“Just miles and miles of brick passages, huh?”
Though Sicarius had inspected the wall, Amaranthe felt the need to look herself. She pocketed the paper, considered the mildew-fuzzed bricks on the ledge, and found a spot that appeared slightly less treacherous than the others.
She lunged across the channel. Her foot skidded on the narrow ledge. Sicarius surprised her by catching her elbow and keeping her from thudding into the wall.
“Thank you.” Amaranthe arched an eyebrow. “Though I’m not sure why I deserve the gentlemanly treatment here, after you let me scrape the skin off my belly button climbing into that loft last night.”
He released her elbow. “I didn’t want you to drop the lantern.”
“Ah, so I merely appeared less competent and more in need of assistance today.” Amaranthe set the lantern down and ran her fingers along the damp bricks.
“There is nothing here,” Sicarius said.
She continued probing. Maybe Akstyr’s mulishness was contagious. Or maybe she just relished the idea of finding something when he had searched and discovered nothing. She took her sword out and tapped on the wall with the hilt, thinking she might hear hollow clanks that suggested a secret space behind. Alas, none of her banging sounded unnatural, and running her hands along the wall revealed nothing but slimy and slimier bricks.
“Let’s go back to that pipe,” she said.
He followed her along the ledge, but she had the feeling he thought they were wasting time. Or perhaps, he simply did not think roaming aqueducts a suitable task for his skills.
“If trailing along with me is boring you,” she said, “you could go check on Books and Maldynado in the real estate office.”
He did not speak at first, and she thought he might be considering it, but then he said, “My presence unnerves Books.”
“Your presence unnerves everyone.” Amaranthe grinned over her shoulder to soften the comment.
“Not you,” Sicarius said.
“No, but I’m told my sanity is questionable.”
She wriggled her eyebrows at him. Someday she was going to get him to smile, maybe even laugh. The one and only time she’d seen him truly break his facade, it had been in anger. At her. It seemed fate should offer her the other side of the coin once.
“Huh,” was the only response she got.
The outlet pipe came into view. More than eight feet in diameter, it rose well over her head. This side trip was a whim, and Amaranthe did not expect to find anything, but she lifted the lantern to inspect the pipe’s rim by the light.
Splashing water flung droplets onto her clothing when she edged closer, and she was about to abandon the search, but Sicarius reached above her head. He plucked something from a gouge in the metal.
“What is it?” Amaranthe asked.
He held a soggy chunk of hair up to her light. Human hair.
Amaranthe probably should have been horrified, but excitement thrummed through her. The dark brown hair could have belonged to half the people in Stumps, but she said, “Think that came off one of the bodies the boys found?”
“Impossible to tell.”
“Well, I have a hunch it did. I bet those bodies flowed into the aqueducts through this pipe.” She ticked the cold metal. “I’d really like to know what’s on the other end.” She leaned out, but so much water flowed from the pipe that no air pocket lay at the top. Even if there was air, one could never swim into the current that way, not that she’d be foolish enough to try. Probably.
Sicarius gripped her by the collar and pulled her back a few steps.
“I was just looking,” Amaranthe said.
He grunted.
“Really. Did I look like I needed assistance again?”
“You looked like you were considering…trouble.”
She grinned. “I wouldn’t go for a swim without consulting you first. But, given your past history working for Hollowcrest and skulking around dark places, I wonder if you have any insight into these tunnels.”
“Skulking?”
“Yes, is that not what assassins call it?”
“We call it working.”
“All right,” Amaranthe said. “While you were
working
, did you ever have reason to travel through our aqueducts?”
“No.”
“Can you venture a guess as to what these cartographical errors could be about?”
“Security,” Sicarius said.
“Security? Like a false map designed to throw off enemy infiltrators who might sneak into the capital to sabotage the water supply?”
“You could ask Books who was emperor when the aqueducts were built. We’ve had some paranoid rulers.”
“True. ‘Paranoia is awareness’ was one of Emperor Vakar’s sayings, wasn’t it? One that’s been oft-quoted throughout imperial history.”
“Yes.”
