A familiar man ambled past, hand on the ruby-crusted pommel of one of his own swords, obviously selected to offset crimson embroidery on his black vest. Maldynado. He had no shopping bags tucked under his arms. So much for her disguise.
Figuring he would not spot her with the hood, Amaranthe lifted a hand and stepped away from the statue.
“We have a problem,” came a voice from behind.
Amaranthe jumped before recognition caught up to reflexes. Sicarius.
“Your ability to find me despite the fact I’m hiding incognito in the shadows?” she asked.
He drew her into an alcove behind an overflowing bicycle rack. Maldynado stopped on the street corner to chat with a group of ladies. He must have come with Sicarius.
“What’s going on?” Amaranthe asked.
Perhaps as a concession to the number of weapons dangling on nearby hips, Sicarius, too, wore a jacket with a hood. Black, of course. “The area where Books was researching was attacked,” he said. “There was a woman with him. He may or may not have been the target, but someone sent six men to do the job. I took care of them while he fumbled through rescuing the unconscious woman.”
“Is he all right?” she asked, more concerned by that than whether Books had pulled his own weight in a fight.
“He’s injured but not mortally so. I found Basilard, and he assisted Books back to the pumping house.”
She wrestled with the temptation to forgo the gambling house visit and check on Books. Sicarius’s idea of “injured but not mortally so” could involve missing limbs and eyes. But if he had Basilard to watch over him, Books ought to survive without her for a few hours. It was not as if she had vast medical expertise.
“Thanks for making sure he got back. Shall we head into Ergot’s Chance?” Amaranthe pointed to a dead-end street across the way. “Akstyr went in ahead to scout for magic. Or so he said. He might be putting all his pocket change on the lucky Wolf Star Tile.”
She took a step, but Sicarius caught her arm.
“There’s more,” he said. “The woman Books was with, she’s from the warrior caste, someone who used to do work for Hollowcrest during the Western Sea Conflict.”
“Oh? What use did Hollowcrest have for a woman? Er, assuming it wasn’t for the usual male-female after-sunset activities.” From what Amaranthe remembered of Hollowcrest, he had not respected women overmuch, especially not those with any sort of ambition.
“Her name is Vonsha Spearcrest,” Sicarius said. “She taught cryptography at the University, and Hollowcrest brought her in to build unbreakable keys during the war.”
“Didn’t some brilliant Kyattese linguist break all our keys?”
“Yes. Spearcrest disappeared shortly after that.”
“You’re certain it’s the same woman? It’s been nearly twenty years.” Amaranthe had been a toddler during that war, and since most of the fighting had been at sea, over a thousand miles away, she remembered little of the details. Sicarius probably would have been in his teens, but he had been trained from birth, so she would not be surprised if he had already been killing people for Hollowcrest by then.
“I’m certain. She was injured in the explosion, but the enforcers took her for treatment.”
“I wonder if Books was the target or if she was.” Amaranthe tapped her leg. “You didn’t hear their conversation?”
“I stayed out of sight, so she wouldn’t recognize me.”
“She knows you? Er, knew you?”
“Not well, but I was there at a couple of their meetings.”
“You’re older now.” Amaranthe smiled, wondering if she could draw any indignation out of him. “Grayer.”
“I don’t have any gray.”
He said it in his monotone, and she could not tell if it was an indignant denial or a simple statement of fact. In truth, he appeared no older than thirty, and it was only that Sespian was close to twenty that told her otherwise, though Sicarius still must have been very young when Sespian was conceived.
That
was a story she wanted to wheedle out of him someday.
“Ah, forgive me. I guess it’s your perennial stodginess that leaves me with the impression you’re old.” There, that
had
to get a response out of him.
He studied her, as if she were some exotic specimen of fish he’d pulled up from the lake depths and he was deciding whether to keep her or throw her back. “I’m not old,” he finally said.
“But no argument on stodgy, eh?”
“Akstyr is waiting, is he not?”
Amaranthe grinned and patted his arm. She shouldn’t have fun teasing him, but considering his reputation, she found it encouraging that he let her. Of course, if she were a more mature person she would tell him she cared for him instead of poking fun, but the latter seemed…safer.
