The Broken Isles

TWENTY — THREE

As the sun reddened behind the clouds, the Night Guard rode back to Villiren. He noticed the distinct lack of snow in comparison with the first time he approached the camp. The landscape seemed far more desolate because of it, the melting snow revealing broken carts abandoned along the side of the road, or the occasional corpse with an outstretched arm. The soldiers rode in thoughtful silence. They had left discussions with Artemisia’s people in a profoundly positive manner — Brynd had negotiated what he wanted, to use Frater Mercury as a weapon, but the task ahead was now one of planning, strategy, logistics.

During the siege of Villiren he felt he had done enough of that to last a lifetime, but he had already begun ordering more soldiers to move across the island and then by sea to congregate on Folke with the others. That was where the threat was gathering, his garudas were informing him; it was on those shores that an invasion would come, it was where he had to send troops first.

Tundra soon became villages, melding into the southern fringes of Villiren, the Wastelands, where there seemed to be more hastily constructed shelters and crude housing being erected daily. Brynd also noticed there were small groups of people marching around the streets as though on a military drill. They wore no uniforms, but carried crude weapons, machetes or messer blades; and some even seemed to be taking look-out positions.

‘Is this some kind of civilian militia we’re unaware of?’ Brug muttered.

‘They’re probably still afraid the Okun will come back and want to defend themselves,’ Mikill said. ‘It’s quite natural.’

Brynd wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t ever hope to know all of what was going on in Villiren, but this didn’t feel right for some reason. ‘Wait here,’ he called to the others.

He pulled his horse to a slower pace, and nudged her nearer to the patrols. Tugging his woollen cloak around his uniform, he concealed anything that might suggest he was a military man. He even pulled up his hood to put his pale face into shadow.

One of the men looked up at him, a bearded fellow with a scarred face, dressed in little more than a bundle of rags. In his right hand he gripped a blade.

‘What’s all this?’ Brynd gestured to the unit of six other people. ‘Some kind of citizen militia?’

‘Sommat like that, yeah,’ the man muttered. ‘What’s it to you anyway?’

‘I wondered about joining up, that’s all.’

‘We ain’t no military and we don’t trust outsiders. Military don’t care about the likes of us. They make things worse.’

‘Really?’ Brynd said. ‘How so?’

‘Monsters,’ the man muttered. ‘They’re too busy inviting monsters into the city. It’s why we’re here.’

‘Ah, I see,’ Brynd said. ‘You mean the camp to the south.’

‘Aye, that’s right. You seen anything strange, traveller?’

‘Nothing at all out of the ordinary,’ Brynd replied. ‘There’s no reason to be afraid. But I thought they were our allies?’

‘That’s what the military wants you to think, get it? Don’t believe a word of what they’re saying.’

‘Why would the military lie?’ Brynd asked.

‘You ask too many questions. .’ the man replied.

‘Well, I’m not from around here.’

‘The military wants us to believe anything so that we’ll be forced to live with freaks. Make us live in fear so we think it is the best choice. We don’t wanna be sharing our city with the likes of them, is all.’

‘But you’re not actually sharing anything yet,’ Brynd pointed out. ‘Nothing at all has come around here.’

‘You know an awful lot for a traveller,’ the man replied, eyeing Brynd with suspicion. ‘Nothing’s come in yet because there are people like us to stop them coming in.’

‘I’m sure the city’s grateful for your. . protection,’ Brynd replied. ‘How many monsters have you stopped so far?’

The man didn’t seem to like that question, judging by his sour expression. ‘Ain’t the point — it’s about having a presence, like. Having men on the street so things can know not to enter these parts. Makes some of the families feel safer, too.’

Brynd nodded and decided not to press the issue any further. The man had decided to believe there was a threat and act in this way; nothing Brynd could say would change matters. ‘Good luck, then,’ he replied, and turned his horse back.

On getting back to the Night Guard, Brug asked him: ‘Anything the matter?’

‘Yes,’ Brynd replied, ‘we need better propaganda. They’re convinced monsters are going to come into the city and take what’s theirs. It bothers me.’

‘We know better than to believe nonsense like that, though,’ Mikill replied.

‘Sure,’ Brynd replied, ‘but they do believe, and what concerns me is why they believe these things so strongly.’

