'Please ...' she said, before she could stop herself.

The Fisher continued to regard her silently, waiting. Petri summoned all her reserves of strength.

'I wish you to find someone for me.' How would Kadro have put this? How would Kadro have put this? 'I know that, of all the knowledgeable people in the Marsh Alcaia, you are renowned as being the one who can locate anyone or anything.' Compliments were important in Khanaphes, she knew. 'I know that, of all the knowledgeable people in the Marsh Alcaia, you are renowned as being the one who can locate anyone or anything.' Compliments were important in Khanaphes, she knew.

A slight nod revealed the Fisher's acceptance of Petri's clumsy offering. 'A friend of Kadro of Collegium is always my friend too, of course,' she replied. 'But a curious woman would wonder at the purpose of such a hunt. Perhaps some fool who has insulted you, and is therefore deserving of death? You should know that there is another who would be keenly interested in such dealings.'

Petri's mouth twitched. 'It is no such matter,' she stammered, 'only that a friend of mine has been ... too long out of touch, so that I am now concerned for him.'

'Your sense of duty does you credit,' the Fisher told her, with a shallow smile. 'The path to my tent is not the worst that you might have chosen. Who is this ailing friend?'

Petri drained her wine for courage. The local stuff was strong, and she waited for a moment of dizziness to pa.s.s her. 'Ma ... Kadro. I need you to find Kadro.' Never Master Master Kadro, not here. Here, the word had other meanings. Kadro, not here. Here, the word had other meanings.

The Fisher's slight smile did not flicker, and its very fixed immobility told Petri that something was wrong. The halfbreed woman took a long puff of her pipe, then handed it back to one of her servants.

'Fisher?' Petri pressed, knowing that things had gone awry, but unable to see precisely how or why.

In a single movement the Fisher stood up, her face still devoid of expression. 'Alas, what you ask is impossible,' she declared. Her servants had moved closer to her, as though expecting attack. Petri stood up as well, mouth working silently, searching for words.

'But ...' she got out finally. 'I have money!' It was unspeakably rude, by local standards, but the Fisher did not visibly react to it. Instead she simply retreated further and further. What had seemed a wall of cloth parted for her, and then she had vanished beyond it, her servants following silently. Petri was left in sole possession of the tent, deep within the Marsh Alcaia.

Her heart was beginning to pound. She had the sense of something chasing her. The Fisher had known something, had known enough not to want anything to do with this. Petri was fast running out of places to turn.

There was someone, though: there was the very person the Fisher had alluded to. The Khanaphir loved middlemen. Even in the business of seeking another's death there was someone to go to, who would then find someone else to wield the knife. Petri had never met the current holder of the office, but she knew the name from a casual mention by Kadro.

When she asked for the name of Harbir, people drew back from her, turned away, refused to speak. She persisted, and suspected that carrying the name before her made her proof against the petty robbers and killers that haunted the interior of the Alcaia. Somebody who had business with Harbir the Arranger, however they might seem, was not prey for smaller fish.

But it was Harbir who found her her. After she had spent a half-hour wandering at random through the coloured maze of the Alcaia, and regularly dropping his name, a cowled Khanaphir woman approached her, tugged once at her sleeve, and then retreated deeper into the gloom. Petri followed meekly, again because she had nowhere else to go.

Harbir's tent was bigger than the Fisher's, and inside it hanging drapes cordoned off the man himself. Petri found herself in a surprisingly large s.p.a.ce, empty save for overlapping rugs on the floor. Two men stood by the door, bare-chested Khanaphir Beetles with axes in their belts, whose stare did not admit to her presence or existence.

'You have bandied my name a hundred times beneath the roof of the Alcaia,' came a voice from the tent's hidden reaches. It was a male voice, but Petri could tell no more than that. Even if this was the Arranger's tent, it could have just been another servant speaking.

'I ... give you my apologies if I have caused any difficulties.' She stumbled over the words, which was poor, knowing the Khanaphir valued eloquence.

