He could not go back there. He had made too free with Stenwold’s possessions. Yet everyone had known the man was dead. Helmess Broiler had been exultant about it. Spider-kinden assassins or something. Everyone knew it, though no two voices agreed just how. He had died out on the water, doing who could know what? His woman, Arianna, had died with him; some even said they had killed each other. The point was that they were dead, and the niece was missing, and the rest of the Maker family were so entrenched in internecine feuds that nobody had come to claim the house, the cellar, the larder, the cashbox. That left only Cardless, alone, in that big house, so who wouldn’t have started to see it as his own?
Then a written message had come, just days ago, from Broiler’s people: Look out for Stenwold Maker. He may return any day. Cardless had burned it and laughed. Maker was dead. The sea had swallowed him. No man came back from that – not even Stenwold Maker.
Yet that same old Beetle had stood in the doorway, his face strangely bloodless and grey like a man long without the sun, wearing clothes ragged and stained, and Cardless had almost expected to see barnacles and shells clinging to his skin, seawater pooling at his feet. Stenwold Maker was back from his watery grave.
And now Cardless was out of a job. No money. No job. No money. Up until now he had been taking liberties with Maker’s credit, and his gambling friends had been happy to take his marker, once he had exhausted Stenwold’s stash of ready coin. Now, he owed, and some of the people he owed to would not take kindly to being put off. Not now that Cardless had nothing to fall back on.
His mind, still fuddled from drink, at last lit on the only solution: Helmess Broiler. Helmess had told him to watch out for Maker’s return. Well, now he was returned, and Broiler would want to know of it. He would pay for that, surely. Perhaps he could find Cardless a new position. It wouldn’t have to be working for an Assembler: any decent household would do. Perhaps Broiler had contacts in Helleron. A span of time out of the city wouldn’t go amiss, right now.
Yes, that’s it. Cardless caught his breath raggedly and nodded to himself. Helmess Broiler would want to know that Maker had returned, and then Helmess Broiler would make everything all right again. He was a proper magnate of Collegium, a good Assembler. He would be duly grateful for Cardless’s honest service.
Muttering to himself, the dismissed manservant hurried off through Collegium’s dark streets.
Helmess was inconveniently asleep when Cardless came calling. The wait in Broiler’s antechamber was sobering, and it gave the manservant a chance to put his thoughts in order, to straighten his stained tunic and run a hand through his dishevelled hair. Nonetheless, when he was finally ushered into Helmess Broiler’s presence, he was taken aback by the audience present: not only the Beetle magnate and his sultry Spider mistress, plus the pleasant-spoken servant Forman Sands, whom Cardless hoped he could count upon as a brother-in-craft, but there was another Spider-kinden in attendance as well. He was a dark, lean-faced man, slightly bearded, and in clothes that were surely Helmess’s own cast-offs and therefore nothing a Spider would normally be seen in. Not this man especially, for Cardless reckoned he could detect an Aristoi when he saw one… in fact, now he thought about it, the newcomer’s face was decidedly familiar. Behind him stood a ferocious-looking Dragonfly man, all tattoos and scars and a long-hafted sword slung over one shoulder.
Helmess was making impatient gestures to him, so he turned from eyeing the newcomer and got out his story in reasonable order, leaving out any inconvenient details about the precise circumstances that Maker had discovered on his long-delayed return home. He saw the significant looks pass between Broiler and the Spider-kinden man, and allowed himself an eager little smile. Just as he had hoped, his news was obviously valuable, worthy of reward, not only to Helmess but to. .. Teornis?
Cardless felt a little skip of unease within him. Surely this was Teornis of the Aldanrael, who some said had killed Stenwold, and others claimed had been Maker’s last victim. This was a night for dead men, it seemed. Moreover, there was a fair consensus that Teornis was behind the armada even now expected to sail from Seldis and Everis, to bring another war upon poor, battered Collegium. So what was the man doing here?
There were rumours, of course, about Helmess Broiler, but then they circulated about any Beetle who ran for Speaker, mostly spread by his opponents. Still, the rumours about Broiler had suggested he was a deal too close to the Empire… and now Cardless found himself wondering whether Broiler wasn’t a deal too close to some other enemies of Collegium, for here he was sitting right next to one.
He did his best to keep any of the suspicions off his face. He was supposed to be good at that. He just watched as Broiler leant across to the Spider, speaking in hushed tones.
‘Well?’ Helmess whispered so that this travesty of a manservant before them would catch none of it. ‘I assume you’ll have your assassins deal with this.’
‘By no means,’ Teornis replied softly. ‘I would never dream of doing anything so base. Master Maker continues to win my admiration.’
‘We have to put him away, now,’ Helmess insisted. ‘Surely you can see that?’
‘That is not how it is done,’ was Teornis’s light response. ‘Nor would it be so easy.’ His thought went unsaid, but distinctly understood, that, if there was a choice, to kill Stenwold or kill Broiler, he would not hesitate to cut his host’s throat himself. ‘Can we dispense with this creature?’ He waved a bored hand at Cardless.
‘Ah, yes.’ Helmess nodded. Then, in louder tones, he said, ‘I suppose we’ve heard enough.’
‘Please, Master Broiler,’ Cardless said, half obsequious, half desperate. ‘I was hoping that I should have some recompense for bringing you this. And… I have nowhere to go. Perhaps you have some position… or know of one…?’
‘Yes, tiresome that you’re no longer in Maker’s household,’ said Helmess. ‘Ah well, so much for that. Sands, would you be so kind as to give our friend Cardless his final payment. Be sure he wants for nothing.’
‘I would be delighted, Master Broiler,’ replied Sands, giving Cardless his best smile and taking him by the elbow. Cardless’s backward glance was only one of thankfulness.
Helmess waited until he was gone before adding, ‘That is, assuming you’re happy for me to dispose of at least this irritation?’
‘Oh, kill him,’ Teornis said dismissively. ‘It would be only a day at most before he thought to sell some piece of information back to Stenwold Maker, therefore he’s best in the earth. Maker is back, though, and with sea-kinden dancing attendance, no less. He did better than I, for he got out of the water a free man.’
‘Sea-kinden?’ Helmess was frowning, perhaps thinking of such specimens as Rosander in full armour. ‘You’re sure?’
‘What does your good lady think?’ Teornis prompted.
Elytrya nodded reluctantly. ‘Yes, the man Cardless’s descriptions were clear, even though he did not really know what he was describing. Some, at least, were of the sea.’
‘So how did Stenwold persuade them into facing their greatest fear? Are they also Littoralists, plotting the destruction of all land-people? I think not,’ Teornis conjectured, ‘but what else could drag some of them all the way to Collegium?’
‘The heir,’ Elytrya spat out.
Teornis nodded enthusiastically. ‘None other,’ he agreed. ‘And I must restate my utter admiration for the resourcefulness of Stenwold Maker. Indeed, it’s high time that we made it work on our behalf.’
Helmess regarded him with hooded eyes for a moment, then made a dubious sound. ‘That calls for a great deal of skill, Teornis. I’d not stake even my man Sands on performing that kind of work.’
‘Then be thankful that I include amongst my followers some with sharp ears and silent wings,’ Teornis told him. ‘Varante, you understand my meaning? Keep watch on Maker’s house. Have spies to mark his course. Tell me where he goes. Eavesdrop, if you can. Why should we not let the redoubtable Stenwold Maker himself lead us to this errant boy?’