believed onlyafterhisdeath.Hehadbeenamagician, truly, and now hehad become something else.Shehadbeen far awaywhenhedied,havinglefthimtothefailed mercies of his ownpeople. Now, posthumously,hewas close to her, and shecouldnotbearit.She stood up, feeling the

non-presence recede awayinstantly,knowingthatitwasstilltheresomewhere,beyond

her notice. At the same timeshe heard the front door, thehurried feet of Stenwold’sservant running to greet hismaster. She drifted out on tothelandingintimetoseeheruncle down below, divestinghimself of his cloak. Hecomplainedsooftenofbeingoldandtired,andyetseemedto her to be possessed ofboundlessreservesofenergy.He complained of beingmiredinpoliticsandintrigue,

yet he fed on it with astarvingman’sappetite.He still wore his sword,

one of the few Assemblerswhodid.Stenwoldwasstillatwar, they would joke, buttheir laughter had a nervousquality.She drew back into her

room, knowing he wouldcome to speakwith her soonenough. He did notunderstand,couldnotfathom,what shewas going through,

but he did his best, so shecould not complain. He wasperpetuallyabusyman.

Downstairs, Stenwoldstopped himself from turninghis head as he heard thelandingcreak.Eithershewasstillthereorshehadretreatedandhedidnotknowwhetherher absence or her presencewas more disturbing: thisghostly, red-clad apparition

thathisniecehadbecome.I needhelp.But therewas

nobodytohelphim.Thewarhad stripped him of bothallies and friends.Above thefireplace, he had finally hadframed and hung the oldpicturethatNerohaddoneofStenwoldandtheotherswhentheyhadjustbeensettingout.Dead faces now, onlyStenwoldMakerlivingonoutofallofthem.How is it that I am still

here,afterallofthis?Hehada sudden sense, almost likevertigo, of all the people hehadsentouttodieorgethurt:Salma, Totho, Tynisa,Achaeos, Sperra, Scuto,Tisamon, Nero – even themadwoman Felise Mienn.There was no justice in aworld that preservedStenwoldMakerafterall thatloss.But it was worse when he

consideredthesurvivors.The

Assembly was crawling nowwith men boasting of theirexploits in the war, butStenwoldcouldnotrememberseeinganyofthemdefendingthewallsatthetime.He glanced up, at last, to

findnoscarletwatcherabove.The war had left so manycasualties, with so manydifferentwounds that hewaspowerlesstocure.‘Lady Arianna sent word

that she would be expecting

youather residence, sir,’hisservant informed him. Thethoughtstirredanemberofasmile,buthewassotiredthatitcouldbenomorethanthat.He began the slow clump

upthestaircase.There were books all over

Cheerwell’s room, open,bookmarkedorstacked,lyingon the bed and at her desk.They looked old andvaluable, and he knew shewas trading on her family

name toextract favours fromthe librarians. On the otherhand,itwasnotasthoughthetopics she was researchingwere required reading forCollege scholars. Most ofthese tomes had not beenopened before during herlifetime, perhaps not even inStenwold’s.Thesightofthemreinforced his disquiet,remindedhimof the scaleoftheplighttheyfaced.‘Howwas the Assembly?’

she asked him. She satdemurelyonherbedbuttherewas a brittle aura about her,as of some fragile thingdelicatelybalanced.‘Tedious as usual.’ He

racked his mind forsomething amusing he couldrecount to her,was forced toaccept that nothing amusinghad occurred. ‘I did mynormaljobofmakingfriends,so I’m surprised they’re notburning my effigy in the

square before theAmphiophos.’He saw her smirk at the

quip,areactionmorethanthewords warranted. ‘You havenoidea,’Cheerwell toldhim.‘You should get her … getAriannatogototheplaywithyou.’ She stumbled a littleover the woman’s name, butonlya little.Shewasat leasttrying.‘Play?’heaskedblankly.‘Haven’tyouheard?Atthe

Rover on Sheldon Street?’Her smile was genuine,though a sadness shonethrough it. ‘They call it TheShell Crack’d or somethinglikethat.It’saboutgoingsonin this city when the siegewasunderway.It’sallpeopleleapingintoeachother’sbedsandarguing.’‘There’s a play about the

war and it’s a farce?’ saidStenwold, quite thrown offcourse from what he was

originallygoingtosay.‘Yes, but you’re in it too.

You’re the serious bit in thefourth act, like they alwaysinclude,’ Che told him.‘When you went out toconfront theWasp army andgot them to surrenderandgoaway—’‘Itwasn’tlikethat—’‘Tell that to the

playwrights. Tell that to theaudience. You’re a hero,Uncle Sten.’ Her shoulders

shook briefly withmirth, fora moment like the Che heknewfrombeforeitall.Thenanother layer of solemnityenveloped her and she said,‘Your man from Paroxinalcamebacktoday.’‘Oh?’andhewasseriousat

thatnews,too.‘He said he’d report fully

toyou,forwhatitwasworth,butnothing.’‘He found nothing, or

they’dtellhimnothing?’

‘Nothing either way.Nothing at all. He found notraceofher.’For a moment they just

looked at one another,chained together by an equalguilt,untilStenwoldbaredhisteeth in annoyance andlookedaway.‘Damn the girl!’ he said.

