Republic

by Lindsay Buroker

  What she wasn’t expecting, as she stood there with her ear to the door, fiddling with the dial, was a resounding thump from the other side.

  Amaranthe jumped back, almost tripping on a crate of oilcans.

  “What is it?” Yara asked.

  “Did you hear that?” Amaranthe pointed at the safe.

  “No...”

  Maldynado shook his head as well.

  Amaranthe returned to the door, hesitated, then pressed her ear to the cool steel. The thumps came again, lots of them, reminding her of the frustrated fury of someone stamping her feet.

  “Someone’s in there,” she whispered.

  “What?” Yara jumped forward, putting her own ear to the door. “We have to get them out. A safe would be airtight, wouldn’t it? How long could someone even stay alive inside?”

  “No idea.” Amaranthe grabbed a hammer and clanged a rhythm on the outside of the door.

  The thumps inside stopped.

  “Can you hear us?” Yara shouted. “Hello?”

  “I saw how thick the door was when Sarevic opened it,” Amaranthe said. “I doubt our voices would carry through.” She did a few more clangs with the hammer.

  The thumps returned, this time evenly spaced. By now, Amaranthe had a hunch who might be inside and she started counting right away.

  “Seventeen,” she said when they stopped.

  “What is—”

  “Sh.” Amaranthe held up a finger. Another series of thumps had started. “Seven... Twelve.”

  “The combination?” Maldynado asked.

  “I’m guessing so.” Amaranthe spun the dial, hoping it worked the way other safes she had seen did.

  On her first try, the lock clicked, and she was able to pull the door open. The safe was completely empty of explosives, precious metals, money, and any other typical valuables, but it did contain one red-faced, gray-haired woman lying on her side with her ankles tied together and her hands bound behind her back. She must have used her feet to bang on the vault door. Her bun was in utter disarray, her green-and-brown calico dress wrinkled and stained, and her red-rimmed spectacles dangled from a chain around her neck. The safe smelled of sweat, urine, and feces.

  Amaranthe’s nose crinkled, but she rushed forward, pulling out her knife to deal with the ropes. “Ms. Sarevic, how long have you been in here?”

  The plump, older woman tried to speak, but her voice rasped, and little more than air came out.

  “Long enough to have yelled herself hoarse.” Maldynado stepped around Amaranthe, and as soon as the ropes were cut away, he picked up the woman and carried her out into the main room. “She needs a doctor. Evrial, can you find some water?”

  “I need—” Sarevic’s voice broke, but she cleared her throat and forced the words out. “I need to see the president. Those buffoons can’t be allowed to wander the street, terrorizing businesswomen and wreaking havoc. And with my inventions!” Sarevic’s wrists were raw and bleeding from the ropes, and she had to be thirstier than a slug in the desert, but she flailed about, almost lunging out of Maldynado’s arms. She grabbed a pair of scissors off a shelf, taking them in her fist as if she gripped a dagger. “I’ll kill them! Let me kill them!”

  “Uhm.” Maldynado didn’t drop the angry woman—though he leaned his head back as if he were thinking about it. “What do we do with her?”

  “You heard the lady,” Amaranthe said. “She wants to see the president.”

  “Right now?” Maldynado sniffed gingerly. “Sespian informs me that there’s a dress code over there.”

  Yara, returning with a dented metal urn filled with water, managed to punch him in the shoulder without spilling a drop.

  Chapter 15

  Tikaya strode through the first-floor hallway of the hotel, passing a window and noting the soldiers charging around in the side yard with weapons and blow lamps—since Rias hadn’t yet given the order to move his headquarters, the young men were doing everything they could to keep the plant in check, though several vines had popped open manhole covers around the building and were growing up toward the sun.

  “We need to resolve this soon,” she muttered to herself, drawing a glance from a passing butler. Apparently the hotel employees hadn’t grown as accustomed to her wandering around, muttering and lost in thought, as the workers on her family’s plantation back home.

