'We can't win, can we?' she said, still chewing. She felt the sudden need to be candid with him: his mulishness drove her to it. 'If, at the end of the day, we sail back to Collegium with no evidence of plots, no tricks, nothing but an academic study, then you'll just think that you didn't manage to root it out, that we hid it from you successfully. Is that it? Is there no chance of any trust?'
He blinked quickly three times and she saw his hand move to his sword-hilt, not to draw the weapon but for the comfort of it. She could not put an age to him but his naivety made him seem as young as she was. She was about to assure him that he need not answer when he said, 'What is it, to trust? It is to know, beyond doubt, the heart of the other. Yet you are silent to us. Your minds throng with all deceptions and lies, and we can never know you.' He was quivering slightly, still blinking rapidly. 'How can we trust such silence?' Almost defiantly he grabbed for the food and, not even looking at it, forced a piece of fruit into his mouth. Then he was gone again, stalking off into his own personal silence. I wish I hadn't asked, she thought, having found out more than she wanted to know about the Vekken. How can mere diplomacy hope to break through those walls?
'The First Minister offered to introduce us,' said someone close behind her, 'but I explained that we were already old friends.'
Although she had been half-expecting it, the voice opened a door in her mind, releasing a flood of remembered images: a dusty chain of slaves marching from Helleron; the interrogation rooms in the governor's palace at Myna; the dingy back room of Hokiak's Exchange.
'Thalric,' she replied, and she turned to face him, only with reluctance. He had dressed the part, in a pure white tunic and cloak edged with little geometric patterns picked out in black and gold. She knew enough to look for the delicate chainmail concealed beneath the cloth, and even without a sword his kinden never lacked for weapons. 'What do you want?' she asked.
'Diplomatic relations?' He smiled easily. 'The war's over, hadn't you heard?'
'I thought it was only my side who were supposed to believe that.'
'Oh, good, very good.' His glance about the room told her that their meeting was being observed. 'You look harassed, Che. Surely the locals aren't getting to you? We've both been in worse places than this.'
She felt a sudden rush of frustration and, for a moment, she nearly hit him, and would not have cared who was watching. 'Why can't you decide just whose side you're on, Thalric?' she hissed between her gritted teeth. 'Why keep crossing the same old road, back and forth? You're Empire now, aren't you? So what do we two have to talk about?'
She had done it again, just as on the first time she had ever met him: ten minutes of conversation inside his tent, and she had chanced on some random barb that had struck home and drawn blood. She saw his face tighten, his stance change as he mentally rolled with the blow.
'We could talk, for a start, about what Collegium is doing here so far from home,' he said.
'We could talk about why the cursed Empire is here, for that matter,' Che countered. She had known he was here and had been waiting for this, and yet he had caught her wholly off balance. Just seeing him and hearing his voice, she was instantly ready for a fight, reaching for the sword she had not brought with her. She looked into his face and saw the signs of tension pass. His smile returned, or at least some ghost of it.
'Well, perhaps you can tell me why I'm here, and I'll tell you why you're here,' he suggested.
That nearly caused her a twitch of the lips. 'Why here, Thalric?' she said. 'You're the lord high grandee of the Empire. Surely that's guarantee enough that I can't just keep running into you.'
'Apparently not.' He paused, and she imagined that he was measuring the distance between them – not the physical space, but the miles that time and allegiance had interposed. 'I apologize, Miss Maker… Ambassador Maker, I should say. I now formally present myself as your… opposite number here in Khanaphes. I'm sure your staff will see fit to call on my own staff, in due course.' The words were said crisply, with a blithe smile, but she detected the wintry sadness behind them.
He nodded his head, took a few steps back, and then turned to find someone else to talk to. Che was left knowing there were other things she wanted to say, but still uncertain as to what they were.
She heard Mannerly Gorget's braying laughter from across the room and saw him talking now with the First Soldier of the Royal Guard. Amnon was nodding and grinning, and she hoped Manny was not being undiplomatic. With that thought, she looked around for Praeda, and felt a lurch in her stomach as she realized that the woman was no longer in the hall at all. Vanished? Like Kadro? She shook this dark thought off irritably and beckoned a servant over.
'Excuse me, I'm looking for one of my party,' she said. 'The… the other woman, taller than me.' The one with hair, the only other woman with hair in this whole building. The servant looked around in quick, jerky movements and opened her mouth as if to say that she did not know. But then she pointed to where Praeda was now emerging out of a small doorway to one side of the hall.
Praeda spotted Che and hurried over. Her facade of calm had cracked, revealing a scholarly fire in her eyes. 'Che, you've got to come and see this,' she rushed out, almost falling over the words.
'What? What's happened?'
'Nothing's happened,' said Praeda. 'It's just… It's incredible, really remarkable. Come with me… No, wait, come here.' She caught Che's hand and tugged her towards the fountain. 'Do you see? Do you?'
'I see a fountain,' replied Che slowly, watching the water bubble up between the stones and subside again. 'Praeda, please just be more clear.'
'Think, Che,' Praeda insisted. 'Yes, it's a fountain, but how do fountains work?'
'I…' I no longer know, and she could not say it.
Praeda shook her head impatiently. 'Did you assume this was just a natural spring or something? Che, think! We're above the level of the river here.'
Che vaguely understood what she meant, but that knowledge was dim and distant. 'Just get to the point,' she demanded, to cover up.
'The point is… follow me,' Praeda dragged her across the room to the little servants' door she had recently come in through.
'This is… rude,' Che protested. 'We're supposed to be guests here.'
'Manny can keep them occupied. He's loud enough and fat enough for all three,' Praeda sneered. She was pulling Che onwards through a series of small turns. The servants' passages were low-ceilinged and cramped. There were little doorless rooms either side, some filled with boxes and sacks, others with tables for preparing food, or with desks for scribes. Praeda paid them no notice whatsoever, nor the surprised servants they passed on their way.
There was a black-clad figure ahead and for a moment Che thought it was the Vekken, inexplicably involved in Praeda's schemes. Then she saw it was a man in dark armour, with a full-face helm tilted back to reveal sandy Solarnese features.
'Well, now, here you are at last,' he said as the pair of them approached him.
'Who's this?' Che demanded. 'What's going on here?'
'The name's Corcoran, Bella.' As he said it Che noticed his tabard, though the smoky lamplight made it hard to pick out the open gauntlet embroidered there.
'Iron Glove,' she observed automatically. As he grinned in acknowledgement, she thought back, seeing them dealing with Dragonflies at the oasis, or on the streets of Solarno. 'Who are you people?'
'We just happen to be the newest and most successful trading cartel out of Chasme,' Corcoran replied. He was a wiry individual with a pointed face that smiled shallowly and easily. 'Weapons, Bella. We deal in weapons and the accoutrements of war.'