And it was worse that she knew what he meant, that he did not need to explain. ‘He cannot be…’

‘Quite a discovery by General Maxin’s Rekef, is it not?’

They come at night for the blood of the living, the ancient sorcerers, the terrible night-dwellers, who steal bad children from their beds, never to be seen again…

‘But there are no Mosquito-kinden. There never were. They were just tales… surely?’

But confronting that gleeful smile of his, she knew otherwise.

Collegium was a city of laws. The underhanded could not easily purchase respectability, nor were they of great service or use to the Assembly. Such businesses as Lieutenant Graf had been practising were therefore done by word of mouth and behind closed doors.

Graf’s office sat behind a small-package exporter run by a copper-skinned Kessen Ant who had long been renegade from his native city. The exporter’s own work was on the shady side of the legal line and he asked no questions nor answered them. Behind his store was the back room where Graf bought and sold the talents of swordsmen to whoever required them. He was well known. He had a good reputation amongst buyers and sellers of blades.

Regular business was now closed for the evening, though, and he set out five bowls, poured wine into only one. His true line of work was a more uncertain business. There was no telling which of the chairs would sit out the night empty.

Thalric came first, unpinning his cloak and casting it off. ‘Concerns, Lieutenant?’ he asked, straight away.

‘All going like clockwork, Major,’ Graf confirmed. Thal-ric took the bowl of wine he was offered and swallowed deeply.

‘Local?’ he asked, and when Graf nodded, remarked, ‘They have good vineyards hereabouts.’

Graf shrugged. ‘Never was much of a man for it myself.’ The lieutenant’s speech and accent told Thalric that here was someone who had risen through his own efforts, without any help from family or friends. A doubly useful man, then. Mind you, merit got you further in the Rekef than it did in the regular army.

Scadran and Hofi, large and small, arrived together. At a gesture from Graf, the Fly-kinden barber hopped up onto a stool to pour two more bowls of wine.

‘We’ll start,’ Thalric decided. ‘Your report first, Scadran.’

‘Arianna’s not here, sir?’ the big man asked.

‘I’ve had word from her. She’s in place and the plan is working well enough, but she decided it was best not to arouse any suspicion by breaking cover. The hook is set and the fish looks to be gaping for it, so to speak.’ Thalric shook his head. He had only met Stenwold the once, and he had rather liked the man – as much as he could like any enemy of the Empire. Stenwold was a man who took his duties seriously, even when they might endanger those closest to him. Admirable, perhaps, but he was a tired old man, whereas Arianna was Spider-kinden, born to be devious, sly and cunning from her first breath.

Poor old man, but who would not be flattered to have an innocent young girl like that hanging on his every word? Who would not be swayed?

But it was for the good of the Empire, and that was the first rule of Thalric’s life. Stenwold was altogether too much of an obstacle to ignore.

‘So, Scadran, report,’ he said, slightly irked that he needed to ask twice.

‘Lot of news about Tark,’ the dockworker began. ‘Spider ships are coming in saying the north road from Seldis is cut, impassable. They’re saying that they can sell to the… well, to us as well as they could to the Tarkesh. The slave trade and the silk trade haven’t been dented. That’s what they’re most bothered about.’

‘Anything more?’

‘Nothing but the usual trouble,’ Scadran continued, and then, as Thalric gestured for him to explain, ‘Mantis longboats from Felyal are on the rise. Spider shipping is being attacked. That happens every few years, then the Spiders get some mercenary navy in and everything quiets down.’

‘Could be to our advantage, Major,’ Graf remarked, and Thalric nodded.

‘The more little wars being fought in the Lowlands right now the better,’ he agreed. ‘Hofi, the news with you?’

‘All good as gold.’ The Fly-kinden barber grinned happily. ‘I snip a few grandees from the Assembly, in my place, and they love to boast about their doings. With a few words dropped, I can have them talking about anything I like. In this case, I got them – two or three of them waiting for the curl – talking on the subject of our dear friend Master Stenwold Maker.’

‘In your own time, Hofi,’ Thalric said, finding the little man long-winded.

‘Of course, Major, of course. He’s not a well-liked man, because they don’t appreciate troublemakers. They don’t think he takes the College seriously enough. There’s even a motion tabled to strip him of his Masterhood. That’s not the first time, but it could be passed.’

‘Are they going to give him a hearing?’ Thalric asked pointedly.

‘Oh, of course they’ll see him, in the fullness of time. For now, though, they’re still debating just when. That debate alone could last thirty days.’

‘Or?’

Hofi blinked. ‘Or what sir?’

‘Or it could be decided tomorrow?’ Thalric suggested. ‘And then they’d see him in a day after that?’

‘Not likely, sir.’

‘It’s just as well I don’t deal in likelihoods, then, when I can avoid it. I’ll let Arianna know that the trap needs to be ready to spring at any time. Let’s hope she has had the chance to worm her way fully into Stenwold’s graces.’

‘Rely on her,’ Graf told him. ‘She’s a good agent.’

‘I’m sure.’ Thalric nodded again. ‘What about your duties, Lieutenant?’

‘I have men for you,’ Graf confirmed. ‘This city’s never brimming with fighting men, but I have a dozen confirmed reliables so far.’

‘Let’s hope they’re better than those last two you sent at him,’ Thalric said.

‘They’re as good as I can get without compromising our position here, Major. And I have one special treat – one with a particular grudge against Stenwold’s girl.’

‘Against Cheerwell?’ Thalric frowned. He could hardly imagine it.

‘Not her, sir. The Spider girl. I’ve hired us a Mantis duellist.’

Thalric felt his heart skip despite himself. No of course he hasn’t hired that Mantis-kinden. But the reaction was automatic. He had taken that man down, he had burned him and yet, after the Mantis’s wretched daughter put her sword through Thalric’s leg, he had seen the same man get up and fight like a monster.

He forced himself to stay calm. They would meet again, he assured himself, and the Empire would triumph over the backwoods belligerence of the Mantids.

But secretly he hoped they never met again.

‘Our man’s name is Piraeus. Apparently the daughter, or whatever she is, gave him a public whipping at one of their little fencing games, and for once we’ve found a Mantis who doesn’t care just how he gets even. He’s more than happy to stick her from the shadows. Or her old man, come to that. He’s not particular.’

‘Thalric,’ she said, ‘a Wasp-kinden. That is who I’m looking for.’

The paunchy Beetle-kinden looked down on her from his throne. It was meant to be a throne, anyway. A built-up chair atop some steps with gold and stones hammered into it. Perhaps he had been aiming for barbaric splendour.

‘Name rings a bell,’ he allowed. This seated dignitary was known as Last-Chance Fraywell. Felise understood this name came from his final words to those who crossed him. ‘I’m going to give you one last chance,’ he would say to them, and then proceed to kill them in whatever way appealed to him. So she was led to understand, anyway.

Fraywell leant down from his throne, peering at her suspiciously. She was standing a fair way back and she had come without her sword but, even so, there were a dozen of Fraywell’s bullies carefully watching her. She looked from face to face: Beetle-kinden, Ants, halfbreeds… there he was, the man she was told to watch out for: a tall Spider-kinden, the only one here of his kind. His was the face she knew.