'You will once they ask hard enough.' His face was bleak.

'Are they watching the skies?'

'No, not so much. They're expecting Sarnesh heading down the rail line, if anything.'

'Then I'll fly out,' she said, and saw his surprise. 'But you . . . you can get past them, can't you?'

'No.'

'Totho, you have to come with me.'

'No,' he said. There was no give in him. 'Once you are gone, I have no further ties. I will die, if they find me out, or I will live on here as Drephos's apprentice, devising newer and better ways of turning men into meat.'

'Totho, you're mad! You have to come with me back to Collegium!'

'Collegium has nothing to interest me any more. Not unless I come to it with an army,' he told her.

She felt her blood turn to ice, looking into that so-familiar face and seeing only a stranger.

'But because I do seem to be a traitor by nature, I have still one betrayal left to make. Or perhaps you will see it as one last act of loyalty to you and Stenwold.'

'Totho-'

'Listen.' He reached into his tunic and produced a scroll, rolled up and then pressed flat. 'If you do manage to escape, you must take this to Stenwold. Or maybe to Sarn.'

'What is it?'

'The design for my snapbow,' he said. 'The weapon that broke the Sarnesh.'

She took it hesitantly, as though it might burn her. 'You realize what you're doing,' she said softly. 'You know what this means.'

'It means I am giving the Lowlands a chance,' he said. 'A small chance and no more. You'd better change clothes, Che. You don't have as much time as you think.'

He watched her as she changed, and she wondered if he was considering some other future in which she donned this uniform for real, and stayed with him just as she had pleaded for him to go with her.

Forty-Three.

She stood at the east end of Collegium docks, charred wood crunching beneath her feet, knowing there was all too little time to do what she must.

Down the line of the wharves they were already cutting out the worst of the damage, replacing it with good treated wood, sinking new piles for piers with machines she had never seen before and could not comprehend. These folk were nothing if not industrious, and there was building work like this going on all over the city, not just replacement but improvement.

Felise Mienn stared down into the water. Collegium was a deep-water port and it was black down there, a vertical drop providing enough draft for the bulkiest freighter. What secrets must be buried there, in the silt deep below: what forgotten bones and treasures?

Destrachis would be looking for her, she was aware, but perhaps he would not think of looking here until it was too late. She wished she had not made him speak up.

Thalric had been right when he asked her what came next. Her future, as she had been able to imagine it, ended with his death, so what could she do after that? Once he was dead nothing would have changed, the dead would not be revived, and she would have to turn away from a blank and pointless future to confront the past.

The past was a gnawing horror to her, and just as she had chased Thalric all across the Lowlands, so it had been chasing her.

What had been left unsaid? Destrachis could have spoken more she could feel the shape of it, though her mind denied her the details. What else was left to know?

Far better not to know. If she stepped off here, the water would embrace her like a lover and draw her down. Her armour would fill with it and, even if her volatile mind changed yet again, there would be nothing she could do to resist. She would finally have taken her fate in her own hands. Let Thalric live, because he would not be able to hurt her any further.

Her reflection was faint in the water rippling below. She could see the outline of her shoulders, her draped cloak. Her face, though, was just a dark oval.

She stepped forwards to let her momentum topple her towards the sea.

Someone caught her cloak by its trailing edge and hauled her back. For a moment she was suspended ludicrously, at some bizarre angle, and then she felt rage at him, the wretched doctor her family had set on her, and her wings exploded from her back and she turned and stooped on him with claws bared.

She had lashed out at him three times before she realized this was not Destrachis. Instead it was the Mantis Tisamon who was dodging backwards, although a shallow line across his forehead bore witness to her first strike.

She froze instantly, and Tisamon fell back into a defensive stance, waiting for her. On the periphery of their attention, a dozen dockworkers were staring at them, unsure whether this was a fight to the death or just some kind of theatre.

'Why?' she demanded, as though he had done something terrible to her.

'Because you are worth more than this,' he replied.

'You do not know that.'

'I know. I have spoken with the Spider doctor and he has told me many things.' The knowledge Tisamon had been given sat heavily on him, for the story Felise had choked out of Destrachis was but one half of it.