“Yes, he is.” She lifted her hand and gestured toward the dead-end street.
When they drew even with Maldynado, Sicarius grabbed him and propelled him alongside.
“Hullo, boss,” Maldynado said. “Didn’t see you under that jacket. It’s bulky. You almost look like a boy.”
“That’s one method of disguise, I suppose,” Amaranthe said. “Though I thought you’d have a costume for me.”
“Oh, I bought one.” He smiled. “It’s having a few custom alterations done, but I can pick it up later.”
She would have to hope nobody who memorized wanted posters was gambling tonight.
Drum beats and guitar strums floated from a cider house on the corner where a female singer extolled the virtues of battle engaged in the spring. Several gambling houses and entertainment venues lined the wide avenue, all with fresh, new brick or stone facades. People crowded the sidewalks, though they all seemed to be jostling toward the building at the end of the street. Indeed, the venues on either side were sparsely populated. Outside an eating house, a red-haired woman’s shouts alternated between announcing the meal specials and advising a worker scraping graffiti off the wall.
A freckled man on the opposite side of the street tried to foist samples of a dark liquid on passersby. Two soldiers spat at his feet and shoved him aside.
“Filthy foreign slug,” one snarled.
It seemed Amaranthe’s team had turned down a street overtaken by aspiring entrepreneurs from beyond the borders. And only one of the businesses was doing well.
“That’s the place.” Maldynado nudged a couple of smaller men aside and pointed at the brick wall stretched across the end of the street. Gold-gilded doors stood open, and people flowed in and out of the building. A pulsing sign read Ergot’s Chance. Two giant glowing orbs perched upon spinning poles.
“That’s blatant,” Amaranthe said. “You’d think a place daring to use magic in a city where it’s forbidden would be more subtle. Especially since the sentiment around here is anti-foreigner, and most of these businesses seem to be struggling.”
“It’s possible the effects are mundanely created,” Sicarius said.
She stepped around a puddle and drew her men to the side. “Sicarius and I will try to find the manager or owner and see what these key fobs are about. Maldynado, link up with Akstyr if you see him. I’d like you to go around to the tilers and table masters and ask questions. See if anyone recognizes the fellow who had the fob in his pocket.”
“You want me to describe a bloke I’ve only seen after he’s been horribly mauled and dead in frigid water for days?” Maldynado’s head swiveled to track a pretty lady strolling past.
Amaranthe turned his face back toward her with a finger on his chin. “Do your best, please.”
“Books is the one who should be doing the describing. He spent more time developing a personal relationship with those corpses.” Maldynado snickered, then surprised her by turning glum. “Too bad he nearly got himself blown up.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Amaranthe said, though she wanted to check on Books as soon as they finished here. She gripped Maldynado’s arm, then nodded to Sicarius. “Ready?”
They went first, leaving Maldynado to follow a few minutes later.
Inside, people meandered through a vast, high-ceilinged room and gathered in clumps around gaming tables. A hundred chandeliers and sconces burned. Steam whistled from coal-powered contraptions that offered moving puzzles and mechanized games of chance. The stuffy heat emanating from the people, lights, and machines reminded Amaranthe of a muggy summer day before a storm.
She let Sicarius lead since he had that knack for getting people to move out of his way without doing anything. Amaranthe, on the other hand, received elbows in the ribs or suggestive jostles from drunken men. Maybe she should try wearing all black and glaring more often.
A familiar key fob dangled from someone’s belt. Several patrons had them. So, not a special token, but items produced in quantities and given out, perhaps as prizes. But why, in this superstitious core of the empire, would someone risk creating dozens, or hundreds, of magical trinkets with the establishment’s name on them? Amaranthe was surprised the glowing orbs outside had not resulted in someone torching the building.
Sicarius surprised her by pausing to watch a complicated version of the shell game. Three table masters sat cross-legged on cushions, sliding containers around with tokens hiding beneath. One had to watch six blurring hands at the same time and point to all the correct spots to win.
“Want to play?” she asked. They had more important things to do, but it did seem like something made for him to win. Perhaps the earnings could pay for some supplies.
“Not challenging,” he said and moved on.
