And Stenwold noticed a twitch in Thalric then, and realized that word, ‘Empire’, had not been spoken before, just ‘our lands’ and similar terms. A mis-step for Master Bellowern, then, but not a fatal one, for the mere mention of trade had the townsmen Assemblers’ mouths watering. Ambassador Godran then put a comradely hand on Bellowern’s shoulder and the two of them shared a rehearsed smile.

Stenwold watched as other members of the Assembly came up to make their names and businesses known. Not all, it was true: some sat back because they did not deign to meddle in the affairs of outlanders, while others, Stenwold thought, were reticent because they were not overly quick to give their trust. Indeed there was the look in some faces, of men who had over-eaten on a dish they now found slightly bitter. Heads turned in his direction and he sensed a tremor of anxiety there, as all of Stenwold’s dusty warnings began turning over in their minds. Even the greediest of merchants would have seen enough, and heard enough, to know that Stenwold was no mere fantasist when he spoke warningly of the Empire, and now the Empire was here, standing in the Amphiophos itself, smiling and talking. But their eyes were very cold.

‘Pray!’ old Thadspar called out, to attract the general attention, and then, ‘Pray, shall we not have… refreshment?’ He mugged at his fellows and, at the word, a thing of glittering brass and steel came in from the antechamber. It was formed in the image of a robed Beetle man bearing a tray in its hands, and it resounded hollowly with the sound of gears and levers. Its course took it straight towards the ambassadors and Stenwold was pleased to see them start away from it in alarm. Something your own artificers haven’t done yet, then? He saw Thalric’s hand twitch, not moving to an absent sword, but the fingers flexing, clearing the palm. The Assemblers were laughing a little at the foreigners’ confusion as the construct paused in the centre of the hall with its drinks ready for plucking, and after a moment the visitors awkwardly joined in. Old Thadspar was attempting to take the Wasp Godran gently to one side, now that the first rush of well-wishers had abated, and Stenwold shouldered through the crowd to hear.

‘… remarkable indeed, Master Godran,’ Thadspar was murmuring as Stenwold drew closer. ‘Your empire’s achievements have been instructive for us all, that you have done so much from such small beginnings, and grown so very prosperous.’ His eyes sought out Stenwold, unexpectedly, just a sideways flicker over Godran’s shoulder. ‘We understand that war can be the fire that forges a great state… but war, of course…’ The old man smiled apologetically. ‘We value philosophers, here in Collegium. You know how they must always think about everything.’

Godran’s smile was quick and easy. ‘Oh, Master Thadspar, we have only just torn ourselves free of the Commonweal’s ruinous war. We have a great deal to rebuild and repair. Simply feeding and clothing the Empire is a monumental task. We are like the man who fights all night with his wife, and in the morning does not feel like going off to work.’

There was a ripple of laughter at that, and Stenwold thought, He even knows Collegiate jokes. Stenwold would have spoken then, perhaps, but one of the College’s other historians was heading towards him, a hand held up to catch his attention. The historian stepped aside to meet him, drawing back out of the Wasps’ earshot.

‘Master Maker.’

‘Master Linewright.’

The younger man raised his hands. ‘Master Maker, the Assembly has asked me to relay a request.’

Stenwold smiled a little. ‘Pray relay, Master Linewright.’

‘It is no secret what you think of our new guests,’ said Linewright testily.

‘I have done my best to tell it at every opportunity,’ Stenwold said flatly.

‘There was talk of banning you from here today, but that we could find no precedent. Maker, this is perhaps the most important embassage to come to Collegium in a generation.’

‘No argument from me,’ Stenwold said reasonably.

‘The Assembly does not accept your view of these people,’ Linewright snapped. ‘How could we believe in civilization if such a monster as you foretell was even possible? And…’

‘And?’

Linewright glanced over his shoulder at the Wasps. ‘And just say you were right – I don’t believe it, of course, nobody does – but just suppose you were right…’

He’s terrified, Stenwold realized. Hammer and tongs, he knows I’m right and he’s scared to death.

‘Just suppose you’re right,’ Linewright said, his voice suddenly hoarse. ‘What could we do? Don’t you think it’s still better to befriend them than provoke them?’

‘You’re worried I’m going to denounce them openly as monsters and murderers. Believe me, I have no intention of provoking these people, or even speaking with them. Go back and join the festivities,’ Stenwold added with heavy irony. ‘Enjoy yourself.’ Past the man’s shoulder he could see the controversial visitors. Whilst Godran and his Beetle-kinden henchman were clasping hands and speaking homilies, Thalric was staring directly at Stenwold. He felt a shock as their eyes met. Had he seen this man before, as one soldier amongst many? Thalric seemed almost too young to have fought at Myna. The Wasp nodded, though, a private and personal nod for Stenwold alone.

I know you. That nod spoke volumes. Don’t think that I, that we, don’t know all about you.

Past midnight, and the windows of Collegium were darkening one by one, leaving the streets picked out in a web of gas lamps. Tynisa and Che were heading for home, bidding Totho good night where he turned away for the Charity Hall where he kept a room. He had spent the entire evening wanting to speak with Che, and she knew it. Now he had on him such a mournful expression that she wished she had not avoided him, but too late for that.

Salma was not with them, of course. Salma, to Tynisa’s annoyance and derision, had left the party arm in arm with that Mantis-woman athlete from Nethyon. ‘I hope she eats him,’ Tynisa had said dismissively, but she was surprised to find how it rankled. When Salma took his pick of the local girls, adoring Beetle-kinden maids that she knew he felt nothing for, then she did not mind. It was not as though she had not romanced her share of industrialists’ heirs, or young Ant officers away from home for the first time. Some she bedded and some she did not, but all of them gave her gifts and did as she wished. She was a Spider by birth, if not by upbringing. She cultivated her webs as a warrior would practise his swordplay, because it might be needed in earnest, come the time. This Mantis-kinden, though – Salma had bowed low before her, some elaborate ritual from his people, and she, who had seemed bored and alone only a moment before, had bowed back and taken his hand. And Mantis-kinden were not rumoured to be casual about their partner or anything else.

When they got back inside, Stenwold was waiting for them. They could smell his pipe on the air, so they peered through his study doorway. He was sitting in his favourite chair, ornate Mantis-carved work, and staring into the fire.

‘Uncle?’ Che said. ‘I… we didn’t think that you would still be up at this time.’

‘Come in, both of you,’ Stenwold said, not taking his eyes from the fire. ‘Are the rest of the Majestic with you? No, I see not. Well I’ll speak to you two now, and to them in the morning.’

‘This is about the Wasp-kinden, isn’t it?’ Che guessed.

‘It is. Tynisa, could you be prepared to leave for Helleron with me tomorrow?’

‘And miss the Games?’ Tynisa replied instantly, and then: ‘Well, yes, I could…’

‘Get together what you need. Travel light and travel armed.’ There was a great purpose in Stenwold’s voice. ‘Years, I’ve waited – and now it’s on me faster than I thought. Some “Dancer” I am.’