“What?” Maldynado leaned in. “Oh, I remember that little mark. Isn’t that from the shop that supplied us those blasting sticks last fall? The shop you later cleaned and organized as some form of payment—or because you simply like doing such things?”
“Ms. Sarevic’s Custom Works. I am more convinced than ever that I need to pay the place a visit. What sabotage did you say had been done? That cement lorry?”
“Yes, and another lorry yesterday, Sespian said. He’s around somewhere, talking to the foreman.”
“Is he? Maybe he’s seen Sicarius.”
“Are you going to visit that shop now?” Maldynado pointed at her short sword and pistol. “You’re dressed for war.”
“I’m not sure why Ms. Sarevic’s mark is all over the city right now—” All right, finding it in two places might not count as “all over the city,” but it was starting to feel like the woman was providing the other side with all too much help, “—nor am I certain why she would be putting her mark on devices being used for sabotage, but I’m guessing she won’t want to sit down and tell me about it without persuasion.”
“Then you’ll need me along. My fists can be impressively persuasive, in case our collective charms don’t work.”
In truth, Amaranthe wouldn’t mind company, especially with Sicarius missing, but she didn’t want to get Maldynado in trouble. “You’re volunteering to walk away from your new job? Have you even been working here a full day?”
“No.”
“A full morning?”
“That depends on what time it is,” Maldynado said. “I shoveled a lot of dirt in the first two hours I was here. But then that lorry blew up, and Sespian came by, and it was clear he wanted me to be his special on-the-ground investigator.”
“I see. That’s what he called it?”
“No, he didn’t call it anything.”
“What did he say, then?”
“He didn’t really say anything. He, ah, looked back at me and nodded.”
“No room for misinterpretation there, eh?” Amaranthe asked. “Why don’t we find him and make sure he won’t mind you abandoning his construction site for a shinier mission?” And she wanted to ask him about Sicarius—if there was one person in the world Sicarius would delay returning to Amaranthe for, it was Sespian, especially if someone was mucking around, sabotaging his son’s construction site. Might Sespian be a target as well? Or maybe this was meant to discredit him somehow.
“I’m sure he’ll corroborate my interpretation of the nod,” Maldynado said.
They walked across the site, with more than one shovel-toting worker glowering at Maldynado.
“Did you offend all of these people somehow,” Amaranthe asked, “or are they simply upset that they’re working hard and you’re not?”
“They’re upset that they’re wearing those ridiculous hats and I’m not,” Maldynado said.
“Ah, of course. I should have reached that conclusion.”
The rain picked up in intensity, and Amaranthe wondered how much longer anyone would be working. From the black clouds hanging over the mountains in the east, it looked like it could storm all day. Maldynado lifted a hand to knock on the door of a wooden shack. It opened first, and a man with a gray mustache and beard strode out, almost crashing into his chest.
“Shovel Head,” the man snarled. “Didn’t I tell you to get back to work?”
“Uhm,” Maldynado said.
“Explain the nod,” Amaranthe whispered.
The man—foreman?—faced her, and she braced herself for another snarl, but he tipped his hard hat instead and asked, “Help you, ma’am?”
“They’re here to see me, I believe,” Sespian said from inside the shack. He stood before a desk propped up on crates, with unrolled blueprints stretched across the surface.
“Oh?” The fellow sighed sadly, gave Amaranthe a friendly smile, tipped his hat again, and said, “I’ll leave you, then.”
“Thank you for the use of your office,” Sespian said. “We’ll be out in a moment.”
“No hurry, boss. You’re the architect. You can use anything you wish.” The foreman had taken no more than three steps before his snarls returned, along with bellows and orders for his men to get back to work and not let cloud spittle slow them down.
As Amaranthe stepped inside, Maldynado said, “Now I understand. He’s one of those sexually frustrated types. Nice to the ladies, in hopes that one of them will take a liking to him, but grumpier than a dunked cat to those who are clearly competition.” Maldynado artfully tossed his wavy brown curls around to shed water from them.
“You’re sure he’s not bitter because he’s stuck wearing one of those hats too?” Amaranthe asked.
Maldynado snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Another valid possibility.”
Sespian watched this exchange with a bemused expression.
Amaranthe decided not to try to explain. “Good morning, Sespian. I’m looking for Sicarius. Also, Maldynado believes he should accompany me on an investigation. Can you help me on either count?”
“I haven’t seen Sicarius,” Sespian said. “As for Maldynado, I believe he’s free to do as he wishes. He volunteered to work for the president, but I don’t believe any contract was signed.”
“But I’m working for you,” Maldynado said, thrusting out the shard of metal. “Investigating, remember?”
As Amaranthe had suspected, that nod must have meant more to Maldynado than to Sespian.
“What is that?” Sespian touched the broken switch on the metal husk. “Something that fell off a lorry?”
“It’s from the same place as the blasting stick that damaged the submarine,” Amaranthe said. “Maldynado thought you’d like to send him with me to investigate.”
“The lorry explosion may be related to the submarine explosion,” Maldynado said.
“That seems... an unlikely stretch,” Sespian said, “but I have no objection to you going with Amaranthe. You may want to check with the foreman though. He seems fond of you.”
