The following day, the names had already started to trickle in.
It was inevitable, Helmess knew, and those few of the Assembly sufficiently idealistic to abstain were already mostly on his list. The rest would bow before the tide of circumstance, as pragmatic Beetle-kinden were renowned for doing. The majority would do so not out of treachery, nor through a wish for advancement, nor even through fear for their own lives. Instead, they would betray their fellows to protect their families, to soften the blow of the Empire’s domination. From such small stones would Helmess build an Imperial city here in the heart of the Lowlands.
He was discharging his duties well, he reckoned. General Tynan would have no complaints. Helmess was determined to prove himself irreplaceable, for there was always the danger that the future governor of Collegium, whenever appointed, might be tempted to dispense with his services. What Helmess wanted was a man with sufficient ambitions for advancement back in Capitas that governing a well-run, profitable Beetle city would prove enough, without needing to meddle in the workings himself. Thus, Helmess should become the sole channel by which the Empire communicated with its vassal state, ruler in all but name.
Unless the Spiders decide to take an interest.
That was always a cause for concern, both because they played the political game better than the Wasps, and because Helmess was honestly not sure what records they might have kept from their previous run-in with Collegium, when he himself had nominally been one of their agents. He had a suspicion that the Aldanrael might be keenly interested in his involvement in that debacle, so he was keeping well out of the way of their Lady-Martial whenever possible.
Yesterday had been given over to the business of telling the Assembly how the world now worked, using words simple enough that even the dullest or most resistant of them could understand. That same evening, Helmess had taken a sumptuous dinner with Colonel Cherten, who seemed to appreciate what Broiler was doing for the Empire. Today he had no formal appointments lined up, therefore it was time for him to indulge himself.
There had already been a few reports regarding those the Empire wanted to arrest, but of course there was one in particular that Helmess wanted to see crossed off his list. He had bitterly assumed that the man had already fled, but recent news had come in to suggest otherwise. Helmess was now going to hunt down Stenwold Maker himself, and the knowledge made him feel as giddy as a child.
There was still a handful of Spiderlands agents within the city, seeded there long ago and now well established, who had avoided every investigation that Maker and his allies had set in motion. It was their reports that had first reached Helmess, mentioning a few possible hiding places for the War Master. Finally, a public-spirited Assembler had provided more definite confirmation, and Helmess knew that he must act quickly before the Empire became involved and took the credit.
It was lucky that Collegium was such a large and complex city. Tynan’s troops might be inventorying everything, workshops and businesses and cartels surrendering their accounts and manifests for the Empire, but there were whole swathes of the city yet unexamined. Imperial priority would not be to check the College first. So far it had remained inviolate — and within its vaults hid a prize.
Stenwold Maker never left the city. He retired, ailing, to the College infirmary. And he is there right now.
Waving his newly awarded major’s badge had earned Helmess the services of a dozen Wasp infantry, although he could see that they were not exactly keen to be at his beck and call. They would share in his reflected glory, though, so he expected their attitude to improve markedly once Maker was firmly in their custody.
The looks that he received, as he marched his troops through Collegium, were priceless. He had always known the envy of lesser folk — the scowls of those whose inadequate enterprise had guaranteed them a place as his inferiors — but now the masks were off. There were definite winners and losers in Collegium, and every stare, every fearful averted face, each half-hidden glare spoke only of validation.
And then he was standing before the College itself.
Not the whole College, of course, because the institution was spread in separate buildings across in the city, and this was not even the largest section of it. It was the oldest, though, and had been old before Collegium’s new masters decided to adopt the College as the basis of their city’s new name. Here were located the library and the infirmary, some of the social history departments, and a network of cellars housing laboratories, study rooms and a rather fine collection of wine. A collection wasted here now, of course. I shall have to remove it to somewhere more practical.
The academic edifice was somewhat more self-contained than most, with a walled courtyard, high walls and remarkably small windows — all the columns, statues and adornment of Beetle hands had done little to disguise the original architecture of the Moth-kinden, who had little use for the sun. Ridiculous place to house a library, after all. Helmess recalled years of straining his eyes in that dimness within. Perhaps I should remove the library while I’m at it.
There was a pair of Wasp soldiers outside, who saluted Helmess without hesitation, because a major’s rank badge was a good thing to have.
‘Arrest anyone that I indicate to you, and don’t hesitate to get rough with them,’ Helmess instructed his sergeant. ‘There may be a few idealists amongst the students who need to learn that scholarly debate is no longer the fashion.’
There were about a dozen students loitering in the courtyard, and a couple slipped away almost immediately. The rest looked alarmed, but nowhere near as much as they should be. Their education had hardly prepared them for the sort of world that they would now be living in.
‘Good day to you,’ he declared grandly. ‘Perhaps you’d be so good as to summon any of the College Masters who are currently in the building. I’ve a few words for them.’
A few others sidled out, whether to obey him or to hide themselves away, he couldn’t say. Perhaps the latter would be wiser. It seemed likely that he would have to have someone shot at some point, just to ram his point home.
But now others were emerging, so that was good. He recognized a few of them as Masters: that tall fellow was Berjek Gripshod, the historian, and Helmess recalled that the man had been somewhat pally with Maker recently, so perhaps it would be best to haul him in now. The woman beside him was some manner of artificer, he recalled, or maybe a naturalist. And there, too, was that Fly woman who had taken on teaching Inapt studies. He couldn’t remember her name, therefore she wasn’t really important.
More students came filing out, and he was amused to see that a surprising number of them still wore their Company sashes — even a few buff coats and breastplates. Oh the poor fools, they have no idea.
The courtyard was becoming full, and mostly of young, worried faces. He cast his eyes over them, these Beetle-kinden boys and girls who had abandoned their studies in engineering or political theory to come out and hear the most valuable lecture of their lives. The other faces, the outsiders, leapt out at him: a couple of Ants, a Spider or two, a band-skinned Woodlouse-kinden in a Coldstone Company sash, a Dragonfly, some half-breeds. They’ll have to go, for a start.
‘Now, then.’ Helmess raised his hands to quieten the incessant muttering that students were so prone to. ‘No doubt you’re all desperate to get back to your studies, and-’
‘You strung up the Speaker!’
Broiler choked on his words. ‘Who said that?’ He found the culprit almost immediately: a man who looked too old to be a student, in a wine-stained and filthy tunic and standing at the sort of angle that made it plain that more wine had recently gone in than out. He was pointing a finger in Helmess’s general direction, and those nearest were trying to restrain him as he blurted out, ‘He did, he did!’