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
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
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