Her golden skin had turned pale now. 'No, you cannot . . .'

'You understand what that means,' he insisted, and though he had never stinted at cruelty before, he winced now. 'You cannot wash it away with your own death. Nor can you blot out the knowledge by killing that Spider creature. You cannot even achieve it by killing Thalric though that would be a service to everyone. I I now know, and I would rather I did not, but I now know, and I would rather I did not, but I do do know. To take that knowledge from the world you must kill me, before you cast your own life away.' Destrachis's conclusion of the tale was raw in Tisa-mon's memory: how Felise, having awakened with the thought of Thalric's death obsessive in her mind, had found herself barred up, with her room in her family's house made into an asylum to protect her from herself. know. To take that knowledge from the world you must kill me, before you cast your own life away.' Destrachis's conclusion of the tale was raw in Tisa-mon's memory: how Felise, having awakened with the thought of Thalric's death obsessive in her mind, had found herself barred up, with her room in her family's house made into an asylum to protect her from herself.

And she had killed them, all the other doctors and, more than that, she had with her own hands made herself the last of her line. Her aunt, her cousins, all left dead at her hands, as she strode through her own house in blind fury wielding her husband's sword.

He was poised to act, knowing his clawed gauntlet was his to call on the moment she drew blade.

Instead, she said, 'I don't wish to kill you. I don't understand you. What is it you feel?'

Her face was all confusion, and that touched him. 'I had a love, Felise Mienn, as you have had, and just as yours was taken, the Wasps took mine from me. We are alike, then, and so I think I understand you, perhaps even better than your Spider does. If you seek a purpose, then the Empire still stands and we must fight it. I would be honoured to fight beside you.'

Her stance softened noticeably, and at last he allowed himself to relax.

It was good to find a time and place when messengers were not currently seeking him out, or at least if they were they were not finding him. Now it was just Stenwold and Arianna dodging the public acclaim that so many other a.s.semblers were soaking up whether they had earned it or not.

But Stenwold was not a politician by choice. He was a soldier, an agent, a spymaster, all in one, and he played his own games that had never needed any public approval.

The game was at a halt, for now, the pieces patiently waiting. The Wasp army had not a.s.saulted Sarn, or not according to the last messenger's report. The Fourth was in no position to a.s.sault anything, so Merro and Egel were spared Wasp occupation. Teornis had sent messengers back to his family and its allies, urging them to strengthen the border, and with word of the Collegium concessions too, just to sweeten the pot. He was a likeable man, professionally so, though Stenwold was not sure whether to like him or not.

Achaeos had awakened at last, though still very weak. He had been frantic about something, not Che's fate but something else, something he would not quite explain to Stenwold. He had begun asking for Tisamon, instead, but the Mantis was off somewhere on his own inscrutable errands. Stenwold had his own plans for Tisamon. The Mantis and his daughter would go with Thalric, to see if they could track down Che. Stenwold had no genuine trust in Thalric of the Rekef, but Tisamon and Tynisa would keep him in check if anyone could.

For now there was a pause, a heartfelt pause, in all that business, and he had brought Arianna to one of the best-kept secrets of the Amphiophos. Behind the domed building itself there was a garden, walled so high that it was always in the shade, and yet the artificer's art, with gla.s.s and lenses, had funnelled the sun there, so that plants from all across the Lowlands thrived in a wild tangle that the gardeners daily needed to cut back. Here little pumps made water run as though a natural stream pa.s.sed through, and there were statues that had been old when the Moths fled the city, and stone seats and, by tradition, n.o.body raised their voices or quarrelled here.

The rain was spotting down through the broad gaps between the gla.s.s but there was shelter enough amid the trees, and Stenwold took Arianna to a lichen-dusted seat, where she looked about her in astonishment.

'I'd never even heard of this place,' she said.

'The a.s.sembly prefer not to talk about it overmuch. A little selfishness, I think, that can at least be understood. I always thought this was the only worthwhile reward of belonging to their ranks, though I never had the time to appreciate it. And I won't have any time again, I'm sure. Tomorrow the war begins anew for me.'