They headed into the Citadel where Brynd immediately called a meeting, in private, with Jamur Eir. He could put it off no longer.

Within half an hour she was sitting next to him in the obsidian room. She had just returned from the hospital, and there were still a few bloodstains on her clothing.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t have time to change.’

Brynd waved her apology away. ‘Quite all right. I’ve seen more than enough blood on uniforms in my time. At least yours is present for a more constructive reason.’

‘Have you seen my sister at all?’ she asked. ‘I’ve spent a lot of time working, but I’ve not noticed her around the Citadel. And when I do ask someone, they put me off with one of your instructed answers.’

Brynd smiled awkwardly before explaining, with as much sympathy as he could manage, what had happened to her sister, the events outside the Citadel, and her new-found cannibalistic nature. He even explained the context that Artemisia had given him, of some failed union of their minds. She listened silently, though showed little in the way of shock.

‘So,’ Eir said calmly, ‘there is no way we can get her back to her previous state?’

‘It doesn’t seem so, I’m afraid. She is what she is now. Pardon my saying, but you don’t seem overly. . concerned, Eir.’

She gave a huge sigh before standing up and moving to the window. It was night, so she couldn’t see much outside. ‘I’ve seen plenty of horrific things in the last few weeks, so perhaps I am numbed by such experiences. Although she’s not dead, it seems like I lost my sister long ago. What do you suggest we do about her situation?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Brynd replied. ‘One idea I had was to allow cultists to take a look at her. But one thing is obvious: she can no longer be head of the new empire.’

Eir looked at Brynd, as if she knew what he was about to ask her.

‘Which means we’d need someone else of the Jamur lineage. .’

‘Must it be someone from my family?’ she asked.

‘It would be easier to have a figurehead.’ Brynd stepped over to her side and followed her gaze outside. ‘It could even be symbolic if you like.’

‘I’m not a ruler, Brynd,’ Eir whispered. ‘It isn’t a matter of helping people. I do that at the hospital — that’s helping. Being Stewardess, even for that short while in Villjamur, all I really ended up doing was administering the affairs of the well-off. I’m not interested in doing that again.’

‘I understand that,’ Brynd replied.

‘Besides,’ Eir continued, ‘you’ve done a good enough job running things as they are. Why don’t you become overall ruler?’

Brynd gave a hollow laugh. ‘Me? I’m. . no. We’ll need a Jamur leader to unite the people and, I suspect, for stability.’

‘You don’t need anyone but yourself and your army. The people love to see strong leaders, and you’re rather well thought of since the defence of Villiren.’

It was true and Brynd knew it. The temptation was great. He was well aware that he could run this operation on his own, and he was even starting to become attached to the idea of leadership. ‘What if I get killed on the next mission? How can I make such promises when I’m about to drop into the dark heart of our enemy? What good would I be as a leader, then, if I’ve been sliced into a thousand pieces-’

‘Don’t talk like that,’ Eir cut in.

‘It could happen. I have to plan for every eventuality. Anyway, I know that people don’t fully respect me because of what I am.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘My skin, Eir. I’ve seen the way people give me a mistrustful gaze across the bargaining table. They wouldn’t stand for someone so unnatural being their leader. They only do as I say because I’ve got some of the best warriors that have ever walked the land by my side. No, these people — bankers and landowners — they respect and trust only good blood. With Jamur blood at the helm, it means the status quo can continue. It means they can relax. You never knew the lengths your father went to protecting their wealth, did you? You never saw the way he’d manipulate things to keep people in their place, to keep them happy — making sure their money went to Villjamur. These people own all the resources you can imagine, and with me — a military man — in charge, they’d panic, and assume it was a dictatorship. They’d keep things away from me, scared I’d send in my soldiers and take it all away.’

‘And would you take it all?’

‘I confess I’d like to, in order to get things done quicker and give more people a job, but no. Even if I did want to do such a thing, now is not the right time. We need to rebuild things first. People in all walks of life need stability. Only you can offer them that, Eir. I need you to do this. Perhaps you would not need to be a nurse. .’

She took a deep breath and glanced at him with more determination than he had ever seen in her. ‘You won’t stop me doing that in order to hold a banker’s hand.’

