Chapter Twenty-Six
Fix’s knees buckled and Indrajit caught him.
“Excuse me,” Indrajit said. “We need to leave.”
“You can go.” Uthnar stood aside to permit their exit, and Avchat rushed to position himself among the Protagonists. At the last moment, he lurched sideways and stood beside Betel—one of the Luzzazza’s invisible arms must have grabbed him.
“No,” Betel said. “You can’t.”
“Is this a Conclave or not?” The man asking this question was Fanchee, green-skinned with a mass of tentacles hanging off the lower half of his face. He wore a Gray Lord’s iron disk. He had stepped forward, as had several others, each man leaving behind his entourage and now forming a circle of seven, all wearing iron disks from chains around their necks, loosely standing around the Protagonists. Arash Sehama was one of them.
The Gray Lords.
In the gloom, Indrajit searched in vain beyond the Gray Lords to try to make out what the uniforms of their followers might be. He thought he saw a group holding sticks, but otherwise could discern nothing.
“No witnesses.” This was from another of the seven, a Wixit.
The Fanchee were kelp farmers and seafarers. Did that suggest that the Fanchee Gray Lord was master of the thieves of the East and West Flats? And the Wixits he knew were often merchants—was the Wixit Gray Lord master of the Caravanserai, or the Lee? Indrajit shook his head, clearing out the useless questions.
The Huachao had picked up Budhrriao. The pridechief was moving sluggishly, so Fix hadn’t killed him after all. The cat-men huddled in a ring, with their backs to the center, as if they expected to have to defend themselves.
“We’re not witnesses,” Indrajit said. “We were brought here as prisoners, and we just want to leave.”
“You were brought here as prisoners by the servants of Jaxter Boom,” Betel said.
One of the Huachao snarled. “We are not servants!”
“Yes, we were,” Indrajit said.
“Along with my own disloyal agent, Yammilku the Heru.” Betel adjusted his grip on his hammer as he spoke, as if the Heru’s very name caused him to want to smash things.
“That’s true.” Indrajit’s throat felt dry.
“What is this, Zac?” Uthnar Roberts asked.
“The time has come for the speaking of truths,” Betel said. “Standing here in the False Palace, where the heat and gas of the warren below are released so that the city isn’t harmed. We must now release the heat and gas of the untruths and the conspiracies.”
The awkward metaphor made Indrajit grind his teeth, but he said nothing.
“Have you been party to some conspiracy, then?” the Wixit asked.
Betel pointed at Indrajit and Fix. “I directed these men to steal Arash Sehama’s map of Underkish for me.”
Sehama hissed.
“A violation,” the Fanchee said. “We don’t steal from each other.”
“On the other hand,” the Wixit said, “I’d like to get my paws on that map, myself.”
“I admit the fault,” Betel said. “It was my idea that I would take the information on the map and then return it, but that’s no mitigation. The information is precisely what Sehema would wish to preserve secret. I had offered him money for it, and he’d refused. In his weakness, losing men right and left to the jobbers of the Lords of Kish, I had offered him my alliance for the secrets of the map, and still he’d said no.”
“I see this is a Conclave after all,” Sehama said. “My ‘weakness,’ indeed. That you would insult me so before my brethren! What do you offer to make good your faults? The theft and also the insults!”
Indrajit had the terrible feeling that he was about to be sold out. His limbs shook with fatigue and the cold.
“Wait,” Betel said. “Others may wish to admit fault.”
There followed a long and terrible pause.
“Indrajit Twang,” Betel growled.
“Ah . . . I don’t know what would constitute a fault,” Indrajit said, “but we stole the map from Sehama.”
“Good,” Betel said.
“And in fact we hired this scribe here,” Indrajit said.
“No need to say my name,” Avchat said.
“That’s Danel Avchat,” Betel said. “He’s not one of mine, but we know him. He’s a forger.”
“A copyist!” Avchat insisted.
“We hired this ‘copyist’ so we could give the map back,” Indrajit said. “And still give the copy to Betel. No harm done.”
