She folded her hands on the counter and watched his face, half expecting Sicarius to deny knowing what Hollowcrest’s handwriting looked like, half expecting him to say nothing and simply stare at her.
He did give her a bland gaze, but picked up the pen and started writing. Both notes.
“The Oak Iron Smelter isn’t one of Larocka’s, correct?” His work complete, he set down the pen.
“No,” Amaranthe said. “A warrior caste family has owned it for generations; it should be neutral territory for all parties.”
Sicarius stood, but seemed to recall something. He withdrew a folded piece of paper and handed it to Amaranthe. Remembering her wanted poster, she winced. What now?
She stared at the drawing and wasn’t sure whether to be amused or chagrined by the familiar image. “Maldynado, this one’s for you.”
“Eh?” Maldynado left the paper cutter and ambled over. “What do you—ho, I recognize that gorgeous fellow.”
“I imagine so,” Amaranthe said.
The wanted poster featured the picture the woman in the ink shop had sketched of him. This version came with a few words at the bottom:
Maldynado Monticzhelo, Wanted Dead or Alive: 250 ranmyas.
“
Two hundred fifty
ranmyas? That can’t be right.” Maldynado raked his fingers through his soft brown curls. “My last hair cut cost more than that!”
“I see you’re regarding this with the utmost seriousness,” Amaranthe said.
“It must be a misprint. Don’t you think it’s a misprint?” Maldynado gave Sicarius a pleading look.
Sicarius stared back without comment.
“Two-fifty.” Maldynado’s gaze shifted to Amaranthe. “Yours is for ten thousand! And Sicarius, they’re offering a million for him.”
“Surely you don’t put yourself in Sicarius’s league,” Amaranthe said, amused at Maldynado’s whining, despite regrets that she had somehow gotten him noticed by the law.
“No,” Maldynado admitted, “but you’re just a girl. How can yours be for…” He stuck out his fingers and started figuring under his breath.
“Forty times more, you dolt,” Books said, eyes glinting with apparent appreciation for the poster.
“Forty times?” Maldynado clasped his forehead. “That’s insulting. I’m much more, er… I’m… Look!” He stood sideways, thrust out his chest, and flexed his biceps.
“Indeed,” Amaranthe said, struggling not to laugh.
“Two-fifty.” His head dropped, and his hair flopped about his angular cheekbones as he slunk back to the paper cutter. “Bounty hunters won’t even bother to get up from the table when they see me in an eating house. Why risk a muscle pull drawing a sword for such a measly reward? I’ll be lucky if they throw a fork.”
A moment later, Akstyr sauntered through the doorway. Amaranthe stared at a frosting-drenched pastry hanging from his mouth. He clutched a greasy sack that read Curi’s Bakery.
Apparently forgetting his disgruntlement, Maldynado sidled up and smiled at the sack. Akstyr graciously offered him a pastry, which Maldynado stuffed in his mouth.
“I thought you didn’t have any money,” Maldynado said.
“Don’t.” Akstyr grinned at Amaranthe. “Your fake money works real good.”
She almost fell off her stool. “You used the counterfeits?”
“Uh huh.”
“How could you? You’ve put us all in danger. That merchant is going to realize it’s not genuine eventually, if she hasn’t already. If it gets traced back to us…” Amaranthe resisted the urge to run to the front of the building and peer through the boarded windows facing the street. It was probably too soon for a squad of enforcers to tramp down the dock to their door.
“Imbecile,” Books said to Akstyr. “How could you be so thoughtless? To jeopardize everything for a sweet.”
“I didn’t know it’d be a problem.”
“How could you not know? What you mean is you didn’t think.”
Akstyr threw the sack on the table. “This chews rat balls.”
“What a colorful colloquialism,” Books said. “Clearly your gang years educated you well.”
Akstyr’s hands clenched into fists. “I’ve been working night and day, and I’m getting nothing out of this. If you’re going to treat me like an idiot, I’m leaving.”
Amaranthe frowned, tempted to let him go. If he was going to be more of a liability than a help, why keep him? But, no, she needed all the man power possible to finish printing bills and stage the meeting with Forge and Hollowcrest.
“It’ll be fine,” she soothed. “Just don’t spend anymore. And you make a good point. We’ve all been working hard. From now on, we’ll only have two people working the press and one standing watch. The other two can relax.” She opened her hand, palm up to Akstyr. “Or study.”
