‘Do not question me,’ he told her sternly, and Stenwold saw Wys waggle her eyebrows, obviously amused. Then again, most things seemed to amuse Wys.
‘Or is it just because Claeon has not included you amongst his creatures?’ Paladrya jabbed.
Heiracles glared at her. ‘Claeon is a murderer and a usurper, and some of us did not share his bed.’
She shrugged that off. ‘And what have you done meanwhile? Aradocles has been gone for more than four years, and I have been in the oubliette for two. What about you? What grand plan do you have, Heiracles?’
‘With Rosander’s bannermen all over the city, there is little that can be done,’ he told her flatly. ‘I have my spies inside the palace. I have gathered information. Recently I have arranged to extract some curious prisoners I had received word of. Do not make me regret it.’
‘And if Aradocles returns?’
Heiracles regarded her without expression. ‘Oh, yes, if the boy-Edmir returns then no doubt the colony will rise up, although there is the small fact that they will be rising right into the claws of Rosander’s thugs. But you sent him onto the land, and the land is death. Only the Littoralists pretend otherwise.’
‘And the land-kinden?’ Paladrya said stubbornly. ‘Heiracles, send these two land-kinden to find Aradocles, and bring him back. Rosander’s not unbeatable.’
Heiracles’s smile was not pleasant. His sharp eyes turned on Stenwold. ‘You’d do that, would you?’
Oh, hammer and tongs, yes! ‘Return me to the land and I will do whatever you want, believe me.’
The expression on Heiracles’s face grew disdainful. ‘Oh I’m sure of it, if you could be trusted. Why should these landsmen care for our troubles? No doubt some relative of theirs has skinned and eaten the boy already, if they even go so far as to prepare their food.’
‘Claeon believes he’s still alive,’ Paladrya insisted. ‘Why else would he take land-kinden captive?’
Heiracles gave her a pitying look. ‘Claeon believes many things. Some say he even believes the Littoralists, and looks to make conquests above the waves. But I believe otherwise. I believe he has tired of feeding Rosander’s Thousand Spines and looks elsewhere for a means to keep the colony under his thumb. I believe that these land-kinden are to form his new militia within Hermatyre: a captive slave army that could only do his bidding, or drown. Besides, what creature that must eke out its living beneath the burning sun and dust would not leap at the chance to live as we do? No, I will not trust these savages.’
Coming from a man wearing little but a kilt and some gold baubles, Stenwold found this a little rich. Laszlo was clearly gathering himself to deliver some invective, until Wys cuffed him across the back of the head.
‘Don’t reckon anyone wants to hear my thoughts,’ Gribbern’s droning voice broke in, ‘but I don’t see how this concerns the Pelagists, or even the Profundists, of which technically I am one. I don’t see how even Nemoctes, who’s a good deal more sociable than me, would want to get involved in this.’
‘Then why did he send you?’ Heiracles demanded of the man.
‘Don’t see as he did send me,’ responded Gribbern’s mournful voice. ‘He asked, mind, because he cares about Hermatyre, on account of even Pelagists having to moor up there sometimes, and Profundists as well. But it doesn’t sound like anything there’s going to change unless you somehow magic the boy back, and it seemed to me as though you’re not even interested in that…’
‘I said nothing of the sort,’ Heiracles protested, and hastily, which piqued Stenwold’s interest. ‘I simply said I cannot see that we should trust these… outlanders. Of course I’d wish Aradocles back, if I believed there was any chance.’
‘There is a chance,’ Paladrya insisted.
‘Enough from you,’ he snapped. ‘You’re still under threat of execution. Push me too far and… what now?’ For one of his spearmen, still dripping from the sea, had clattered in amongst them, past the bales.
‘Archon,’ the man gasped, ‘you must leave. The Edmir’s men are coming.’
Twenty-Three
‘You look like a man who has received some bad news,’ was Teornis’s understatement. In truth the Edmir’s face was like thunder. The messenger luckless enough to bring that same news must have had little time in which to regret it. Teornis had already gauged Claeon’s character by the way he treated his underlings. Good Aristoi inspired loyalty, rewarded good service, and were utterly ruthless when necessary. Claeon’s temper was like a beast unchained. He lashed out at the undeserving when angry, and that bred only resentment. His power alone prevented reprisal, and Teornis had seen men just like him fall very quickly once their one crutch was kicked away. And may my foot do the kicking one day, O Edmir.
‘Tell me of your companions,’ Claeon snapped, hurling himself down onto the woven mattress of the bed.
Teornis took a moment to compose his words, contrasting the relative comfort up here with the cell down in the oubliette, or with Claeon’s torture chamber for that matter. These guest chambers, or whatever they were, were at least spacious and furnished, adorned with the sea-kinden’s customary artistic flair for pointless arabesques, and there was even a small extent of rubbery window giving out on to the endless dark waters. ‘Of the small one,’ he started, ‘nothing need be said. He is a servant, no more than that.’
Claeon grunted in acknowledgement. In truth, Teornis had no particular feelings for Stenwold’s Fly companion one way or the other, but he was not going to risk himself to keep the little vermin alive.
‘The other, though, he was always my chief opponent in the war between his people and mine. He has considerable power and influence amongst his own colony.’
‘A clever man?’ the Edmir muttered.
‘Oh, clever certainly.’ So what’s wrong? Claeon’s displeasure was intense enough to stop any other clues getting through. Has Stenwold died? It was a bitter thought. Perhaps he tried some ridiculous escape attempt and the guards killed him. Perhaps the guards just killed him for sport. They seemed fit servants for their master, from what I saw. ‘A valuable prisoner, for bargaining, I would say. And a man who knows a great deal of useful information.’
Claeon’s look grew only darker.
Teornis grimaced. ‘O Edmir, if I have displeased you, then only let me know how…’ he tried.
The Edmir glanced up at him, as though seeing him for the first time. ‘You? Oh, I still have you, and I see I was wise to keep you separate like this. You are a man of influence also, so you say?’
‘With my people, yes,’ Teornis allowed cautiously. ‘With many people above the waters, indeed. You wish me to use this influence of mine on your behalf?’
‘And you are an enemy to those other two?’
‘Our peoples are enemies, it is true.’
Claeon let out a long hiss. ‘As you have guessed, I have my agents on land. The Littoralists indeed have their uses. Your people – or your enemy’s people – they have agents amongst my own, I now discover.’
Teornis blinked at that, momentarily left without words. ‘I… had not thought so, O Edmir,’ he said at last.
The Edmir glowered at him. ‘If you play me false, landsman, I shall give you over to Arkeuthys to devour.’
‘O Edmir, we have never known of your people – or your colony. Perhaps there are some land-kinden that once did, though. Perhaps those who formerly ruled the places where now your other prisoner’s people stand once knew. They knew a great deal that they neglected to share with others. For his people, though? No, surely not. I cannot imagine that they could have such knowledge, and not trumpet it all over the land. They are not subtle as you and I are. They do not understand the value of secrets.’