“Except,” Sehama hissed, “that as my colleague Zac Betel correctly points out, you would have stolen the information, which was the real point. My proprietary, secret lore, distributed to one of my enemies.”
“Competitor,” Betel said. “Not enemy.”
“We’re thieves,” Sehama said, “not grocers.”
“Still,” Betel insisted, “there’s a reason we divide territories among us. I would have been your loyal ally, Arash.” He turned to Indrajit. “What then?”
Indrajit was shivering, and the night was only getting colder. “We returned to give you the map and Yammilku was in charge. Acting as the night warden. He took the map and he told us what we wanted to know . . .” He trailed off, uncertain how much of the story to share—Alea’s death, the Vin Dalu, the Kattak?
“I was attacked by my own men,” Betel said.
Indrajit heard a murmur of several voices, but in the rain and the darkness he couldn’t see from where.
“Is this a confession,” Uthnar asked, “or an accusation?”
“We were there,” Indrajit said. “Philastes and I. Yammilku forced us to do it. He took from us the thing we had worked to retrieve—not the map, but something else. An artifact we needed to save a friend’s life.”
“The stupid Girdle,” Sehama hissed.
Indrajit nodded. “Yes. Yammilku took it and demanded we approach you. He planned to attack and kill you, and take your place.”
“What was your role?” Betel asked.
“I think we were to be the distraction,” Indrajit said. “And I believe that he planned to kill us and say we were the assassins.”
“Some of my men were his coconspirators,” Betel rumbled. “But you warned me, and I defeated the uprising.”
“Yes,” Indrajit said. “And I see now that you realized Yammilku’s guilt. At the time, I missed that.”
“Did Yammilku alone put you up to this?” Betel asked.
Indrajit’s far-apart eyes meant that he could see both Yuto Harlee and Tully Roberts. In the darkness, he couldn’t see them very well. What he didn’t know was whether those men had acted on their own, or at the orders of their Gray Lords. And if they had acted alone, how would the Gray Lords now react?
“He had a group of men,” Indrajit said. “Yuto Harlee of the Sookwalkers was one. Tully Roberts of the Silksteppers was another.”
“He’s lying,” Uthnar Roberts said.
Arash Sehama spun about to face the tavernkeeper Harlee. “What is this, Harlee?” he hissed.
Yuto Harlee had a long knife in his hand. In the rain and the shadows it had lain unseen alongside his thigh, but when Sehama turned, Harlee stepped forward. The knife blade flashed gray in the dim light, and then Harlee plunged it three times into Sehama’s chest.
The Gray Lord of the Sookwalkers crumbled to the iron grate.
“He was a failure!” Harlee snatched the iron disk from Sehama’s neck and raised the bloody knife over his head. “He’d lost territory and lost money and lost his precious map, the one thing that gave us any advantage. His time is past. I am Gray Lord of the Sookwalkers now!”
Behind him, a handful of men in gray cloaks emerged from the tunnel opening. They stood like bodyguards, ready to defend Harlee.
The Fanchee Gray Lord drew a saber, wheeled about, and stomped into the tunnel opening behind him. A short, piercing cry was cut short by a meaty thwack, and then the Fanchee reemerged.
Betel turned to Uthnar Roberts, making a dull clicking sound in his mouth. “So, Uthnar, you were in on this.”
“I was in on nothing,” Uthnar said, “and I owe you nothing.”
“What was the deal?” Betel asked. “You would help kill me and Sehama and Zaal and then three brand-new Gray Lords would owe you favors. What were you to get? Money? A copy of Sehama’s map? Territory? All of the above?”
“What would you do about it if it was true?” Uthnar’s lips were twisted into a sneer and his jaw jutted upward.
“You counted three Gray Lords who would be new and your allies,” Betel said. “Which would have meant that, if there were questions, it would have been four against three, with the four on your side. Not a perfectly safe outcome, but nothing is perfectly safe.”
Indrajit saw Yuto Harlee edging backward toward the tunnel, his men edging backward with him.
“But count again,” Betel said. “It’s five to two against you.”
