Relief flooded the little girl’s face. She took Bel’s hand and he hoisted her up onto his broad shoulders.
Hiza shook his head and smiled. ‘Always there for a damsel in distress, eh?’
‘I think it was Shari who was really frightened,’ said Bel. ‘Lucky she had a brave friend to protect her.’ He was rewarded with a happy giggle from on high.
They weren’t long at the bird stall before the girl’s frantic mother burst from the crowd. She thanked Bel profusely for finding her child, hugging her as tightly as the girl had hugged Shari. As they disappeared into the bustle, the girl raised a hand to wave happily at the blades.
‘Come on,’ said Hiza. ‘The wasps are making good time.’
The two keepers began weaving through the crowd. People were milling around the market stalls, or gathering to stare down side streets at the colourful caravan that was passing along Kadass Road, a couple of streets over and parallel to Market Road. The caravan carried the Trusted of Cindeka and her entourage, who had arrived that morning at Kadass’s western gate. They were going to the Halls to discuss a trade dispute with their neighbour state of Tria, but the curiosity of the general populace was in no way due to that. The people were out to see the only Trusted in Kainordas who wasn’t a Varenkai.
The Zyvanix wasps were huge versions of their distant insect cousins, and not often seen in Kadass. Most of them lived in Cindeka, in towering hive cities constructed of earth. They had a reputation for arrogance, believing themselves to be the closest to Arkus of all Kainordas’s races since they were blessed with the power of flight. It was only with a certain belligerence that they even recognised the Throne as their ruler.
Bel and Hiza caught glimpses of wasp warriors flitting about a lumbering caravan, their spindly arms clutching bows and barbed spears as they hovered in the air. The caravan itself was a sight to behold: huge and draped in the bright colours that the wasps favoured, pulled by the enormous draught horses of the western plains. The keepers were part of an unofficial guard for the arrival, dispersed amongst the watching crowds. It was a good thing they were there, Bel thought, for the Zyvanix warriors seemed to be enjoying the attention more than their duties. Still, it was unlikely there would be any trouble.
‘You know she needs two translators?’ said Hiza.
‘Hmm?’ said Bel.
‘The wasp Trusted. She needs two translators.’
‘Is that so?’ Bel exaggerated his interest.
Hiza grinned at him. ‘Yes. Zyvanix can’t make human sounds with those weird mouths of theirs, and we can’t make their sounds either. The translators can never talk in the languages they are trained to understand, so they need one wasp who can understand human speech to tell the Trusted what we’re saying, and one Varenkai who can understand wasp talk to tell us what they’re saying.’
‘How interesting.’
‘It is ,’ insisted Hiza. ‘Imagine being the human translator! Stuck in Athika, surrounded by wasps, without even being able to talk to them! And a city built of mud beneath you – wouldn’t you be afraid of the floors collapsing?’
‘Not my choice of career,’ said Bel. ‘Excuse me,’ and he stepped aside for a young woman carrying a basket of fruit. She blushed at his smile.
They approached another pair of keepers, one of whom was their captain, Hosarus. He was a man who had chosen to stay with the keepers instead of moving on to a career in the military. Was that a path for Bel to consider? Somehow he doubted it.
‘Lads,’ said Hosarus.
‘Captain,’ they chorused.
‘I want you on Kadass Road.’ Hosarus glanced around, chewing absently on a straw. ‘Lovely day. Shouldn’t be any hassle. Keep a lookout though. It’s a big crowd, ain’t it?’
‘Sure is, captain,’ said Bel.
Hosarus nodded. ‘Off you go then.’
They obeyed, moving to the street of the procession. People were waving at the wasps, who stared back with multifaceted eyes, or waggled their antennae. For a notoriously bad-tempered race, it looked as if they were enjoying the fuss, Bel thought. He admired the dexterity with which they handled their weapons as they flew, using all six legs to manoeuvre them about. It would be impressive to see their archers in action, firing arrows from the quivers strapped to their stripy stomachs. No wonder his father had wished for a troop of them at the Shining Mines.
Something stirred in his blood and it took him a moment to recognise it. He spun around, searching the crowd, shoving through without regard for who he pushed. The feeling faded and still he searched, straining his neck for any glimpse of red hair. Eventually he gave up, with a dark glower and a heavy heart. He had been sure he had sensed her, if only for a moment. Had she really been passing nearby?
Bel sat in a corner of The Wayward Dog with Hiza as the afternoon light retreated over table tops like sunset. They’d been on their feet all day and the opportunity to sit peacefully was welcome.
‘Looked like your mugs were close to empty,’ said Corlas as he joined them, plunking three fresh ales on the table. Hiza and Bel tipped back their dregs in answer.
Bel raised his fresh mug in a mock toast. ‘To the visiting Trusted,’ he said. ‘May she continue to sip on sugar water and never realise the joy of ale.’
‘And to the shining sun,’ said Hiza, ‘for granting us a thirst worthy of such ale.’ He grinned.
‘And to your superiors,’ added Corlas, ‘for putting clowns like you in charge of our streets.’
They laughed and clinked their mugs together.
‘Were you there to see the Trusted enter the Halls?’ asked Bel.
‘Aye,’ said Corlas. ‘I organised the ceremonious bowing of soldiers as she came through the gates. Your friend M’Meska was there, along with her standing order that you return to the military immediately.’
‘Mmm,’ said Bel, staring into his ale.
‘She said that when she makes troop leader, she’ll be hunting you down for her penulm,’ said Corlas. ‘I think she was serious.’
Bel forced a smile. The Saurian simply refused to understand his decision to return to the keepers. Not that he really understood it himself.
‘At any rate,’ Corlas continued, ‘this is one engagement Naphur can’t palm off to Baygis. Word is that the wasp Trusted refused to negotiate with anyone but the Throne himself. Personally I think Baygis would have done better. Relations with the wasps have always been difficult, but Baygis is as smooth as a river stone.’
‘Did you get to see the Trusted herself?’ Hiza asked.
‘I thought I caught her peeking out of that ridiculous caravan,’ replied Corlas. ‘Who knows? They all look like bugs to me.’ He took a swig. ‘A couple of them put on an archery display for us.’
‘Really?’ said Bel. ‘I’d have liked to see that. How was it?’
‘Impressive. Very impressive. They shoot while airborne. With all those legs working, they can have another arrow ready as soon as the first leaves the bow. And their arrows look like wood replicas of their stings. I wouldn’t want a swarm of Zyvanix on my tail, by Arkus.’
‘Maybe we should see if we can “appropriate” some of their bows for the barracks,’ said Bel. ‘Another addition for weapons practice?’
‘I’m sure it can be arranged,’ said Corlas, returning Bel’s smile. ‘They are here on a matter of trade, after all. Perhaps if the barracks chef were to mix up some extra sweet sugar water?’
‘Ah yes,’ said Bel. ‘That’s good stuff, that sugar water.’
He screwed up his face in distaste and they all laughed again.
Night had grown old by the time Bel made his way home. Back in the tavern, a game of darts with some other keepers had blown out of all proportion, resulting in many rematches. Now he was glad to be free of the smoke, and savoured an unusually good mood that had come out of nowhere. He was awake, not drunk, and in no rush to be home. Instead he meandered, pausing on street corners occasionally to look up at the stars. He smiled as he recalled the little girl and her doll Shari. He realised he’d learned the doll’s name but not hers.