'There are many who come to me seeking a final arrangement,' the man responded, with the unhurried measure of someone fond of his own voice. 'The wealthy speak to me of their rivals, the bitter regarding those who have wronged them, the desperate concerning those who have more than they. Honoured Foreigner, have you been in our lands so long that you would be prepared to take part in our pastimes?'

'No ...' The word came out as a squeak, so she calmed herself and started again. 'I only wish to know, great Harbir, whether a friend of mine has been arranged ... has had an arrangement made about him.'

She hoped she had remembered properly what little Kadro had said of the traditions here. Amongst some a.s.sa.s.sins, she was sure, such a direct question would transgress etiquette perhaps fatally.

'You have not come empty-handed, expecting to bear away such a weighty answer?' the voice enquired, upon which she finally relaxed a little. She reached into her purse and came out with a fistful of currency: h.e.l.leron Standards, the local lozenges of metal stamped with weight and hallmark, even a few bulky and debased Imperial coins.

There was a slight sound that might have been a sn.i.g.g.e.r. 'And who is it that is so fortunate as to have you solicitous after their health?'

'Kadro ... Kadro of Collegium, the Fly-kinden,' she replied. The words dropped heavily into the tent and left a silence.

'Please ...' she said again, before biting off the words. The locals never said 'please'. Their indefatigable politeness danced around the word.

'Go,' said the voice.

'Please tell me!' she managed, suddenly very aware of the two axemen by the tent-flap.

'His name has not been pa.s.sed to me,' said the unseen voice. 'Now go.'

The axemen had subtly shifted their stance, and Petri was suddenly very afraid. She tripped on the rugs, stumbled, and was out of the tent before she realized it, into the stifling alleyways of the Marsh Alcaia.

She looked around her, having no idea what path might lead her out of this warren of fabric. She had known she was intruding too far, but somehow had envisaged, after a successful quest, that the way out would open before her. But her quest was not successful, and no clear exit was to be seen. The one thing she could not ask the locals was How do I get out of here? How do I get out of here?

Petri started walking. She tried to make her gait seem determined, as of someone who frequented the Marsh Alcaia every day. But she was a foreigner, dressed like a foreigner, wearing a head of hair like a foreigner. She no longer had any names of power to awe the locals. She pa.s.sed through avenue after cloth-roofed avenue, each lined only with the openings of tents. People stopped to watch her pa.s.s, and eyes from within the shadows picked out her movements. She was aware of this scrutiny but did not stop, just kept walking to who-knows-where.

A man fell into step alongside her. He was a Khanaphir Beetle, short, shaven-headed, wearing a simple robe. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and found he was not looking at her.

'Pardon this no doubt unwarranted observation but you look like one who is seeking the direction to where she should be,' he said, smiling out at the canvas sky.

'E-excuse me?' she stammered. She felt hope steal up on her, now, although she had no reason for it.

'I know where you need to be, and I can a.s.sist you, Honoured Foreigner,' said her companion. She stopped and turned to look at him directly.

'Please help me,' she said.

'Why, of course.' He smiled broadly. 'What you wish, of course, is to be in company with myself and my fellows. Who would not?'

She looked behind her and spotted the gathering of rogues that were his fellows. There were a full dozen of them, Khanaphir and silver-skinned Marsh folk, halfbreeds, and even a Spider-kinden woman from somewhere far, far off.

'No, please,' she whispered. 'I don't want to go with you. I just want to get out of this place.'

'Who would not want to leave here?' the Beetle agreed, still smiling at her. 'And what better companions to leave with than such stout fellows as we? We have a fine ship, too, which lacks only one of your elegance to complete her company. Surely you will be our guest.'

She understood then: slavers. slavers. The rogues were meanwhile drawing closer to her in a kind of casual saunter. Any one of them looked as though he could outrun her and they had broad-bladed daggers, short-hafted axes, sported spurs of bone. The rogues were meanwhile drawing closer to her in a kind of casual saunter. Any one of them looked as though he could outrun her and they had broad-bladed daggers, short-hafted axes, sported spurs of bone.