‘Why—?’‘You know why,’ Che

interruptedhimflatly.‘Oh, I knowwhat sparked

it,butwhygooff—?’‘You know why,’ she

repeated firmly, and he hadnoanswertothat,becausehedidknow.Feelingwearytohisbones

he pulled the desk chair outand reversed it, sitting so hecould rest his arms on thecarved back. He heard itcreak at the unaccustomedstrain. I’ll be as fat asDrillen, one of these days.‘Che, I’ve had a thought

about…somethingforyou.’She sat very still, waiting

warily. It was not the firsttime he had tried to findthingsforhertodo.Sheknewhemeantwell,buthedidnotunderstand that her currentproblemscouldnotsimplybeleftbehind.‘Che…youdidsomegood

diplomatic work during thewar.’That took her by surprise.

‘When?’

‘InMyna,forexample.’‘Sten,theynearlykilledme

thereasatraitor.’He smiled slightly at that.

‘Same here … and withdeath, it’s all about the“nearly”. The way I hear it,youfinallygottheirrebellioninspired to the point wherethey could throw off theEmpire.’‘It wasn’t like that,’

hearing in her voice an echoofhisownwords.

‘Tell that to my agents.Tell that to theMynans.Che…’Staringathishandsashealways did when he soughtinspiration. ‘You needsomething to do …’ Onehand rose,quickly, tocutoffherobjection.‘Iknow,Iknowitwon’tstitchthewound,andit won’t make everythingbetter, just to be doingsomething,butyouneedtimeto heal, and at the momentit’s just you and the wound,

andnothingelse.IhaveajobI need doing, and you needsomethingtodo–andyou’regood at it.’ When she juststaredathimhecontinued,‘Ineed an ambassador. Anofficial ambassadorrepresenting Collegium,bearing the seal of theAssemblyandeverything.’For a moment she

continued to stare, then shelaughedathimincredulously.‘Youcan’tbeserious.’

‘Whynot?You’ve alreadyprovenyourworth: inMyna,inSolarno,inSarn.Thisisn’tjust Uncle Sten finding jobsforhisfamily.You’veshownyou’remorethanequaltothetask,and—’‘And it would give me

somethingtodo,’shefinishedsourly.‘Andwhere,pray?’Athought struck her. ‘TheCommonweal?’‘NottheCommonweal,’he

said. ‘We’re being … very

careful there. They’re astrange lot, up north. Theydon’t really seem tounderstand yet whyambassadors are necessary.We may even have to buyinto their “kin-obligate”business, not that we reallyunderstand it.’ Hewaved hishand impatiently. ‘No, it’s aplacecalledKhanaphes.’Shestaredathim,whichhe

interpreted, incorrectly, asignorance.

‘The Solarnese know apath to reach it. It’s east ofthe Exalsee, a long way offany Collegiate trade route.’He left the appropriate pausebefore revealing, ‘A Beetle-kindencity,Che.’Since her return from

Tharn she had been deep inthe old tomes of the Moth-kinden. She had beenimmersing herself in theworld that the revolutionhadshattered, in an attempt to

find some cure for her ownaffliction. In the very oldestof the books and scrollsremaining to the College,amid the most impenetrableshreds of ancient history,there had been a city of thatname. It was a relic of theforgotten world that theBeetles had shrugged off inorder to become what theywerenow.‘Think about it, please.’

Stenwoldtookhersilencefor

reluctance.Hewanted to tellher that it was a goldenopportunity, that she shouldlook to her own future,capitalize on the respect shehad won in the war. Hewanted to tell her, in short,thatnomourningcouldbeforever.He knew better than tosay it. ‘Just think about it.You are a student of theCollege after all, and thepossibilities for scholarshipaloneare—’

‘I’ll think about it,’ shesaid, a little harshly, and henodded, standing up to go.‘Another thing,’ she began,her voice sounding strained.‘You …’ She paused,gathered her couragetogether. ‘Please tell the newman about the doors again.Heforgets.’Stenwold stared at her, a

welter of different emotionsmomentarilyatwaracrosshisbroadface.

‘It’snot justme… it’s…I’mthinkingaboutAriannaaswell.’ Che’s voice shookunderthesheerhumiliationofhavingtosayit.‘Ofcourse Iwill,’he said.

‘Of course. I’ll have a wordwith him when I go backdownstairs.’

Theexpeditionwasapprovedby the Assembly, despiteanything that Broiler and his

supporters could say againstit. The Town vote,comprisingthemerchantsandmagnates, scoffed at theexpense, but the Gown voteof the College masters wasmostly for it, and Drillen’spromise to secure fundingwithout troubling eitherCollege or Assembly cofferssealed the matter neatly.Therewasnosuggestion thatthe proposal had been stage-managedfromthestart.

The very night of theAssembly meeting, however,found a clerk working late.Drillen was a rigorousemployer who demandedresults from the least of hisunderlings, so candlelight inthelateeveningswasnothingunusual. This clerk, a youngmanwhohadhoped tomakemore of himself, and hadlived beyond hismeans,wasjustfinishinghislastmissive.The letters seemed nonsense,

strings of meaninglessbabble, but an informed eyewould have deciphered themas:

Urgent. Codeword:‘Yellowjacket’. Youtold me to keep aneye on all dealingsof StenwoldMaker,so this shouldinterest you: theexpedition beinglaunched to

Canafes(sp?)isnotasitseems.JDandSM met twicebeforehand re: thismatter. Unusualsecrecy.BelieveJDand SM have theirownpurposesasidefrom those stated.Thought you wouldappreciateknowing.