Harlee turned and ran. Munahim slipped an arrow from his quiver, quick as lightning, and sank it into the back of Harlee’s thigh. The tavernkeeper fell into the darkness of the tunnel, dragged by his men.
No one pursued them.
“One,” Betel said. “You’re alone.”
“I’ve got my men,” Uthnar growled.
“You don’t want to fight,” Betel said. “We’ll take your contracts, your clients, your territory. We’ll squeeze you from all sides until you’re squashed to a pulp. You should clear the slate while you can.”
“What do you want?” Uthnar took an uneasy step back. His hands hung near his sword and knife.
“Did Tully propose this plot to you?” Betel asked.
“I don’t see why that matters,” Uthnar said.
“Oh, yes, you do.”
“I won’t let you kill my brother.” Uthnar’s voice was strained.
“Of course not,” Betel said. “You’re going to do it.”
Tully Roberts snorted. “That’s ridiculous. This is all a misunderstanding. Yammilku told me that he was defending you from plotters in your ranks.”
“Tully,” Uthnar said softly.
“I was coming to your rescue, Betel,” Tully insisted.
“Tully.”
“Besides, why would you listen to anything this fish-headed jobber says, anyway?” Tully drew his sword.
Uthnar slapped the sword from his brother’s hand. Tully turned, shock on his face, and Uthnar stabbed a dagger into his belly. Tully collapsed slowly into his brother’s arms, shuddering and gasping, and Uthnar sank to the iron grid.
“Decisive,” Betel said. “Committed to order, even over personal loyalty. Even over family. The sort of man who should be Gray Lord.”
“Shut up,” Uthnar whispered. “Just shut your mouth now.”
Betel nodded. Turning, he faced the knot of Huachao warriors. “And you. You came here with Yammilku.”
“Actually, they were sent by Jaxter Boom,” Indrajit said.
“The squid lord of the Dregs?” Betel tut-tutted. “Boom and Yammilku allied against me?”
“The plan was to kill you,” Indrajit said, “and make me and my comrades look like the assassins.”
“Yammilku would replace me,” Betel said. “And Boom?”
“Boom wanted to become a Gray Lord,” Indrajit said. “I suppose he still does.”
“Is it the worst idea?” the Fanchee Gray Lord asked. “He dominates the Dregs. If anything, bringing him into our councils might help control him.”
“Eight Gray Lords would mean more deadlocks,” Betel mused. “An odd number protects against that.”
“If Harlee’s out,” the Wixit said, “we’re at six. Boom would give us back an odd number.”
Uthnar laughed hollowly. “Men are dead. You were nearly killed yourself, and what you two worry about is the balance of voting?”
“I worry about balance and about neutralizing Boom so that we can avoid future bloodshed.” Betel sighed. “Or minimize it, at least. But I fear we cannot reward Jaxter Boom for his temerity. It would encourage more bad behavior. We shall have to punish him, as we consider giving him what he wants.”
“Hastin Gink is dead,” Indrajit said. “Might that not be punishment enough?”
Betel wheeled suddenly on Indrajit. “You have carried out your work here, and your participation is no longer needed. You will hand over all copies of the map, including the forger Avchat.”
“Copyist,” Avchat said. “But what if I don’t want to be handed over?”
“You will be escorted from the False Palace with your eyes hooded,” Betel said. “You live and you walk away. We shall meet again, no doubt, but when we do, you should not assume that we are friends.”
“That sounds perfect,” Indrajit said.
“No,” Fix said.
The Luzzazza crimelord straightened and loomed over the Protagonists. “What do you mean, no?”
“No,” Fix said. “We need your help. Kish needs your help. Kish might even need Jaxter Boom’s help. Now, tonight, and tomorrow.”
“No one needs Jaxter Boom’s help,” Betel said. “He’s a crushed worm. And you have not earned the help of the Gray Lords.”
“There is too much to explain,” Fix said, “so I shall try to summarize. Wasp-men called Kattak have been infesting the good and the great of Kish with their eggs.” He met Indrajit’s gaze. Was the sky overhead beginning to lighten? The rain was definitely tapering off. “The Lord Chamberlain’s understeward, Chosk. The Lord Stargazer’s night steward, Ubandar Hakko. Merchants, ambassadors, princelings. Those eggs will hatch tomorrow morning, during the Battle of Last Light.”