“Whatever.” Akstyr grabbed his sack and headed for a corner.
Maybe involving him more in the plotting and planning would engage his interest, or at least keep him focused and loyal.
“Akstyr,” she said, “can you arrange a meeting between me and your old gang boss?”
“Whatever.”
“Is that a yes?” she asked.
A silent glare answered her. Lovely. A Sicarius in training.
Amaranthe joined Books at the press. Eyes wide with concern, he shook his head. She shared the feeling.
“Let’s start packing the dry bills in Maldynado’s chicken crate,” she said. “Just in case we have to leave in a hurry.”
C
olonel Backcrest’s first intelligence report arrived well before dawn, and Sespian shuffled to his desk to read it. Still wearing slippers and pajamas, he slid into the icy wooden chair without bothering to shovel coal into the stove. Someone would figure out he was awake and come in to feed the fire shortly. The staff always wrung their hands in respectful distress when he did that sort of thing himself.
According to the report, the borders were oddly untroubled and no one had seen a Nurian warship in months. Perhaps that signified a lessened interest in hostilities, but more likely it represented a pause for plotting and planning. An unidentified creature murdering citizens on the waterfront struck him as a more immediate concern. He scribbled a note for Backcrest that requested more information.
When Sespian set the report aside, he glimpsed the sketches he had made a few weeks earlier for a new art wing at the university. Pretty but not structurally stable. His mind had truly been affected by that drug. Poor Amaranthe Lokdon—harassed by a simpleton.
His frown deepened as he again considered that evening she had leaped from Hollowcrest’s window. Why had she even been in the Barracks? She must have been returning from Hollowcrest’s special mission, a mission Sespian still knew nothing about. Maybe Dunn would find out more. Why would Hollowcrest have chosen her for secret work? He was barely cognizant of the city’s enforcers—why would he have brought one to the Barracks?
Because of me
. Fool. With his love-struck babbling, he had brought Amaranthe to Hollowcrest’s attention. Dully, he realized whatever trouble she had found since was very likely his fault. But how had she ended up with Sicarius’s knife? Surely Hollowcrest had been lying; she couldn’t possibly be working with that monster.
A tentative knock sounded on the door.
“Come in, Lieutenant,” Sespian guessed. Hollowcrest never knocked tentatively or showed up that early.
Papers in hand, Dunn entered the office. Despite the early hour, his uniform was pressed, his hair combed, his beard shaved, and his boots polished. Wondering whether he should feel pleased at the dedication or embarrassed of his own pajama-clad state, Sespian waved the lieutenant to a seat opposite the desk.
“I’ve identified some of Hollowcrest’s cronies, Sire,” Dunn said. “It’s going to take time to complete a thorough list without drawing attention, but I’ve started with the higher ups. They’d have more power to influence subordinates, I imagine.”
Sespian nodded and leaned forward to examine three papers Dunn laid out.
“Those are men loyal to you.” Dunn pointed to each list as he spoke of it. “Those are Hollowcrest’s men, and these are the indifferent ones who said they’re just here to work and don’t care who’s in charge.”
“Those men don’t worry me.” Sespian’s chin drooped as he read the long list of names under Hollowcrest. “The Commander Lord General for
every
satrapy?”
“Regrettably, yes, Sire.”
Don’t panic, Sespian.
It was alarming, but those men were hundreds or thousands of miles away and a less immediate threat than the traitors in and near the Imperial Barracks. “General Lakecrest,” he named the base commander for Fort Urgot, outside of Stumps. “That’s a problem.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“I see you’ve placed yourself on my list,” Sespian said. “Right at the top too.” He smiled.
“Of course, Sire.”
“We’re outnumbered. Sure you don’t want to change sides?”
Dunn’s nostrils flared with indignation. “I would never back someone who would drug his emperor. Hollowcrest has no honor.”
“Indeed not.” Sespian slid the papers into a stack and cleared his throat. He strove for the appearance of no-more-than-casual interest on his next question. “I’m sure this kept you very busy, but did you happen to find out anything about Corporal Lokdon?”
A guarded expression came over Dunn, and Sespian braced himself for bad news.
“She’s still alive, Sire.”
“Oh?” Excitement fluttered in Sespian’s belly, but Dunn’s grim expression stole his pleasure. “But?”
