Conspiracy

by Lindsay Buroker

  The blade caught in the wall, and pulling it out distracted the soldier for a heartbeat. The grip on Amaranthe’s neck lessened a hair.

  She used the door against her back to brace herself as she tucked her legs up to her chest, her knees bumping the undersides of his arms. She kicked out, this time with both legs, aiming higher than before. Her heels slammed into his solar plexus.

  The blow would have felled a lesser man, but the big guard only grunted and stumbled back a half a step. It was enough. He lost his grip on Amaranthe’s neck.

  Before he could recover, she grabbed one of his meaty hands in both of hers. She twisted it and pressed her thumbs into the backside, forcing it against the wrist joint. It worked for a second—he went down on one knee and his face contorted—but he yanked his arm back, pulling Amaranthe with it. She lost her grip and almost tumbled into him. She stopped by bracing herself against a table flipped onto its side. By now, the entire car was a jumble of overturned furniture.

  Amaranthe skittered backward and yanked her crossbow off her back. The soldier’s glare seared her like flames, but he didn’t rise from his one-knee crouch. Surprised he didn’t lunge at her, she aimed the bow between his eyes.

  “Stay,” she said.

  Beyond the soldier, the shouts and clashes of steel had grown less frenzied. The knockout gas, Amaranthe realized. It was working. Good. All they had to do was—

  Fierce bangs sounded behind her, and she jumped. On the other side of the door, armed soldiers crowded the balcony. More men waited on the balcony of the car behind them.

  One soldier smashed the butt of his rifle against the door’s window. Amaranthe expected the glass to shatter into pieces, but the thick material held, at least under this first assault.

  Amaranthe spun, thinking to find Maldynado and get his smoke grenade. The less those soldiers outside could see the better.

  She almost tripped over her first attacker—he’d collapsed onto the carpet. A step past him, Maldynado knelt over a prone soldier, seemingly having the upper hand, but he was gripping a chair for support. His mask hung askew, leaving his nose exposed to the air.

  Amaranthe adjusted it for him while keeping an eye on the action—even as she watched, a body flew through the air, landing hard against a bank of windows before sliding down onto a sofa. The smoke made it impossible to see who was where, but she was relieved that the numerous inert figures sprawled on the floor or draped over furniture were all wearing uniforms.

  “No falling asleep,” Amaranthe told Maldynado, yelling to be heard over the shouts and bangs coming from without as well as lingering ones from within. She tightened the strap around his head and added, “You’re too heavy for anyone to carry out of here.”

  Maldynado blinked at her with glassy eyes, but he managed to lever himself to his feet. “What, only the emperor gets a free ride?”

  He pointed toward the left side of the car, and Amaranthe was tempted to head in that direction, but glass broke behind her. Someone was going to have to fight off the soldiers trying to get in on her end. She swapped the crossbow for the blowtorch and handed the tool to Maldynado, then took a smoke grenade clipped to his belt.

  “Let’s trade,” she said. “Find the others, and as soon as they have Sespian, cut a hole in the ceiling so we can get out that way.” Amaranthe didn’t like the vision she had of leaping from rooftop to rooftop with soldiers shooting at them from each balcony, but now that they’d been forced to move before the landslide distraction, she didn’t see that they had another choice, not if they wanted to get back to the locomotive.

  More glass cracked behind her. Amaranthe grabbed her crossbow and strode back to the door, only to find the glass hadn’t yet broken under the soldiers’ assault.

  She spun around, looking for what had shattered.

  A weapon fired, and a bullet whizzed past her ear, stealing a tuft of hair. She lunged behind an upturned table, her heart thundering in her chest, and tried to see where the shot had come from.

  There. A soldier was hanging from the roof by one hand and knocking broken shards of glass away from one of the side windows, trying to make a hole large enough to crawl through. He’d discarded the one shot pistol, but the determined fury on his face said he’d have no trouble strangling Amaranthe with his bare hands once he got inside.

  Amaranthe thumbed the tab open on the smoke grenade and set it where it’d cloud the air between her and the soldier and also between her and the door. Crossbow in hand, she jumped onto a chair near the intruder. He saw her coming, but he couldn’t stop her when he was dangling from one hand outside the train.

