Part 24 (1/2)

'You'll get nothing by hiding your fire. They never notice, if you do that,' Totho replied sagely. 'And they don't care about what success you make of yourself either. You could be general of the world and suddenly it wouldn't matter.' And, in that case, what am I doing here? What is it I really want? And, in that case, what am I doing here? What is it I really want?

'I am observing this, with her,' Amnon agreed heavily. 'I must make a grand gesture an unmistakable one.'

'Tell me, then,' said Totho. 'Tell me what she did, on your hunt.'

'She seemed not the least interested in anything of it,' Amnon reported gloomily. 'Even when I pulled her from the water with my own hands, she did not seem to see me.'

'No, no, not your Rakespear woman,' Totho interrupted. 'I mean Che the amba.s.sador.'

'Ah, that I cannot tell you,' Amnon replied ponderously. 'For she vanished for some time, strangely, leaving her companions very concerned. When our search parties finally found her, she was with the Imperial amba.s.sador and his clown.'

I am not drunk any more. Indeed he felt abruptly, coldly sober. Totho wrestled a polite expression on to his face, glad that Amnon was being too introspective tonight to notice. 'Is that so?' he asked.

The big man nodded. 'It is not safe, to venture so far as she did,' he said.

It is not, Totho silently agreed. I was asking myself what I want here. What I undoubtedly want is to make sure that Che does not fall into the hands of the Empire. Surely that is what I want I was asking myself what I want here. What I undoubtedly want is to make sure that Che does not fall into the hands of the Empire. Surely that is what I want, and on the heels of that, came the wretched thought, And how many rescues will it take, to make her mine? And how many rescues will it take, to make her mine?

In her dream, Petri Coggen found herself standing at the door of the emba.s.sy, looking out at the Place of Foreigners. A breeze brought cool air from the river, but the sky above was almost cloudless.

This isn't right.

In the dream there was a strange feeling laid on her, of calm and acceptance. As it enveloped her like a blanket, she took three steps out towards the pond and its benches. Deep inside her something flinched. That part of her trying to wake was thras.h.i.+ng, fighting, but buried very deep. The numbing calm they had laid upon her was smothering it.

This isn't right. Still that note of discord. This is not the Place of Foreigners This is not the Place of Foreigners. There was enough awareness left to her to force her head around, to look closely at her surroundings. It was a dream, but she knew knew it was a dream, and that behind this dream there lurked something much worse. Somewhere, out beyond her sight, they were waiting. She could feel the leaden weight of their attention. it was a dream, and that behind this dream there lurked something much worse. Somewhere, out beyond her sight, they were waiting. She could feel the leaden weight of their attention.

The statues in the garden of Honoured Foreigners were now watching her. As the moonlight caressed them, it touched not cold stone but cloth and flesh. Deep inside, a s.h.i.+ver of horror went through her because if these statues could live, then why not others? but her outer calm was barely cracked, staring at them.

They made no move, just stood in their places, but she saw them s.h.i.+ft slightly, and their eyes tracked her as she crossed the garden. The Moth-kinden watched her with inscrutable patience, the Spiders with arch disdain. From his hiding place within the foliage, the eyes of the Mantis warrior gazed with narrow suspicion. Other kinden, some that she had never known in life, stared down on her, as their names were dredged from her memory: long-limbed Gra.s.shoppers, hunchbacked Woodlice, poised and beautiful Dragonfly-kinden.

No Ants, no Beetles, not even a Khanaphir. But in the dream she understood that. It was because they were so very lowly: who would waste the fine white stone on a statue of Petri Coggen or any of her relations? They were the servants, the minions, the countless running hordes, whose myriad deaths and births pa.s.sed unmarked season to season. These, here, were the n.o.bility.

She turned away from their scathing looks and found herself facing the grand arch that led into the Place of Government, towards the Scriptora and the pyramid with its eternal watchers.

And tonight the statues have come to life. The struggling part of herself was rising to the surface fast now, howling for her to wake up. Here in her dream there were things that she did not want to see. Her feet were moving her forward, a pace at a time, with a sleepwalker's slow inevitability. She felt the collective gaze of the foreign amba.s.sadors p.r.i.c.kling against her back, but none made a move to help her.

Help me, and yet there was no help, and her traitor feet kept taking her, pace by pace, towards that arch ahead. She tried to close her eyes against it, but this was a dream and she could not block it out.

All I wanted to do was leave, she wailed in protest, and the answer, in crystal-clear tones, came back to her.

We do not wish you to leave.

But what about what I I want? want? Except that was beyond the point. She remembered then that she was a slave, that all her race were slaves, and that this dream came from the far past, when what any Beetle-kinden woman wanted carried no more weight than a grain of sand. Except that was beyond the point. She remembered then that she was a slave, that all her race were slaves, and that this dream came from the far past, when what any Beetle-kinden woman wanted carried no more weight than a grain of sand.

But we have broken from all that! The revolution ...

But it was a dream from the past, and the revolution had never happened, and besides: this was Khanaphes where her people carried their shackles inside their minds every day, and were joyful about it.

She was now at the arch and stepping into its shadow. The steps of the pyramid rose before her. If she craned her gaze upwards she could see the first hint of white stone.

No!

She made a sudden, furious effort to wrest herself away from the dream and abruptly she was falling, lurching from her bed in a tangle of sheets, and striking the floor with a cry of panic that must have woken half the emba.s.sy. She stayed motionless but trembling, waiting for some revenant left from the dream to rise up from within her mind and recapture her. Then she heard footsteps, and people suddenly shocked into wakefulness were shouting at one another.

