Republic

by Lindsay Buroker

  “I wonder if the president brought down any of those,” Amaranthe said.

  “His hobbies, when he has time for them, run in other directions, although he did perform admirably well on the postnuptial boar hunt.”

  Amaranthe pointed to a double door at the end of the hall. It was engraved with a mythological scene that also involved nudity. The woman was certainly consistent in her tastes.

  “Bedroom,” Amaranthe guessed and tried the knob. It didn’t turn. “Huh. Maybe she’s here after all and went to bed early.”

  A chill went through Tikaya at the thought of stumbling across the house’s owner and having to explain her presence. Explaining it to Rias would be even worse.

  “No, never mind,” Amaranthe said. “The servants wouldn’t be making so much noise. Nor be quite as jubilant, I’d guess. Maybe she locked it on the way out because she has something to hide.” She smiled conspiratorially, then handed Tikaya the lantern and slipped out her lock-picking kit again. After a moment, Amaranthe said, “You haven’t mentioned if you know of any doctors that might help me. Is it because we were distracted, or... something else?” Her voice had already been quiet, but it dropped even lower when she added, “Or is it unlikely any of them could help?”

  “I don’t know enough on the topic or about your injuries to say what is and isn’t possible. As for the rest...” Tikaya had thought of two names as soon as it had become clear what Amaranthe wanted, but the idea of that assassin as a father, as a progenitor even... should she truly help that come to pass? On the other hand, who was she to deny a woman the right to have children? How would she have felt if some doctor had refused to help her all those years ago when she had married the Black Scourge of the Seas? “Having children is rewarding once you’re ready and have found the right mate. Are you sure you want to have children with... I mean, from what little I know of you, you’re a smart and talented woman, and you’re attractive certainly. Perhaps you may wish to entertain other propositions and explore the world more before settling down with any one person.”

  Hypocrite. Exactly how many lovers had she had before flinging herself into Rias’s arms? Of course, she had always been awkward and bookish; Amaranthe was comely enough and, judging by the men she had talked into joining her team, the assassin included, had a knack for winning people over to her side. If she applied herself, she could find some more appropriate suitor.

  “Great, I’ve found a new Books to advise me on my love life,” Amaranthe muttered.

  “Pardon?” Tikaya wasn’t sure she had heard all the words; maybe she should drop the subject.

  “In the last year, Sicarius has done more and risked more for Sespian than any father could do for his son. He’d make a fine parent, and we work well together. In all possible ways. He was raised to be a cold-hearted assassin, true, but he didn’t have a choice in the matter. They took him from his mother at birth and trained him to be a killer from his earliest days. That he’s not a monster, and simply an utterly practical and logical soul, says much about his blood, I should think. And can you complain about the man Sespian is becoming?”

  “No,” Tikaya admitted, “but it was my understanding that Sicarius had nothing to do with the raising of Sespian. I assumed his mother must have been the primary influence.”

  “His mother died when he was young. He had Emperor Raumesys and Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest for his influences. I believe those are the two stalwart people who were responsible for declaring then-Admiral Starcrest dead and sending him into exile on that prison island.”

  “Yes.”

  A floorboard creaked on the level below, reminding Tikaya that this wasn’t the best time for in-depth conversations on the worthiness of fathers.

  Amaranthe torqued her wrist, and the lock clicked. She tucked away her tools and opened the door. They slipped into a dark room, pausing near the entrance for a moment to listen. Cool drafts came from the bank of windows on the far side and no fire had been laid in the hearth. Maybe Sauda wasn’t returning home tonight. Or maybe this was simply an ornate guest room. But portraits occupied the walls, including one of a handsome couple, both of who shared a resemblance to Sauda. Tikaya had seen a tintype of the woman when she had been digging around in the intelligence office for this address. This would be her mother and father, she guessed. Painted ceramic eggs, vases, and suggestive bookends adorned built-in shelves to either side of a bed large enough for a whole family to share. Several rows of books were on those shelves, and they weren’t covered with even a speck of dust.

