‘He…’ She was now staring at him, wide-eyed. ‘He will not come to the city, not without his army. He will suspect a trap.’
‘I shall have a boat moored out by the Edge, and he may meet me there. He surely cannot refuse such an invitation. We will tell him I wish to renew my acquaintance with him, so as to save my people from his wrath.’ Stenwold nodded to one of the Flies, a bald, hunched woman, and Helmess recognized her belatedly as one of the Smallclaw Onychoi. ‘Wys here will take the message – once you have briefed her on what to say, and who to say it to. If something happens to her, then something worse will happen to you – for I will keep you close, spy, until Rosander and I have concluded our business.’
‘You will regret this, Maker,’ Helmess growled softly.
‘Oh, I’ll regret letting you live, no doubt,’ Stenwold snapped, ‘but right now the good of my city comes above my own preferences. A novel perspective for you, I’m sure.’ He clicked his fingers abruptly, making Helmess start. ‘There is just one thing more.’
Helmess glared at him mutinously. ‘I sense it would seem rude of me to refuse. What do you want, Maker?’
‘Details of how the Empire is going to exploit the situation.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Wrong!’ Abruptly Stenwold had his sword aimed straight at Helmess’s sagging chins. ‘My crew here have followed you to meetings with Honory Bellowern, and why would you sell us just to two separate factions, when you can throw in the Empire as well? Tell me where they fit into this, or I swear you’ll be signing all your contracts with your left hand from now on.’
Walking away from Broiler’s place, with a hastily clad Elystrya under guard by the Tidenfree crew, Tomasso said, ‘I’ll have the ship made ready then, Master Maker, for this sea-kinden gambit of yours.’
Stenwold shook his head. ‘Not this time,’ he told the Fly. ‘I have a different vessel in mind.’
The four barques rose smoothly from the lightless depths towards the sun, bullying their way up the gradient of gradually lightening water until they broke through the mirrored glitter of the surface, breaching the waves on all sides of the little ship’s dark silhouette.
Three were slender, dart-shaped craft, driven up from the abyss by water forced through their siphons. The last was far broader, a great curved carapace with a dozen busy paddling arms below to flurry it through the water. From this last vessel emerged Rosander.
He had taken the time to dress well for the land-kinden. He wore his armour of pale stone, even down to the helm, so that what now crawled from the barque’s interior looked less like a man and more like a huge, jagged statue. Behind him, his select followers climbed up into the light, shading their eyes: little skittering Smallclaws, hulking Greatclaws in armour of accreated shell, lithe Kerebroi with spears and knives. The smaller vessels began disgorging their crews, too, crawling out to crouch on the rolling hulls and look up at the landsmen’s ship.
It was a little enough thing, that ship, and Rosander knew that the land-people had far greater vessels they could launch. If they wanted to overwhelm him by main force, this little vessel surely could not hold enough land-kinden to accomplish it. Why, I alone could probably overcome their crew, surely. He looked up at the great round sail that bellied up there in the wind, sagging and wrinkled in places. Perhaps they do want to surrender or talk terms, though I cannot think that they will accept such terms as I’m minded to offer.
Rosander grinned to himself. ‘Chenni,’ he said, ‘want to see some land-kinden craftsmanship?’
‘Surely,’ the Smallclaw artificer piped up, and Rosander reached out for the curving hull, ready to jam his spiked gauntlets into the wood to give him purchase for the climb.
‘Wait, wait!’ called a voice from above, and a ladder of cloth was unfurled before his face. He regarded it doubtfully, but the voice explained, ‘It’s silk woven with steel thread. Come on up.’
Rosander heard Chenni make an approving sound. ‘I’ll get you one, never fear,’ he assured her, and then applied himself to ascending the ladder. It was an awkward climb, swaying and creaking, and he took it steadily to avoid looking foolish before his own people. The ladder was as strong as the landsmen claimed, confirming that they were an ingenious lot, which fact would make the impending land campaign all the more profitable. About time that worm Mandir was knocked off his pedestal, Rosander reflected. Perhaps the booty from this land venture would be enough to break the Hot Stations’ stranglehold.
He hauled himself over the rail which, being less cunningly reinforced than the rope, snapped in three places. Nevertheless, he was left standing on the deck of the land-kinden ship: he, Rosander, Nauarch of the Thousand Spines Train and future conqueror of the land.
‘Bring on your warriors,’ he instructed, waiting for the lower reaches of the vessel to disgorge further land-kinden. All around the ship his people waited, ready to dig their claws into the hull and haul themselves over the side, to butcher every landsman on board. Rosander glanced around, the narrow eyeslit of his helm sweeping the deck, but no angry hordes of landsmen became apparent. Indeed he saw only two men, dark and stout the pair of them. The nearest, who had let down the ladder, was now edging backwards, staring at Rosander with alarm, while the other…
‘Hah,’ Rosander grunted. ‘And it is you, at that. I didn’t believe it.’ He stomped his way forward, hearing the deck beneath him creak, while Chenni pattered along beside him. This particular landsman faced up to his scrutiny without fear, as well he might. ‘You escaped,’ Rosander rumbled. ‘I heard the news. You escaped the Edmir and you escaped the Man of the Stations too, all the way back to your home on the land. You’ve warned your people, no doubt. They’ll give us some sport, then, which is all to the good.’ Rosander reached up and tugged his helm off, squinting a little in the bright sun. ‘You impress me, landsman.’ He grinned abruptly, showing surprisingly delicate teeth in his narrow mouth. ‘Kneel, kneel before me now and swear yourself one of the Thousand Spines, and I’ll make you my deputy on land when I’ve conquered it.’
The land-kinden regarded him with a slight smile. ‘I fear that’s an honour I can’t accept, Nauarch Rosander,’ he said. ‘Even so, I’m glad you remember me. My name is Master Stenwold Maker of Collegium and I am here to speak for my people. Will you hear me out?’
Rosander regarded him almost fondly. ‘You were free,’ the Nauarch said. ‘You had escaped, and now you come back. My warriors surround this ship. Are you so eager to rejoin us down in Hermatyre? Hear you out? Oh I’ll hear you out, Master Stenwold Maker, but I make no promises.’
He saw a gratifying twitch in the man’s expression when return to Hermatyre was mentioned. Rosander couldn’t blame him, for Claeon was never a kind captor. Well, let us see how my becoming master of the land tilts the balance against Claeon. Perhaps my next campaign will see me take Hermatyre and bring some justice to that wretched place.
‘Perhaps we should go below,’ Stenwold suggested, ‘out of the sun.’
‘Get him to show me the engines of this contraption,’ Chenni prompted.
‘Do it,’ Rosander ordered the landsman, and Stenwold nodded and gestured them to a hatch that led below. Before heading down, he glanced over at the other land-kinden present.
‘Master Allanbridge?’ he said, making the name a question.
‘I’ll be fine,’ the other replied, obviously uneasy all the same.
Stenwold nodded and set off into the ship’s interior. ‘I had forgotten your companion for a moment,’ he confessed as they descended, every step of Rosander’s eliciting a groan of tortured wood. ‘She piloted the barque that brought me to Hermatyre. She also did her best to keep me out of Claeon’s hands. For that she’s earned a look at our engines, if nothing else.’