That’s the spirit, Brynd thought. He tried not to smile. That she cared about the lives of others would be a good thing. That she held the moneylenders in contempt was a boon. ‘Can I take it that you’ll consider it? You won’t be alone. We’ll stand side by side all the way through it.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Eir said. ‘I know all about duty.’

‘You’ll be popular,’ Brynd continued, his voice with more gravitas now he knew she would do what he asked of her. ‘People are already talking about the royal who isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty.’

‘Brynd, you don’t need to butter me up. I know people will like that. Any leader who isn’t mad or cruel will be well received. Listen, before we go on, may I please see my sister?’

‘Only if you’re certain you wish to. I’ve told you what state she is in.’

‘I’m positive, Brynd. Please, I would like to see her.’

Two soldiers on the door stepped aside as Brynd and Eir approached.

He paused as the men opened it, and two of the Night Guard soldiers on duty filtered out.

‘Commander, would you mind waiting outside momentarily? I would like to spend just a moment with her on my own.’

‘As you wish. I’ll join you in a moment.’

She slowly stepped inside, leaving Brynd in the companionable silence of the soldiers. He turned his back to the door for at least half a minute, then turned to look inside. Eir was standing there, her face impassive, watching through the bars. Rika had approached the bars to almost mirror her pose. By blood rather than magic, these were the two most powerful women in the Boreal Archipelago. He felt a sudden nostalgia, and could remember only too well what they were like as younger girls; they had brought a much-needed light into Balmacara, ridding the place of the darkness of Johynn’s paranoia.

And now look at them, Brynd thought. One altered into some cannibalistic beast; the other preparing to take her sister’s place at the start of an uncertain future.

What would Johynn think of the situation now, if he were still alive and of sound judgement? It was Johynn, after all, who put Brynd in charge of the military; who trusted Brynd with the safety of his family, with the protection of his ancient domain.

Brynd decided, then, that he could not dispose of Rika in some cruel manner; it would be up to Eir to decide her sister’s fate.

‘Commander. .’ Eir called.

Brynd marched over to Eir’s side. Rika was slumped against the far wall now, her knees drawn up to her chin, her gaze set firmly on Eir as if she was looking right through her. Brynd tried to read Eir’s expression, but if the young woman was emotionally affected by this scene, she wasn’t showing it.

They turned and went back through the door into the corridor.

‘How is she?’ Eir’s question came matter-of-factly, as if this was merely another patient in the hospital.

‘According to the notes left in my room, she has not made any signs of a recovery, if that’s what you mean. She’s lashed out at whoever’s passed and eaten her food in what has been described as an “animalistic” manner.’

Eir nodded and moved to the doorway to look at her sister.

‘Are you all right?’ Brynd asked.

‘She is ill,’ Eir replied. ‘Nothing more. It may be that she cannot be cured, but she remains simply ill — and, importantly, she is not dead.’

‘What do you want done with her?’ Brynd asked.

‘We will keep her here, under observation, for now,’ Eir replied, and fell silent for a moment. ‘I won’t have her killed, if that’s what you’re implying?’

‘I wouldn’t have suggested such a thing,’ Brynd replied. ‘Hardly seems fitting, does it?’ Only then did he notice the irony of the statement — this gaol cell wasn’t exactly fitting either, with its damp stone walls, lack of light, and musty stench. ‘No, it is appropriate that, as her sole family member and guardian, you should have the final word in how she’s treated. She’s dangerous, I’ll say that much. She has killed people.’

‘I know you say it, but it just seems so hard to believe.’

‘Believe it,’ came another voice. It was Randur Estevu, approaching quietly. Guards doing their jobs well, Brynd thought. ‘Evening, commander.’

‘It was Randur who first saw her acting strangely,’ Brynd announced.

Eir glanced at him, wide-eyed. ‘Why didn’t you say anything to me?’

‘Well, I didn’t think you’d really want to know your sister had starting munching people,’ Randur replied. ‘Besides, I was scared shitless she’d do something.’

Randur related the incident outside his window.

‘So I told the commander, which was shortly before she climbed the Citadel. What else could I do?’

He moved close to Eir and tried to put his arms around her softly, but she shrugged him off and peered back through the doorway to her imprisoned sister. Randur looked as if he wanted to say something to her, but then thought better of it.