'Please, I ... I am a scholar of Collegium. I will soon be missed.'

'Then surely your friends will reimburse us for our hospitality,' replied the smiling Khanaphir. There was a dagger in his hand, its blade as bright as a mirror even here under cover of the tents.

She opened her mouth to protest again but he grabbed her tunic, twisting it at the collar and drawing her up on to her toes. His smile stayed robustly unchanged. Another of his men was abruptly close enough to take hold of her other arm.

'Please-!' she cried, just as a spear plunged so far into his chest that its leaf-shaped head emerged complete and red-glossed through his back. His eyes popped wide open but the smile, horribly, stayed quite intact as he dropped. Petri fell back and sat down heavily, staring.

They had found her at last. She saw their gold-rimmed shields inlaid with turquoise, their raised spears and drawn bows, the gilded and alabaster armour of the Royal Guard of Khanaphes.

The slavers made no attempt at fighting. At the sight of the Royal Guard, they took to their heels. Petri saw the three guardsmen holding bows calmly aim and loose, and heard the solid sounds behind her of arrows finding their mark. The lead guardsman was now approaching her, one hand held out to draw her to her feet. She saw it was their captain, Amnon, who had always terrified her. He was over six foot very tall for a Beetle but he seemed at least a foot taller still. He seemed larger than life, packed with energy and strength, bulging with muscles, with hands that could have crushed rocks: so fiercely alive and strong that she felt his presence as if he were a fire. She cringed away as he reached out, but he put her back on her feet one-handed, the other grasping a second spear behind his glorious oval shield.

'Honoured Foreigner Petri Coggen,' he said, grinning at her with white teeth, 'how fortunate that we found you.'

She could only nod. This was the First Soldier of Khanaphes, the Captain of the Royal Guard. He was everything she had been trying to escape from, to warn Collegium about. He was part of what had taken Master Kadro, she felt sure of it.

'Come, we will take you to your new rooms,' Amnon informed her, putting an arm about her shoulders. He made her feel like a mere child, like a Fly-kinden. He had come accompanied by only five men, but twice the number of slavers would not have dared face him, for he could have walked into the Marsh Alcaia on his own. Amnon was a legend here, and his position in the city was well earned.

At last his words got through to her. 'New rooms?' she asked timorously.

'Of course.' He drew a folded paper from inside his broad belt. It was the same letter from Collegium that she had left on the desk back in her lodgings. 'Your people are sending friends, so we must ensure that our hospitality is not wanting. We will prepare a proper welcome for them.' His smile was guileless, yet as savage as the sun.

Six.

'I have travelled in more luxury, in my time,' said Mannerly Gorget. 'When they said we would be travelling on the White Cloud, White Cloud, I allowed myself to get excited. I hadn't realized they meant as freight.' I allowed myself to get excited. I hadn't realized they meant as freight.'

'You exaggerate,' Praeda told him. 'Also, the padding you bring to the ship should be luxury enough.' She had made herself comfortable, or at least as comfortable as possible, against a bulkhead. It was not actually the cargo hold they were in, but three compartments alongside it that had probably been originally intended for crew. By unspoken agreement, Che and Praeda had taken the bow, the men had taken the stern, and the middle compartment was where they habitually sat and complained about the arrangement.