“Yesterday morning, she escaped from Fort Urgot, where she was being held for questioning about some dead bodies. It’s believed she has something to do with the creature that’s been murdering people around the waterfront.”
“Yes, I read about the creature,” Sespian said, though he did not see how Amaranthe could be related to it.
“Also, there was a man with her who escaped,” Dunn said. “He was later identified as the criminal Sicarius.”
Sespian sank low in his chair. “Maybe it just looked like… Maybe she’s not…” No, he couldn’t think of a logical reason as to why she’d be with the assassin. “Damn. I wanted…” Aware of Dunn watching, Sespian sat up and shut his mouth. He could mull and moan when he was alone.
“All right,” Sespian said. “Just complete these lists for me, please. And if you can, requisition someone to keep an eye on Hollowcrest. Someone on the housecleaning staff perhaps. I want to know if he leaves the Barracks or meets with guests here.”
Sespian wasn’t going to have time to spend hours lurking in the ductwork to spy on Hollowcrest himself. He had to figure out how to subvert—or was it un-subvert?—General Lakecrest and all the other local men on the list. All soldiers, he noted grimly. All men he had nothing in common with. Nothing to worry about.
• • • • •
“When you asked how to get in touch with my former gang,” Akstyr said, “I didn’t think you were planning to take me along.”
Amaranthe trailed him, her scabbard dragging in the knee-high drifts lining the path. She felt silly wearing a short sword with her businesswoman’s long skirt and jacket, but in this neighborhood no one worried about fashion. The packed-snow trail parted a narrow street, and spurs provided access to dilapidated tenements, brothels, and alcohol shops. Behind wrought iron bars, the cracked window of a smoke shop promised illegal drugs in several languages. The bundled men and women they passed bore pitted and rusted swords, long knives, or axes.
“I thought you might want to brag to your old comrades that you escaped and were well,” she said.
“And working for a crazy woman for no pay?”
“Careful, you’ll make them jealous.” Amaranthe stepped over a wad of human excrement mashed into the snow. “Besides, you know these people. I can’t think of anyone better to have along when dealing with them.”
“Except him.” Akstyr jerked his chin to indicate Sicarius, who walked a few steps behind, scanning their surroundings alertly.
“He’s just here in case there’s trouble,” Amaranthe said. “It’s your advice I’ll need.”
“Whatever. I don’t see why you can’t use official couriers to deliver your messages.”
“Because…”
I’m trying to involve you with our mission and get you to care so you don’t turn us in for our bounties.
“The Courier Network requires too much personal information about the sender. I can lie, but if someone comes back later asking about me, they’ll answer. We need people we can count on for discretion.”
“And murdering gang members came to mind?” Akstyr asked.
“Surprisingly, yes. Can you imagine them answering honestly if Hollowcrest’s minions come around asking questions?”
“Probably not,” Akstyr said. “They’ll charge you more than couriers would though.”
“I expected it.”
“We are being watched,” Sicarius said.
“I expected that too,” Amaranthe said.
Her group turned a corner. Beggars, drunks, and drug dealers lined the drifts. Amaranthe guessed most served dual purposes as lookouts and spies.
“The entrance is down there.” Akstyr pointed to an alley barely two feet wide.
No obvious doors marked the chipped sides of the brick buildings, though a narrow metal stair on one wall rose in switchbacks to the roof.
“Do we invite ourselves up or wait for a welcoming party?” Amaranthe asked.
“It’s already here.”
A boy of nine or ten detached from a shady nook and planted himself in front of Akstyr, fists on his hips. “You’re s’pose to be dead, you magic-cursed cur.”
“We here to see the boss, Pigeon,” Akstyr growled. “You can eat street.”
“Tuskar don’t want to see some pretend wizard,” the boy said.
“How about me?” Amaranthe lifted a finger. “Would he consent to seeing me?”
“What you want, woman?” the boy asked.
“I have a job for someone in your gang. Paying job.”
The work ethic ran strongly through the empire’s citizens, a social construct too embedded to be cast aside as easily as the legal code. Amaranthe hoped even gang members would value the idea of earning their pay.
“That truth?” The boy pointed at Sicarius. “Who’s he?”
Amaranthe suspected more ears than this youth’s were listening to the conversation. “My secretary.”