“Cocky, aren’t we?”
“Self-aware.”
“Cockily self-aware?”
He gave her a cool look. She smiled sweetly.
Before they reached the back of the room, a commotion drew a crowd that blocked the way.
“I’m not a cheater!” a familiar voice cried.
Amaranthe groaned. Akstyr.
The meaty sound of a fist striking flesh followed.
“I didn’t—ommph!”
She hustled forward even as the crowd parted. Two bouncers appeared, dragging Akstyr between them. Blood streamed from his split lip and spattered his shirt. Amaranthe stepped forward, lifting a hand, intending to rescue him from the manhandling. But when he spotted her, he widened his eyes and gave a minute head shake.
“Let go of me, you mother-forsaken street eaters!” Akstyr roared and flung his arms wide.
He escaped his escort and stumbled forward, crashing into Amaranthe and Sicarius, seemingly by accident. The bouncers were not thrown for long. One lunged, wrapping an arm around his waist. Akstyr pressed something into Amaranthe’s hand before the thug tore him away. The bouncer threw Akstyr over his shoulder and stomped toward the front door.
Patrons moved out of the way. Amaranthe closed her fist, hiding whatever Akstyr had given her. Cool and metallic, it felt like a key.
Sicarius continued onward without comment. Amaranthe kept herself from looking back to check on Akstyr. He obviously thought they should pretend not to know each other, and that she should investigate…whatever the key led to.
The crowd thinned in the back where two bouncers framed the entrance to a hallway. Amaranthe hustled to slip in front of Sicarius. No doubt he could get past them with force, but she wanted to try honey first.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, feeling short as she craned her neck back to look each man in the eye. They even towered over Sicarius, though his six feet did not make him tall by imperial standards.
“Employees only,” came the response.
“Yes, I guessed that from your forbidding presence here.” She smiled. “How would we make arrangements to see the boss?”
“Come during the day, and look important.”
“Do I not look important?” Amaranthe asked Sicarius.
“Moderately,” he said without taking his gaze from the bouncers.
“I’ll have to work on increasing my importance aura.” She considered the men again. “What’d that young fellow who was just dragged out of here do?”
“Lady, we’re not here to chat with you.”
“No, but it’s got to be more interesting than standing here like mute statues.”
One grunted in what may have been agreement. The other frowned at Sicarius. Gears whirred behind his eyes, and his face screwed up in concentration. Trying to place Sicarius’s face, Amaranthe guessed.
“He cheated, that’s what they said,” she said. “Is that common?”
“People try it all the time,” the more amenable bouncer said.
“Do you have to inform your employer when it happens?”
“Our employer trusts us to handle such situations ourselves.”
“Yes, I suppose your boss is only interested in fiscal issues that aren’t so easily resolved,” Amaranthe said, an idea percolating through her mind.
Sicarius was watching her, probably wondering if this chat had a purpose.
“Yes, and we’re not paid to talk to girls,” the surlier of the two bouncers said.
“Unfortunately,” the other muttered.
“Of course,” Amaranthe said. “I understand. Thank you for speaking to me.”
As she moved away, the quieter man leaned close to his comrade, whispering something and pointing at Sicarius. Apparently the hooded jacket was not enough of a disguise.
“Looks like you might get some practice defending your head tonight,” Amaranthe told him, veering toward the shell-game table.
“They are not the first here to recognize me,” Sicarius said. “What now? It would be a simple matter to force our way past those men.”
“There are a lot of bouncers on the floor. If those two were knocked out, it wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. I’d like to have a nice conversation with the owner, and given what happened to the fellow we tried to question at that factory, I’d prefer not to do it at knife point.”
He gave her a sharp look. “You think that incident is tied in with this place?”
“I don’t know.” She pointed at a key fob dangling from a man’s pocket watch chain. “But there’s suddenly a lot of magic use popping up in the city.”
“More foreigners.”
“More foreigners who should all be smart enough not to use magic in a city where it’s forbidden.” Amaranthe waved a hand. “We’ll talk to the owner about it.”
“How?”
“I have a hunch we’ll be invited in to chat soon.”
“You have a plan. Should it concern me?”