Since the war, Solarno and Collegium had not been strangers. A two-way trickle of scholars and artificers had begun, all keen to learn or to profit from the shortcomings of the one city or the other. The sheer distance, and the intervening cities of the Spiderlands, sufficiently complicated the journey to still make most forms of trade uneconomical. There was a certain market, however, that had grown up very recently between them, and that was aptly represented by the White Cloud White Cloud. Just as Spider Aristoi had been using Solarno as a holiday retreat for centuries, so the idea had grown up amongst the richest of the Collegium magnates. Solarno, that beautiful lakeside city, with its civilized comforts and entertainments, had become the the place to go for a certain cla.s.s of the very wealthy. Deep in the Beetle mind there had always been a sense of grievance with the world. Beetle-kinden felt themselves looked down upon. They came from old slave stock. They were unsubtle in their dealings. Compared with the elegant grace of the Spider-kinden, they felt like club-footed children. It was a thorn in the minds of all of them, especially those rich enough to discover that there were things that money could not buy. Solarno, lying outside the Spiderlands proper, had given them a place to go and flaunt their affluence. They would promenade alongside the glittering Exalsee, throng its tavernas, watch its excitable locals and pretend that, by doing what the Spider-kinden n.o.bility did, they had become their equals. What the Spiders thought of it all was unknown, but Solarno was raking in money hand over fist. The place to go for a certain cla.s.s of the very wealthy. Deep in the Beetle mind there had always been a sense of grievance with the world. Beetle-kinden felt themselves looked down upon. They came from old slave stock. They were unsubtle in their dealings. Compared with the elegant grace of the Spider-kinden, they felt like club-footed children. It was a thorn in the minds of all of them, especially those rich enough to discover that there were things that money could not buy. Solarno, lying outside the Spiderlands proper, had given them a place to go and flaunt their affluence. They would promenade alongside the glittering Exalsee, throng its tavernas, watch its excitable locals and pretend that, by doing what the Spider-kinden n.o.bility did, they had become their equals. What the Spiders thought of it all was unknown, but Solarno was raking in money hand over fist. The White Cloud White Cloud did not lack pa.s.sengers for the return trip, either. The Spider-kinden who lived in Solarno were sheltering from the Dance, and it provided a backwater allowing them to play their games in safety. The introduction of Collegium into their lives, a whole city crammed with the naive and the adoring, had enlivened their social scene considerably. did not lack pa.s.sengers for the return trip, either. The Spider-kinden who lived in Solarno were sheltering from the Dance, and it provided a backwater allowing them to play their games in safety. The introduction of Collegium into their lives, a whole city crammed with the naive and the adoring, had enlivened their social scene considerably.

Captain Parrols of the White Cloud White Cloud was possessed of unusual ac.u.men, himself a h.e.l.leren Beetle of dubious provenance. He had almost ruined himself to fit out this little airship with as much tawdry opulence as possible, but he had since made it all back and more, even with only a single round trip every month. The sort of people who took the air in Solarno could not afford to be seen looking cheap. Parrols had been less enchanted with the idea of carrying a grab-bag of academics on his ship, but he owed Drillen and so had grudgingly acquiesced. Their current station within the bowels of the vessel was testimony to the stalemate reached between Drillen's influence and Parrols's parsimony. was possessed of unusual ac.u.men, himself a h.e.l.leren Beetle of dubious provenance. He had almost ruined himself to fit out this little airship with as much tawdry opulence as possible, but he had since made it all back and more, even with only a single round trip every month. The sort of people who took the air in Solarno could not afford to be seen looking cheap. Parrols had been less enchanted with the idea of carrying a grab-bag of academics on his ship, but he owed Drillen and so had grudgingly acquiesced. Their current station within the bowels of the vessel was testimony to the stalemate reached between Drillen's influence and Parrols's parsimony.

The Khanaphir Expedition of the Great College consisted of either three, four or six people, depending on your point of view. The fourth person was Cheerwell, and she found herself with an uneasy and ill-defined role. Although a scholar of the College, she was not present here as an academic. The other three had credentials, while she was merely a student with a colourful recent history. She had been given the over-large t.i.tle of Collegiate Amba.s.sador to Khanaphes, even though Stenwold could not furnish her with much idea of what such a grand personage might do. Khanaphes itself sounded a confusing and contradictory place, so she would have to think on her feet and try not to upset people. On a more mundane level, although she was not the expedition's leader and had none of the academic prestige, she seemed to have inherited most of the practical responsibility. When they reached Solarno, it would be her job to find locals prepared to take them further. She was positively looking forward to it, if only for the fact that being crammed here into the underside of an airship with three bickering academics was making her ill. She could barely eat, she slept badly, she constantly fended off Mannerly Gorget's half-heartedly lecherous advances. She worried all the time about what they might find in Khanaphes.

