Amaranthe bent and dipped a hand in the closest pool. Hot water caressed her fingers. Forget the beach, she thought.
This
was a bathing spot. Too bad they had other priorities; though she flirted with the idea of sending Sicarius to explore the house on his own while she tore off her clothes, flung herself into the pool, and soaked blissfully in sybaritic indulgence.
Sicarius’s hand came to rest on her shoulder. Maybe he was thinking of a soak too. But, no, he was pointing past the lake and toward the river. A three-decked steamboat was barreling up the waterway, gray plumes of smoke flowing from its twin stacks. It looked like one of the vessels that plied the Goldar River, carrying passengers from Stumps and other cities around the Chain Lakes down to the Gulf and back. For some reason, this one had diverted to Lake Seventy-three, something that might be normal during the summer season, but now? It seemed unlikely.
“It’s going too fast,” Sicarius said.
Now that he mentioned it, the steamboat
did
seem to be exceeding its typical speed. The paddlewheel was churning so quickly that water flung in all directions. Two smaller craft plowed up the river behind the sternwheeler. Painted black with pointed bows and sleek, compact frames designed for speed, they were gaining on the steamboat.
Amaranthe recognized the symbols on the sides. Enforcer boats. If Forge saw the authorities swarming into the area, would they cancel their meeting before it started? “What idiot is leading enforcers down here?”
“Sespian.” Sicarius had a spyglass to his eye.
“Er, levity?” As much as Amaranthe wanted to see her men again, she didn’t want their arrival to spook Forge.
“He is at the wheel inside the pilothouse. Alive.” Uncharacteristic relief had seeped into Sicarius’s tone. “Though he looks concerned.”
“Understandable if they’re being chased by enforcers. It looks like they’re coming in our direction. We better get down to the beach.” When Amaranthe turned toward the path, she found that Sicarius had already disappeared, leaving only a few leaves rustling in the wake of his abrupt passing.
M
aldynado stood at the rear of the hurricane deck, next to the paddlewheel, with a row of loaded muskets and rifles leaning against the railing. Three pistols protruded from his belt where a cutlass and more knives hung. He felt like a Sicarius caricature.
A brisk wind tugged at his clothing and swept hair into his eyes. The steamboat bumped and swayed as it picked up speed, fighting the river’s current. At last glance, the lake hadn’t been in sight. The sky had lightened, and the enforcer boats were close enough that every armed and armored man waiting on their decks was visible. As Basilard had promised, several of those men carried grappling hooks. They
all
bore short swords and repeating crossbows. Maldynado wished his firearm collection assured victory, but the weapons ranged from old service muskets that had long since seen their prime to ornate—and probably ineffective—antiques from the private collections of the
Glacial Empress’s
former passengers. None of the firearms could hold more than one charge at a time. Though the enforcers themselves didn’t carry black-powder weapons, their boats had more than enough guns mounted on the fore and aft decks to make up for the lack. They hadn’t fired since that first warning shot, but that couldn’t last.
Afraid someone might find him an appealing target, Maldynado kept his body behind machinery used for lifting the lifeboats from the deck to the water. On the other side of the paddlewheel, Basilard maintained a similar position as he observed the second enforcer boat. Instead of lining up firearms, he’d found a longbow to use, though the beadwork quiver and colorfully fletched arrows made the weapon appear more decorative than functional.
“Attention river pirates,” a voice called through a megaphone on the closest enforcer boat, “you are in violation of Bergonla Satrapy Code, Forty-five-dash-six and Imperial Law Number Three. You will slow down and prepare to be boarded. If you do not comply, we will take offensive measures.”
“Law Three? What, by grandmother’s hairiest mole, is that?” Maldynado figured it had to be an important one since it didn’t have any dashes or extra numbers in it.
“Impersonating the emperor,” came Yara’s voice from behind him.
“Impersonating!” Maldynado raised his voice to holler over the splashing of the paddlewheel and the churning of the engines. “We’re not impersonating anyone! We have the emperor on board, and your ancestral spirits will strangle you if you illiterate louts shoot down his officially commandeered ship.” While yelling made him feel better, he doubted the enforcers could hear him over the engines and paddlewheel.