‘I’ll leave you two to it,’ Brynd announced. ‘You know where I am, Eir, if you need to find me. You two probably have a bit of catching up to do about your new role.’

‘What does he mean by that?’ Randur asked, but Brynd was already walking out of the room.

The next thing on Brynd’s list that night was to head to Factory 54 to check on developments there. He rode across town without a guard; this time he noticed more civilian patrols on the streets.

If they’re that keen on playing soldiers, perhaps they should have enlisted in the

army with everyone else. .

He knocked on the door, banging four times as he always did, the sound echoing through the cavernous rooms of the factory. It was with a sense of excitement that Jeza opened the door for him.

‘I got your message,’ he grunted. ‘Is tonight really going to be of use?’

‘As I said in the note, it really is,’ she replied. ‘You look anxious.’ She was going to say white as a ghost, but he always was; this time there was a hint in his expression that suggested he was deeply uneasy about something.

‘War will be coming sooner than I thought. If you’ve not noticed already, the last of the soldiers have been leaving the city and the island.’

‘Is that safe?’

‘Yes. Surveillance has confirmed no threats remain to the north, only in the west. You’ll hear news soon enough.’

‘Are you happy with the orders of armour?’ Jeza enquired, leading him down the dreary passageway, deep in the factory.

‘It’s not enough, admittedly, but it would take the better part of a year to supply every soldier. Time is against us, unfortunately.’

‘Don’t be so downbeat!’ she enthused.

‘If only I had your optimism,’ Brynd replied.

‘If I’m your symbol of optimism, you really are in trouble.’

He chuckled, which seemed to diffuse his mood somewhat. ‘Come, show me what you have this time.’

‘We’ve been secretive about this, because we wanted to make sure it would work, and that it was stable,’ she declared, leading him to a door. The droning noise could be heard from outside the room.

‘What have you got in there?’ he asked.

‘You’ll see.’ Grinning, Jeza pushed back the door.

Brynd’s jaw fell in disbelief.

The Mourning Wasp was hovering a few feet above the floor, its wings beating so fast that he could hardly see them — there was a huge downdraught of wind. Standing against the far wall were Coren and Diggsy. They waved to the commander, but he wasn’t paying attention to them.

‘What. .?’ Brynd began. ‘What is it? It has a skull?’

Jeza explained, loudly, above the droning. She told him a shortened version of the events that led to this point. She said it was quite safe and explained why.

‘There’s more,’ she said, walking along the side of the huge room. She took him by his arm and dragged him to follow her. The look on his face was priceless.

‘Here’s a helm we manufactured. If you notice, we’ve included a transparent visor.’

Brynd acknowledged the items and looked back to the wasp still hovering above the floor.

‘I want you to wear it,’ she said, pressing the helm into his stomach.

‘Why?’

‘To keep the wind from your eyes.’

The commander frowned. ‘Why would I want to do that? Do you want me to stand behind it?’

‘Oh no,’ she laughed. ‘It’s much better than that.’

They reconvened outside the rear doors of the factory. It was way past midnight now, there had been a sudden shower, and the streets were glistening in the moonlight. It was cool and clear. Perched on stone slabs was the Mourning Wasp, its legs poised, always on edge, ready to take flight.

There was little or no gang activity in the surrounding districts — you could usually hear their calls or bottles smashing, but there was only the groaning of the wind, or the distant sound of the surf. Tonight the quiet, desolate district was to their advantage.

Jeza slipped on her own helm with the visor sitting perfectly in front of her eyes and she encouraged Brynd to do the same, which he did. They approached the Mourning Wasp, which was inert, like a statue. It was only now that Brynd seemed to notice the modified saddle.

‘Where did you get that from?’ he enquired.

‘Clever, isn’t it? We had to modify the design of a horse saddle, but it does the job remarkably well.’

‘Let me be perfectly clear,’ Brynd said. ‘You expect me to ride this?’

‘I do, yes, and once you do, you’ll realize why. Come on — you’re a big brave soldier, and I’ll be sitting right behind you.’ She half expected him to cuff her around the ear.

She prodded him forward, and he put his foot in the stirrups and levered himself up and onto the creature. She hopped up behind him, peering over his shoulder towards the vacant stretch of road that lay ahead of them. It was perfectly straight, as a lot of the newer parts of the city tended to be, and lined by tall warehouses or factories.