The academic contingent of the expedition was a triad of conflicting personalities who were either genuinely enthused by the project or indebted in some way to Jodry Drillen. Che was not sure which criterion applied to whom. Their leader was a staid old man called Berjek Gripshod. He had been better known to her simply as Master Gripshod since before Che started her studies, but she understood there to have been a first name attached to him at some point. He was a College Master who cared nothing for politics, therefore Stenwold had chosen him as a historian who would not twist the revelations of Khanaphes to fit his own pet theories. Drillen, for his part, had chosen him as a man whose academic and political reputations remained unsmudged: someone that people would listen to on his return. Those were his good points, at least. He was in his mid-fifties, hair grey and thinning, dignity etched over his face in deep lines. He had a desert-dry humour and no interest in conversing with people outside his own discipline. College students said the best way of attracting his attention was to have been dead for three hundred years.

In contrast was Mannerly Gorget, who was younger, broader, livelier and lewder. He eschewed College robes for brightly coloured Spider silks that strained over his stomach. Manny was a rising star in the Natural History department, Che understood, as well as being a better cartographer than Helmess Broiler. This was only the case when he could be bothered, however. He came from a rich family, and so work and discomfort were both unfamiliar to him. He had made a corner of their common room his own, where, at cards and dice, he fleeced and was fleeced by off-duty members of Parrols's crew. He seemed happy about everything until halfway through the journey, when he exhausted his private stock of wine. That had since triggered his more or less constant complaints about their travel arrangements. He dressed his moans up as badinage, but it was clear that he felt hard done by that Drillen's largesse had not extended to housing them in the upper berths.

Praeda Rakespear was a scholar of architecture and artifice. She did not drink wine, or gamble. Her first action, once the White Cloud White Cloud was under way, was to definitively rebuff Manny Gorget and make it clear that she found him repulsive. The airship itself she found interesting, and she spent a tenday sketching the workings of its engine. She had a fine precise hand that would have been much admired, had she not made it clear that she valued n.o.body's admiration or praise. She was somewhere near thirty, impeccably neat and attractive save that her face might as well have been carved in dark stone. The ship's crew, as well as Manny, had begun to call her the Cold One. She cared not at all. She was abrupt with everyone, not from hostility but because she lived her life without any luxuries, including manners. Che's attempts at friendship had not been rebuffed, just retreated from. Praeda had not lived a happy life, Che gathered. Collegiate scholars had a phrase, 'the armour of the mind', and Praeda wore it night and day. was under way, was to definitively rebuff Manny Gorget and make it clear that she found him repulsive. The airship itself she found interesting, and she spent a tenday sketching the workings of its engine. She had a fine precise hand that would have been much admired, had she not made it clear that she valued n.o.body's admiration or praise. She was somewhere near thirty, impeccably neat and attractive save that her face might as well have been carved in dark stone. The ship's crew, as well as Manny, had begun to call her the Cold One. She cared not at all. She was abrupt with everyone, not from hostility but because she lived her life without any luxuries, including manners. Che's attempts at friendship had not been rebuffed, just retreated from. Praeda had not lived a happy life, Che gathered. Collegiate scholars had a phrase, 'the armour of the mind', and Praeda wore it night and day.

Before halfway Che had decided that of the three of them, Manny Gorget was the only decent company. At some level she was even glad that her roiling stomach kept her out of everyone's path for much of the time.

Then there were the other two: the Vekken. Stenwold had explained to Che why they were there, with apologies. 'They should likely keep out of your way,' he had advised and they had. They stayed together, shoulder to shoulder, and said nothing. They wore real armour all the time, their swords always close to hand. They were ever waiting for treachery: Che could read it in their stance quite clearly. The concept of mounting an academic expedition to a far city, even one with a political undertone, made no sense to them. They had come aboard without names, and Che had eventually had to force her presence on them. 'I need to know what to call you,' she had said. They had stared. 'I might have to introduce you,' she had said. They had still stared. 'I was told you were amba.s.sadors,' she had told them, now at her wits' end. They had reluctantly given her names: Accius and Malius. They looked almost twins, but she gathered that Accius was the one who spoke infrequently, Malius the one who spoke not at all.