  “So, she likes to read after all,” Tikaya whispered. “I wouldn’t have thought her the type.”

  “Did you look at the titles?” Amaranthe asked dryly. “When Lady Dourcrest is the most innocuous author on the shelf, you know it’s an... educational collection.” She pointed upward, drawing Tikaya’s attention to a mirror on the ceiling.

  “Oh, I begin to see. I’m not that familiar with Turgonian authors, other than the handful that are considered classics out in the world.”

  “I don’t think we ship these kinds of books overseas.” Amaranthe waved a dismissive hand and headed for a desk with drawers.

  Tikaya leaned her fingers against a wall and closed her eyes, trying to sense the telltale tickle of a Made device. If Sauda had one booby-trapped artifact, might she not have more about the house? The room appeared perfectly mundane though, to all of her senses.

  “Not much here.” Amaranthe was flipping through a journal. “She’s going to the symphony tomorrow night, the theater the night after, and wrestling matches the day after that. There are quite a few cider and lunch social get-togethers penciled onto her calendar here, but nothing that suggests she’s planning world domination with her friends. None of these names are familiar to me, though she’s only mentioned a couple of surnames. Saltcrest. Edgecrest. Anyone you’ve run into?”

  “I don’t believe so, although there was a Professor Edgecrest who entered the building design competition.”

  “Ploris Edgecrest?” Amaranthe asked.

  “No, I think it was Oddak.”

  “She had breakfast at Edgecrest Orchards with Ploris this morning. Conversation scintillating, her notes say. Enh, it’s probably nothing.” Amaranthe put the journal away and poked into dresser drawers.

  Tikaya wouldn’t have minded taking that calendar for further study, but she couldn’t justify stealing from the woman—she could barely justify this snooping mission—and Sauda would be certain to miss such an up-to-date item. Instead, Tikaya peeked in the closet, under the bed, and in a wardrobe, hoping to find more condemning evidence. What exactly, she wasn’t sure. She glanced at the dresser, about to suggest they try a different room, and found Amaranthe folding undergarments. “Uhm. What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” Amaranthe hastily closed the drawer.

  “I’m not an expert on sneaking into people’s homes, but aren’t they likely to know someone was there if they come back and find the bedroom tidier than when they left it?”

  “She can blame the servants,” Amaranthe said casually, though the lantern light revealed a blush to her cheeks. Maybe that had been some sort of habitual tic rather than a burglary tactic. “Besides, no one should object to returning to a tidier home. Really, what kind of person considers wrinkled undergarments stuffed into a drawer to be an acceptable organizational paradigm?”

  “A disturbed one, doubtlessly.” Tikaya decided not to invite Amaranthe over to the plantation back home. When Rias was out of town, the laundry rarely made it into a drawer. The military had hammered tidiness into him, at least insofar as storing clothing went, but either of their offices would cause Amaranthe to clutch at her heart in dismay. One couldn’t walk to his desk without weaving around chalkboards and stacks of engine, vehicle, and submarine models. In her office... well, visitors tended to be hard-pressed to find the desk.

  “Anyway, I was thinking while I was folding,” Amaranthe said. “These old houses often have secret passage
s. Maybe she has a laboratory somewhere. All of this—” she waved toward the mirror and books, “—could be meant to disguise the fact that she’s truly a mad genius who works in her lab, studying the Science and turning ancient knickknacks into evil artifacts capable of shriveling up a man’s...er—” she glanced at Tikaya, “—mental processes.”

  “If this woman had anything resembling a laboratory, Rias probably would have missed her a lot more.”

  “Yes... he does seem to be one who appreciates brainy types.” Amaranthe nudged an andiron with her foot.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. I think.”

  Amaranthe prodded the matching andiron, and a soft click sounded. “Ah. A secret door.”

  “Good.” Tikaya looked around the room. “Where is it?”

  “Hm. I thought the click came from over here... behind one of these tapestries, maybe?”

  Gravel crunched outside the window, along with the chug-clank of a steam carriage pulling into the driveway. Tikaya nudged a curtain aside. “What happens when you’re sneakily rearranging someone’s undergarment drawer in the middle of the night, and the lady of the house arrives home?”

