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

in to that I lost a tooth, he reminded himself. He was wealthier as a merchant in Myna than he ever had been raiding up and down the Dryclaw, but the more money he had, the less there was left in the world that he could profitably spend it on. Hokiak gave his porridge a snaggle-toothed scowl.

Few were desperate enough to disturb his repast. So far, apart from the band of Fly contrabandists who were kicking their heels until Gryllis had packed their shipment, he had spotted one of the local players, midway between criminal and resistance fighter, who was probably selling pilfered Wasp goods, and the unwelcome sight of another Scorpion, a squat, pug-faced tracker of fugitives that Hokiak had reluctantly done business with a few times. Neither of them seemed inclined to trouble him while he was eating, so he set to his bowl without enthusiasm. He had a couple of Mynans on watch and, three mouthfuls in, one of them stood up and moved closer to his table, indicating a visitor he wasn’t sure of. Hokiak glanced up balefully, noted the newcomer, and waved his employee back. He was in a foul mood this morning, and it would do him good to ruin someone else’s day.

The man who sat down opposite him was Wasp-kinden, a solid-built, broad-shouldered example of Myna’s new masters, dark hair cropped shorter than usual, which Hokiak knew was a practice of the Slave Corps, because the full-face helms they wore could swelter in hot weather. There was a distinct edge to the Wasp, a nervous tightness about the eyes, that suggest this master of Myna was losing his grip on things.

“Sergeant Mordrec,” Hokiak noted. “Third time in a tenday. Don’t tell me your luck’s run even further out? You’d need a glass to see it.”

The Wasp’s face twitched but he manfully banished all irritation from it. Begging favours from a ‘lesser race’ was something that many Wasps would rather die than do, but the Slave Corps men had always been monstrous pragmatists. Hokiak knew, almost to the last coin, the burden that was on Mordrec’s back.

“Hokiak. I’ve... got a business proposition.”

The old Scorpion-kinden treated Mordrec to the full glory of his jagged and blackened smile. “Well, always willing to listen to business, son.”

“The new territories, Hokiak, the principalities. You must be keen to set up trade contacts there,” the Wasp said, meaning those Commonweal lands that had been signed over to the Empire at the end of their war. “You know me. I’ve been all over there, last three years.”

Hokiak made a noncommittal noise.

“How’s about it? I’ll do good business there. I’ll pass it all back to you. You know me, Hokiak. I’m reliable.”

“You’re a liability, you mean,” the old man rumbled. “And in return all I’d have to do is get you across the border, is that it? Now why would a strapping young Wasp like you need my help for that? Just hop on the next slaver caravan headed that way, I would.” Seeing the little twitch of a snarl that came to the Wasps’s face he chuckled. “Only I hear something about debts, Sergeant. Dice not being kind to you? Only two days back there was two slaver sergeants and a Consortium captain in here, asking if I’d seen one Sergeant Mordrec, absent without leave and owing more than his year’s pay to all and sundry? Now, Mordrec’s not so rare a name that maybe they meant someone else...?”

Mordrec held very still, save for his eyes which flicked at the almost-empty room around them, fighting to see if Hokiak’s men were about to jump him. “Hokiak...” he murmured, with a slight tremble in his voice.

“Now they were making demands,” Hokiak went on amiably. “I don’t take to them that give me demands. So I ain’t telling them nothing.” Seeing the Wasp relax he added, “Not unless’n they come asking nicely.”

“Hokiak, listen to me,” Mordrec hissed. “It’s the crossed pikes for me unless I get out of here. I owe...”

“Three-hundred and seventeen gold Imperials to Captain Lyker,” Hokiak finished. “Oh a load more than that, but I guess by now you’ve worked out that Lyker’s not just your regular-type creditor?”

The word Rekef hung between them, unspoken.

Hokiak shook his head. “You want out? Use your feet and hope they can take you somewhere that Lyker can’t reach you. Or you want my help over the border, you come up with some payment in advance, Sergeant. Any man who eats promises goes hungry, and your history ain’t inspiring me to extend you any credit.”

Mordrec opened his mouth to argue but Hokiak was no longer paying the sergeant any attention. He struggled to his feet all of a sudden, cane almost snapping as his weight bore on it. The Wasp kicked back out of his chair, as if sure that the old man was going to attack him, but the Scorpion’s red-rimmed eyes were elsewhere.

Three men had pushed their way into the backroom as if they owned it. The leader held Gryllis off the ground by his collar, and now dumped the spindly Spider-kinden to one side without a glance. The other two spread out, one either side: Scorpion-kinden, all three of them, massively built, bald heads brushing the ceiling. Piecemeal armour of chain and chitin and leather bulked them out further, and they were all armed with double-handed swords or axes, massive weapons almost as tall as they were. They radiated fierce strength, the jut of their fanged underbites, the talons that curved like knives from each thumb and forefinger, the waxy paleness of their skins, all spoke of a world beyond these seedy backstreets. Hokiak felt ten years older just seeing them, and his withered heart sank and stuttered in his chest.

Ah no, not now. Couldn’t they wait a decade more? I’d he gone then, and they’d not need to trouble themselves. And he hadn’t thought they would. Despite it all. Despite all he’d done to hold his place amongst them, to keep his