They spent a lot of time up on deck and stared down both the crew and Captain Parrols when asked to go below. Cheerwell saw them most often at the stern, and guessed they were looking towards their vanished home and wondering if they would ever see it again. Looking at them, and their fearful hostility towards everything around them, she decided that her uncle's plan for conciliation with these people was doomed.

Captain Parrols was beckoning her over. He was a grizzled, unshaven man of near Stenwold's age, dressed in garish finery. Rumour placed him as being a sea pirate, not so very long ago.

'Look,' he told her, gesturing grandly over the port bow. His paying customers were present too, and they oohed and aahed at the sight. Cheerwell, at least, had seen it before: Solarno, the city of white stone set before the silver expanse of the Exalsee. The sun was lowering in the west into a bank of clouds, and a shoal of rain was scudding across the surface of the lake like a living thing. Parrols was giving a rambling and mostly inaccurate account of the city's history, but she ignored him and leant on the rail. Out here, with the wind in her hair and the cool fresh air all around, she found it almost bearable. The impulse to just spread her wings, to coast all the way to Solarno under her own Art, was very strong. She knew she was not flier enough for it, alas.

Even at this distance, she could pick out places that she knew. She saw the tangled street market of the Venodor and the mansions of the Spider-kinden families where she had once guested. She wondered which party now controlled the Corta, the city's intrigue-ridden council. It all seemed so long ago that she and Nero had been Stenwold's agents there.

So long ago, and so many gone.

They parted company with the White Cloud White Cloud without much sorrow. Che engaged some locals to carry the surprising amount of luggage that three academics had been able to acc.u.mulate and found her way by memory to a Fly-run taverna where she installed them all in separate rooms. Manny Gorget was already talking about finding a bath and a wh.o.r.e, in no particular order. Praeda Rakespear and old Gripshod were talking in low voices about the merits of Solarnese building. In the morning it would be time for Che to find them a suitable road to Khanaphes. without much sorrow. Che engaged some locals to carry the surprising amount of luggage that three academics had been able to acc.u.mulate and found her way by memory to a Fly-run taverna where she installed them all in separate rooms. Manny Gorget was already talking about finding a bath and a wh.o.r.e, in no particular order. Praeda Rakespear and old Gripshod were talking in low voices about the merits of Solarnese building. In the morning it would be time for Che to find them a suitable road to Khanaphes.

'Well, if it's just a matter of the getting there,' replied the bearded Fly-kinden, 'then no problem. Tell you the truth, you don't even need me. Just find yourself a caravan, find a ship. It's not like people don't ever go there.'

Che nodded. 'It's more than that.' They were sitting on cushions around a very low table in something called Frido Caravanserai, which she understood was the place to go to find trading parties heading east. As well as the bearded man there was a Solarnese woman who looked as if she had been told something displeasing just before Che sat down, and was unable to forget it. Their quartet was rounded off by a lean, scarred Dragonfly-kinden who said not a word. In that restricted company Che and the Fly were making most of the conversation.

'Tell me about Khanaphes,' she said.

'Ah, well.' The Fly took out a clay pipe and filled it carefully with nimble fingers. 'They're strange over there.'

'They're my people, I hear. My kinden?'

He snickered, at that. 'They look like it, sure. They ain't, though. They're a law to themselves, the Khanaphir. Very secretive.'

'Will we have trouble getting into the city?'

'I don't mean secrets like that. No, they got secrets all over, absolutely everywhere, but because they're secrets, you can't see them. You just know that they're hiding stuff from you and you never get to see their leaders. There's just this big pile of clerks running everything. And you have to be real careful what you trade with them.'

'What do you you trade in?' trade in?'

