Adrian Tchaikovsky - Blood of the Mantis

‘I’m not here to do your job for you,’ Sarvad growled, his patience obviously fraying. ‘What else then? You must have more than that.’

Not so much more , Brodan considered. ‘I had contact with a Major Thalric, sir. He’s-

‘I know Major Thalric,’ said Sarvad, his eyes narrowing. ‘What did he want?’

‘I think he’s involved, sir. I have men out hunting for him even now.’

‘Hunting him?’ Sarvad leant over the desk towards him.

‘Yes, sir. He was on the latest list I received, sir. As a traitor…’

Sarvad’s expression gave him no encouragement, and for a moment Brodan wondered whether his lists were in fact accurate. Then Sarvad settled back, his expression becoming more reassuring.

‘I only meant to say, Lieutenant, that if you already had contact with him, I should think that no further hunting was necessary. He escaped you, it would seem.’

‘We will recapture him, sir, and then I’ll need no permission to interrogate him .’

‘I doubt that he knows much,’ Sarvad murmured, half to himself, and then continued, out loud, ‘If he happens to die resisting capture, Lieutenant, or indeed whilst being put to the question, there will be no tears shed. You understand?’

‘Perfectly, sir.’

Sarvad left the dingy little guesthouse and, just a street away, found an excuse to duck into a narrow and shadow-cloaked alley, out of sight of any eyes. Then, although a big, old Wasp major had gone in, it was now a Beetle-kinden merchant who walked out and behind both faces lurked a Spider-kinden spy.

Always good to keep a close eye on the competition. Scyla nodded to herself. She had worked with Sarvad a few times, just a few years back. He had then stuck in her mind as a useful face to wear, for his political acumen meant that he could plausibly turn up anywhere, and was also unlikely to wind up at the sharp end of imperial displeasure.

Mention of Thalric was unwelcome, however. He knew too much about her, and she might have to hunt him down and kill him herself. Still, perhaps Brodan’s men could now save her the trouble.

‘You want Spiders? Over here for Spiders,’ announced Nivit’s girl, who was taking her turn as tour guide about Jerez. Her name was Skrit, apparently, and she was certainly very young, although Skaters were so odd-looking she could have been equally ten or sixteen. With her long-legged gait she moved fast enough that even Tisamon and Tynisa had to almost run to keep up with her.

A Mantis and a Spider keeping company within the Empire, and the remarkable thing was that nobody stared. In Jerez nobody’s secret was safe, and at the same time nobody really cared. The locals lived in such a welter of gossip and speculation that any peculiarity of their visitors was picked up, turned over and soon cast aside.

They had the names from Gaved’s list and were now taking a look at the new notables of Jerez. It seemed the best way to track down the box, or at least the auction of it, though everybody was being very close-mouthed about the details for that event. Even Nivit had been unable to find out where and when it would be happening. Whatever Scyla had arranged, she was making very sure that, of all the secrets in and around Lake Limnia, hers was the one that did not get out. Achaeos had guessed it was because she had not yet set the place: the potential buyers would be notified personally in due course.

‘And can’t you find it by magic?’ Tynisa had asked him. ‘You got us all the way here by magic. Why not just sniff the thing out and let’s all go home?’

Jons Allanbridge had snorted at the superstition of such thinking. He was a practical man, partway through repairs to the Buoyant Maiden , the gondola of which still remained their base of operations. It meant that he and Achaeos were sharing – though not enjoying – a lot of their time.

‘I know the Shadow Box is somewhere here, within or very close to Jerez, but for more than that I am altogether too close, it is too great… It is like looking at the sun,’ Achaeos had explained. ‘And, besides, this Scyla, she has a little magic, a very little maybe, but she is used to hiding things.’ He had frowned then. ‘Tell me, Tynisa, have you observed anything… magical, whilst you were out on the streets?’

She had kept her face carefully blank at that point, thinking about the odd gap in her memory, the trance she seemed to have fallen into, the bleeding of her hand. She did not want to talk about it, she had decided. She would work that one out herself. She did not want Achaeos thinking that she was weak in any way.

Only when she departed with Tisamon and Skrit had she begun to wonder just where that decision had come from, whether it had been hers at all.

Since then, she and Tisamon had investigated four names on the list, and thus built up an interesting picture of life amongst the highest echelons of the collectors.

One had been a high-ranking Wasp officer who had been staying within the garrison but a few days before, or so the garrison servants had told Nivit. But the man had been arrested and imprisoned, and was even now under threat of interrogation; nobody knew why. Meanwhile, the wife of the Governor of Maynes, who had also been staying there, had gone to reside on a boat out on the lake.

‘What is going on within the Wasp camp?’ Tisamon asked, not expecting an answer, but it was something Tynisa felt better equipped to understand. She had Spider blood in her, after all, and so the puzzling out of politics should be second nature to her.

‘Whoever wanted the box originally and sent Scyla to steal it,’ she explained, ‘they’re here now. They still want it, but I’m sure they’re not going to want to pay for it. The other imperial buyers are getting out of the way fast, or getting caught.’

They had gone to look for a rogue Moth Skryre that Nivit had sworn was in town, with no success. The Dragonfly noble was also lying low. The Beetle-kinden Consortium factor that Founder Bellowern had been particularly interested in had since been found dead in a backstreet near the water, his throat slit and his guards nowhere to be seen. Clearly someone had seen a chance to rid the world of a little competition.

Now Skrit was taking them to see the two Spider-kinden who had journeyed so far north for the auction.

‘They must have started travelling within a tenday of Scyla getting here,’ Tynisa said. ‘How could they even have got word so soon? Unless Scyla herself sent out airship couriers or something.’

‘Magicians have always been able to talk at a distance,’ said Tisamon, in a tone suggesting that everyone would know this, and therefore she should have learnt it as a child, ‘and also know something of the future.’

Perhaps, if I had been brought up a Mantis, I would indeed have known that .

Tisamon’s attitude to magic confused her. He accepted it unconditionally, whilst she still found the whole idea strange and unlikely, despite any proofs that had been shown to her. Moreover, he was distinctly wary of it. Even Achaeos inspired his respect, and there seemed to be a fear in him beyond that, deeply incised in him by his heritage and his blood.

And now we’re in a town crammed full of magicians – or so I’m supposed to believe.

The two Spider-kinden were not hard to find, or shy of attention. They had taken over a guesthouse in its entirety, and had their servants deck the place out in silks of bright colours, reds and golds and azure blues. The whole front of the building had been thrown open to the fickle sun that morning, and Tisamon and Tynisa were thus able to watch the two of them holding court, one reclining at either end.

‘They are good at hating each other,’ Skrit remarked enthusiastically. ‘Always hating, so they keep eyes on each other at all times.’