‘I am indeed a spy, however,’ he said hurriedly and she raised an eyebrow, ‘but not for the Wasp Empire. But I do know something about them, and I’m more than willing to reveal to you all I know. They’re my enemies, too, and my people have fought them — I’ve fought them myself, been their prisoner, even.’
She seemed not to have registered most of what he said. ‘If not for the army currently beyond our gates, then which other city are you spying for? Kes would seem most logical.’
Salma had to think a moment before he recalled that Kes was yet another Ant city-state and the one closest to Tark.
‘I’m not spying for any of the Ant-kinden,’ he told her.
‘I fail to see any other option. Who else would profit from this situation?’
He looked into her bland, uninterested gaze. ‘I was sent here by Stenwold Maker: a Beetle-kinden, a Master of the Great College. He has been working against the Wasps for years, and he sent me and my companions just to observe and report back to him. His only interest — our only interest, is in stopping the Empire.’
‘We will stop this Empire,’ she replied, with a curl of contempt. ‘Why should some Beetle academic care?’
Salma knew that his next words might not help him, would in fact hurt him, so he tried to find another way of putting it, but he could not paint Stenwold as a Tarkesh sympathizer any believable way.
‘Stenwold Maker firmly believes that the Wasps will not be halted at the walls of Tark,’ he said quietly, and waited.
One of the soldiers actually strode forward to strike him for his insolence, but some unheard command of the interrogator turned him back.
‘Explain yourself,’ she said, still expressionless.
Salma took a deep breath. ‘The Empire has been expanding rapidly for two generations,’ he said. ‘They have met Ant-kinden before, and triumphed over them. You have proof of this, if you’ve even looked over your walls at the enemy. We ourselves saw Ant-kinden amongst them before your scouts took us. Not as mercenaries or allies, mind, but as slave-soldiers.’
She remained quiet for a moment, and he wondered what was now passing between her and her kin. ‘They have fought Ants, yes,’ she agreed at last. ‘They have not fought Tark.’
Salma tried to shrug, but couldn’t. ‘Whatever. Perhaps. Maybe you’ll just kick the dung out of them and they’ll go limping back east dragging their dead with them. If that happens, no one will be happier than I. But Stenwold fears otherwise. What else can I say?’
He knew that there was now a mental debate going on. The soldiers were in on it too, for he could see the interrogator’s eyes flicking between them. Perhaps in time the whole city would be arguing the merits.
Then the interrogator turned and left him without warning, her slave scribe hurriedly following. The soldiers hoisted him off the hook, and it was downwards all the way from there, back to the pitch-darkness of his cell.
Some time later, the extent of which he found impossible to judge, he heard them coming for him once more. On seeing there was light, Salma hid his eyes quickly behind his bound hands, in case they tried the same trick again.
‘Come out here!’ one of his guards barked roughly.
‘Not if you’re going to blind me again.’
He heard them coming into the cell and backed off, finally dropping his hands. The time had almost come for an escape attempt, he was thinking, however doomed to failure.
‘Now calm there! No need to turn this into a diplomatic incident!’ It was not an Ant voice, not even a Tarkesh accent. The leading soldier stepped to one side to reveal the ugliest Fly-kinden Salma had ever seen. Bald and broken-nosed, the little man looked him up and down critically.
‘I see our hosts here have been their usual warm-hearted selves,’ he said.
‘Are you a prisoner, too?’
‘I’m your ticket out of here, son.’
Salma’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re a slave-buyer?’
The Fly laughed loudly at that. ‘If I had that kind of money I wouldn’t be where I am now. No, I’m your secret guardian, boy, and I’m getting you free. Or at least as free as anyone around here is right now.’ Something glinted in his hands, and with a single twitch he had cut the bonds about Salma’s wrists. ‘Come on, let’s get you out of here.’
He turned and left and, keeping a suspicious eye on the guard, Salma followed. The Fly might be small but he walked fast, so Salma had to jog to keep up with him.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
‘I’ve never liked repeating myself, so just let me get us safely into this room up here and I’ll spill all.’
Without warning the Fly took a sharp left and pattered up a flight of stairs. Salma, following, found himself in an antechamber with two of the familiar high-up windows and, more importantly, with Totho and Skrill.
He almost knocked the Fly over in his haste to get over to them. Skrill looked decidedly weary, while Totho had a fistful of bruises about his face and a split lip.
‘What’s going on?’ Salma hissed.
Totho shook his head. ‘I think this fellow here is about to explain.’
Then Salma saw there was another Ant in the room, a man of middle years who was regarding the three of them dubiously.
The Fly jabbed a finger towards him. ‘First,’ he said, ‘this is Commander Parops, into whose custody you’re now being put.’
‘I thought you said we were free,’ said Salma.
‘You are but, just so you know, this is the man who gets it in the neck if you turn out to be something other than what you claim you are.’ As the Fly was explaining, the Ant officer gave him a wry look.
‘So who’s you then, little feller?’ Skrill interrupted.
The Fly gave her a crooked smile. ‘My folks called me Nero on that most auspicious day whereon I was born — and that’s all the name I’ve ever needed.’
‘I know that name. ’ Totho said, and paused, trying to bring it to mind. Then: ‘Are you an. do you draw pictures?’
‘No, I do not draw pictures, I am in fact a particularly talented artist,’ Nero said, somewhat sharply. ‘More than that, I’m an old drinking pal of Stenwold Maker, and when Parops told me that was a name being passed along the grapevine, I decided I had better spring you, if only to see what kind of kiddies ol’ Sten’s using these days.’
‘Well, Master Maker sent us here to witness what happened when the Wasps attacked Tark,’ Totho explained. ‘We need to get out of the city and find a decent vantage point.’
Nero and Parops exchanged glances. ‘Son,’ the Fly said, ‘you’ve got yourself the best vantage you’re ever likely to get. You’re inside the city, the siege’s already started and nobody’s getting in or out.’
‘Your man,’ the Dragonfly woman declared, ‘is late.’
The old Scorpion-kinden scratched his sunken chest with a thumb-claw. ‘First off, lady, he ain’t my man. He’s just this fellow what fitted your call. Second off, he ain’t late — not in this business anyway. We ain’t all got clocks and motors.’
She stalked up to him, her cloak swirling. The four of his heavies that he had stationed about the room went tense. He held up his hand, the one with the broken claw, to calm them.
‘Do you know what happens if you betray me, Hokiak?’ she asked.
Hokiak put on an easy smile that was a nightmare of jutting gums. ‘Don’t bandy threats, lady. I ain’t got this old by being scared of ’em.’ With measured unconcern he took up his walking stick and hobbled away from her, pointedly showing her his back if she wanted to take the opportunity. Inwardly, he waited for the blow and sighed raggedly when it did not come.
This one’s trouble, he decided. Hokiak had taken on a lifetime of trouble, from his half-forgotten youth as a Dry-claw raider to his current station as a black-marketeer in the occupied city of Myna. He had made a living out of trouble, more money than he could ever spend now. If this trouble-woman did kill him, it was not as though she would be cutting many years off his life.