Yara, however, frowned at him. “Illiterate louts? There are written as well as oral portions of the enforcer exam.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean… Uhm, illiterate louts, where did that come from anyway? That’s more something Books would say. Maybe Akstyr used his foreign magics to put the idea in my head.”
“That’s pathetic.”
Maldynado was glad the emperor wasn’t around to hear him irritating Yara. His supposed expertise on women might be questioned.
Yara waved toward the sleek vessels. “They’re just doing their jobs. Someone must have reported the steamboat hijacked.”
A crossbow bolt skipped off the railing, whizzed past Yara’s arm, and slammed into the wall behind her. Maldynado grabbed her and pulled her behind the lifeboat machinery. It seemed the “offensive measures” had begun.
“Still sympathetic because they’re just doing their jobs?” Maldynado asked.
A boom rent the morning air, and a flaming projectile slammed into the paddlewheel. Wood splintered and flew into the water, while shards pattered onto the deck around Maldynado and Yara. The flames were quickly extinguished as the paddles rotated into the water, but that wouldn’t be the case if one of those projectiles hit the boat itself.
“Yes.” Yara picked a shard of wood out of her hair. “But less so now.”
Maldynado grabbed the closest musket and leaned around the lifeboat, searching for a likely target.
“Don’t shoot to kill,” Yara said. “The emperor won’t want the blood of his own people on his hands.”
“I know. Amaranthe gets huffy when we kill people too. Maybe they’d make a decent couple after all.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
On the closest boat, two men were loading the forward gun while a third waited to shoot it, some sort of metal shield protecting him. Maldynado aimed at the leg of one of the unprotected enforcers. He fired, though the musket had the accuracy of a drunken peg-leg sailor launching a wad at a spittoon. The ball clanged off the gunner’s shield, ricocheting uselessly into the water.
“That’s your idea of not shooting to kill?” Yara picked up one of the ornate muskets in the lineup. “You were two inches from hitting that man in the eye.”
“That’s not the one I was aiming at. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be helping Books in the engine room?”
“He said he could handle it by himself.”
Another boom sounded. This time, the shell soared toward Maldynado and Yara. They flattened themselves to the deck. The round smashed through the wooden lifeboat and the wall behind it. A bong reverberated from the engine room, followed by an ominous grinding sound.
“That might be about to change,” Maldynado replied.
A second flaming projectile smashed into the wheel; paddles flew off like scales torn from a pine cone and cast upon the wind.
Yara fired, the crack of her musket sounding inches from Maldynado’s ear. If her shot hit the boat, he couldn’t tell. It certainly didn’t make any of the enforcers flinch.
Maldynado cupped a hand over his ear. “Nicely done.”
“It seems neither of us is the sharpshooter we’d like to be,” Yara admitted. “Enforcers aren’t encouraged to learn how to shoot firearms.” She grabbed a powder tin to reload the weapons and pointed for Maldynado to keep firing.
“It’s not you. They’re not close enough for these old, inaccurate muskets. They’re staying back to—”
Another projectile soared over the railing, this time on Basilard’s side, and pounded through the wall and into the engine room.
“—incapacitate us,” Maldynado finished.
“We need to take out their boats somehow,” Yara said. “If we can crash them or sink them, we can make it to the lake before reinforcements come up the river.”
“An excellent notion. How do we make it happen?”
Yara shrugged. Maldynado kept firing while she reloaded for him, but the enforcer artillery weapons were destroying the paddlewheel. Without that, the steamboat would be dead in the water. Maldynado would like to return the favor, but, from his position, he couldn’t see the engines or boilers of the smaller crafts. Even if the design didn’t hide those vulnerable points, he lacked weapons that had a chance of damaging them.
“What would Amaranthe do?” he muttered. “Something inspired. Something crazy.”
Maldynado peered about, but the limited items within sight certainly didn’t inspire him. The lifeboats dominated the back half of the deck, and the lounge chairs and tables in the middle appeared neither menacing nor useful. He imagined chucking them over the side at the oncoming boats. Those sleek crafts were small compared to the steamboat, but not small enough that hitting a folding deck chair would derail them. Something larger perhaps. He laid a thoughtful hand on the half-destroyed lifeboat they were using for cover.