I must tell Che, she thought. She's the only one who might understand She's the only one who might understand.

Che had not gone outside since the hunt. The rooms of the emba.s.sy had become her sh.e.l.l, the blather of the academics her unseen s.h.i.+eld.

She had not seen Achaeos's agonized form again since the hunt, either. She imagined it still hanging there inside the wicker cage of the idol, haranguing the Mantis-kinden for their lack of proper faith.

I am running out of places to turn. She felt that the world was waiting for her to step outside, yet some sense, previously unknown, kept feeding warnings to her. Seen out of the window, the day gone by had been piercingly bright, cloudless, like all Khanaphir days. But when she turned away and closed her eyes, her mind embroidered the unseen sky with louring grey, a towering thunderhead of storm. Something is about to happen! Something is about to happen! The feeling made her head ache, made everyone seem suspicious in the way they looked at her. In the corners of her eyes, those indecipherable little carvings that marched their endless rounds in every room, along every wall, seemed to jump and gibber. The scholarly pedantry of Berjek and Praeda seemed rife with double meanings, hidden secrets. She clung to their presence, though, for anything was better than being alone. Berjek was intent on his studies and nothing more, therefore no good company, while Praeda had her own worries, remaining quiet and thoughtful, as though something was eating at her mind. The feeling made her head ache, made everyone seem suspicious in the way they looked at her. In the corners of her eyes, those indecipherable little carvings that marched their endless rounds in every room, along every wall, seemed to jump and gibber. The scholarly pedantry of Berjek and Praeda seemed rife with double meanings, hidden secrets. She clung to their presence, though, for anything was better than being alone. Berjek was intent on his studies and nothing more, therefore no good company, while Praeda had her own worries, remaining quiet and thoughtful, as though something was eating at her mind.

Where now? There was one 'where now' left to her, but the thought made her heart tremble. She had skulked in the shadows of this problem all this time, and was not sure that she could take up a lance and strike to the heart of it. To do so would, at the very least, destroy any standing she retained as an amba.s.sador. There was one 'where now' left to her, but the thought made her heart tremble. She had skulked in the shadows of this problem all this time, and was not sure that she could take up a lance and strike to the heart of it. To do so would, at the very least, destroy any standing she retained as an amba.s.sador.

Berjek and Praeda reached some kind of impa.s.se in their discussion, and she sensed them turn towards her. She opened her eyes, to see that the sky beyond the windows was already darkening. 'What?' she asked.

'We are in need of your services,' Berjek said. 'As an amba.s.sador, they may listen to you.'

'What do you want from them?' Che asked blankly; their words had pa.s.sed her by.

She saw Praeda make an exasperated face. 'Che, we need this code-book of theirs, the one for their carvings,' she said. 'There is supposed to be a book containing a translation a meaning for these symbols. Berjek and I agree that this is more than idle decoration. There is information encrypted here, but we can't read it, so we need the book.'

'It's one of those things where they clam up as soon as you mention it,' Berjek said glumly. 'They just change the subject, ever so politely.'

'Sacred,' remarked Che, and they stared at her.

'What a peculiar notion,' said Berjek at last.

'It is a very old word,' Che said softly, 'but it's the right word.' She saw him bursting with questions but she held a hand up. 'Don't ask me,' she warned. 'I don't want to talk about it. I don't even want to think about it. I cannot explain it in any way that you would understand.'

Berjek rolled his eyes and was about to say something very sharp, but then a drum began sounding out in the garden, a simple, low beat. The three Collegiates exchanged frowns.

'Some local custom ...?' Berjek suggested, and then a stringed instrument, high and plaintive and intricate, had added its voice to whatever was going on. As one they pa.s.sed out onto the balcony to see.

Whatever it was, it was happening right below them, where they would have the best view. Khanaphir servants had staked out torches that blazed with a steady, rosy light, outlining a rough circle on their side of the pond. Che saw some movement in the Imperial emba.s.sy across the way, the Wasps emerging to watch in equal puzzlement.

The two musicians, still playing quietly, sat cross-legged outside the circle. Four soldiers had stepped inside it: slender Mantis-kinden wearing chitin and hide cuira.s.ses and helms, and bearing spears. They knelt at four points, spears pointing upwards and inwards, their razor tips describing a smaller s.p.a.ce within the larger.

'Is this a play?' Berjek wondered.

'Or an execution?' Che said darkly.

Another figure came striding up towards the circle, and Praeda said, 'Oh, hammer and tongs, look at him,' hand to her mouth, for it was Amnon. The torchlight picked out the grim expression on his face. He wore only a kilt of white with a golden belt, and the dancing red light picked out the lines of his musculature. In each hand there was a sword, not the broad leaf-bladed things his soldiers carried, but blades like curved razors, thin and wicked-looking and extending longer than his arm. He went to the heart of the circle, within the threat of the four spear-points, and Che saw him take a deep breath. He raised the swords, one held forward, one underhand. Che glanced at Praeda and saw the woman had a look of exasperation on her face, one of clear disapproval at whatever the big man was going to do. The thought came to Che, And yet she is still watching, to see what it is all about. If her mind had matched that face she would be back inside already And yet she is still watching, to see what it is all about. If her mind had matched that face she would be back inside already.

The music stopped.

Amnon looked up, and Che knew he was seeking the face of Praeda Rakespear. His expression was so bleak that she thought, He's going to kill himself. This is some kind of Khanaphir suicide ritual He's going to kill himself. This is some kind of Khanaphir suicide ritual.

The drum exploded into greater life, the strings rattling alongside it, and Amnon began to dance.