He folded the note over,

andwent over to his rack ofcouriers. Drillen used thesevarious insects asmissivecarriers across thecity.They rattledandbuzzedin their tubes,each tubewithits label to show what placethe creature was imprintedon. The clerk, whoseresponsibility these carrier-creatures were, selected onecarefully: a fat, furry-bodiedmoth. It bumbled out of itstube and crouched on his

desk, cleaning its antennaeirritably as he secured themessage to its abdomen. Hehadnoideawhereitwent,orto whom, save that it wouldnot be the man who hadoriginally recruited him intothis double-dealing. He onlyknewthattheinsectwouldbereturned safe, along with apurseofmoney,tohishouse.Thistoldhimtwothings:thathisshadowybenefactorswerewealthy, and that they knew

wherehelived.The insect whirred angrily

off into the night, swoopinglow over the streetlamps butimpelled by an inescapableinstinct to return home.Before morning the Rekefoperatives in Collegium,placed there with exquisitecareafterthecloseofthewar,had something new to thinkabout, and other, grander,messengers were soonwingingtheirwayeast.

Four

She was dreaming, and sheknewshewasdreaming.Theproblem was that it was hisdream.Worse still, sheknewthat the things that she waswitnessing through his eyeswerereal.Her mind was full of

chanting voices, overlapping

and blurring together. Sheheard no distinct words, justthe ebb and flow of thesounds interfering with eachotheruntil itwas likeagreattide, rolling in towards herendlessly.And she saw robed shapes

…She saw robed shapes.

They were atop a mountain,and the air around themwasbending and fragmentingunder the strainofwhat they

weredoing.Shecouldnottellwhich one of them wasAchaeos.Becauseitwasalsoher dream she rushed fromone to another, to find him.She never could. Their pale,grey Moth faces, their blankwhite eyes, were alltransfigured,sothateachfacelooked the same. The ritualhad gripped them with anidenticalhand.Sheshoutedatthemandtriedtoshakethem.She warned them that he

woulddie,iftheykepttearingattheworldlikethis.Becauseitwashisdream,andshehadnotbeenpresent,theyignoredher.She knew that she was

running out of time. It wasnot his time, not the timeremaining until the barbedpeak of the ritual, when thepower they invoked wouldcome thundering downthroughthecityofTharn,andhis fragile body would be

unable to take the strain.Instead it was the time untiltheotherarrived.It had always been there

besidethem,althoughshehadbeen blind to it for so long.From the very first momenttheir minds had touched, heventuring among the ghost-infestedtrees,sheimprisonedin the hold of a Waspheliopter, it had been withthem. Now she felt it risingfrom beneath them, through

the warrened rock of themountain, through the veryweave of the world. It wassurging upwards at a fierce,relentlesspace,butitwasstillagooddistanceoffbecauseitwas pursuing from fivehundredyearsago.She thought of flyingover

the Exalsee and seeing thelake monster rushing for thesurface, the great pale bodyofitformingfromthedepths.The chanting grew even

less and less coherent as thevoices of the Moth-kindenfell into the echo of thatolder, greater ritual. Aroundthemtherockofthemountainitself began to crack. Thornyvines thrust themselvesviolently into the air, thenarced round to penetrate thestoneoncemore,topiercethefleshoftheritualists,yettheydid not seem to notice.Transformations were beingwreakedonthem.Chewould

runfasterandfasterfromoneto another, trying to findAchaeos before the things oftheDarakyondid.Therewereshadows all around now, theshadows of great twistedtrees, of Mantis-kindenwrithing,bristlingwithbarbs,gleaming with chitin. Theshadows were closing in,encompassing the ritual. Therobed figures were beingconsumed.Shefeltitagain,asshehad

felt it in life. She felt thesudden silence, that uttersilence as though she hadbeen struck deaf. It was asilence so profound it left anecho in the mind. It was themomentwhen thewrenchingstrain of the ritual, the fierceattention of the Darakyon,had become too much forhim, the moment when hiswound had ripped open andhehaddied.Had died, and yet not left

her.Behind the Tharen

mountain top and theshadow-treesoftheDarakyonlay the streets of Myna, theziggurat of the governor’spalace, her own dreamevolvingintheshadowofhis.She saw a tiny figure breakfromthebarricades,and thencharge towards the soldiersclustered around the brokenpalacegates.Shesaw,asshehad not seen at the time, the

great clawed tide of theDarakyon hurtling forward,spewinguncontrollablyoutofthat lone running figure,thrashing about her like aheadless, dying thing. Thelast dregs of the Darakyon,now poisoning the minds ofthe soldiers ahead of her,making her into a vessel ofterror.She woke to find the

shuttersstilldark,nopiercingslants of sunlight. She, who

hadoncesleptlatebychoice,now woke regularly indarknessandsaweverydawnarrive, tugged awake byshredsofanocturnallifethathadnotbeenhers.Hewaswithher.There, in thedarkness that

was no darkness to her, shecouldseehimasagreysmearhanging in the air, formlessand faceless. It moved andchanged shape, and shereceived the impression of a

dreadful urgency. He wastrying to tell her something,desperately trying to makeher aware of something, andyet he could not formwordsorevenpicturesforher.‘Help me to understand

you,’shetoldhim.‘Achaeos,please. I can’t … I’m notstrong enough to make youreal. Just tellmewhat Ihavetodo.’Hegrewmoreagitated,and

she thought of him trapped

betweenlifeanddeath,aknotin the weave, shouting andscreamingathertohelphim.But she could not. None ofthe books she had trawledfrom the Collegium libraryhad helped her. She was toodull a scholar, their oldlanguage too intricate, toooccult.Hewasfadingnow.Itwas

onlyjustaftershewokeeachday that she could see himclearly. He would always be

there, though, a half-sensedpresence hovering over hershoulder.Mourningwasdifficult,for

