Part 8 (1/2)

Graf shrugged. 'Never was much of a man for it myself.' The lieutenant's speech and accent told Thalric that here was someone who had risen through his own efforts, without any help from family or friends. A doubly useful man, then. Mind you, merit got you further in the Rekef than it did in the regular army.

Scadran and Hofi, large and small, arrived together. At a gesture from Graf, the Fly-kinden barber hopped up onto a stool to pour two more bowls of wine.

'We'll start,' Thalric decided. 'Your report first, Scadran.'

'Arianna's not here, sir?' the big man asked.

'I've had word from her. She's in place and the plan is working well enough, but she decided it was best not to arouse any suspicion by breaking cover. The hook is set and the fish looks to be gaping for it, so to speak.' Thalric shook his head. He had only met Stenwold the once, and he had rather liked the man as much as he could like any enemy of the Empire. Stenwold was a man who took his duties seriously, even when they might endanger those closest to him. Admirable, perhaps, but he was a tired old man, whereas Arianna was Spider-kinden, born to be devious, sly and cunning from her first breath.

Poor old man, but who would not be flattered to have an innocent young girl like that hanging on his every word? Who would not be swayed?

But it was for the good of the Empire, and that was the first rule of Thalric's life. Stenwold was altogether too much of an obstacle to ignore.

'So, Scadran, report,' he said, slightly irked that he needed to ask twice.

'Lot of news about Tark,' the dockworker began. 'Spider s.h.i.+ps are coming in saying the north road from Seldis is cut, impa.s.sable. They're saying that they can sell to the . . . well, to us as well as they could to the Tarkesh. The slave trade and the silk trade haven't been dented. That's what they're most bothered about.'

'Anything more?'

'Nothing but the usual trouble,' Scadran continued, and then, as Thalric gestured for him to explain, 'Mantis longboats from Felyal are on the rise. Spider s.h.i.+pping is being attacked. That happens every few years, then the Spiders get some mercenary navy in and everything quiets down.'

'Could be to our advantage, Major,' Graf remarked, and Thalric nodded.

'The more little wars being fought in the Lowlands right now the better,' he agreed. 'Hofi, the news with you?'

'All good as gold.' The Fly-kinden barber grinned happily. 'I snip a few grandees from the a.s.sembly, in my place, and they love to boast about their doings. With a few words dropped, I can have them talking about anything I like. In this case, I got them two or three of them waiting for the curl talking on the subject of our dear friend Master Stenwold Maker.'

'In your own time, Hofi,' Thalric said, finding the little man long-winded.

'Of course, Major, of course. He's not a well-liked man, because they don't appreciate troublemakers. They don't think he takes the College seriously enough. There's even a motion tabled to strip him of his Masterhood. That's not the first time, but it could be pa.s.sed.'

'Are they going to give him a hearing?' Thalric asked pointedly.

'Oh, of course they'll see him, in the fullness of time. For now, though, they're still debating just when. That debate alone could last thirty days.'

'Or?'

Hofi blinked. 'Or what sir?'

'Or it could be decided tomorrow?' Thalric suggested. 'And then they'd see him in a day after that?'

'Not likely, sir.'

'It's just as well I don't deal in likelihoods, then, when I can avoid it. I'll let Arianna know that the trap needs to be ready to spring at any time. Let's hope she has had the chance to worm her way fully into Stenwold's graces.'

'Rely on her,' Graf told him. 'She's a good agent.'

'I'm sure.' Thalric nodded again. 'What about your your duties, Lieutenant?' duties, Lieutenant?'

'I have men for you,' Graf confirmed. 'This city's never br.i.m.m.i.n.g with fighting men, but I have a dozen confirmed reliables so far.'

'Let's hope they're better than those last two you sent at him,' Thalric said.

'They're as good as I can get without compromising our position here, Major. And I have one special treat one with a particular grudge against Stenwold's girl.'

'Against Cheerwell?' Thalric frowned. He could hardly imagine it.

'Not her, sir. The Spider girl. I've hired us a Mantis duellist.'

Thalric felt his heart skip despite himself. No of course he hasn't hired No of course he hasn't hired that that Mantis-kinden Mantis-kinden. But the reaction was automatic. He had taken that man down, he had burned him and yet, after the Mantis's wretched daughter put her sword through Thalric's leg, he had seen the same man get up and fight like a monster.