“I have an idea,” Maldynado said. “Keep them busy.”
Without waiting for an acknowledgment of his order, Maldynado ran to one of the large cranks used for raising and lowering the lifeboat. The wide handle was meant for two to operate, and he had to throw his entire body into each stroke. Yara grabbed a handful of muskets and moved closer to the paddlewheel, either because she wanted the enforcers focused on her instead of him, or because she was worried Maldynado would drop the lifeboat on her foot.
More flaming rounds pummeled the back of the steamboat. A string of expletives erupted from inside the engine room. Maldynado glanced in that direction, worried that Books had been hit. Flames crackled behind shattered windows, and smoke poured through ragged holes blasted in the walls.
“They’re getting closer,” Yara said after firing another round. “They must sense that they’ve got us. Whatever you’re going to do—”
“I should do it
before
we sink. I know.” Maldynado returned to the crank and gave it a few good heaves.
The lifeboat inched higher, finally clearing the level of the railing. The wind shifted, and smoke billowed into Maldynado’s eyes. Hot, sooty air seared his lungs, and a round of coughs sabotaged him. Eyes watering, he grabbed a lever under a brass plaque depicting stick figures dropping a stick lifeboat overboard.
“Wait!” Yara yelled. “There’s a partial beaver dam sticking out from the shore ahead. If you time it—”
Maldynado paused, his hands gripping the lever. Tears streamed from his smoke-beleaguered eyes, and he could barely make out the shore. For all he could tell, drunken beavers could be dancing atop the brown smudge that Yara claimed was a dam. He dragged a sleeve across his eyes.
“Now!” Yara barked.
Maldynado threw his weight into pulling the lever. The machinery groaned in protest, and he feared nobody had oiled it for ages, but the lifeboat eventually released. He hoped it wasn’t too late.
As soon it splashed down, Maldynado realized he was vulnerable with only the metal railing for protection from snipers. As if to confirm the thought, a crossbow quarrel gouged into the deck at his feet. He sprinted for the protection of the battered paddlewheel, nearly crashing into Yara.
Shouts and curses came from the water behind them. The lifeboat had splashed down in the closest boat’s path. The small, maneuverable ship veered to the side in time to avoid a collision, but their new course sent them toward the beaver dam. Water sprayed as the pilot tried to bank so the craft wouldn’t crash. He almost managed the maneuver, but struck the logs sideways with enough of a jolt to hurl several men overboard.
Maldynado hoped his sabotage would incapacitate the craft, or at least delay it significantly. The steamboat plowed past the dam, and he gave the enforcers a friendly wave. No less than five men threw their arms up in obscene gestures.
“Enforcers are so crude,” Maldynado said.
Yara gripped his arm, and he expected to be abraded for his comment, but she said, “Good work.”
Before he could bask under the influence of her rare praise, a great shudder ran through the steamboat. The piston arms powering the paddlewheel were no longer pumping smoothly. One had developed a hitch that made the boat lurch and tremble with each rotation. Each rotation also sent more wood paddles flying from the wheel.
“How much farther is that lake?” Maldynado wondered.
Yara shook her head. “We better help Basilard with the other boat.”
Maldynado took a step in that direction only to pause. “Where
is
Basilard?”
A throwing knife lay on the deck where he’d been, but the long bow was gone, as was he. An entire section of the railing was gone, the two ragged ends dangling. Maldynado swallowed. If Basilard had taken one of those giant shells in the chest…
No, Maldynado told himself, there’d be a body. Unless Basilard had been knocked overboard…
Two grappling hooks clung to the railing on either side of the missing section. The paddlewheel blocked Maldynado’s view of the ropes and the other boat, but a sick lurch ran through his stomach. Not only was Basilard missing, but enforcers might have come on board while Maldynado had been busy with his sabotage. They could already be advancing on the wheelhouse and the emperor. And if they thought Sespian was an impostor… .
“What’s the penalty for violating Law Three?” Maldynado asked.
“Death,” Yara said grimly.
“Emperor’s bunions,” Maldynado spat. He started to sprint toward the grappling hooks, to head off any more enforcers trying to board, but a flaming projectile burned through the air ahead of him, smashing into engineering.