Achaeos’s death had left herwithan indelible legacy.Thesorrowoflosinghimstillhadits hooks into her, but thehorrorofhavinghimstill–inthishorrible,half-formedway–wasworse.Bythelogicofherpeople,

she was simply deranged. IfshehadgonetoseeaBeetle-

kindendoctor,hewouldhavetoldherthatshewassufferingfromthesehallucinationsasawayofdealingwithher loss.Alas, she could no longersubscribe to the logic of herpeople. The books she hadpillagedfromthelibrarywerewritten in the crabbed handsofMoth-kindenortheelegantloops of Spiders. The onething she had learned fromthemwasthat,bytheir logic,shewasnotmad.Therewere

precedents for her situation,though shewas not sure thatthis was any reassurance.Being haunted was surelyworse than mere madness.Especiallybeinghauntedinacity where nobody, not evenher open-minded uncle,believedinghosts.During the ritual atop

Tharn, Achaeos had calledout to her, and she had lenthim as much strength as shecould, and possibly

contributed thereby to hisdeath. Hermind and his hadbeen touching when themouldering evil of theDarakyonhadstirreditself toanswer his call for power.Whenhehaddied, therefore,something of him had stayedwithher.Thelogic–sinceallinsanities have their owninternal logic–wasfaultless.The books were silent onremedy,however.And there was more than

that: shewas notwhole, anymore,afterthewar.She stretched herself and

shookherhead.TheghostofAchaeoswasgone:still thereinthebackofhermindbutnolonger apparent to her eyes.As she dressed, she saw thefirst pearl-grey of dawnglimmerthroughhershutters.She approached the doorcarefully, as though it mightsuddenlybecomeamonster,ajailer.Itwasajar,though,and

she went out on to thelanding.Stenwold’s door stood

open,whichmeanthehadnotcome back last night. Shesmiledat that.Sheknew thatshewasaburdenonhimthathe could not shift, so it wasgood that he still hadArianna.Che and Arianna had not

gotonwell,notatall,andthereal problem had beenStenwold himself, who

simply did not know how todeal with them both at thesame time: on the one handhisyoungniece,hisdaughterin all but name; on the otherhis lover, scarcely older thanher, with whom he was adifferent man entirely. Theconfusion it threw him intohad obviously amusedArianna at first, but then ithad become inconvenientand, in her smooth Spider-kindenway, she had secured

a first-floor residence acrosstown. Stenwoldwas abruptlyreleased from thepressureofhaving to be twomen at thesame time, while Che andArianna did their best not tomeet. Life was easier thatway.Che pulled her grey cloak

on over her mourning reds,takingonlyamomenttolookin themirror.With the hoodraised high her reflectionalwayssurprisedher:herskin

appearing too dark, her eyesdisfigured by iris and pupilrather than blank white.Seeing any face framed ingrey cloth, she expected toseehisfaceandnotherown.‘Achaeos,’ she said softly.

Hemust be able to hear her,fromhisvantagepoint at thebackofhermind.‘Helpme.’Sometimes she saw himflicker in the background ofmirrors, but not now. Shelifted the bar on the front

door.Therewasnolock,onlythesimplestlatch.Collegiumwasacityofthe

day, but good business camethewayofearlyrisers.Bythetimesheventuredout,theskywas already flecked by Fly-kindenmessengers,andabigdirigiblewasmaking itswayin slowly from the northtowards the airfield, bearinggoods and news from Sarn,nodoubt.Therewascurrentlya law about running

automotives through the citystreetsbeforeacivilizedhourofthemorning,buthandcartsandanimalcartswerealreadyrattling across the cobbles,and she could hear the slowshunting of the trains almostallthewayacrossthecity,inthestilldawnair.Stenwold lived in a good

partoftown,notfarfromtheCollege, and the short walktook her through what wasnow called War Harvest

Square, because of themummery that was enactedhereeverytenday.Collegiumlooked after its own.Collegium was wealthyenough, despite the costs oftherecentwar,todothat.Shespotted the queues ahead ofher, and knew itmust be theday when the War Harvestwasdoledout.It could have been worse.

Collegium medicine wassomeofthebestintheworld,

and modern weapons wereefficient enough to kill moreoften than they maimed.There were enough, though,who had fallen between theextremesofkillandcure,andevery tenday theymade theirarduous way here. Theseveterans,themenandwomenofCollegiumwhohadfoughtfor their city against theEmpireortheVekken,orelsegone out to fight for theSarnesh, and whose injuries

meant theynowhadno tradelefttothem.Menandwomenmissing legs, missing arms,missing eyes, they came andqueued here every tenday,and the Assembly ensuredthat they were given enoughto live on. There had been abitter dispute over it at thetime but, in the flush ofpeace, the Assemblers ofCollegiumwere not going toturn their soldiers out to begor starve. It had made Che

proud of her kinden, and theveterans who gathered herefor thehandouthadbeen lefta little pride, a little self-respect. Passers-by salutedthem, cheered them, andacknowledged their sacrifice,whilethetwotavernasnearbydidagoodtradefromcitizensbuyingthemdrinks.The problem came with

those whose wounds wereless visible. She knew therewere many: those who had

not been able to bear theblood and destruction, thelossoflovedones;thosewhohadretreatedintothemselves;those who could not hear ashoutora loudnoisewithoutbeing flung back into thefighting. Victims of the warwithoutamarkonthem,theywerenotprovidedfor.Insteadthe doctors prodded them,frowned at them, andshruggedtheirshoulders.Sheherselfhadnotgoneto

