The welcome the Ants gave to the fugitive Mynan air force was cool and businesslike. They provided food and drink, fuel and the use of winding engines, and they listened calmly to the news of Myna’s fall, making notes. None of the visitors was allowed within the fortress, however, and everything was conducted out under the sky. The Sarnesh did not want any outsider knowing the secrets of their new stronghold.
‘We can expect them here within perhaps a month,’ estimated the Ant commander who took their evidence.
‘Much less,’ Stenwold suggested. ‘Their force is now far more mechanized than General Malkan’s Seventh was. Even if you break up the rails leading from Helleron, I’d guess they’ll have enough automotives to get their siege engines here quickly.
‘Their siege engines,’ said the Ant impassively, and Stenwold experienced a sinking feeling, wondering if the man — and, by extension, all of the Ants at Malkan’s Folly — actually believed those stories from Myna. He had met that problem before with Ant-kinden. They lived in a world of absolute veracity when it came to their own people, and by contrast they found all outsiders unreliable and duplicitous.
‘There will be Mynan soldiers as well,’ Kymene spoke up. ‘Some may come here. Will you let them fight alongside you?’
The Ant commander made a discouraging noise. ‘I am not happy about asking my men to fight here alongside people who cannot follow our orders. Malkan’s Folly is a machine, efficient and carefully calibrated. Any fleeing Myna will be permitted to resupply here, then pass on westwards. Our fortress is for Sarn alone to defend.’ His almost uninflected tone concealed whether he meant this as an insult or not. ‘Collegium need not fear enemies from the north,’ he added, for Stenwold’s benefit. ‘Tell your Assembly that much.’ For a moment a measure of real disdain flickered across the man’s face. ‘We take it that you will fight?’
Stenwold was uncomfortably aware of Kymene’s eyes fixed on him too, but all he could do was nod and hope that his people would see things the same way.
Jodry Drillen had not seen his day going like this. He was the Speaker for the Assembly, after all, and it was hard to explain to those around him why he had decided to grace the scene of a particularly unpleasant-looking murder.
Still, the College Master who ran the department of justice was obviously flattered by his presence. The task of overseeing the law and order of the city had always been undertaken by the College, on the basis that those who formulated the city’s laws were best fit to enforce them, and investigating a crime was simply research in a different hat. Academically, however, it was not highly regarded, and so the Speaker’s personal attention was a much appreciated sign of support.
‘What’s it for?’ Jodry murmured.
They were standing in the central room of Banjacs Gripshod’s townhouse, which took up all three floors and the cellar and was mostly filled with a… a machine, was as far as Jodry would commit himself.
Standing beside him was a lecturer in artifice, a mechanic of fifteen years brought in to answer this precise question, and he just shook his head, eyes as wide as Jodry’s own. ‘I have not the first idea, Speaker, and that’s my educated opinion. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘It’s not just a… murder weapon, then?’ Jodry pressed.
‘Must have taken years to build. I know the Spiders say that revenge tastes better in the morning, but I reckon most people would’ve forgot why they wanted to kill someone by the time this thing got finished.’
The mortal remains of Reyna Pullard were still being prised off the machine itself. There was not much left of her, and what survived was charred black. A discharge of lightning from the device had practically incinerated her. The thunderous discharge, and her scream, had been loud enough to alert people outside the building, and that had led to Jodry standing here, hoping that it had been quick and mostly painless, despite the evidence of his eyes.
It might have been an accident, of course, save for Banjacs Gripshod’s own reaction. When the city watch had finally had to force their way into the house, he had practically assaulted them, screaming that the dead woman had betrayed him and making threats and demands.. When they had shouldered their way into this room, he had become hysterical, taking them as more of the ‘enemies’ that he was apparently obsessed with, calling them traitors to their city. With due respect for his age, he had been confined to his personal chambers under guard. It seemed very likely that his mind had turned in on itself a long time before, and this regrettable business was just the final symptom.
Except for the murderous machine, which was certainly intended for something, but was sufficiently complex — or possibly redundant — that a College artifice master had no idea what it was for. A little voice nagged in Jodry’s mind regarding Reyna Pullard’s warning: Banjacs Gripshod was going to blow up the city…
Jodry did not believe in machines that destroyed cities but, if he did, they would probably look something like this.
There was a small cough at his elbow and he glanced down to find his chief secretary, Arvi, attending on him. To Jodry’s knowledge, he had left the Fly-kinden back at his own house, but the man’s efficiency seemed not to acknowledge bounds of time or distance.
‘Master Maker to see you, Master Drillen.’
Jodry stared at him. ‘Stenwold Maker?’ he asked, although he knew no others.
‘He arrived at the airfield with some numbers less than an hour ago, and he has been tracking you down ever since,’ Arvi reported smartly.
‘Some numbers…? You make it sound as though he’s invading us.’ Jodry shook himself. ‘Send him in, for the world’s sake. I’m in need of a pillar of sanity to lean on.’
But Stenwold, when he entered, did not look overly supportive. He was wearing somewhat tattered artificer’s canvas, streaked with soot and blood: not an Assembler of Collegium, but a man back from a war.
‘Jodry, I need to speak to the Assembly as soon as it’s in session,’ were the first words out of Stenwold’s mouth, not even a greeting for his old friend.
‘Granted, of course. You’ll be first on the list tomorrow morning.’ Because Jodry could see in his face that it was important, whatever it was. Then a memory shot through him, as shocking and terrible as the charge that must have killed Pullard: Stenwold had returned from Myna.
‘We’ve had no reliable news…’ Jodry breathed. ‘Sten…’
‘You have no idea, Jodry.’ Stenwold shook his head, his eyes haunted. ‘The city’s not going to like what I have to say, but it needs to listen. How’s it been here?’
‘Rough. Sufficiently on edge that I suspect your news is only what people have been waiting to hear for a tenday and more. What news we get… well, it’s plain that something’s happening in Three-city territory… Everyone’s going armed. Everyone’s looking for enemies
…’ He gestured behind him at the towering glass and bronze and steel of Banjacs’s machine. ‘This… Banjacs Gripshod, you remember? He’s murdered his assistant. His reasons? He said she was a spy for the enemy. For the Empire, he said at one point. He even demanded to speak to you.’
Stenwold gazed up at the bewildering tubes and chambers of the device. ‘You’re so sure she wasn’t?’
Jodry sighed, wanting very much to just sit down on the floor, and to the pits with the dignity of his office. ‘Oh, she was a spy all right. She was my spy, who was telling me that our most notorious failed artificer was plotting some sort of terrible revenge on the city. If the Empire’s hand is anywhere, Sten, it’s probably behind this… thing.’
‘Then have someone look at it.’
‘First, don’t you think I have? Second, the last person who touched it was Pullard and she’s charcoal. And Banjacs Gripshod is mad enough that we’d never work out if this is an Imperial plot or not until…’ He looked plaintively at Stenwold. ‘How bad, Sten? Is there an “until”?’