  She climbed the stairs to the second floor, her heavy Turgonian footwear clomping on the carpeted treads. She missed her sandals, though her toes would freeze off if she tried to wear them here. The Turgonian calendar promised spring had come—and certain plants were obviously coming up—but frost still smothered the ground most nights, and the morning’s rainstorm had turned to snow at some point. Still, with her note decrypted, she was in a better mood than she had been in recent weeks.

  After knocking on the windowless conference room where Rias had set up, she bounced from foot to foot, tempted to barge in with the news. The guard stationed outside didn’t regard her with the cool wariness of a man who planned to thwart her if she should do so. But the door opened before she had to test that notion, with Rias himself answering it.

  “I thought it might be you.” He stepped aside, holding out an arm to invite her in.

  She blew past him, forgetting their customary kiss, and laid her notes on the table. Sespian and Mahliki already sat there, gesturing with each other and debating—or maybe arguing; it was hard to tell with Sespian. He never lost his temper or grew noticeably irritated with people.

  “Is that our hijacked note, now nicely decoded?” Rias closed the door and stood beside Tikaya, gazing down at the papers.

  She noted with relief that no guards had been invited to stand inside the conference room this time, nor were any members of the hotel staff wandering around, taking drink orders. The note had done nothing to identify the snitch, but it had made her doubly certain someone on the inside was divulging information.

  “It is,” Tikaya said. “I’m sorry it took so long. I had assumed it was Old Turgonian, but the base language actually predates that. I’ve done so little work related to this continent that I forgot Turgonian started out as an amalgamation between Middle Nurian and Kriskrus, one of the languages of the people who lived here before your ancestors showed up. They’re the ones who worshiped gods that were part animal and part their imaginations—the remains of a statue is on top of your big pyramid in that park.”

  Rias nodded. “I’ve seen it. Though the pyramid predates that civilization, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, but the Kriskrusians thought it a lovely monument that would be perfect for their religious ceremonies, many of which involved animal and human sacrifice, and they made the pyramid theirs for a time.”

  Sespian held up a finger to pause the conversation he and Mahliki were having. “Those sacrifices weren’t made to honor or appease a certain Magu or Dagu, were they?”

  “Not those gods specifically,” Tikaya said. “Those were actually two of the more benign ones from the religion, neither being portrayed as bloodthirsty, but they were a part of the mythology, yes. They were twins and represented fertility and power.”

  “What kind of power?” Sespian glanced toward the ceiling; he must be thinking of that lightning storm.

  “Elemental power,” Tikaya said. “Earth, wind, fire, and water.”

  “Electricity?”

  “Lightning would fall into those realms. I’ll have to refresh my memory with a textbook or two, but I believe there were some priests who had rudimentary command of the mental sciences in that old religion. Part of the reason the Turgonians were so eager to stamp them out is that the Kriskrusians were using their somewhat limited skills as a weapon against their sword-wielding invaders.”

  “While I believe this information will be important,” Rias said, “and I’m always eager to listen to anything you have to say, I’d be obliged if you could explain this message for me first, love.” He tapped the top sheet, a page of her notes, his finger touching s
omething she had underlined: “Want to kill Rias!”

  “Yes, of course.” Tikaya patted the back of his hand. She shuffled the pages and found the one where she had written out the final translation. “When I learned that the Kriskrusian religion was experiencing a revival, and then remembered that Turgonian was based in part on that old language... figuring out the encryption key became much easier.” She lifted the page to read.

  Before she uttered the first word, the door opened behind her. Dak strode in, his black uniform clean and pressed, his face shaven, and his boots polished, despite the fact that the creases on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes were deeper than ever. He yawned as soon as he entered, started to cover his mouth, but turned the gesture into an apologetic wave to Rias.

  “Sorry I’m late. We were so close to catching that Nurian assassin, but she saw my men coming somehow and escaped, lighting a block of the old city on fire in the process. I’m expecting a full report soon.” He slid into a seat near the head of the table.

