Salute the Dark (15 page)

Encircled by the outer room, Destrachis continued, there would be the inner space where the family slept, protected from cold and weather. It all looked very fragile to Stenwold, as though the
storm that had caught them overhead should have blown the entire town away.

At the far end of Suon Ren, its southern edge, there was a surprise waiting. There were three buildings that seemed to lurk self-consciously on the town’s periphery – all of them
heavy and ugly and closed in. They were typical Beetle-style structures that might have been lifted straight from Collegium or Helleron.

‘What are those?’ he turned to ask the lead Mercer.

The woman looked down on him with surprise, as though he should know the answer already. ‘Your embassy, foreign master.’

There they met a man, a Beetle-kinden named Gramo Galltree, an old man with wispy white hair, dressed in the Dragonfly manner of a simple knee-length tunic and sleeveless robe.
He received them standing barefoot in his small garden, and had not seemed surprised to encounter his countrymen so far from home. Instead he ushered the two other Beetles inside the largest of the
three squat buildings standing nearby.

‘The little one over there is a Messenger’s Guild stopover,’ he explained. ‘Only a handful of them to be found in the whole Commonweal, but those Flies get everywhere.
That’s how I ended up here – by following them. A whole other world, the Commonweal, and who’d have believed it?’

‘And that other building?’ Stenwold enquired.

‘Ah, well . . .’ Gramo stopped in the doorway, gazing at the medium-sized edifice that abutted the embassy. ‘I haven’t been inside there for a good while, but it used to
be . . . Well, it used to be my workshop. I had this idea, when I came here . . . you know, to introduce a little sophistication, Collegium know-how . . . But I just sort of, well, lost interest
– don’t think I’ve got the knack any more.’

Felise Mienn had not gone off with the Mercers, nor would she enter the embassy either. Instead she remained outside as though standing on guard, her hands resting on her sword-hilt. Destrachis
sat outside with her, and it seemed to Stenwold that none of the tension had gone out of the doctor. He was still waiting for something dramatic from his patient.

‘When did you first arrive here?’ Stenwold asked their host. The interior of the embassy revealed the entire history of the man since he had arrived: the style and tastes of a
cluttered Collegium house picked apart into the sparse and well-spaced preferences of a Commonwealer. The room he took his visitors over to had a heavy wooden desk and chair clogging one wall, but
Gramo himself just sat down in the centre without thinking. Like the Fly-kinden, it seemed Commonwealers preferred using the floor, and to keep their rooms as free of furniture as possible.

The old man was counting to himself, his lips moving silently. ‘That must have been . . . oh, a good twenty years ago. At least twenty years.’

‘And who appointed you ambassador for the whole Lowlands?’ Jons Allanbridge demanded. He was in an irritable mood, concerned for the integrity of his ship, and he was suffering this
delay in his repairs with ill grace.

‘Well,’ Gramo said, apologetically, ‘I thought it might be useful in case . . . just in case. And they have been very good to me, the Commonwealers. I did send letters back to
the College, to say that I was here, you know, if they ever needed me.’ He looked from one face to the other, hopefully. Stenwold could imagine what reaction such missives would have received
in the more conservative halls of the College.

‘So tell me,’ Gramo said, ‘what has brought you so far, then?’

It seemed he had not heard of the war, although he had heard of the Empire.

‘I don’t really know what to say,’ he admitted, when Stenwold had run through an accelerated history of the last year in Collegium. ‘It all seems to have happened so
suddenly.’

‘It occurs to me,’ Stenwold told him, ‘that you now have a chance to make good your position here, Master Galltree. We need to speak urgently to the local Dragonfly lord,
Felipe Shah.’

Gramo nodded. ‘Well, I knew that. I knew that even before I saw you. They told me, you see.’

His visitors exchanged glances.

‘Told you what? That we were coming?’ Stenwold asked. ‘But they couldn’t have known.’

Gramo’s smile was that of either a gleeful child or a senile old man. ‘Course they couldn’t, course they couldn’t, yet they do. They know so many things here.
Didn’t believe it myself, at first, but you live with people long enough, you realize that most of it comes true whether you believe it or you don’t. They told me to prepare for guests
almost a tenday ago, they did. Why, the Prince himself will send for you shortly.’

‘We won’t bother getting settled then,’ Allanbridge growled.