  “You duck into a hiding place.”

  “Have you found that hiding place yet?”

  “No.”

  Chapter 10

  Sespian stood before a steel door without so much as a fingerprint blemishing the sleek gray surface. Clearly a new addition, it was out of place among the centuries-old oak doors in the brick hallway. Not ten feet away, the arched wooden entrances to the cider and wine cellars were marked by intricate engravings of vineyards, orchards, and harvest scenes. The two guards in their crisp black uniforms also seemed an oddity in this half of the old hotel’s basement. Unlike with the gymnasium and steam rooms on the other side, these hallways were empty of life, aside from Sespian and the guards, guards he didn’t recognize and who might not be inclined to let him pass.

  “Good evening,” he said. “Are you here to keep visitors out or samples of plants in?”

  “Yes,” one guard said, no hint of humor on his face—or suggestion that he possessed a sense of humor at all.

  Sespian hadn’t seen Mahliki since their battle with the plant on the warship, and he wanted to make sure she hadn’t suffered any injuries, physical or otherwise, from her brief internment beneath the surface. He also had to admit he was worried about all those samples she had taken. Given that the severed vines he’d seen had continued to live on after being cut, he worried those snippets she had taken might grow into mature plants if given time. Studying them here in the city sounded dangerous—the last thing Stumps needed was for this botanical beast to start spreading from another location.

  “May I go in?” Sespian asked.

  “Are you on the list?”

  List? Uhm. “Yes?” he tried, though it didn’t sound convincing.

  The guard took a clipboard off the wall behind him. There were only four names on it—who needed a list for four names?—so Sespian didn’t have trouble reading them: Lady and President Starcrest, Mahliki Starcrest and Diplomat Basilard. Basilard’s name surprised him, but then Sespian had been busy at the ground-breaking for his building all day and hadn’t been to that meeting the president had held.

  “Young Ms. Starcrest and Diplomat Basilard are inside,” the guard said. “You’re not the president.”

  “Must be his wife.” The other guard smirked. Well, that one had a sense of humor. Somewhat.

  His comrade gave him a cool stare and the smirk vanished.

  “Listen,” Sespian said, “I helped Mahliki collect the samples. I’m sure she’ll want to see me.” Well, he wasn’t, though Maldynado seemed to think so. “Will you ask her if I can come in?”

  “She’s busy. She’s not to be disturbed.”

  “But—”

  “She hasn’t even been eating her meals.”

  “I’m more helpful than a meal,” Sespian said, though he wasn’t sure it was a statement of fact. What did he think he could do in there?

  “This work cannot be interrupted for frivolity.” The guard made a shooing motion.

  Sespian supposed the president wouldn’t be pleased if he tried to subdue the door guards or otherwise bypass them. He wasn’t armed and they were, so it probably wasn’t a wise option anyway. He wasn’t his father, thank their ancestors. How would Amaranthe get past these shrubs?

  “How do you know she’s doing well in there?” Sespian tried one last time. “When was the last time you checked in?”

  “What do you mean?” the less humorless man asked.

  “I mean that plant is deadly and grows fast. If it were to get out of hand... Mahliki and Basilard could already be in trouble. Before you know it, vines could be slithering out from under that door crack there and wrapping around your leg. A normal knife won’t cut you free.” Not entirely the truth, but it was a difficult chore with a normal knife. “I know. I’ve tried.”

  Both guards stared down at the crack beneath the door.

  “I would check every hour if I were you,” Sespian said. “The plant feeds on people, you know, and after Mahliki, you’re the closest potential meals.”

  “Mr. Savarsin,” the guard said. “With all respect for your former and current positions... please go away.”

  Sespian shrugged and backed a few steps, then paused to admire the artwork of the cider engraving. It wasn’t bad, though the shapes were blockier and less realistic than one might see in such examples in other nations. He touched an apple stem. At least someone had worked hard to include details.