“Oh sure,” Maldynado said. “We’re closer than brothers.”
“Given your relationship with your brothers, that might actually be true,” Amaranthe murmured.
“I could come with you to the shop, too,” Sespian said. “I’m done here. I wouldn’t mind asking your opinion on something,” he told Amaranthe. “Maybe both of your opinions.”
Maldynado gave him a sly grin. “This is about the girl, isn’t it?”
“No. Definitely not.” Sespian shuffled through the papers on the desk, found a pencil, and tucked it in his satchel. “Maybe slightly.”
“Girl?” Amaranthe raised her eyebrows.
“Mah-leeee-keee,” Maldynado drawled with a wink.
“Let’s start on this errand, shall we?” Sespian sounded brisk and professional, but his cheeks were as bright as hot embers. He bumped his hip on the table, knocking it off the crate it balanced on and dumping the blueprints on the floor. Cursing under his breath, he fumbled about, trying to set everything right. Interesting, considering Sespian had previously demonstrated that he had inherited some of his father’s agility.
“Mahliki?” Amaranthe mouthed to Maldynado while Sespian pushed the table back onto its less-than-staunch legs.
Maldynado nodded once, his chin dropping all the way to his chest.
That could be a good match, Amaranthe signed.
She thinks so, Maldynado signed. He’s still trying to figure it out.
Boys can be obtuse at times. Amaranthe smiled, thinking of Sicarius, though he hadn’t been obtuse exactly. More like reticent.
“Young ones especially,” Maldynado said.
“Hm?” Sespian asked. He had finished arranging his blueprints on the desk and turned to face them.
“Nothing,” Amaranthe said. “We’re ready to go whenever you are.”
They left the construction site, taking a side street back toward the trolley thoroughfare. Lightning flashed in the northern sky, a
nd thunder rumbled shortly after. The intermittent rain might turn into a downpour soon. Amaranthe hoped they wouldn’t have to wait long for the trolley, a hope that faded when she spotted a crowd at the street corner. There had to be nearly fifty of them, standing, gesturing, and spilling into the street.
“Another inland appearance of the plant?” Amaranthe wondered.
“I hope not,” Sespian said.
“Those are those religious blokes.” Maldynado pointed. “Look at the cloaks.”
Many of the people in the crowd were simple onlookers, but she spotted at least thirty of those dark robes. Some of the men carried signs.
“Are they protesting your building site?” Amaranthe asked. She couldn’t read the signs yet.
“Not that I know of,” Sespian said, “but I’m beginning to think winning this contest wasn’t quite the honor I first thought.”
“If this is about the building, it’s likely to do with the presidency and not with you personally.”
“And that’s... comforting?” Sespian asked.
“Well,” Amaranthe said, “it probably means they won’t start throwing stones at you. Or rotten fruit.”
Maldynado patted Sespian on the shoulder. “I would take that as comforting if I were you.”
A trolley chugged down the street, but people were standing on the tracks. A whistle squealed. The crowd parted, but not to let the trolley past—the people were backing away from a man wearing a golden medallion in addition to his dark robe. He knelt in the street and pried open a manhole cover. A green vine that must have been coiled right beneath it, burst forth, the top three feet wavering in the gloomy morning light.
Amaranthe grimaced. She had heard about the plant’s incursion into the sewers—and that it was winding about the president’s hotel at that very moment—but hadn’t realized one could pluck up any manhole cover and find it. Maybe this person had scouted ahead of time and knew what to expect.
“There it is.” The cloaked speaker pointed downward. “As if the monstrosity in the harbor were not enough, it’s spreading, because of our sins, because we have turned our backs on the gods for so many centuries, because we have created yet another blasphemous government that denies the existence of greater powers.”
“I didn’t know President Starcrest was denying anyone’s existence,” Sespian murmured.
“I thought he had signed laws allowing people to believe and practice however they wish,” Amaranthe said.
“He did, though he also refused to give any special rights and privileges to any particular religious group, though some were lobbying for that.” Sespian scratched his jaw. “These people look like they might want to be privileged.”
At the least, they wanted attention.
“Our president and his atheist soldiers have been unable to stop the encroachment of this verdurous evil into the city,” the speaker said, his voice loud enough to be heard over the murmurs of the crowd.
“Verdurous evil?” Maldynado said. “What a blowhard.”
“It is a sign that the gods do not favor them,” the speaker—the priest, Amaranthe amended, for what else could he be but some leader of this religion?—went on. “Our order is the only one who has their favor, who has the right to rule in Turgonia. We were here millennia ago, and we have never truly left, even though we have been persecuted and forced to live underground, to deny the gods, and to carve the heads off our holy statues. But the gods live on, and so do we. We have the power to—”
“Shut your slagging yap,” someone from the trolley yelled. “And get off the tracks.”
The steam whistle screeched again. The operator frowned at a pocket watch and nudged the trolley forward, probably thinking that, at a slow speed, he could simply push these people out of the way without running them over.
Amaranthe, Maldynado, and Sespian had drawn close enough to read the signs now, though Amaranthe could have guessed at their messages based on the speech.