'For me as well then,' she said.

'I wouldn't ask it of you.'

'And you wouldn't have to. I'll fight your war, Sten, even if all that means is being there for you when you need me.'

He looked at her and, out of habit, thought, But can I trust you? But can I trust you? He realized though, that he did trust her, and the final piece of that had fallen into place not when she saved his life at the Briskall place, but when Balkus had accepted her. He decided that Balkus, that big, solid and unimaginative man, could see more clearly than Stenwold himself on this subject. He realized though, that he did trust her, and the final piece of that had fallen into place not when she saved his life at the Briskall place, but when Balkus had accepted her. He decided that Balkus, that big, solid and unimaginative man, could see more clearly than Stenwold himself on this subject.

'Stenwold,' Arianna said, and when he turned to look at her, her eyes held a warning in them. 'We're being watched. I'm sure of it.'

He stood swiftly. 'Some other a.s.sembler, no doubt.' But he did not believe that.

Then a voice came from amid the tangled undergrowth. 'I could have put an arrow in your head, old man. Not that there's much chance you'd notice.'

Stenwold reached for his sword and discovered that, yes, he still wore it at his waist, so familiar now that he donned it automatically. It slid easily from its scabbard. 'How did you get in here?'

The sword was not all that was familiar. He knew the voice too, when it replied, 'I got in here because I'm a Fly and your clumsy pack of kinden don't even understand what 'fly' means.'

The speaker emerged: a bald-headed little man with his ugly face and knowing smile, and Stenwold said, 'Nero?' in tones of sheer disbelief.

'It's been a while, Sten. Who's the lady?'

'This is Arianna,' and the awkward pause as he thought of how to introduce her obviously told Nero all he needed to know, for the mocking smile was even broader now. 'And this is, Nero, the artist,' Stenwold explained to her awkwardly.

Nero grinned at Stenwold. 'You get bigger and fatter every time I see you.'

'And you're still ugly.' Stenwold's retort came without hesitation from twenty years away. 'You've no idea how good it is to see you. Why are you here? Are you staying long?'

'Just a messenger boy, me,' Nero explained. 'With a message from a friend of yours, though, and there's a whole cartload of news, so you and your lady better sit back down and listen.'

In the darkness that she could now dismiss with a thought it had been remarkably easy to break away from the Wasp camp. With Totho watching, she had simply tiptoed past the occasional Wasp sentry, invisible in her uniform to men who saw Auxillians merely as slaves ubiquitous and acceptable. When she had got in sight of the camp's perimeter she had waited carefully until n.o.body was looking her way, then simply taken off, let her wings lift her high, over the ring of torches and sentries and out into the night.

Totho watched her leave and was torn, when she flew, between relief and guilt. His night's work was not done, though. He turned and went back to the farmhouse, opened up the hatch and returned to the cellar with his shuttered lantern. He would replace the bars, close the tumblers of the locks. Give them something to wonder about. Give them something to wonder about.

He was just getting down to the task when a voice intervened: 'Well now, what have we here?'

He turned, flicking the lantern shutters wider, but he already knew who he would see: the emotionless face of Colonel-Auxillian Dariandrephos, flashing pale and mottled from within the confines of his cowl.

'A good artificer makes his plans carefully in advance,' Drephos reproached him. 'He does not need to come back and finish up, Totho.'

'How . . . ?'

'I watched. Perhaps you forget that for me it is never dark. I watched and saw quite clearly. You came out with the girl, you let her loose. I watched because I thought it likely you might do so. Kaszaat warned me that you were acting strangely, and she was right. And so I came to see what else you might have been up to down here.' He raised an enquiring eyebrow and moved closer. 'So, what else have you done?'

'Nothing,' Totho stammered. Drephos was still advancing on him, but he knew he himself was the stronger, and the master artificer was not even armed.

'She . . . she was my past, and I found I could not cut it loose so easily.'

Drephos laid his gauntleted hand on Totho's shoulder. 'And what else have you done? How else have you betrayed me?' His voice was very soft, not angry, not even sad.