  While he studied the artwork, the guards kept glancing toward that crack under the door. Sespian wondered if either of them had lost colleagues down by the waterfront. Or perhaps they had simply heard the stories from the enforcers...

  Grumbling under his breath, the humorless guard pulled out a key. He nodded for his comrade to keep an eye on Sespian, then unlocked the door. He opened it wide enough to peek inside and no wider.

  As Sespian opened his mouth to shout a greeting to Mahliki—and suggest that she might like to see him—an explosion went off inside the room. A loud explosion. In the hallway, the floor trembled and crumbling mortar sifted out of the cracks between the bricks. The dust this caused was nothing compared to the cloud of smoke that rushed out of the open door. The guard stumbled back, coughing.

  “Mahliki!” Sespian charged toward the door.

  The second guard tried to stop him. Sespian blocked the grab and threw an elbow into the man’s ribcage, then pushed the heavy door open wider and lunged inside. Black smoke filled the air. He couldn’t see more than three feet in front of him. He stumbled forward, flapping his arms, trying to clear the haze, then bumped into a table or counter, and glasses rattled. He stopped.

  “Mahliki? Are you in here? Are you... all right?”

  “Yes,” came Mahliki’s voice from the back of the room. It was calm with a hint of of-course-I’m-all-right-and-what-are-you-blathering-about in it.

  A rumble started up overhead somewhere. A ceiling fan? The smoke was gradually drawn upward, revealing a laboratory full of workbenches and counters, all covered with alchemical apparatuses. Liquids of different colors boiled above burners and tiny specimens floated in concoctions. The beakers and tubes were all secured with clamps, and as far as Sespian could tell, nothing had broken during the explosion. From the way Mahliki and Basilard stood calmly in front of a waist-high glass box—a vivarium?—wearing padded garments and protective goggles, Sespian realized that the explosion may have been intentional. The burning brand in Mahliki’s hand was another clue.

  She dumped it into an ash urn and lifted the goggles to her forehead. “Is it nighttime again? Look, you can tell my father I apologize if I woke anyone up, but we have to try everything. Some of these reagents are a little loud when they mix, I admit, but they’re very potent. If anything is going to work on the plant...”

  Sespian was patting the air with his hands. “He didn’t send
me. I—”

  “Nobody sent him,” one of guards snarled from behind Sespian. “He snuck past us when I was checking on you.”

  “We didn’t want to grab him and rough him up, on account of him being the former emperor,” the other rushed to add. Afraid he would get in trouble? Mahliki hardly seemed the sort to berate guards for not keeping people out. Or berate anyone. At least insofar as Sespian had seen.

  Mahliki shrugged. “He can stay. Why are you grabbing your ribs, Balfus?”

  The guard Sespian had elbowed glowered at him. “No reason, my lady.”

  “Let us get back to work, then, please. And if anyone comes down about the explosion, tell them there won’t be any more tonight.” She turned toward the vivarium, the “probably” she added not audible to anyone standing more than a few feet away. She picked up a pen and wrote something on a pad of paper resting atop the glass box. A three-foot length of vine lay pinned inside of it.

  Sespian gulped. She hadn’t collected any samples more than a couple of inches long.

  Despite the clamps pinning it down, the end of the vine wavered back and forth like a pendulum. The fatter end had been sliced away, but blackened. Cauterized, maybe. Did that work to retard growth or was it simply something they had tried, hoping for the best?

  “Basilard, check that gauge, will you?” Mahliki asked, alternately writing notes and nibbling on the tip of her pencil.

  Basilard walked around the end of the vivarium, giving Sespian a nod as he passed by, and peered at one of three gauges set into the glass next to a control panel. Still no oxygen inside.

  “I can’t believe this thing is still alive,” Mahliki muttered. “What did they do? Engineer it to survive in outer space?”

  The guards exchanged dubious looks and shuffled back outside, shutting the door behind them. Sespian wondered how much they had been told about the plant’s origins.

  Good evening, Sespian, Basilard signed. He too had lifted his goggles. Soot smeared his face, save for the pale skin around his eyes; he looked like some sort of reverse raccoon.