Adrian Tchaikovsky - The Scarab Path

I am a poor Rekef man, a poor Imperial soldier . He had always tried to be loyal to his friends and comrades, but that had almost never worked. So where is my loyalty now? It seemed absurd that the sticking point for his muchabused fidelity could be a Beetle-kinden girl working for the opposite side.

Everyone else recognizes the risks . Maybe that was it. Che Maker never seemed to realize the danger she constantly put herself in. Watching her progress through life was like witnessing a constant series of near-misses, like seeing someone sleepwalk through a battle.

He shook his head. Once more he had written, The Collegium ambassador is known to me , but that begged the obvious question. He put down the pen and rubbed his eyes, smudging ink across his cheek. He was willing to bet that Marger would have completed his own report hours before, despite having the added chore of reporting on Thalric.

There was a scream from outside, so shrill with terror that Thalric leapt up instantly, spilling everything from the desk. He went to the window, found it too narrow to exit through. There was a lot of shouting from downstairs and from across the square. The scream was repeated, like the desperate cry of a man on the rack. An attack! But on who? He grabbed up his sword, discarded the scabbard and bolted out of his room.

He ran into a half-dressed Marger on the stairs, and with a common glance the two of them made for the door. As they hit the cool night air they found Gram outside, sword already drawn, the other hand held out with palm open towards the building on the other side of the Place. There were people spilling out of it, too, and Thalric spotted one of the Vekken already armoured, and glimpsed Che's Flykinden as well. Both of them held crossbows.

Oh, this could get messy . Gram and the Fly began shouting at each other, each demanding to know what the other had done. Without having to look, Thalric knew that Vollen, with his sting ready, would have taken station at one of the windows.

'There!' Marger snapped, and pointed. Thalric saw the body at the same time. Near the larger arch, a man lay on his back, one hand upraised as if to ward something off, the other arm flung over his eyes.

It was Osgan.

Thalric's heart sank as he ran across, dropping to one knee beside the fallen man. There was a lot of shouting going on, the pitch of tension rising and rising. 'Get them to shut up!' he told Marger, who backed away to quieten things down.

Osgan was shaking violently and he clung to the proffered arm as Thalric went to touch his shoulder. His face was a mask of tears and he reeked of alcohol. He kept pointing, though, and was trying to get some words out. Thalric followed the trembling finger, and for a second felt a twitch of what Osgan must be feeling. Then he cursed the man wearily and rounded on the escalating confrontation behind him.

Che had emerged now, bundled up in a grey Mothkinden cloak and calling for her own side to back down. Thalric could sense that Gram was more than ready for a fight, and even Marger had abandoned his easy manner and had drawn his sword.

'Down! Swords down! Back inside!' Thalric bellowed, and for a moment he was neither Rekef nor traitor, but Captain Thalric of the Imperial army shouting at a bunch of recalcitrant soldiers. 'We are not about to restart the war with the Lowlands here in Khanaphes. There is no problem, there is no attack. Everyone get back inside and go to sleep!' Even as he shouted it he could hear his words echoed by Che Maker ordering her people to do the same.

'Accius, listen to me,' she was yelling. 'Or Malius, whichever. Just … I will find out what's going on …Trallo, put that cursed crossbow down.' An old Beetle had come out, wearing a nightshirt and carrying a sword, until Che turned and swore at him, telling him to get back inside and leave this to her. 'This isn't a fight,' she insisted. 'Nothing's happened.'

Not yet , Thalric thought, but it very nearly did .

'That man of yours is a liability,' Marger remarked disgustedly.

'Right now we're all liabilities,' Thalric told him grimly. 'I'll deal with Osgan. You get your men back inside.'

It seemed to last for ever, this moment on the edge of violence. Then Marger turned away, and Gram followed him with such a belligerent backwards stare that Thalric guessed he must have scores to settle with the Lowlands, left over from the war. The Vekken had already stamped back inside and Che was shepherding the rest of her errant people out of sight.

Osgan had crawled over to the pond and was splashing water on his face. In the sudden quiet, Thalric could hear the ragged catch of his breathing.

'You bloody fool,' he said, but quietly. Osgan rolled over onto his back. He looked ill.

'You can't know …' he got out, 'what I saw-'

'I know exactly what you saw,' Thalric snapped, 'and be grateful I understand enough not to hand you over to Vollen and Gram,' He glanced over at what had spooked Osgan: just a statue. It was partly overgrown, hidden in greenery until now, and depicted a Mantis-kinden standing with his clawed gauntlet on, the blade folded back along the line of his arm. And I do understand. Tisamon could have modelled for it .

The release of tension left him feeling weak, shaking his head. He had no will left to discipline Osgan. The whole business just seemed ridiculous. He sat down heavily on one of the benches as Osgan eyed him cautiously.

'I'm sorry, Thalric. I'm sorry,' he mumbled.

'Oh, shut up,' Thalric said, without rancour. We could have been killing each other, over this . He chuckled despite himself, resting his head on one hand and staring into the water.

'Midnight manoeuvres for the Imperial army, is it?'

He jumped up and turned to find Che standing not ten feet away, still clutching that grey cloak about her. He snorted half a laugh before he could stop himself.

'Just an … It's not a problem.'

'Is he all right?' She peered round him at the prone figure of Osgan.

'He's fine. He's drunk.'

'Lucky him.' To his surprise one of her hands came up holding a clay jar from which she took a swallow. 'He's more than drunk. What happened?' She asked the question without guile, not a Lowlander agent prying for information — just Cheerwell Maker and Thalric caught up in another awkward situation.

'He ran into that statue over there, the Mantis one, and it gave him a bit of a fright,' Thalric explained. One harsh winter during the Twelve-year War, he had crossed a frozen lake on foot, his armour weighing him down too much for flight. He was reminded of that now: just pressing on carefully while waiting for the ice to give way, for everything to fall apart.

'Well, I can understand that.' She sat down with a whoosh of breath, raising the jar to her lips again.

Everyone gets a drink tonight except me , he thought. Now is that fair? 'I don't suppose,' he said, still negotiating the ice, 'there's enough there for a swig?'

She gave him a long look, and in his mind he heard the ominous creaking and cracking, but then she passed it over. He knocked back a gulp, tasted harsh spirits, far stronger than he had expected. He choked, forcing it down, then handed the jar back wordlessly.

Che gave a delighted shout. 'You know, I always thought temperance was one of your lot's virtues. I don't think I ever saw a drunk Wasp before.'

Osgan began to protest about being called drunk, but he slurred the words so much he was incomprehensible.

Thalric felt himself smile. 'Oh, bring three bottles of this gutrot to my room some time, and I'll show you one.' He waited for the final crack, the sudden icy cold, but she laughed out loud, the sound ringing around the Place of Foreigners. What Marger and the rest must have thought, he had no idea.