Pray to Dagu and Magu and be saved!
Keep the heretics out of office.
Let those with divine right rule!
“I see you need a demonstration of my power, my ability to save the city,” the speaker said, lifting his arms, fingers spread to the sky. He tilted his face toward the dark clouds. Thunder rumbled again, louder and closer than before.
“You know,” Maldynado said, “it would be hilarious if the trolley started up right now and smacked that shrub in the backside, so he flew headfirst into the manhole.”
“Heretic,” Amaranthe murmured.
The steam whistle screeched again. “Someone get that dumb slag pile out of the street,” the operator hollered.
A few trolley passengers disembarked, pushing up their sleeves as they strode toward the would-be priest. The crowd of robed men seemed to thicken in that spot, providing a barrier.
“Should we do something?” Maldynado asked.
“Given our relationship to the president, it might not be wise to draw attention or be perceived as attacking people in his name,” Sespian said.
“Why don’t we see if we can find some enforcers to handle this?” Even though Amaranthe had been off the force for more than a year, it still seemed strange to say something like that instead of taking action herself. “If that man is going to stand there with his face getting rained on until the gods fill him with power, he might be there all day.”
Another peel of thunder rolled across the sky. Maybe the storm was supposed to be a sign of some deity’s power. Amaranthe wondered if the zealots had been waiting in their hideout for weeks with someone on watch for gloomy weather so they could race out and take advantage of it.
“Looks like we won’t have to run and fetch anyone.” Maldynado pointed down the street.
An armored enforcer lorry was rolling around a corner, the smoke billowing from its stack, matching the clouds in color.
“Maybe Evrial will be in there,” Maldynado said. “This is her district, for now anyway. I do enjoy seeing her pummel brutes.”
Under normal circumstances, a crowd would have dissipated at the approach of enforcers, but the robed figures didn’t seem to notice. They had started swaying in synch with each other and chanting under their breaths—too low for Amaranthe to make out the words, or maybe it was simply that they weren’t Turgonian words.
The enforcer vehicle stopped, and four men and two women leaped out with short swords hanging from their waists and shields and cudgels in their hands. Sergeant Yara was among them, jaw hard, eyes cool. Amaranthe wondered if she had dealt with this group before.
Though she was clearly on duty and busy, Maldynado grinned and waved at her. A flicker of the eye was the only indication that she saw and acknowledged him, at least insofar as Amaranthe noticed.
Maldynado, however, said, “She’s ecstatic to see me.”
“Clearly,” Amaranthe said.
“Get out the handcuffs, boys,” Yara ordered. “We’re going to make some arrests this time.”
The crowd continued to sway, ignoring everything going on around it. The priest continued to gaze up at the sky, rain spattering onto his face and dripping off his chin. The vine seemed to have grown another six inches, and it leaned toward him. Maybe it would grab him and pull him down into the hole. That would startle the crowd into breaking up.
The enforcers grabbed those in the rear. The people didn’t resist, but they didn’t show any sign that they would disperse without being forced to do so.
Thunder peeled again, and lightning branched across the sky. A second trolley came around the corner, and brakes squealed. It barely stopped in time to avoid crunching into the one ahead of it.
“What’s going on up there?” its operator yelled.
Lightning flashed again. Thunder roared, and the sky dumped a waterfall. Amaranthe grimaced as cold water slithered past her collar and down her back. She should have brought a cloak and an umbrella, not that she had planned to spend much of the morning outside...
“We
may want to find some cover,” Sespian said. “We’re not doing anything useful.”
Amaranthe touched her short sword. “Actually, I’m going to go over and see if the enforcers need any help. At some point, the crowd might resist, and there are only six of them.”
“Good idea,” Maldynado said. “I’m sure Evrial will—”
Thunder boomed, and lightning streaked out of the clouds and hit the street in the center of the crowd. The sky lit up like a sun, and Amaranthe threw an arm up, jumping back.
Some of the people in the crowd jumped back, too, but others merely stared, transfixed.
“That, my friends, is the power of the twin gods,” the priest cried, his arms stretched toward the heavens.
From the rear, Amaranthe couldn’t see what had happened—nobody had screamed in pain, so she had assumed the lightning had struck the metal manhole cover—but judging by the wide eyes of those in front, their faces all tilted downward, something more profound had occurred.
She climbed the nearest street lamp and found herself staring with wide eyes as well.
The vine lay limp in the street, a charred and desiccated husk. Only the speaker’s boot on the tip kept it from slumping back into the sewer.
Chapter 13
Mahliki was beginning to hate the dark, underground laboratory, and the sprites-licked plant was turning her dreams to nightmares. The night before, she had been collecting specimens growing from the fragile eco systems on the sunny side of a volcano back home, when a vine had burst out of the hardened lava and grabbed her. She had woken with a scream on her lips and the memory of the prehensile thing wrapping about her neck.
Upon entering the laboratory, she first checked on the new piece of plant in the vivarium, hoping to see that it had not grown during the night. She had left it in utter darkness and with cubes of ice mounted around it, figuring that cold or dark ought to signal winter and tell it to enter a dormant stage. After all, it hadn’t come up through the lake until the ice had thawed.
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