The silence had stretched on for a while now, and Sperra realized that she should probably be saying something. ‘Your Majesty,’ she began, and her voice was shaking. ‘I have come here with a very urgent message from Collegium.’
‘We have received messengers from Collegium only yesterday,’ noted one of the tacticians. ‘We understand that you have been petitioning for this audience for almost a tenday. It seems news has outstripped you.’
‘Yes and no, masters,’ Sperra said wretchedly. ‘I am come from Master Stenwold Maker of the Great College to bring a warning of war.’
‘War has come,’ a female tactician intervened, almost dismissively. ‘We will go to the aid of Collegium and fight the Vekken. You should have no concern over that.’
Sperra coughed, finding her voice dry up. ‘There is a greater war than that, ah, Your Majesty and esteemed masters.’ She had no idea of the proper address for an entire Royal Court at once, or even whether there was one. ‘You must have heard of the Wasp-kinden and their Empire, as they call it.’
That took them a little longer to consider, and Sperra sensed the thoughts flashing between them. At last it was one of the Beetles that spoke up, after a nod of assent from the Queen.
‘The city-state of Sarn is not without resources,’ she said. ‘We have of course had intelligence of these people, and know that they are currently investing Tark, the result of which we await keenly. The extent of their ambitions is unknown but we are considering what threat they may pose to us, should they continue to expand and their ambitions remain unchecked.’
‘Then could I say something about what I have seen, and about Master Maker, and Scuto, who’s the person that recruited me.’ She was aware she was now jumbling it all horribly. ‘Only I can tell you what the Wasps want. They’re planning to take over all of the Lowlands. They’ll do it city by city, you see, and they hope that everyone will just sit back and let them. On account of. it’s like you said, just then. Tark is under attack and, well, nobody really likes Tark. Anyway. I certainly don’t.’ She looked from face to face. One of the Beetles nodded, but there was precious little encouragement to be found anywhere else.
‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘so Tark goes down soon enough, because these Wasps, they’ve done Ant-kinden cities before. There’s a place called Maynes east of Helleron, and they took that years ago, and they’re much better at it now. Tark is gone, let’s say, and who cares? Only next they head for. ’ She wanted to say Merro, her own home, but that would not have strengthened her case. ‘For Kes, say. They get some boats and lay siege to the place. And of course, I suppose you don’t get on well with the Kessen either?’ She looked at them, and they gave her no response, but this time she waited until a smile twitched the Queen’s lips, who said, ‘The enmity between the cities of our kinden is well documented, Fly-woman. Make your case.’
‘Well it’s made, then, Your Majesty,’ Sperra said, ‘because we’re all sitting about glaring at each other, and waving flags every time one of our neighbours gets got, until here they are, at the gates of Sarn, say, and who do we call upon?’
‘We are Sarn,’ said one of the tacticians shortly. ‘Therefore we fight our own wars.’
‘But what if they had ten times as many soldiers, and better weapons, and they can fly, and just shoot you down with their bare hands? What then? What if they’re too big for any one city to take on? That’s what Master Maker keeps saying: there are lots of them, more than any one city could fight.’
A silence. Again she looked from face to face. ‘Please, do you not believe me?’ she asked.
The Queen shared a moment’s glance with some of her advisers. ‘Your words are understood, but we have more immediate concerns. You would not wish us, I am sure, to have us rush to the aid of Tark while the Vekken besiege Collegium. We shall remember your words, however. Once our present business with Vek is resolved, then we shall speak further. We see some merit in what you say.’
And that, Sperra realized, was the extent of her royal audience.
‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’ Che said.
Achaeos sent her a sidelong glance, but then admitted, ‘I have not been sleeping well, recently.’
She allowed herself a smile. ‘Am I to blame for that?’
‘When I do sleep, I have dreams. uncertain ones.’
She was about to give a flippant answer but thought better of it. ‘I suppose dreams are important to your people.’
‘They are, and I think. I fear I know where these dreams come from. You remember the Darakyon, and what we both saw there?’
‘I could never forget.’ Although she had tried. It had been after he helped rescue her from the Wasp slave cells in Myna: they had been heading for Helleron and in the way was the knotted little forest of the Darakyon. A Mantis-kinden name, she knew, but no Mantis-kinden lived there now. However, Achaeos had told her that those who had once called the place their home, centuries before, had never left. All nonsense, of course. All superstitious foolishness from a people of hermits and mystics, except that one night he and Tisamon had taken her into that wood and shown her. It had been Achaeos reaching out to her, over the barrier that separated their peoples’ worldviews.
And she had seen. In glimpses, perhaps, and for that she was thankful, but she had caught sight of what still dwelled between the twisted trunks of the Darakyon, in all its hideous, tortured glory, and her world had cracked, and let in something new.
They were almost at the nameless little gambling den by the river, and there were plenty of shadows that could have hidden anything. She allowed her eyes to pierce through them, calling on her Art, but the shiver did not leave her. ‘Are they. have they come here?’ she asked him.
‘No. They could not, I think. But these dreams. they are calling to me. I do not know why, but I will in time.’
They paused at the door, nerving themselves. The Arcanum, mostly in the person of Gaff, the stocky little man of unknown kinden, had not been forthcoming. They had met with him several times, and sometimes with the Mantis Scelae as well, but received only evasion. Now word had come for them. They had been summoned by the Arcanum. Something had changed.
‘Do you think it could be a trap?’ she asked, and he nodded glumly. ‘But these are your people,’ she protested.
‘The Arcanum are not my people,’ he said. ‘They are the political arm of the Skryres, and they have no one leader but serve many in Dorax and Tharn. Much of the time, it is said, they run the personal errands of their masters, who do not always agree. The Arcanum has turned on its own people before now, so why not against us?’
‘What option do we have?’ she asked him.
‘None — but be ready for trouble.’
They saw Gaff as soon as they entered, in the midst of some game of chance. He noticed them too and made hurried apologies to his fellows, leaving money on the table and hurrying over to them.
‘You took your time,’ he grumbled. ‘Come right with me, sir and lady. There’s serious talk to be done.’
He took them into a backroom, heading past the place’s owner, and then into a room beyond, that must have been part of the building adjoining. It was dark in there, a single lamp burning on a desk, and it was crowded. When Gaff had taken his place there was quite a gathering of people ranged there facing them. Che felt her hand drift towards her sword-hilt now, though it would now be of no use.
Half a dozen were Mantis-kinden. Scelae was seated on one corner of the desk while the rest stood, lean and hard men and women watching the newcomers suspiciously. One bore a sword-and-circle pin that recalled Tisamon’s: a Weaponsmaster, then, who would be more than sufficient on her own to blot them out if she chose. Of the other kinden four were Flies, and three of those were robed and cowled like their masters. One was a Commonwealer Dragonfly. There were only three Moths in all that number. An elderly woman sat on the corner of the desk across from Scelae and a young man stood behind her, in an arming jacket with a bandolier of throwing blades strapped across it. Central behind the desk, though, was the obvious cause of all this assembly. He was thin and balding and, taken alone, his grey, hollow face and white eyes did not suggest any great pre-eminence, but Che could almost feel the crackle of authority surrounding him.