The Scarab Path

His superior nodded. 'And the Lowlander ambassador is… who I suspected?'

'She is, yes.'

'So.' There was a fierce edge to this single word that made Corcoran guess that Che Maker was in for a complicated future. 'Where have they put her?'

'The old embassies. They've reopened them.'

'Make sure you have people watching her constantly. Know where she goes, who she meets.' The gauntleted hands clenched.

'Of course, sir.' And why's that then? But it was not Corcoran's place to ask questions of this man.

'And now I think we have our welcoming committee.'

Corcoran turned to see a full score of Khanaphir guardsmen hurriedly pushing their way through the crowds towards the docks. Although not caparisoned in the gilded splendour of the Royal Guard, they had the great form of Amnon striding at their head. They halted and formed up at a respectful distance as the two groups of armed men watched each other cautiously. Corcoran, caught in the middle, began to feel exposed.

'Now then, who have we here?' boomed Amnon as he stepped forward. When he came to stand before Corcoran's master he seemed quite oblivious of the spear-tipped ranks poised ready to close on him. 'Iron Glove, then? More of you? We're a little taken aback, my good friends, since we were not expecting such numbers. Our hospitality may not stretch to it.'

'We don't need much,' replied the Iron Glove leader, as he tilted his helm back, revealing a tan-brown face with that slight mismatching of feature that spoke of mixed blood.

'You must think our streets very dangerous, to come in such numbers,' Amnon murmured. His countenance was all good humour, but Corcoran could sense his displeasure, ready to make a fight of this if the Iron Glove's answers did not satisfy him.

I only hope they read everything I wrote to them about how to deal with the Khanaphir, he thought. Corcoran wanted to edge away, to slip out of that invisible line of tension strung between the city guard and the mercenary newcomers, but he had an image to maintain. The Iron Glove did not show fear.

'The world's not safe. Without these men I'd not have arrived at all,' the Iron Glove leader replied. 'Indeed, some pirates saw our little trading coaster here and marked it as an easy prize.'

Amnon nodded. 'And did you outrun them…?'

'They discovered their mistake.'

'I hate pirates.' Amnon's face split in a grin. 'Those that dare strike near the mouth of the Jamail are the rightful prey of my ships. I am glad to hear you sent them to the bottom.'

'Not at all. I put men on their vessel and had them sail her back to Porta Rabi. We of the Iron Glove are well known as traders, and wealthy ones. We become targets, by land or sea. We show them in exchange that we who sell war can use what we trade in. That way they will soon realize that we always fight, and that any attacks will cost them more than they could ever gain from us.' He glanced back at his followers, still standing at the ready. 'So there you have the reason for this force. As for my men, they can lodge here on the ship, or wherever you wish in the city.'

'I will have rooms prepared at your factora,' Amnon decided. He had been nodding with approval throughout the man's speech, and with these words the tension eased, his guards standing down with a tiny shuffle of feet. 'Well then, allow me to welcome you to our city. I am Amnon, First Soldier among the Royal Guard.'

The Iron Glove commander threw a brief glance at Corcoran for confirmation, before announcing, 'Ah, so we have a gift for you, I believe.'

Amnon nodded. 'That is no surprise to me, after all the measuring and prying that your man here has done.'

'It may surprise you yet,' the Iron Glove man remarked. 'I am glad to be here in your city.' He thrust forward his armoured hand and clasped Amnon's larger one. 'My name is Totho, once of Collegium. I think you have some of my kin here.' 'Apparently there's going to be a hunt of some kind,' Manny reported. The other Collegiates looked up from their breakfast in mild interest. 'Their big fellow, Amnon, came round yesterday while you were all out,' he went on. 'We're all invited. In fact it's in our honour. I, for one, am looking forward to it.'

'Are you sure you're feeling well?' Berjek asked him. 'This hunt, presumably it will involve some manner of exertion – running around or that kind of thing. Not your favourite pastime at all, I would have thought.'

'Very funny.' The fat man gave him a sour look. 'I am a natural historian and a cartographer, do not forget. Neither of which I can do much about while sitting idly here in this city. I want to go out and make a few sketches, and this hunt sounds like the best chance I'll get – anyway, it's on the river and so all I'll have to do is recline in a boat while some local beauty fans me with a frond or something.'

'Some local bald beauty,' Berjek pointed out.

Manny's expression remained supremely unconcerned. 'I happen to find that quite attractive.'

'Are you planning to deflower the entire female population of Khanaphes before we're done here?' Praeda asked testily.

'They don't object.'

'They've probably been warned that their families will be executed if they don't indulge the important foreigners,' she said. 'That's the only way I can account for it.'

'Trallo, what sort of hunt is this likely to be?' Berjek turned to the Fly. 'Dangerous?'

'Could be, if you get too close,' Trallo replied. He had been idle recently, his work in Khanaphes already done, and Che suspected he might soon ask for his pay and take his leave. 'They usually put the spectators out in mid-river where they can watch safely, while the real business goes on in the shallows or on the shore. Of course, they'll respect you all the more if you ask to take part.'

Petri Coggen appeared just then, bleary-eyed. Che studied her with a matching expression. Her own dreams had been bad again, too, but Che remembered only fragments. When she awoke the ghost was boiling in the air beside her bed and, in conjunction with her latest nightmare, she had not been able to suppress a scream. Its seething frustration was palpable: she could feel its thoughts, and they were all contempt and rage at being trapped, and all directed at her, for keeping it so.

'I'm sorry!' she had cried out to it. 'Please, tell me what to do!'

But instantly it had been gone, just as Trallo had burst in, half-dressed and with a crossbow in his hands.

I can't take much more of this, she thought. This city that had promised so much had betrayed her, and she was falling apart.

Praeda and Berjek were heading out into the city again. Che was still not quite sure what they were looking for, and she guessed that neither were they. Once they were out of the door, Manny laughed vaguely. 'She might come over all Mistress Detached, but I know something she doesn't. Remember that party at the, what's the place called?'

'The Scriptora,' Che supplied.

'Right. Their man Amnon, he had some interesting questions to ask me.'

At the mention of the name, Petri shuddered, but Manny was too concerned with his story to notice.

'He was asking me, you see, whether our Praeda Rakespear had a man back home.' He smirked. 'I think he thought that she and I might be… you know, but when he found out we weren't, he was asking if there was anyone else. I think our big dumb brute has taken a liking to the Cold One.'

'And you wouldn't have encouraged him in that at all?' Trallo tried to sound stern, but could not hide his grin.

'Perish the thought.' Manny winked.

Tiring of this conversation, Che caught Petri's eye and jerked her head towards the next room.

Out of earshot of the others, she said firmly, 'Today, Petri.' It had been several days since she had first made her request, and she knew that Petri was trying to put her off.

'I'm really not-'

'Today,' Che repeated quietly. She sat down on a canvas-covered stool. 'You are not the only one of us this city is destroying.'