‘The road south of here heads straight towards the Wastelands,’ Jeza said. ‘She knows the way already — we’ve taken her out a few times now.’

‘She?’

‘That’s right, she’s a female,’ Jeza replied. ‘Right, now, you see those two leather-looking reins in front? They’re not leather, they’re made of a specific bit of tissue, which connects to nerves within her skull. Now, think of them as like normal reins. You pull to the right, she goes right. You pull to the left, she goes to the left. Both at once, she slows down — release and she’ll go as fast as she can. There’s a middle rein that controls her height, but she tends to make her own judgements for the most part. I haven’t quite worked out how to get a steady pace out of her, so you’ll just have to see how you get on.’

‘OK,’ Brynd replied grimly. He set his gaze forward and they waited, on the back of the wasp, for a minute more. ‘How does it get going?’ They had to speak louder now, their voices muffled by the helms.

‘Tug the reins back firmly.’ Jeza chuckled, reached behind and patted the muscle where the wings met. The wings began to move, the drone commenced and, very slowly, the Mourning Wasp began to lift.

Its legs lightened and drifted behind, the whole beast inched forward, the noise increased. Vibrations rattled through them. Dust and debris skittered away in the wind caused by the rapid wing beats.

Jeza could feel Brynd tensing up. ‘It’s OK, just relax!’ she shouted. ‘You won’t fall off.’

‘How can you be certain?’

‘Well, even if you do, we’ll keep to street level, so you’ll only fall a few feet at the most.’

‘That statement doesn’t fill me with confidence.’

‘We can look at building some kind of attachment to keep people firmly in the saddle at higher altitude, that’s easy — but you should really just enjoy the ride first.’

‘OK. Now what?’ Brynd called back hesitantly. It amused Jeza greatly to see a war hero act so tentatively.

‘Gently ease off the reins, but remember, pull left for left, right for right — you must do that.’

‘I can manage that-’

The Mourning Wasp lurched forward at speed, the buildings began to whip by, and Jeza made the unlikely move of placing her hands on Brynd’s hips. Cobbles and stone walls became a blur at the periphery of her vision, and she could feel the chill wind on her hands. She leaned over to get a better view of what was going on: up ahead a wall seemed to race towards them, her heart beat incredibly fast, then she felt Brynd’s right arm move: the Mourning Wasp tilted and made a right turn, maintaining its height a few feet off the ground, almost skimming the stonework as it completed the manoeuvre, where it levelled off, stabilized, and continued at high speed.

‘You’ve got the hang of it now,’ Jeza called, but Brynd showed no sign of hearing her words.

Street by street, building by blurred building, they raced through the southern neighbourhoods of Villiren, skimming the decrepit roads at phenomenal speed. What few citizens were out at this hour stood and gaped, slack-jawed, at the sight of two figures riding the Mourning Wasp past them. Not that it mattered — not at this speed.

Brynd had soon mastered the basics of controlling the steering: one of the benefits of the wasp was that being a sentient creature, she knew to avoid danger, she would instinctively avoid hitting a wall; the nerve controls simply nudged her where the rider wanted to go. Two minds were involved in the process, working symbiotically. There was one moment as a horse lurched into view at a crossroads, but the wasp’s reactions were quicker than the commander’s own, and the creature simply drifted up and over, steadying herself once again after they had passed.

‘Do you want me to take over yet?’ Jeza asked eventually, as the streets became sparser, more barren, devoid of notable buildings until they were at the limits of the city. ‘Do you want to head back?’

‘Not a chance,’ came the reply.

Brynd was clearly enjoying himself. They drifted into open country, past smallholdings and larger farmhouses. Out here there were few walls to avoid, and as a result he simply let go of the reins altogether.

‘Are you crazy?’ Jeza snapped. ‘Pick them up again.’

‘I want to see where she wants to go herself. I want to know what she thinks.’

‘That’s a bad idea!’ Jeza snapped.

‘Now who’s scared?’ came Brynd’s smug response.