The Fly looked to the Solarnese woman, who scowled at him. 'In Khanaphes you buy food,' she said. 'Also gems and precious metalwork. They're good at that. You sell raw gold and iron, unworked metals of any kind. You sell cloth, Spider silks especially. Timber too.'

'That doesn't sound that odd to me.'

The woman made a despairing noise. 'My dear, you see them working in the fields with draught-animals and ploughs, or else they potter about on their river with oar-galleys. They are, in a word, primitive. primitive. Now, I knew a fellow who imported the parts for an automotive, set it up outside the walls to demonstrate it. He was going to start his own revolution. But n.o.body would deal with him. n.o.body would even talk to him. They all got busy elsewhere, like n.o.body could find the time. He went back the next year with a hold full of the best timber you could find and n.o.body would buy. It bankrupted him. The same thing happened to a woman I knew who tried to fly out there and trade from her airship. They wouldn't have it. They're not just barbarians, they're Now, I knew a fellow who imported the parts for an automotive, set it up outside the walls to demonstrate it. He was going to start his own revolution. But n.o.body would deal with him. n.o.body would even talk to him. They all got busy elsewhere, like n.o.body could find the time. He went back the next year with a hold full of the best timber you could find and n.o.body would buy. It bankrupted him. The same thing happened to a woman I knew who tried to fly out there and trade from her airship. They wouldn't have it. They're not just barbarians, they're wilful wilful barbarians.' barbarians.'

Che felt an odd feeling of excitement rise within her. Inapt Beetle-kinden? People who would understand her curse, perhaps even be able to help her? She looked to the Fly-kinden.

'All true,' he confirmed. ''Course, it doesn't mean squat to me. I'm just the caravan master and trading's what other people do. I just put them where they can do it. Which brings me to you.' He smiled at her brightly. 'Now, you're looking for a caravan master, and I just happen to be one, and currently free of hire. What are you carting?'

'Just pa.s.sengers and their effects,' Che said. 'Six of us. And we'll retain you to stay on with us in Khanaphes just long enough for us to learn the ropes.'

The Fly rubbed at his chin. 'Don't know if there's enough time in the world for that. Don't think outsiders ever do work out what Khanaphes is all about.'

Che smiled to herself and thought, Try me. Try me.

They were not the only party making business arrangements in the Frido Caravanserai. Two Spiderkinden drank and laughed amongst their Solarnese retinues, while their fingers flicked and spun loops of silk in a silent language. Across the room, three tattooed Dragonflies were making a secretive deal with a pair of armoured men who caught Che's attention. Their tabards were dark grey, and the device on them seemed scarcely a different colour, and yet some trick of the cloth made it stand out plain: a heavy armoured gauntlet held open. An open hand meant peace, of course, except in the Empire it meant threat.

'Who are they?' she asked.

The Fly turned to see where she was pointing and made a dismissive grunt. 'Can't seem to go anywhere without seeing them these days. All over the Exalsee, they are. Iron Glove Cartel. New boys out of Chasme, but they fix up some good stuff.'

'What do they make?'

'Weapons,' said their quiet Dragonfly unexpectedly. 'Armour. Things of war.' He lapsed into silence again.

Che regarded the two Iron Glove men, who wore armour of studded leather all over, even visored helms. They made her feel uncomfortable at some deep level, and for no obvious reason. With a little shiver she turned back to the Fly-kinden.

They haggled over money a little. She knew in the end that he had got her to agree to more than his services were worth, but it was Drillen's money and she had no emotional attachment to it. Anyway, she reckoned that she could probably keep tapping the Fly for information by riding on the guilt of his good fortune.

'I'm Cheerwell Maker of Collegium, by the way,' she informed him. 'What do I call you?'

He leant across the table to clasp her hand with his much smaller one. 'You may call me te Rallo Alla-Maani, Bella Cheerwell,' he said proudly.

'That's your name,' she acknowledged, 'but what do I really call you?' She saw the surprise in his face, at a foreigner knowing this much. The Solarnese woman snorted.