  “Uhm,” Tikaya said, the page still in her hands. She met Rias’s eyes, widening hers slightly, hoping he would understand that she didn’t want to read this in front of Dak. He was still on her list of possible snitches.

  Rias’s lips flattened. He caught her meaning, but he wasn’t happy about questioning Dak. Or maybe he didn’t want to alert a possible snitch that someone was questioning him. Either way, Rias shook his head minutely.

  “What’s that?” Dak nodded toward the paper in Tikaya’s hands. “Something written in code?”

  At least Rias hadn’t mentioned Sicarius’s find to Dak previously. She had wanted to keep it between direct family and those few people she knew they could trust. Sespian had played a role in having the presidency established and Rias elected, so she didn’t mind him staying in the room.

  “Yes,” Rias said. “We intercepted a message being delivered to our enemies. Though we don’t yet know which enemies.” His tone grew dry. “There being so many.”

  “You intercepted?” Dak asked. “Do you have people working the underground for you that I don’t know about?”

  “Not officially,” Rias said. “I believe it was more...”

  “Accidental,” Tikaya said.

  “Yes. But the real reason I asked you to join us is that I’ll need your help with... have you heard about the incident with the priest? We need to figure out how to build a high-voltage electricity generator that can fry a city full of plants without frying a city full of people at the same time.”

  Dak’s brows had drawn down at the admission that someone else was out gathering intelligence for Rias, and he had given Tikaya—or maybe the papers she held—a look that managed to be curious, hurt, and sullen all at the same time. But as Rias continued, he leaned back in the chair and recovered his composure and a neutral expression, insomuch as a man with a missing eye could ever appear neutral. The scar did lend him a sinister cast.

  “We?” Dak asked. “That sounds more like a you activity. In fact, I distinctly remember a story from Father about how you were trying to replicate a scientist’s experiment as a boy, one that involved flying a kite in a thunder storm, and using a metal spoon from Grandmother’s kitchen to invite a lightning strike. She called you into the house, and you left my father holding the kite, with the promise that if the storm gusted hard enough it would make him fly. You failed to mention why the spoon was there. He was, if not hurt, rather shocked by the experience.”

  “That’s not quite the whole story,” Rias said. “It sounds like he neglected to mention the part where he and Bresh had been repeatedly dunking me in the lake earlier in the day. Also... Mother didn’t call me.” Rias smiled blandly.

  “I don’t care what all your followers think,” Dak said. “You’re an evil man, Mister President.”

  “Yes, regardless... I need your help to figure out the logistics of troop and citizen movement. Whether we find a successful way to destroy this plant or not, we may have to evacuate the city. Temporarily.” Rias said the last word firmly.

  “I’ve already planned for that,” Dak said. “What’s the note say? If there’s a further threat to you or your family, I’ll need to alert my team.”

  “Your team may be part of the problem,” Rias said, “or someone on it anyway.”

  Dak frowned at him. “What does that mean?”

  Tikaya grimaced, wishing Rias hadn’t said anything.

  Rias waved two fingers at the note. “This was recovered from Sauda’s mailbox. We don’t know who sent it.” He turned to Tikaya. “If you please, my lady.”

  Though she continued to have misgivings, Tikaya read the message aloud. “The Nurian assassin believes she’s working for us, and that we’ll offer her a home in the city and long-term employment. However—”

  “Wait,” Dak said. “She?”

  “You didn’t know?” Rias asked mildly.

  “I’m going to have to have a talk with a certain operative about his observational skills.”

  Rias waved for Tikaya to continue.

  “—we are setting everything up to place the president’s death upon her blade and cast the blame on the Nurians. The public may think of us as saviors for figuring out how to kill the plant, but they’ll never forgive us for slaying the great hero Starcrest. This way, the blame will be cast elsewhere, and we can step into power unopposed, and as heroes. We’ll use the assassin to get rid of Sicarius as well. It’s unclear whether he’s truly Starcrest’s right-hand man in this or not, but he’s dangerous, nonetheless, and the Nurian loathes him, so pitting them against each other is perfect. Maybe they’ll even kill each other at the same time. For your part, make sure that submarine doesn’t get fixed. We can’t have the president saving the city before we do.”

