Spoils of War (Tales of the Apt Book 1) by Adrian Tchaikovsky (best young adult book series .txt) 📕

“He won’t leave,” she said, and he saw that she understood. Whether it was the seer’s doom or just common sense, she knew the odds.

“It was your idea, how you got Evandter out, right? Darien was all for storming in?” When she nodded he went on: “Will you back me? I have a plan.”

He put on his most confidence-inspiring expression, that had robbed several men and women of their valuables almost by itself, and she gave him a tiny, distrustful nod.

“Lord Prince, your highness,” said Cordwick Scosser the proletarian, loud enough to break through whatever impasse had grown between Dragonfly and Moth, “we have a saying, where I come from.”

Darien regarded him, and while the Moth glared and the Mantis sneered, he waited for Cordwick’s next words.

“Give a man enough rope, he’ll hang himself,” the Beetle explained. “Give him too much, he’ll make a hammock.” Seeing that the Prince did not understand he elaborated. “There’s a whole load of swords and armour in that place. They could hold off an army and they could keep out a single thief or assassin, and it’s a rare place that can do both. They must have sentries and patrols and all manner of fun going on inside. Your lass is in there, and you want her, and they know it. They’re ready to take you, is how I see it. It’s like a trap, sprung and tensed to snap down the moment you put your hand into the jaws.” He saw that his Apt metaphor had lost his audience a little, but the meaning was plain.

“All this I know,” Darien told him. “And yet I must go.”

“The thing about traps,” went on Cordwick as casually as he could, building his courage, “is that if you know they’re there, you can disarm them, step round them. They know you. They know the stories. They know precisely how you’d do things. What they don’t know about is Tesse, or me.”

“What could you possibly be good for?” Evandter growled disgustedly. “And don’t say locks. I could break any lock faster than you could undo it.”

“Though not quieter,”said Cordwick mildly. “But I don’t mean locks. I mean that we’re a Fly and a Beetle, such as throng the Empire’s supply corps, and Tesse does a fair hand in pass papers, and we’ll just turn up at their door and they’ll let us in.” As he spoke he let matters fall into place in his mind. ”Then, when the opportunity presents itself, some time late tonight, we’ll open up one of those shuttered windows, and you three can flit in like shadows. Simple as that, if you trust me.”

“And if they kill you instead?” Evandter snorted.

“Then you’ll be saved the bother,” Cordwick told him. “And if they come out to find you, then you can kill them and even the odds a little. What do you say?” He turned away from the Mantis pointedly, appealing directly to the Prince.

Tesse opened out her calligraphy set and took a blank sheet of blue-white imperial paper. It had always amused Cordwick that such a fiercely martial people had a monopoly on the best paper in the world.

“Make use of this while you can,” she warned him. “Now the war’s over they’ll be back with doing things the long way, machine-stamped passes and all sorts of other things I can’t fake.”

Cordwick nodded almost nostalgically. During the war, with thousands of imperial servants in constant motion, imperial writ was made out, stamped and signed by hand, which was a gift to the opportunistic rogue. Soon enough would come the time when people like Tesse and Cordwick would no longer be able to slip through the imperial net as easily. And even then I got caught...

“So,” she said, “what’s it to be? A pair of Rekef agents, yes?”

“No!” Cordwick snapped immediately. “Rekef? I don’t know how you’re still alive, waltzing about pretending to be the Rekef.”

She shrugged. “So what? Everyone’s scared of the Rekef. They’ll do whatever you ask, and the Outlander employs lots of non-Wasps.”

“Until you meet the real thing. And I reckon the Rekef reserve their worst for people who take advantage of their good name. No, no Rekef. Do me out papers for a Consortium agent, nothing too ambitious, just a lieutenant maybe. There are hundreds of imperial factors and agents on a roaming brief just now, taking census and working out what everything they fought for is really worth.” He savoured the next words greatly. “And you’ll be my slave.”

“You jest,” she said crisply, with a smile as sharp as a razor.

“Not a bit of it,” he confirmed.

“You’re a lieutenant, I’m a lieutenant. Or maybe a captain.”

“You’re my Fly-kinden clerk and slave, as evidenced by your superior handwriting.”

She shook her head, trying to pretend good humour, but failing at it. “Listen, Beetle, I’m being nobody’s slave, not even for an act, and especially not for you. Why should I?”

He told her, outlining the plan that he was still fleshing out in his mind. After that she bucked, refused, complained and threatened him, but at last her eyes were drawn to Darien, the man all of this was in aid of, and she bit her lip and nodded.

So it was that Lieutenant Cardwic Scotawl arrived at the gates of Del Halle with his Fly-kinden slave in tow. The name followed Cordwick’s recent practice after one job on which he had failed to recognise the grandiose moniker he had given himself, leading to an inevitable degree of mistrust amongst those he was attempting to mislead.

The village that the fortress lorded over had been cowed and quiet, and if there had been a warfront it would have been far from here, but the surly sentry who received them had to wait some time before the gates were unbarred and unlocked, whilst suspicious eyes watched them from arrowslits. Cordwick and Tesse exchanged glances, because there was only one cause they could see for all the security, and even then the Wasps seemed to be going a