“So, if the map is intentionally inaccurate, what would it be hiding? It’s not as if it’s a mystery where our drinking water comes from.” She waved in the direction of the Tork. “Though I suppose it’d be hard for a saboteur to poison a river. Maybe attacking a reservoir down here would…”
An expectant cant to Sicarius’s face made her pause. It was as if he was waiting for her to figure something out. She closed her eyes and pictured the topography of the city above her, the direction of the water flow, the location of the pumping houses.
“Our drinking water
does
come from the Tork, doesn’t it?” Amaranthe asked.
“So your drawing says.”
“Right, and my drawing is lying about things.” She pulled out a knife and scraped a rough map into the mildew on the wall, noting the river, the streets around the pumping house, and then the passages they had explored that morning. “That wall that’s blocked off and shouldn’t be…it runs parallel to this side of the river, doesn’t it? And we’ve got a gap of—what do you think?—fifty, one-hundred meters in between? What if that pipe makes a turn somewhere in the space in between? What if the water is actually siphoned from elsewhere? An underground source. Or even another river up in the mountains. And the aqueducts were purposely built like a labyrinth to hide that fact?”
Sicarius was listening, but, as always, remained hard to read.
“Am I being too fanciful—too paranoid—or do you agree with the possibility?”
“The paranoia of past rulers is a well documented fact.”
“I can’t tell if you’re agreeing with me or simply acknowledging that there’s a remote possibility my fancy-filled mind has latched onto the truth,” Amaranthe said.
“You have a lot of hunches. Sometimes they are correct.”
“Well, if this one
is
right, this water and those bodies could have come from anywhere.” Amaranthe rubbed her face. “They might have been dumped in a river hundreds of miles away. We could be on a purple lumpbat chase. Although…perhaps not. The gambling house is local, and one of those dead fellows had that key fob, so…”
Sicarius was studying the darkness beyond the lantern’s influence, and he did not seem to be listening. Amaranthe cocked an ear, wondering what had caught his attention, but she could hear only the gush of water flowing from the pipe.
“What is it?” she whispered.
A minute head shake. “Perhaps nothing. Perhaps what Akstyr felt.”
“He wasn’t imaging things? Are you going to apologize to him if it turns out he was right?” She knew fully well he would not—if she found out he had ever said “sorry” in his life, she would fall over in surprise—but her playful side, or perhaps it was her unwise side, wanted to tease a response from him.
“No,” Sicarius said.
Well, it was a response. Sort of.
“All right,” Amaranthe said. “Let’s get out of here before something more sinister than you shows up.”
His eyebrow twitched, but he said nothing. It would take a lot of work to get that smile out of him.
T
he files were a mess. While the city lot records were somewhat orderly and searchable, whoever had come up with the system for cataloguing rural properties ought to be publicly castrated. Rather than using a grid system, the lots were delineated by their proximity to landmarks: some by nearest town, some by ancient battle sites, some by prominent terrain features, and one by the fact that an appraiser’s uncle had fallen off a cliff and died on the property.
Despite the disorder, Books found himself enjoying the challenge of the research. Here, amongst books, ledgers, parchments, and dusty shelves, he felt at home. He dug a fistful of pencils from his satchel and lost track of time as he scribbled notes. A part of him wanted to devise a new system entirely, but he doubted the front-desk clerk would appreciate it.
Whistling pierced his concentration, and he scowled, recognizing the tune—a bawdy ditty about an army officer’s sister—and the whistler.
Maldynado ambled out of a narrow book-stuffed aisle, plopped a brown bag on the desk, and straddled a seat.
Books curled his lip and moved the bag to an out-of-the-way corner. It left a greasy splotch on a centuries-old parchment. He sighed and bent lower over the paper he was studying. Maybe ignoring Maldynado would encourage him to go away.
Maldynado dug a handful of walnuts out of his grocery bag, cracked one open with his teeth, and proceeded to nosh loudly. “Find anything luminous yet, Booksie?”
Books bent his head lower, deepening his can’t-you-see-that-I’m-ignoring-you pose. “No.”
“Want a walnut?”
“No.”
“We can’t eat too many. Basilard is going to use them to prepare a fancy breakfast for Amaranthe’s birthday tomorrow.”
“Her birthday isn’t until next week.”
“She’ll expect something then, but not tomorrow. It’ll be a surprise.”
Books snorted. Maldynado had not even known Amaranthe’s birthday was coming until Books said something.