The Mourning Wasp began to bank a little higher, at tree level now, gliding above the snow-covered hills. Her speed increased and, at one point, they spotted two pterodettes flying alongside before they fell back, unable to keep up. The wind was stronger here. Jeza’s heart skipped a few beats — she had not been prepared for Brynd letting go. Yet the wasp seemed to enjoy the freedom: she slowed down along the sides of an iced-up river, and drifted lazily along one of the tributaries, until she met the open sea. There, he took the reins again: and steered her back towards the ground, towards the city, whereupon they picked up speed to race the final few streets home.

Outside the factory, Brynd pulled on the reins with confidence. The wasp lowered her legs straight away, barely waiting for them to stop, and shuddered to a standstill. As they dismounted Brynd stumbled slightly, probably dizzy from the speed, as Jeza was herself, despite being more used to it.

Brynd took off his helm and ruffled his hair. He was laughing. He looked back at the wasp in disbelief, then walked a slow circle around it.

‘I can’t believe how you just trusted her like that,’ Jeza said. ‘We could have fallen off at high speed.’

‘It wouldn’t have been a bad way to go,’ he smiled. ‘You never once took the reins off me. You could have reached over to slow her at any point. You didn’t, because you knew she’d be OK.’

‘That’s not the point,’ Jeza replied. ‘I didn’t think we were ready for that.’

‘I’m not the sort of person who hangs back worrying about those sorts of things. It seemed right to let the lady have a go herself. So this. . Mourning Wasp, is her name? She really is breathtaking.’

Jeza managed to remember to smile. ‘You like her then?’

‘I didn’t understand half of what you said when you talked about resurrecting her, nor do I really want to know. I think she’s the most important creature I’ve seen in a long time.’

‘Do you reckon you’d be interested in buying more of her?’

‘Yes. Without a doubt. How many more do you have?’

‘Four, but you can have as many as you need,’ Jeza told him. ‘Now we’ve established the design, the technology is based on the same replicating principle as the armour, more or less. We’ve two more Mourning Wasps in the basement. I could make a few in a day.’

‘The military will require many of these,’ he said, more sternly now. ‘I want the Night Guard to familiarize themselves with this urgently. And tomorrow I’d like to commence their training.’

‘We’ve not talked about money,’ Jeza reminded him.

The look in Brynd’s eyes suggested that money was an irrelevance. ‘You can have what you need. I hope you know our payments are valid.’

‘The best in the city.’

‘Good,’ he replied. Then he stood in front of her and gave his most serious look of the evening. ‘Jeza, when the war is over, consider all of you at the factory to be friends of the Night Guard. If you ever seek employment, you have my word, you’ll have a place at my side.’

‘He said what?’ Coren muttered.

‘A place at his side. Employment. Jobs for life, or something like that.’ Jeza looked across the breakfast table.

‘Who wants to work for the fucking Empire?’ Coren asked. ‘We make our own rules.’

‘I know,’ Jeza replied. ‘I’m just telling you what he told me, all right?’

‘Cool it, Coren,’ Diggsy said, palming the air. ‘Jeza’s right to build relationships like that. That albino’s the most important man in the city, and we’ve got him in the palms of our hands. That’s pretty incredible, right?’

‘Maybe,’ Coren grunted.

‘Good,’ Diggsy said.

‘Did you bring the wasp down to the basement?’ Jeza asked.

‘Yeah, through the rear doors. She seemed fine.’

‘They want to bring the whole Night Guard here tomorrow to learn how to ride the Mourning Wasp,’ Jeza said.

Coren shook his head.

‘What?’ Jeza demanded. ‘You wanted me to negotiate deals, we negotiate deals — quite a big deal this time, if you must know. They want more wasps made, hence the training.’

Everyone else seemed jubilant, except Coren.

‘Just feels too close to the military,’ he grunted. ‘We wanted to be free to do our own things, not be slaves to soldiers.’

‘Yeah, well, we need money to be free in this city, and the military pays the best rates going. We just have to deal with it. Besides, I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels guilty we didn’t play our part in the last war. This is our chance to help them defend the city.’

‘She’s right,’ Diggsy muttered. ‘Leave things be, Coren.’

Coren exchanged a strange glance with Diggsy then. Jeza made a mental note to follow that up later.

‘I’m going to bed,’ she said, ‘it’s been a long night and I want to be ready for the Night Guard tomorrow.’

‘I’ll be up soon,’ Diggsy said, still locked in that weird exchange with Coren.