seeadoctor.Theywouldnotunderstand.It had come upon her as

shewentbyairshiptoTharn,to try to visit Achaeos’sashes. Before then the shockof his death, the whirl ofevents at the end of thewar,had kept her off balance. Ithad only been on that returnjourneythatshehadrealized.Sherememberedthewaves

of nausea first, losing herbalance at the slight sway of

the wind. She had crouchedon the deck, feeling herstomach churn in suddenspasms.Themovementofthevessel beneath her hadseemedasunnaturalaswateronfire.Thisiswhathefelt,shehad

reflected at the time,remembering how Achaeoshad always been souncomfortable with moderntransport. She had assumedthatwas just because hewas

newtoit,then.She remembered

staggering towards the stern,clingingtotherail,wheretheconcernedexpressionof JonsAllanbridge had waveredthrough her view, ameaningless image. She hadstared at the engine, the blurof the propeller, and felt achasm gape beneath her. Itwas wrong – worse, it wasmeaningless. She had staredat all that pointlessmetal, its

inexorable convolutions, itsparts and pipes and movingthings, and she had felt asthoughshewasfalling.The white elegance of the

Collegewasstraightaheadofher now. The library’s greatgates were still closed andbarred,thisearly,soshewentto the sidedoorandknockedand knocked, until a peevishvoicerespondedfromwithin,announcing,‘It’snotlocked.’Che drew a deep breath

and knocked again. ‘It’s notlocked!’ called out thelibrarian, thoroughly irritatednow. ‘Either come in or goaway.’She stared at the handle,

feeling tears prickle at thecorners of her eyes. Hermemorytoldherthatthiswassimple but her body had nopath for it, her mind noconnection. She rattled withthe metal ring, but the doorwould not move. She could

notunderstandtheprocess.Itmade no sense to her. In herfinal moments, whiletouchingAchaeos’smindasachannel for the Darakyon,something fundamental hadbeenrippedoutofher.At last someone came to

the door and yanked it open.The librarianwas a stern oldwoman, her face devoid ofsympathy. ‘What do youwant?’shedemanded.‘I want to come in,’ Che

replied in a tiny voice,fighting the urge to weep infrustration.It would have been worse

if there had never beenTynisa. Che had grown upwithheras though theyweresisters: Stenwold’s clumsyniece and Tisamon’shalfbreed bastard – althoughneither had known Tynisa’sheritage at the time: Tynisa,who was graceful andbeautifulandaccomplishedin

every field save one. So itwas that Stenwold hadmadealterations to his house, andgiven his servant specialinstructions about the doorsand the locks. That servanthad died in the Imperialsiege, though, and the newman was taking a while tolearn. It was not surprising,for the instructions werebafflingtohimandChecouldhardly blame the man forforgetting. At least Stenwold

wasusedtotheidea;hecouldpretendheunderstood.Walkingthroughthestreets

of Collegium, she wasnevertheless a cripple. Shelooked up at the slowlymanoeuvring airship and feltthat it should fall on her. Itwas too great; it could notstay up. The sounds of thetrains,whichhadlulledhertosleep ever since she firstcametoCollegium,werenowlike the cries of strange and

frighteningbeasts.Yet she had spent years

learning mechanics, basicartificing, forces and levers,power and pressure. Now itwas as if she had spent allthat time learning how towalk through walls or turnlead into gold. She couldclearly remember being ableto do it once, but not how.The logic had deserted herandshehadbecomelikehim.She had lost her birthright,

the basic tools thatmade themodern worldcomprehensible. She hadbecomeInapt,unabletouse–toevencomprehend–all themachines and themechanisms that her peopleloved so much. She wascrippled in her mind andnobody would everunderstand. There was adivisionbetween theracesofher world: those who could,thosewhocouldnot.Chehad

fallenonthewrongsideof itandshecouldnotgetback.It was worse now because

ofTynisa.Ofallthepeopleinthe world, Che could havespoken to Tynisa about it.Tynisa would haveunderstood, would havehelpedher.Tynisawasgone,though, to Stenwold’s fury.Che had not understood, atfirst, why Stenwold hadreactedsoangrily.Idroveheraway.

And it was true. Notanything Che had done butthe simple fact of her. In theendTynisahadnotbeenableto look at the sight ofmourning Che withoutrecalling whose blade hadlanced Achaeos, whose handhad inflicted the wound thateventually killed him. Chedidnotblameher.Ofcourse,Che did not blame her, butthat did not matter. Tynisahad lived through the violent

deathofher father andcomehome to find herself amurderess.Shehadstayedaslong as she could bear it,growinglessandlessathomein this city she had dwelt inall her life, unable to talk toChe, grieving a dead father,nursing a killer’s conscienceforall thatChetriedtoreachouttoher.Atthelastshehadfled Collegium. She hadgone, and not one ofStenwold’s agents could

discoverwhere.Stenwold’s rage, Che

finally understood, had beenover the undoing of twentyyears of civilized education,over all the care and timehehad spent in making Tynisathe product of Collegium’smorality. In the end she hadshown herself her truefather’s daughter. She hadgone off, Stenwold felt sure,toloseherselfinfightingandblood – chasing her own

deathjustasTisamonalwayshaddone.Hooray, Che thought.

Hooray for those of us whowonthewar.

*Thevaststacksof the librarynormally absorbed her. TheBeetle-kindenclaimed this tobe the single greatestcollectionofthewrittenwordanywhere in the world. TheMothsscoffedatthemforthis

boast but nobody hadperformed a count. Therewere texts and scrolls herethat dated back to before therevolution, to a period whenthecityboreadifferentname.They kept them in cellarswhose dim lighting offeredno impediment to Che. Shehad been searching formonths,now,tryingtofindacure to her affliction, a wayof helping Achaeos’swretchedshade.