  “Go back to the other car,” Amaranthe said, trying to look like a crazy woman who would love shooting him, as she aimed the crossbow at his face.

  Thanks to the smoke wafting everywhere, her bloodshot eyes probably were crazy looking, but there was no fear on the soldier’s face. Lips curled into a ferocious snarl, he thrust his arm through the window, grabbing for the crossbow. The length of his reach surprised Amaranthe, but she pulled the weapon back, evading him. The soldier let go of the roof and gripped the glass-filled frame of the window with both hands. Blood streamed down the broken pane, but he didn’t seem to notice. He pulled himself forward, trying to thrust his broad shoulders through the window, even as his legs dangled outside, thumping where they bumped against the train wall.

  Amaranthe’s finger tightened on the trigger. She couldn’t let him in, not when more would follow, but if she shot him, if they shot anyone...

  Bashes continued at the door she’d come through, and the chair she’d used to add strength to the lock fell away. A crack sounded, the thick glass finally giving.

  Amaranthe flipped the crossbow around, gripping it by the lathe. She swung the weapon at the soldier’s face like a club. He couldn’t dodge, not when he was wedged part way through the window, and it cracked against his skull. Reverberations coursed up Amaranthe’s arm. She gritted her teeth and swung again.

  It wasn’t a good solution, but it was the best she could come up with. If he was forced to let go and fell, he might still live. If she had to shoot him...

  The man roared in pain, but hung on with the tenacity of a tick. She refined her attack and aimed for his hands instead of his head. Despite battered, broken fingers, he refused to let go.

  Footsteps beat against the roof. Amaranthe glanced over her shoulder, hoping Maldynado had burned an escape hatch and that was the sound of her men climbing out, but that wasn’t the case. Maldynado and Basilard were standing in the middle of the aisle, pointing upward and arguing. She didn’t see Sicarius, but smoke obscured the back half of the car. Either way, that wasn’t him up there. There was far more than one pair of feet making those thumps.

  Another window broke on the other side of the train. In the seconds she’d been distracted, Amaranthe’s soldier had crawled farther inside. Her swings grew harder and more desperate. He knew she wasn’t trying to kill him, and he wasn’t going to give up.

  Frustration burned Amaranthe’s eyes almost as must as the smoke. They weren’t going to be able to get out of this. If soldiers were on the roof and on either end of the car, where could her team go to escape?

  “Let go, curse your ancestors,” Amaranthe growled at the soldier.

  “Die, bitch,” he spat back.

  Something in his tone made her pause. Defeat? The soldier had stopped pushing through, and he was glaring at her and breathing heavily, but his eyes had a glassy mien. Maybe he’d sucked in enough knockout gas to dull his senses. Or maybe he’d lost enough blood to do the same. He’d probably done more damage to himself crawling through the glass than he’d received from her beating.

  Something brushed Amaranthe’s shoulder, and she spun, crossbow clenched in her hands.

  Sicarius stood in the aisle with Sespian slung over his shoulder and a pistol in his hand. His eyes were grim above his mask, and blood spattered his hands and face. Sespian wasn’t moving.

  “They’re o
n the roof,” Sicarius said, his voice distorted by the mask. “We’ll have to start shooting people if we hope to escape.”

  “No,” Amaranthe said.

  A slam sounded at the door, and more glass cracked. Smoke hid the window, but she knew it was weakening.

  “Then we’ll be captured,” Sicarius said.

  “No, give me another option.”

  Maldynado and Basilard joined them. Maldynado waved the torch. “I stopped trying to cut through the roof when people started climbing around up there. There’s all sorts of wood in here. I could light the place on fire.”

  “With us inside?” Amaranthe asked. “That’s not the option I had in mind.”

  A window broke in the middle of the car, and shards of glass flew inward. Basilard ran to take care of the intruder.

  “Everyone in here is down, but there’s a man in the corner that was trying to get up,” Maldynado said. “I think this stuff is already wearing off.”