'I swear-'

Drephos gripped him by the shoulder and Totho cried out in pain as the narrow fingers dug like pincers into his flesh. His entire arm was instantly locked, so he grasped Drephos's wrist with his other hand and tried to pry it free. To his horror there was no movement at all, only an inexorable tightening of Drephos's grasp.

'What else, Totho?' Drephos asked, as he still struggled and tugged. 'Is there an explosive, perhaps? An incendiary planted? Or were you to kill me? Kill the general? Tell me, Totho. I won't be angry, I promise.'

Totho was now whimpering, feeling the bones of his shoulder grind. Unable to shift those imprisoning fingers he slammed his hand up against Drephos's elbow as hard as he could.

He struck metal, as hard and solid as any armour. With ragged breath he dragged at the sleeve of the man's robe, until the shoulder seam gave way and he bared Drephos's entire arm.

It was metal, all of it, not just armoured but an arm entirely of metal, and he could only guess at the delicacy of the mechanisms within that gave it life. Even in the extremity of his pain, something stirred in him at the sight, the artificer's instinct in him that could never quite be denied.

'It was a savage accident,' Drephos explained conversationally. 'And worse was having to devise this replacement one-handed. But I see you like it. I'm glad.'

He pushed, and Totho, all strength gone from him, fell back against the wooden bars. 'Tell me what you have done,' Drephos said. 'I am a Moth, at least partly, and I can read it from your face. What is it you have done?'

'I gave her the plans,' Totho gasped, all resistance ebbing out of him. 'The plans for the snapbow.'

Drephos stared at him for a second. And he laughed. Laughed and laughed and let go his grip so that Totho slid down the bars to the floor. And still Drephos laughed and laughed as his apprentice looked up at him, bewildered.

'Oh that's good!' Drephos got out. 'That's very good. And I suppose you thought it was young love that made you do it, or nostalgia, or any of those other things that we'll soon breed out of you! My dear boy, you gave her the plans, did you? Why that's excellent!'

'What do you mean?' Totho demanded. His shoulder was still agony, but at least he could move the arm. Nothing was broken.

'Don't you understand?' Drephos crouched before him. 'What will they do with the plans? Why, they'll build snapbows of their own. Can you imagine the look on Malkan's face when he finds out they have his new secret weapon?'

'This is just to spite the generals?' Totho asked, baffled.

'But what will the generals do, Totho, when that comes to pa.s.s? Who will they come to, and what will they ask?'

'They'll come to you,' said Totho slowly, 'and they'll ask you to . . .'

'Build them something even better!' Drephos crowed. 'And the science advances one more step. Oh, you may have thought you had all kinds of airy motives, Totho, but in your heart you're an artificer. You're a man of progress just like I am. How hard would it have been for me, myself, to get that weapon into the hands of the enemy? Just think how much time you've saved me. The war goes on, Totho, back and forth, year to year, and how much better for us two that it does. If the Empire ever wins outright then will it continue to let us use its foundries and its workshops? Will it lend us further resources for our work?' He then took Totho by the unhurt shoulder and hauled him to his feet. 'Do you bind yourself to me, boy, truly? Once before I thought I'd read truth in your face, but I can be deceived.'

One last chance, Totho realized, for him to stand against the b.l.o.o.d.y flood, to reject the metal and choose the meat to do something Che would be proud of.

'I am yours,' he said soberly. 'I bind myself to you.'

Che had set off walking away from the camp and not stopped until dawn began to colour the eastern sky. She discovered she had been heading a little east of south. It occurred to her that she had no idea where she was, and that the food and water Totho had scavenged for her would not last for very long. The one building she came across was a barren shack that was possibly once some rich man's hunting lodge, but it had been picked bare already.

She now had a problem, and realized that she should have fled the camp westwards along the rail line, which would have led her infallibly to the gates of Sarn and to safety. Instead, she would have to work her way northwards as best she could, and hope to encounter the rails again. Northwards and westwards, then, so that she did not simply walk straight back into the Wasp camp. And, even so, they would have scouts out, so she would camp out during the height of the day, and then walk all night, trusting to her Art to keep her eyes sharp.