All of a sudden she foundshe could not face it, nottoday.The thought of poringovermoreancientscrollsthatshe could barely understand,of another day’s fruitlessdelving into an incompletelyrenderedpast,wasmore thanshe could bear. She searchedher mind for the reason forthis change, and found thereStenwold’s offer of theprevious night. At the timeshe had not cared, but

something had lodged there,waitingforthemorninglight.‘Khanaphes,’ she said

slowly to herself, and it wasas if the word created adistant echo in her mind.Ancient histories, old Mothtexts: the city name wouldbarely be found in anywritings that post-dated therevolution, but if the diligentstudent dug deep into thewritings of the old, Inaptpowers, that name glowed

like a jewel, ancient even tothoseantiquescribes.She needed to talk, but

who could she talk to aboutKhanaphes?

Twodozenbemusedstudentshadturnedupfortheaviationlecture: Beetle-kinden, AntandFlyyouths,allwantingtobe pilot-artificers – aviatorsas the newwordwent. Theywerewithoutateacher.Sofar

all they had were somescribbled notes left on thechalkboard, instructing themtofoldflyingmachinesoutofpaper. This was now whatChediscovered.Sheknewwheretolook,as

theavionics studentsdidnot,yet,thoughittookherafightwith her courage to crosstown to the new airfield andenter the hangar. The shapesthere, the winged thingsarranged in their untidy

horseshoe pattern, lookedonly predatory. The air wasfilled with the sounds ofmetalandcursingartificers.Itwas a sharp reminder of herformer self that she couldhave done without. She hadencounteredthisandbeatenitbefore. Had she wanted shecouldhave shutherself awayandneverhad todeal furtherwith her affliction, but thatwasnotherway:shewasstillBeetle-kinden, and Beetles

endured. They were tough,bothwithinandwithout.‘Taki!’ she shouted,

whereupon the little Fly-kinden pilot looked up,delighted.‘That,’shesaid,‘isthefirst

time in five days thatsomeone’s addressed meproperly, instead of “MissSchola”. I should never havetold them my full name,honestly.’Shewaslookingwell.Taki

hadalsobeencrippledbythewar, but in her case thedamagehadbeenmadegoodbyartifice.HerbelovedEscaVolenti had been destroyedover Solarno, but here shewas fine-tuning the EscaMagni. It was the perfectfusion of Solarnese know-how, Collegiate industry andTaki’s prodigious skills as apilot. She claimed it as themost agile flyingmachine inthe known world. The boast

hadbeenputtothetestandsofarneverprovedfalse.‘It’s good to see you

again.’ Che eyed the openedinnards of the machine,fought down a brief stab ofqueasiness. ‘Somethingwronghere?’‘Not wrong, just could be

made better. One of yourfellows at the College cameup with an idea about airexchange, so I reckon I canget another few per cent

efficiency out of therewindinggears.’Shegrinnedin the face of Che’s politeexpression, because shedidn’tknowwhatwasbehindit.‘Iwanttotryanon-stoppertoCapitas.’‘Capitas in theEmpire?’ It

was a stupid question, Cheknew, but it leapt out beforeshecouldstopit.‘Whereelse?They’rekeen

on their fliers up that ways.I’ve had an invitation.’ She

shrugged. ‘If not there, thenthere’s an exhibition inHelleron in a month’s time,andIwon’tmissthat.’TheEscaMagniwassleek,

hunched up from nose tocockpit, then with a longsweepoftail.Thetwowings,silkstretchedoveraframeofwood and wire, werecurrently folded back alongher length. Beneath the noseemergedthecompactfistofapair of rotating piercers,

another Solarnese innovationintheworldofaviation.Taki,just three foot tall in hersandals,satonitshulllikeanempress, mistress of all shesurveyed.‘What?’Taki asked her. ‘I

knowthatlook.What’sup?’‘Taki … have you ever

heard of a place calledKhanaphes?’The Fly gave her a

surprised look. ‘Well, ofcourse,buthowdidthatcome

up?’‘It’s just that … people

havebeenmentioningit.’Taki shrugged. ‘Well,why

not? Big old place down theeast coast from the Exalsee.All a bit, you know,backwardthataways.’‘Backward?’‘Not really keeping pace

with progress, you know.’Taki made a vague gesture.‘We get food from them,trading through Ostrander.

Now, Ostrander’s a strangeplace, and you never saw itwhenyouwereover…’Shesaw something in Che’sexpression. ‘But Khanaphes?What’s to say? Let’s get adrink and then you can askyourquestions.’

The Fly had never actuallybeenthere,wasthefirstthingChe learned. Taki’s life hadalways been fiercely centred

on the airborne elite of theExalsee.‘They don’t have flying

machines in Khanaphes?’Cheprobed.Taki made a

condescending noise. ‘Theydon’t have machines of anykind in Khanaphes, fromwhat I hear. Like I said,backward.’ She lookedamused, her eyes flickingacross the clientele of thetaverna as though she

included them loosely in thesamedefinition.Thattookamomenttosink

in. ‘But they’re… I thoughtthey were supposed to beBeetle-kinden.’‘Oh,yes,yestheyare.Not

anything like your lot,though. I remember howScobraanwentthereonce,fora bet…’Her voice twitchedfor a moment, anothercolleague dead in the war.‘He said they’d never seen

anythinglikehisflier–didn’tknow what to make of it.Didn’t want to know, either.And he couldn’t get itrefuelled, of course, had toget it shipped back to PortaRabibyboat.’‘But that doesn’t …’

Something oddmoved insideChe. ‘And have they beensettledtherelong?’‘Oh, you might say that.