  Tikaya set down the paper. For a long moment, nobody spoke, then Dak dropped a disgusted hand on the table.

  “They think Sicarius is your right-hand man? He’s been out of the country for months.”

  Rias smiled at him. “Jealous?”

  “No,” Dak scoffed. “Intelligence officers are supposed to work in the shadows. If nobody knows I’m the one slaving day and night to gather information and keep you alive, then I’m doing my job right.”

  “Is that why your jaw is grinding back and forth so loudly it sounds like there’s an army doing battle in there?”

  Dak glowered at him. “You’re not just an evil man, you’re an evil, evil man.” He flicked a dismissive hand. “I would rather have your enemies—and I can give you a list if you’ve truly not kept up with all of them—focusing their enmity on Sicarius, anyway. It would interfere with my work if people started trying to assassinate me.”

  “It does get tedious,” Rias sighed.

  “I’ll station troops around the submarine, though I’ve heard the plant has grown down the waterfront to that warehouse of yours, so that may prove a deterrent in itself.”

  “Not if these people have figured out how to kill the plant,” Sespian said. “From those notes, it sounds like they know how it can be done, lightning storms notwithstanding.”

  “A practitioner trained in working with the elements would be able to create electricity,” Mahliki said. “I think Agarik can do it on a small scale. Who would have thought we would regret sending those two twerps home?”

  “Twerps?” Sespian murmured to her. “You don’t care for your younger siblings?”

  “Oh, they’re all right,” Mahliki said, glancing at Tikaya and Rias. “But little brothers and sisters are always... twerpy. You know how it is.”

  “Actually, I don’t,” Sespian said wryly.

  “I believe Mahliki enjoyed being the older sister,” Tikaya said, “aside from occasional babysitting duties, until Agarik and Koanani grew adept at... outmaneuvering her.”

  “They’re not smarter than me,” Mahliki told Sespian, as if she feared he would judge her poorly if he found out anything to the contrary. “But they outnumber me. It’s not fair.”

 
; If there hadn’t been so much else going on, Tikaya would have enjoyed watching her eldest attempt this courtship of Sespian. Even if he seemed a tad oblivious so far, he was sitting in the chair next to her and had been around more of late. Mahliki might yet charm him. Or maybe not. She was scowling at him now, perhaps because he was grinning.

  “Stop smiling,” she whispered. “You’ll find out for yourself if Amaranthe and your father have children. Then you’ll have to watch over them, and they’ll probably be sneaking around as toddlers, climbing chimneys and drainpipes, hurling throwing knives at innocent babysitters...”

  Tikaya had never seen Sespian look quite so alarmed and distressed, though she didn’t know if it was from the idea of knife-hurling toddlers or the suggestion of his father having children with Amaranthe. Tikaya hadn’t yet come to terms with that notion herself. She gave her daughter a warning headshake. If Mahliki meant to win Sespian’s affection, she should leave mentions of Sicarius out of their conversations.

  “Are you going to need any special materials for this electricity generator of yours?” Dak asked Rias, apparently not interested in discussing toddlers at the moment. “I don’t want you wandering around the city, scrounging in junkyards when there are assassins after you.”

  “I should hope as president that I can requisition higher-end materials,” Rias said. “I’ll need to think about this for a couple of hours. I’ll see if I can find Major Rydoth—he’s one of the best engineers stationed in the area. And I’ll make a parts list.”

  “Give it to me, and don’t talk to your vice president about this project,” Dak said. “You want to talk about people who might make a snitch. He wanders into my office to borrow books and maps of the city far too often.”

  “Serpitivich?” Tikaya stared at him. After hearing the vice president accuse Dak of snooping in his office, this was an odd turn. Who was telling the truth?

  Mahliki and Sespian also looked surprised at Dak’s suggestion. Serpitivich was a likable, if occasionally absent-minded fellow.