He forced himself to stay calm. They would meet again, he a.s.sured himself, and the Empire would triumph over the backwoods belligerence of the Mantids.

But secretly he hoped they never met again.

'Our man's name is Piraeus. Apparently the daughter, or whatever she is, gave him a public whipping at one of their little fencing games, and for once we've found a Mantis who doesn't care just how he gets even. He's more than happy to stick her from the shadows. Or her old man, come to that. He's not particular.'

'Thalric,' she said, 'a Wasp-kinden. That is who I'm looking for.'

The paunchy Beetle-kinden looked down on her from his throne. It was meant to be a throne, anyway. A built-up chair atop some steps with gold and stones hammered into it. Perhaps he had been aiming for barbaric splendour.

'Name rings a bell,' he allowed. This seated dignitary was known as Last-Chance Fraywell. Felise understood this name came from his final words to those who crossed him. 'I'm going to give you one last chance,' he would say to them, and then proceed to kill them in whatever way appealed to him. So she was led to understand, anyway.

Fraywell leant down from his throne, peering at her suspiciously. She was standing a fair way back and she had come without her sword but, even so, there were a dozen of Fraywell's bullies carefully watching her. She looked from face to face: Beetle-kinden, Ants, halfbreeds . . . there he was, the man she was told to watch out for: a tall Spider-kinden, the only one here of his kind. His was the face she knew.

She moved in worlds far from home these days, always amongst the faces of strangers. It was better that way, for she could not have guaranteed recognizing faces from the Commonweal any more.

'Why do you want him?' Fraywell asked her. 'I've got no brief for Wasp-kinden, but this doesn't ring true.'

'Why I want him is my own business,' she replied flatly.

'Well then maybe where he's gone is mine.' Fraywell sat back, looking pleased with himself. He was one of the smaller gangsters in h.e.l.leron, and his fief, as they called a criminal's holdings, was pitiful, but it had been expanding recently. The word was that he had done well out of the recent visit by imperial troops, peddling all kinds of muck to them: drink, drugs, women. Certainly he had the clout to jostle for elbow room now.

'I must know,' she said. 'I will will know. I have followed Thalric a long way and I will not give up now.' know. I have followed Thalric a long way and I will not give up now.'

'Well maybe your business can stay your business if only you've got the wherewithal,' said Fraywell, sounding bored all of a sudden. 'Come on, let's wrap this up. You're taking up my valuable time, woman. Show me the stamp of your coin.'

She found that she was smiling, and it was disconcerting Fraywell and his men. 'I am not here to buy,' she explained. It was such a simple concept and yet the Beetle had still not grasped it. 'I am here to make payment.'

Fraywell glanced at his men, baffled, and she now was advancing on his seat smoothly, so smoothly that two of his people barely got in her way in time. Her hands flashed out, the razor edges of her thumb-claws folding forwards, and she cut them down with swift economy.

Fraywell screamed and kicked away from her so hard that he toppled his would-be throne backwards, leaving only his boots showing. She turned, looking over the room of stunned thugs and held a hand high.

The Spider-kinden that she knew stepped back and took her sword from within his cloak, pitching it to her above the heads of his fellows in a smooth arc. She hardly had to move her hand at all to catch it.

With her blade restored to her, she let them all draw their own weapons. That seemed only fair. Ten of them, and they tried to rush her, but she was already leaping forwards from the steps, descending on them with blade first.

They were not skilled but they were many. She made their numbers her ally, as they crashed into one another, fouling each other's blows. Her blade moved among them like lightning, like sunlight. She sent them reeling back in b.l.o.o.d.y arcs, and moved quicksilver past lead to evade their clumsy thrusts and grasping hands. Behind them the Spider-kinden traitor had a long dagger out and was picking and choosing his targets, putting the point in with the care of a surgeon.

And suddenly there were none left. It was so sudden she could not quite work out where they had gone until she saw the bodies. She was used to that now: the jarring of cause and effect, the sudden returning to herself to discover blood on her blade and the fallen around her. There was some part of her, some innocent part, that had come loose inside her head, leaving only cold skill to hold the reins and whip her on.