LongenoughtohavefoundedSolarno.’

‘Seriously?’‘Ohnow,thisislong,long

ago – and I’m rememberingback to my school days forthis, too. They used to ownhalfway around the Exalsee,way back before anyone canremember.But thatwas longbefore the Spiders and myown people came over – athousand years before,something crazy like that.Then I suppose they just …got left behind. The way I

hear it, theyhaven’t changedmuch since those days. Theystillownafairbitofterritoryupanddown the riverwheretheyare.’Che digested these words,

thinking:thepast.Itmadenosense: she knew Beetle-kinden even if she could notquiteclaimtobeoneofthemany more. It made no sense.Something doesn’t add up. Itgave her a strange sense ofexcitement. Khanaphes –

whatmightIlearnthere?It struck her then, and she

actuallyjumpedup,knockingback her chair. Taki was intheairinaninstant,wingsa-blur and a knife in her hand.A few of the other tavernapatrons had gone for theirweapons too. The war wasnotsoverylongago.Shesatdown,madeherself

give an apologetic wavearound the room. Taki stoodon her chair back for a

moment, wings flicking forbalance,beforeconsenting tositdown.A city of Beetle-kinden

withoutmachines?A city of Inapt Beetle-

kinden?‘Yes,’shesaid,thinkingof

Stenwold’s offer. ‘Oh, yes Iwill.’

Stenwold was enjoying anafter-lunch bowl of wine in

the College refectory whensomeone came brushing pastbehindhim,murmuring,‘TheVekkenareafteryou.’His stomach sank and he

lookedback.‘Whichones?’His informant, a natural

history master, shrugged.‘Whocan tell?Theyall lookthesame.’This was Stenwold’s

chance to make himselfscarce,buthedidnotseizeit.‘They’re my problem,’ he

replied, whereupon hisbenefactor shrugged andmade a quick exit. Stenwoldbraced himself mentally foranothertaxingencounter.HisVekken initiative which, intheir mutual derision of it,had at last providedCollegium and Vek withsomething in common. Yetnobody understood howimportant it was. He wastrying to do what Collegiumshould have done in the first

place, instead of relyingsolely on the strength of itswalls and assuming theVekken had been defeated agenerationago.Stenwoldwastryingtomakesurethattherewould be no third Vekkenwar. He was trying to buildbridges. The result of hismonths of careful diplomacywas that the Vekken had atlast sent four men whoclaimed to be ambassadors,and were more probably

spies.Two of them located him

soonenoughafter the tip-off,and came marching up tostandbeforehistable.He couldn’t even tell

which two of the team theywere. Ant-kinden all lookedlike siblings, and theVekkenseemed to have sent fourambassadors who wereabsolutely identical. Theystared at him now as thoughthey had just found out he

hadsentassassinstokilltheirfamilies.‘Masters …?’ He made a

motion at the table, offeringchairs. They stared at theseats as though they werevenomous, then turned thesameexpressionsonhim.HisVekken initiative had beenworth it, if just for this. Hehadalwaysknownthedislikeofhisownpeopleforthecityof Vek, inspired by tworepelledattemptsatconquest,

buthehadnotguessedat thereciprocalloathingfeltbytheVekken because ofCollegium’s successfulresistance. They hated theBeetle-kinden and, becausetheycouldnot seehowmereBeetlescouldresistthemightof an Ant city-state, theyfeared them also. Stenwoldwasworkingasbesthecouldto disarm that enmity butthere was a lifetime ofingrained distrust to

overcome.‘We are aware of your

plans,’oneof themsaid,andthen paused as ifwaiting forhimtoadmiteverything.Helookedatthemblankly.

‘I havemany plans,’ he saidat last. ‘Which ones do youmean?’‘You are gathering allies,’

said the same one, speakingwiththeflatcourageofamanwhoexpectshishoststohavehim killed. ‘You are sending

to another Beetle city tosecurethem.’ThatgaveStenwoldpause,

but he was good at handlingsurprisesand justdrainedhiswinebowlwhilehepondered,Nowthat’sinteresting.Iftheythink that, then who elsedoes?‘Your silence indicates

admission,’ said the sameambassador. They had anidenticalexpressionofdislikeetched onto their mirror-

imagefaces,butnomorethanthat. As with all Ant-kinden,the real feelings wereexpressed inside their heads,secretamongtheirownkind.‘You’re talking about the

Khanaphesexpedition?’‘So,’ the Vekken said, all

theirfearsconfirmed.‘Whatof it? It’ssimplyan

academic expedition to studya city of our cousins…’Hewasabouttoaskthemiftheywould not be similarly

interested,inhisposition,butthey would never be in asimilar position, because anyother Ant city wasautomaticallytheirenemy.‘So you say,’ said the

Vekken.‘Butweseemore.’‘Please sit down,’ he

suggested, but they wouldnot.They continued standingthere with their hands neartheir sword-hilts, waiting forthe worst. He had a suddendizzying thought of what it

mustbelikefortheseenvoys,surrounded by those theyknew to be their avowedenemies, while deprived ofthecomfortingvoicesoftheirown kin that they had livedwith all their lives: just thefourofthemcutoffandaloneinanaliensea.‘What do you want?’ he

askedthempatiently.‘Warmaster Stenwold

Maker is sending anexpedition,’ declared one of

theVekken crisply. ‘He tellsus it is peaceful and that noharm is meant. He will notdeny a Vekken presence,therefore.’Theywaitedforhisfurious

objections as he stared atthem, mind spinning. Theysaw a military purpose ineverything, and that purposeforeverturnedagainstVek.Atthethought,itwasallhe

coulddonottolaugh,butthatwould not have been

diplomatic.‘If youwant to go, I shall

make the arrangements,’ heagreed.They betrayed nothing in

their faces, but he knew hehad caught them out. Theydid not know whether torejoice at defeating him, orcurse at themselves beingdefeated.He only wondered what

they would make ofKhanaphes.