  Amaranthe stood, eyes searching the car, seeking inspiration. If they couldn’t go out the windows, through the doors, or through the roof, the only way open was...

  She arched her eyebrows. Down. Was down a possibility?

  “How much clearance is there beneath the cars?” Amaranthe tried to picture the area between the wheels in her mind.

  “You’re not serious,” Maldynado said.

  Amaranthe looked at Sicarius, figuring that with Books not around he’d be most likely to know the answer. He was staring at her, probably thinking exactly what Maldynado had said.

  “Could we crawl underneath the cars and couplings to bypass the soldiers and get back to the engine?” Amaranthe asked, though she grimaced as her gaze fell on Sespian. With him unconscious, someone would have to carry him, and she couldn’t imagine there was enough clearance for that.

  “Boss, you’re not serious,” Maldynado repeated. “Are you? That’d be hard enough if the train were standing still. Even if there’s enough room...” He shook his head. “Miss one handhold or let your foot slip free, and you’d fall and be mangled to death under the wheels.”

  Amaranthe grabbed the cutting torch from him. “I’m going to take a look. Give me two minutes.” She waved to encompass the windows and doors, or, more specifically, the soldiers trying to batter them down.

  She stepped over unconscious bodies to find a spot in the middle of the car, then yanked out a dagger to cut away a square of the carpet. She wasn’t ready to start a fire. Yet.

  A shot fired, and a lantern on the wall exploded.

  “You idiots are going to shoot your own emperor!” Amaranthe yelled.

  “Surrender or die!” someone yelled back.

  “Surrender and die is more likely,” she huffed, shoving the severed carpet patch away.

  Amaranthe maneuvered the blowtorch into position and found the trigger. A funnel of flames shot out, and she cursed, yanking it back so it wouldn’t light a nearby chair on fire. She found an adjustment knob, and the flame narrowed into a tight beam. She applied it to the floor, hoping it would perform as promised and cut through metal. The floor, she feared, would be thicker and sturdier than the roof.

  The flame scorched the metal, but a hole appeared. A small hole. She moved the torch a half an inch. This might work, but it was going to take time. Maybe more time than they had.

  A shot fired, this time from within the car.

  “Who’s shooting?” Amaranthe demanded without taking her eyes from the torch.

  “I’m not aiming to kill,” Maldynado said, “but they’ll be less eager to thrust themselves inside if they’re convinced I’m trying to shoot ’em.”

  On the other side of the square she was cutting, Sicarius knelt to face Amaranthe. He hadn’t said anything about her plan. He set Sespian down, and the emperor’s head lolled to the side. With his eyes closed, soft brown hair across his brow, and his face peaceful with sleep, he appeared young, like a kid, not an emperor. Akstyr was younger, but Amaranthe doubted many people would guess on looks alone.

  Her gaze slid to Sespian’s neck, and queasiness rolled into her stomach. The bump they had seen in the newspaper picture was there. Not a mole or wart or any sort of growth on top of the skin. It was definitely something burrowed beneath the flesh, leaving a bulge the size of a pencil top. It was identical to nodules they’d seen on the necks of other people who’d crossed Forge. All too well, Amaranthe remembered the thug Sicarius had been questioning in a warehouse and how the man had launched into convulsions before pitching to the floor, dead.

  Sicarius caught her wrist and took the cutting torch. Amaranthe hadn’t been paying enough attention, and she’d strayed away from her line. He went to work, moving the tool along more efficiently than she had been.

  “Does this mean you’re willing to try my idea?” Amaranthe asked.

  Gunshots punctuated her words.

  “We have few options,” Sicarius said. “I won’t surrender him.” He gave her a quick, determined look, and it sent a wave of fear over her. Not for herself, but for the soldiers shooting, chopping, and hacking their way into the car. Sespian would never forgive Sicarius for killing all of his men, and Sicarius had to know that, but maybe he was afraid that leaving Sespian here would mean his death at the hands of Forge, and he was willing to risk Sespian’s eternal hatred to save his life.

  “Sicarius...”

  He ignored her. The flame burning through the floor reflected off the textured metal around it and cast a wavering orange glow upon Sicarius’s face, creating a dance of shadows and light across it and showing his intense determination.