“Isn’t it Sicarius’s turn to cook tomorrow?” Books asked.
“Oh, no, we are
not
going to let that happen for a birthday breakfast. And preferably not ever. I can still taste that llama lung and bone marrow surprise he made. The surprise being if it took you more than five minutes to vomit after eating it.”
“I’m sure it was very healthy.” Though Books would not show it, he shuddered inwardly at the memory of the dish too.
“Healthy maybe, edible no. And don’t pretend you didn’t avoid it. All you ate were those raw unflavored parsnips.” Maldynado lifted a hand. “Anyway, we need something good tomorrow. After we serve up a fine breakfast for Amaranthe, it’ll be time to let her know about the date I lined up for her.”
Books lifted his head for the first time. “Date? What date?”
“A man I know. He’s smart and witty, and his father owns
The Gazette
. Good warrior-caste family. Cute fellow too. If I were a woman, and I couldn’t have me, I’d want him.”
Books rubbed his forehead. “When did she say she wanted you to find her a date?”
“She didn’t.” Maldynado tipped his chair back, balancing it on the rear legs. “She’s too focused. But we know what’s best for her.”
“You and…Basilard?” Books cringed. Why did he have a feeling Amaranthe would not appreciate this meddling? “Did you warn her you were going to… What exactly
are
you going to do?”
“Just set things up for a little romance. She’s a girl. She needs that sort of thing.”
“I imagine she could find her own romance if she sought it.”
“Of course she seeks it.
All
girls seek it. Plus, if she had it, she might spend a little less time waking us two hours before dawn for Sicarius’s training sessions and more time blanket wrestling.”
“I see. Your interest in her love life stems from your own laziness.”
“Not entirely.” Maldynado gripped the table for balance and rocked farther back. “She’s a good girl. She should be happy. She spends too much time with Sicarius. How can you be happy with that dour puss in tow? And why’s he always lurking around her, anyway? If you ask me, the whole arrangement is a little—”
A shadow moved behind Maldynado. Sicarius. Surprise jolted Maldynado, and he lost his grip on the table. His chair pitched backward. Sicarius could have caught him, but merely stepped aside to avoid him as he flailed to the ground. Maldynado’s boot struck the table, and walnuts flew, pelting bookcases with resounding cracks.
Maldynado lurched to his feet. “Sicarius! I was just, uhm, how long were you…” He turned to Books and whispered, “How long was he there?”
A smirk wanted to find its way to Books’s lips, but the coldness of Sicarius’s face stole his mirth. Best not to get involved. Or show interest.
Maldynado wilted under Sicarius’s stare. He stepped back to put space between himself and Sicarius, but landed on a walnut. His heel flew out from under him, and he almost ended up on the floor again. He caught the edge of a bookcase and recovered.
“Hard to believe you’re our second best swordsman,” Books said.
Maldynado cleared his throat, picked up the walnut, and offered it to Sicarius. “Hungry?”
Sicarius’s expression did not change. If he blinked, Books did not notice it.
“Er.” Maldynado pocketed the nut. “I’ll just keep it.”
“Akstyr and Amaranthe have gone ahead to the gambling house,” Sicarius told him. “Basilard is on his way to replace you as Books’s guard dog.”
Books might have protested that he did not need a “guard dog,” but he was relieved to have Maldynado replaced. He wondered if Amaranthe had known he would need a break from him by now. He also wondered if she knew he had gone shopping in the middle of his shift.
“Where am I going?” Maldynado asked.
“Amaranthe wants you to acquire a disguise for her, then meet us at the gambling house. She trusts you can get a good price.”
“Does she trust it’ll be in good taste?” Books asked.
Though Sicarius never emoted, he could ooze disapproval with the force of a cannon. Books cleared his throat and fiddled with his pencil.
“She wants me to buy clothes?” Maldynado beamed. “I do believe I know a couple merchants who’d be willing to stay open late for me.”
He grabbed the grocery bag and trotted down the aisle, no doubt eager to leave Sicarius’s presence. Unfortunately, that left Books alone with the man. He waited for Sicarius to ask a question or demand an update. Long moments ticked past, and Books felt like he was being judged for being a part of Maldynado’s dating conversation. He was tempted to defend himself—after all, he hadn’t said anything derogatory—but feared it would make him sound guilty.