Five

Greetings andsalutations of theGreat College tomy good friendMasterKadro.It has occurred

tome thatyoumaythink we do notallow sufficient

importance to yourfar-flungmission.Similarly,

communicating aswe do by suchinadequate means,your discoveries todate – as opposedto your renewedrequestsforfunding– have not beencommunicatedtousheresowellasIamsure you would

prefer.As the first

College Master tostudy such afascinating peopleas theKhanaphir, Ican tell youweareall agog to learnwhat you havediscovered, and toassist in furtheringyourstudies.So it is that no

less a man than

War MasterStenwold Maker,whosedecisive rolein the recent warcannot haveescaped yourattention, hasproposed that wesend some furthermembers of theCollege to assistyou in yourlabours.Rejoice, then!

Foranambassadorof Collegium, noneother than WarMaster Maker’sownniece, shall betravelling to assistyou,bethedistancenever so far. Sheshall take with hercertain otheracademics whohave expressed aninterest – as whowouldnot?–inthe

vital work you aredoing.Theyshallofcourse bringequipment andfunds to assist you,and they will bekeen to hear fromyou regarding yourtheories andevidence.I do hope you

can arrange forthem, with theKhanaphir

authoritieswhoeverthey might be,appropriatelodgingand similarconveniences.

Yourmostdutifulfriendandsponsor

MasterJodryDrillen,oftheAssemblyofthatmost

enlightenedcityofCollegium.

PetriCoggenreadtheletteragainandfeltlikeweeping.Shesatat the littlesloping

lectern which the Khanaphirhadgivenherforadesk,andput her head in her hands.They were so obtuse, thoseold men at the College.Worse,theyhadagiftforbadtiming.BesideDrillen’sletterwas one of her own,completed last night andreadyforsending.Itread:

Good MasterDrillen,Forgive me for

writing to youdirectly but I amthe bearer ofterrible news.Master Kadro isgone. Hedisappeared onlytwo days ago.Thereisnotraceofhim. The Ministerssay nothing, but Iamsuretheyknow.Something

terrible is

happening here.There isasecret inKhanaphes andKadrowas close toit. They have donesomething tohim. Iamsureheisdead.Please tell me

whattodo.Idonotwant to stay herelonger, but I fearwhat might happenifItrytoleave.

Yours

PetriCoggen,assistanttoMasterKadro.

She wanted to cry. Shewanted to laugh. Instead shetookherownletterandfoldedit,thenputitinsidehertunic.Perhaps, somehow, it wouldarrive in time to do somegood. Assuming it arrived atall.She buckled on her belt,

carrying her purse and herdagger. It was the only

weapon she owned but shewould not know what to dowith it if she was forced touseitonanotherlivingthing.PetriCoggen had never beenmuchmore than an aide andsecretary to Master Kadro,who had been the greatacademic and explorer,draggingherouthere so thatshe could scribe his exploits.But now she was alone, andthe city of Khanaphes hadbecome a brooding and

hostileplace.Shewasmerelya Beetle-kinden womanedging towards her middleyears, short and stout andpronetogettingoutofbreath.She was certainly not thewoman to avenge Kadro’sdeath,butshefeltshemustatleast try to investigate hisdisappearance.She had shared a third-

storey room with Kadro, alittle box with two windowssqueezed under the flat roof

of a warehouse. Kadro hadchosenitbecausethelandlordwasamerchant,andthereforeused to dealing withforeigners; also because theplacewascheapandlaycloseto the little stew of villainythat cluttered this side of theriver beyond Khanaphes’sgreat Estuarine Gate. Thiswas a busymarket by day, atent city by night, and thetents often grand andelaborate, for there was a

greatdealofmoneychanginghands at any given moment,and people in Khanaphes –legitimate dealers orotherwise–likedtoshowthattheyweredoingwell.Itwasaplace that, in othercircumstances, she wouldneverhavedreamtofvisitingonherown,butnowhereelseinKhanaphesmight she findsome kind of answer to herquestions.She made good time. A

few hurried glances detectedno followers, but the streetswereteemingthisclosetothedocks. There were alwaysships coming to the riverquays, and then a swarm ofdockhands, fishermen,merchants and rogues topester them.Despite the timeshe had spent here, the heatstill raised a sweat on to herskin, and the bustle of baldheads, the murmur of quietvoices, remained densely

impenetrable. These are mykindenbutnotmypeopleandIcannotunderstandthem.In the shadow of the

Estuarine Gate, she paused.The gate itself was out ofsight, supposedlydeep in thewatersoftheriver,underanyship’s draught passingbetween those gargantuancarved pillars. Again shelooked round and saw nosoldiers of the Ministerscome to apprehend her, no

skulking cloaked figure witheyesfixedonher.Andapoorspyitwouldbe

that I would notice! She didnot know what to do next.Her training at the College,all that history andarchitect