‘But I have already prepared beds. Several beds, since they didn’t say how many.’ Gramo made vague gestures to suggest the other rooms of his embassy. Seeing their uncertain
expressions he explained, ‘When I say shortly . . . perhaps that is not as short here as I remember it being in Collegium.’

True to the old man’s words, no summons had come for them by nightfall. Allanbridge had elected to return to his precious
Buoyant Maiden
as the sky grew dark, but Stenwold felt that
he had to humour Gramo, at least. The old man had been patiently waiting here for this kind of responsibility since before Stenwold had first locked horns with the Empire in his youth.

He spent an awkward night trying to cope with Commonweal sleeping arrangements, and soon came to the conclusion that the Dragonflies must until recently have slept in trees, and only just
discovered the ground. As a result, a Commonweal bed was a kind of string net slung between two supporting beams of the house, like a sailor’s hammock, and throughout the night he had pitched
and swung in it, and fell out of it, until he decided to sleep on the floor and to the wastes with protocol. When morning came, the searing sunrise washed into the house by every unshuttered
window, as though Gramo had deliberately tried to make the place as airy as the homes of his hosts. Dawn brought Stenwold awake as readily as if it had slapped him. With every part of him aching,
he sat up abruptly, cursing all the Commonweal and all ambassadors-gone-native.

He was not alone, he discovered. Kneeling in a corner, his back resting against the wall, was Destachis.

‘What is it about Spider-kinden,’ Stenwold muttered to himself, ‘that they just don’t respect privacy?’

‘She’s gone,’ said Destrachis.

Stenwold looked at him blearily.

‘Gone,’ Destrachis repeated. ‘Gone without a word.’ The extent of his hurt was evident in his dishevelled clothes, his uncombed hair – a Spider without his
customary armour against the world.

‘Felise?’ Stenwold asked.

‘Of course Felise. Who else?’

‘Gone where? To do what?’

‘Just gone,’ Destrachis said. ‘Master Maker, I have to go after her.’

‘Destrachis, she’s with her own people now,’ Stenwold said. ‘That means she can come and go as she pleases, surely—’

‘Last night she was uneasy, unhappy. Perhaps too many memories were coming back at once.’ Destrachis bit at his lip. ‘But to go – just go without a word. Something must
have happened.’

‘You don’t think . . .’ Stenwold let the sentence trail off, unwilling to voice it, but no one else would. ‘You think she’s killed someone,’ he said.

Destrachis stared at him, the truth of that suggestion written on his face for even Stenwold to see. ‘I had thought . . . that her own people might bring her stability. When she was with
the Mercers, it was as though she had never been hurt. But I saw it in her yesterday . . . it was all coming back, eating away at her.’

‘What will they do if she
has
killed someone? What do you know of Dragonfly justice?’

‘Dragonfly justice is swift and as fair as the prince that makes it,’ said Destrachis. ‘Also, that’s irrelevant. Felise Mienn is not sane, so they will not punish her.
Madness is . . . special to them. They will try to contain her, but . . .’ His face creased. ‘They are strange, when it comes to madness. They revere it.’

‘First things first,’ said Stenwold. ‘Let’s go and see if anything has actually happened, then we can worry about the repercussions.’

They found Gramo Galltree, self-styled ambassador, tending the small herb garden at the back of his embassy. He bobbed and smiled a greeting at them as they approached. Their host had still been
awake when Stenwold retired, so it was unclear whether he had slept at all.

‘The Mercer noblewoman?’ he said, when they asked him. ‘They came for her late last night.’

‘Came? Who came?’ Destrachis demanded.

‘A messenger from the Prince himself,’ Gramo said. ‘Apparently someone wished to speak with her.’

‘Then maybe she’s still there,’ Stenwold reasoned. Destrachis merely shook his head but said nothing.

‘You are also sent for,’ the Beetle ambassador said. ‘At your convenience.’

‘Prince Shah?’ Stenwold enquired.

Gramo chuckled indulgently. ‘Prince
Felipe
, you mean, but no, not him. Another at the castle requests your presence, perhaps even the same as sent for your friend. In your own time,
though. When you are ready.’

‘We’re ready now,’ Destrachis decided.