“What happens to the men when the eggs hatch?” the Fanchee Gray Lord asked.
“They die horribly,” Indrajit said.
“Is this true?” Betel asked.
“Jaxter Boom believes it,” Budhrriao said.
“They did it at the embassy events we arranged,” Philastes said. His voice was wooden.
“The Kattak have been filling the pit beneath their embassy with more Kattak,” Fix said. “Hence their need for more and more food over time. As the moment of their attack approached, they no longer needed their staff—hence Lysander and Thomedes. You would have been next.”
Philastes shuddered.
Uthnar wiped his dagger on his brother’s clothing and sheathed it, then stood. “So what? So some of the rich and some servants of the rich die. Die horribly, as you say. The poor die horribly every day. My brother died horribly, and so did Hastin and Yammilku.”
“No,” Indrajit said, “death by Kattak nymph is much more horrible.”
“In a few hours,” Fix said, “the Kattak eggs will begin to hatch. I don’t understand how that will be triggered. Maybe it’s just time that they all hatch. Maybe there’s a device, or a song . . . I don’t know. In the middle of the ritual, people of prominence will explode into gory, bloody death. At the same moment, Kattak will swarm from Underkish and attack. They are not mere bugs, they have the intelligence of men, and they have long—and strange—memories. We killed some, but most survive. They will murder the Lords of Kish.”
“Leaving us in charge.” Betel chuckled. “Do you think I care whether there is a Lord Stargazer? Do you think that I’m troubled if the Lord Stargazer is a man who looks like an insect?”
“They aim to kill every man in Kish who isn’t a Kattak,” Fix said. “They aren’t here to rule, and they hold an old, old grudge. They’ll slowly implant their eggs into every person they can, until Kish is a mound of rubble, wrapped in paper and swarming with Kattak. Defend Kish now or prepare to flee.”
“Fix,” Indrajit said. “You need to get back to the Vin Dalu, immediately.”
“I have an hour or two yet,” Fix said. “And this is more important. And if we stop the Kattak now, perhaps their signal to hatch the eggs won’t be sent at all.”
“If it’s a signal,” Philastes muttered.
“Or perhaps it has already been sent,” Indrajit said, “and the only hope is to rush you down to the Dregs right away.”
“If we do that, maybe I live.” Fix shook his head. “But Chosk and Hakko die, and many others.”
“What’s your plan?” Betel asked.
“We attack the Kattak now,” Fix said. “Hard, immediately. We break their ability to make this assault. Then we warn the city and the Lords and every jobber company we can get in front of.”
“My men are in,” Uthnar Roberts said.
“You don’t need to prove yourself,” Betel said. “You’ve atoned for your brother’s crime.”
“I’m not doing it to prove myself,” Roberts said. “I’m doing it to survive. My men . . . my men have seen the wasps.”
“I am also in,” the Fanchee Gray Lord added. Others murmured agreement, including the Huachao pridechief and Zac Betel.
“It’s a shame to lose the Sookwalkers,” Betel rumbled.
“Send a messenger and invite them.” Fix leaned forward onto his knees and spat a string of thick bile. In the dim light, Indrajit couldn’t tell what color it was. “Send messengers to summon all your men and to gather resources. We march on the Kattak pit immediately.”
“What resources do we need,” Roberts asked, “other than our swords?”
“Fire,” Fix said. “Bring oil and torches in abundance. Let me show you on the map where we need to bring them to. The Kattak build in paper, and their nest is highly flammable. We’ll burn them out.”
“That’s an excellent plan,” Indrajit said. “I have an idea for another kind of attack we might make. I mean, if we can look at the map together for a moment, together with these fellows who know Graykin better than you do.”
“What are you thinking?” Betel asked.
“I’m wondering this,” Indrajit said. “Do any of the markings on the map show us where we can find Ghouls?”