It was late when she shambled about the top floor in her nightwear, wondering what book to read before she went to sleep. She walked barefoot, hardly making a noise. Moonlight came through the shutters in slices, and she saw two figures move in the shadows on the floor below. Crouching, concealing herself behind a metal post, she peered down.

Pilli and Diggsy were embracing, their lips touching.

Her heart stopped. She swallowed. Welled up. She forced herself to take a second glance to confirm the betrayal, then shuffled away into the darkness.

After she entered the bedroom she reached for a bottle of vodka, sat on the edge of the bed, took three huge, eye-stinging slurps from the bottle, and that was OK because she knew she was crying then anyway, could feel the tears streaming down her face. She struggled to take in breaths.

‘That’s not how to deal with it.’ Coren lingered in the doorway, his body in darkness. He walked towards her, then sat on the floor at a distance.

When she could manage it, she asked, ‘How long have you known?’

‘’Bout ten or so days.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Thought Diggsy would sort himself out. Also, was a little scared of what might happen should Pilli suddenly decide to up sticks and leave.’

‘What. .? What do you mean?’

‘Her dad owns this place. If she fucks off, who knows what would happen to us?’

‘I didn’t think.’ Jeza cradled the bottle. ‘What should we do?’

‘Drinking now will make it worse. That’s not how you get control over the situation.’

‘Don’t tell me what to do.’

‘You just asked me!’ Coren continued in an even gentler tone, a level of softness she didn’t know he possessed. ‘Sleep in my bed tonight.’

‘Nice try.’

‘Not even I’m that obvious,’ he replied. ‘I’m off out to see one of those late-night poets in Saltwater. Friend of mine — last on. Take my room, I’ll bring in a load of cheap food and pass out in the kitchen. No one will spot the difference.’

‘Thanks,’ Jeza said, wiping away the last of her tears.

‘You know what I think?’ Coren asked, standing and moving to the door.

Jeza looked up at him, silently.

‘You never liked Diggsy because you were in love with a dead man. Diggsy was your stand-in, a surrogate lover.’

Jeza stared at him, opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out.

‘That’s right, I have emotional awareness when I want. I’m not stupid. You wanted my opinion? Sleep it off, don’t mention it. Break it off with him at a more appropriate time, but don’t let on you caught them. We can’t risk losing the factory.’

He left her in stunned silence.

The Night Guard came before daybreak, and Jeza felt like hell despite having stayed away from the vodka. She had cried herself to sleep and descended into deep dreams that left her feeling restless. When she passed through to the kitchen, Coren was slumped at the table with weird tribal food stuck to his cheek. She woke him gently and sent him back to his room.

She answered the door to the Night Guard and nearly had a heart attack at the sight of a dozen of the Empire’s best warriors looming over her in the morning mist. They were garbed in black and arranged in a curved row, while to one side Commander Lathraea introduced them.

He wanted each of the soldiers to have their turn with a wasp. First they began to familiarize themselves with the creatures in the basement, overcoming any fears they might have, getting used to the concept of riding on top of them. Later, they each took turns to ride around the nearby streets before they became too busy with activity — it was, Brynd said, of great importance that no one see what was going on because people were sensitive to the new races south of the city. He didn’t want to stir up any further tensions.

After several successful efforts, the Night Guard went away to work on their personal fitness, only to return later that evening, when darkness came again to the city’s streets.

Jeza watched as they became more relaxed and confident. Their reactions became far quicker — their desire to master the skills was unsurpassed. She was both in awe and jealous at their skills.

Brynd soon pushed them to try riding with one hand then asked them to hold out their swords to see if they could master both swordplay and flying. She began to realize exactly how the Mourning Wasps were to be used.

By the time both moons were unseasonably high, Brynd was encouraging his men and the Mourning Wasps through ever-more complex manoeuvres.

What struck Jeza was how the Mourning Wasps thrived under their military masters. They seemed to enjoy the challenges, which had unearthed a new sense of vitality. If the creatures had once mourned, as according to the legend, it appeared that they no longer felt any sadness. The only sadness was Jeza’s: she felt like a mother handing over her child in exchange for a fat contract, but she forced herself to be strong.

And in just a day and a night, the soldiers of the Night Guard had mastered the complex arts of riding the Mourning Wasp.