‘So, we trust Thalric now, do we?’ Achaeos asked. He was looking better, genuinely better, since his own people’s doctors had started tending him. The long
haul to Tharn had been worth the trouble, though now it had seemingly brought more trouble in its wake.

‘I . . . I think I do,’ Che said.

‘You think you do?’ He grimaced. ‘That doesn’t show much faith, Che.’

He reached his hand out and she took it, marvelling as always at how delicate his fingers were.

‘You remember Myna, Achaeos,’ she said. ‘You remember Kymene and the occupation.’

‘I do, yes.’

‘They need what I can bring them,’ she said simply. ‘Trust him or not, Thalric’s logic is sound.’

‘Only if his information is. Assuming he isn’t simply leading you into a trap.’

‘How can I know.’ She shrugged. ‘But if Thalric wanted to capture us, he’s already had his chance. He could easily hand us over to the Wasps here. He could have forced me
to fly off into the Empire – Helleron’s imperial now, and only a step away. Or there’s the camp at Asta, that must be seething with them. I think he’s . . . lost. He’s
used to having a whole Empire driving him on, and now he’s on his own, and he’s not used to that.’

‘Poor little Thalric,’ commented the Moth acidly.

‘But you see what I mean? If Myna rebels, then there will be fewer Wasp soldiers to throw at the Lowlands. If Myna and this other place rebel – and with Sten in the Commonweal trying
to roust them up – we could see the whole western Empire reeling. And there must be other places who will try to throw off the yoke if they know the Empire simply doesn’t have the
soldiers to spare for them.’

Achaeos closed his eyes, thinking. ‘The Ants of Maynes,’ he murmured, ‘and Sa. Great Delve. Yes, there are others.’ He opened those curious eyes again, without iris or
pupil so that she could not tell whether he was looking at her or not. ‘I understand, Che, I really do. I remember Myna. Perhaps we owe them something, after all. I’m just . . . I
don’t trust Thalric and I doubt I ever will. And I worry about you.’

‘And I worry about you too,’ she told him. ‘I’m leaving you here in
their
hands, after all. And, last I heard, your own people weren’t likely to step in and
help you if the Wasps decided that you were a prisoner and not a guest.’

He smiled slightly. ‘It might be that things are changing a little there. It might be that the Tharen are realizing that they’re part of a greater world after all, and that someone
who has at least put his nose outside once in a while is, if not much trusted, still useful.’

‘Really?’ Her eyes widened.

‘I’ve been meeting people,’ he explained. ‘They do not like me, Che. I have broken too many unwritten laws for them to like me. They need me, however. And things here are
not quite what they seem, regarding the occupation. You forget that we are a cunning people, in our way.’

She pressed her lips together. ‘Well, if you trust
them
, then maybe I can trust Thalric.’

‘Che, that isn’t the same thing at all.’

‘I know, but . . .’

His smile became sharp-edged. ‘I know. It’s what Stenwold would do, in your place. And I know what Myna means to Stenwold. For him, it was the door that opened onto the Empire. I
know.’ His grip on her hand increased. ‘And you want to be able to tell him how you liberated Myna. You want him to be proud of you.’

He had cut too deep with that. ‘I want to be proud of myself,’ she protested. ‘I seem to spend my whole time walking from one person’s cell to another. I haven’t
done
anything yet. Now I want to do my bit.’

She had brought the peoples of the Ancient League to stand alongisde Sarn, Achaeos reflected. She had retrieved the plans for the snapbow. She had found allies in Solarno and Tharn for her
people. He knew that she would not be satisfied with that, though, for she was still in the shadow of her uncle and her foster-sister, Tynisa.

The thought of Tynisa sent a twinge running through him, even though he never saw her wield the sword against him. That led him on to thoughts of the other player in this drama: the
Mosquito-kinden whose servant had, through Tynisa’s stolen arm, vicariously inflicted this wound he suffered. It was a matter he would have to discuss with the Skryres. Even if he could have
travelled, he needed most of all to be here.

‘Go, then,’ he told her. ‘You’re right, you must go. Please, though, do not let Thalric guide your hand too much. Do not give him a chance to betray you. When you are in
Myna, trust only Kymene and her people, even trust that old Scorpion more than you would trust Thalric. If the Empire should ever hold its hand out to him again, he is theirs.’

‘I know,’ she said.

He hunched forwards, and she hugged him gently but still felt him twitch in pain.