  “Boss!” Maldynado called. “I almost lost my left nut with that shot. These soldiers aren’t worrying about—ouch! I mean, they’re not worrying about where they’re shooting. We can’t hold ’em back for long.”

  “Light off any more smoke grenades you have,” Amaranthe yelled. “And pile up any loose furniture in front of the doors.”

  Sicarius finished cutting the square in the floor. He set the torch aside and wedged his black dagger into one of the cracks.

  “Be careful.” Amaranthe eyed the smoke rising from the blackened metal. “That’ll be hot.”

  Sicarius flicked her a dry glance before prying open their new trapdoor without touching the edges.

  “I know, I’m stating the obvious again,” Amaranthe said, “but remember, that saves you from something gooey and sentimental.”

  Sicarius had stuck his head through the opening, and she didn’t know if he heard her. It was a good thing her aim had been ragged and the hole had ended up on the wide side, because there was a thick beam running beneath the right three inches.

  Sicarius popped back up. “It’s doable. You go first.”

  “Because this was my absurd idea?” Amaranthe joined Sicarius on the other side of the hole, so that she faced the front of the train, and dropped to her belly. She could hardly object to leading the way. It was her idea.

  “Because you need to get to the engine first to figure out your plan for keeping the soldiers busy until we reach the pass.”

  Amaranthe offered a bleak, “Ah.” Yes, she had promised to come up with something.

  “And the farther back someone is, the more likely it is that one of the soldiers will have noticed someone going under the couplings and will be ready to shoot,” Sicarius added. “You’re not expendable. Neither is Sespian, so I’ll go after you.”

  Amaranthe hoped Basilard and Maldynado weren’t listening just then. She also hoped her plan wasn’t going to condemn anyone.

  She ducked her head through the hole. It was deafening down there, with the wheels grinding and clacking past each section of the tracks. There was no light either, so they’d have to go by touch. She had a vague sense of a two-foot clearance but also saw the dark bumps of beams and protuberances that would make it closer to a foot in places.

  “Boss?” Maldynado was behind her, and Basilard behind him. Blood streaked both of their faces, and a bruise swelled on Basil
ard’s temple. “We piled up the furniture,” Maldynado said.

  “We’re taking the shortcut back.” Amaranthe pointed to the hole. “You two can figure out who’s coming last.” She lifted the torch. “Last one to leave gets to light the place on fire.”

  Basilard’s eyebrows flew up. Maldynado grinned and grabbed the tool.

  “It’ll distract them,” Amaranthe told Basilard, “keep them from figuring out where we went at first. It might split their forces, too, if it means nobody from the back cars can get to the front.”

  “Enough,” Sicarius said. “Go.”

  “I’ve got the lock,” someone shouted from outside the backdoor.

  Amaranthe nodded. Yes, no time to waste. She squirmed onto her back so she would be facing upward after she slid headfirst through the hole. She paused to look Sicarius in the eye.

  “Are you going to be able to carry Sespian through this? There’s not much clearance.”

  “I’ll figure it out.” He pointed at the hole. “If you want these soldiers to live, go now.”

  “Right.” Amaranthe caught Basilard looking at her with concern in his blue eyes, and she forced a reassuring grin onto her face. “Someone told me cleaning fish doesn’t get any easier for having put the task off.” That was one of his grandfather’s sayings, as she recalled.

  Basilard managed a quick grin, but the concern didn’t leave his eyes. Then a bang drew his attention, and he vaulted over the hole with his weapons in hand. Sicarius was busy with a coil of rope, figuring out a way to tie Sespian so he could carry him.

  Amaranthe lowered her head below the floor, reaching her arm through the hole to grip the far side of the beam. The cold, coarse steel offered a ledge a couple of inches wide on either side, and, if it stretched the length of the car, she thought she could climb along it reasonably well. Holding on with her feet might prove more difficult, and she tried not to think about what would happen if her heels thumped down on the railroad ties at fifty miles an hour.

  “Stop thinking,” Amaranthe muttered to herself. The men didn’t have time for her to stall.