Republic

by Lindsay Buroker

  “He is working on a project to improve the city infrastructure,” Rias said. “Research would be required.”

  “He lingers,” Dak said. “Asking questions and looking over people’s shoulders.”

  “Maybe he simply wants to keep apprised of events,” Tikaya said. “Or maybe he likes your company.”

  “Nobody comes to visit because they like my company.” Dak thrust a finger toward Rias’s nose. “Don’t forget he ran against you in the election. And came in second.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Rias said. “He’s been nothing but helpful thus far.”

  “I know he seems inoffensive, but I don’t care what you show on the outside: you’re not going to be happy to come in second place in a contest like that. To be the first president of a new republic? That’s a prize that will be remembered for all of history.”

  Sespian tapped his chin thoughtfully, though he didn’t say anything.

  “I’ll keep your words in mind,” Rias said.

  “Do that,” Dak said. “And don’t show him that note, either. No need to let out that you’re aware someone’s looking at both players’ tiles here.”

  “No,” Rias murmured in agreement, glancing at Tikaya.

  Was he thinking the same thing as she was? That Dak might be foisting the suspicion on someone else to take the attention off himself? Or was Serpitivich truly the shifty one, and Dak the person they could trust? Tikaya grimaced. Decoding ancient languages was so much easier than decoding people.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Mister President?” a young man called. “You have visitors. Should I ask them to come back la—”

  The door was thrust open and a smiling Maldynado strolled in, brushing past the security guards as if they were children with toy swords. One tried to grab him in an arm lock, but he melted out of the grip without losing the smile.

  “Good afternoon, everyone. Pardon the intrusion, but we’ve uncovered some information we’re certain you’ll want to hear about.”

  Dak had risen, touching the pistol at his belt, but Rias stopped him with a raised hand. Amaranthe entered after Maldynado, along with an enforcer sergeant Tikaya hadn’t seen since Professor Mugdildor’s funeral early that winter—Yara, that was her name. After them came a plump, gray-haired woman in spectacles with old bruises yellowing her cheekbones. She had a wholesome, matronly look, and Tikaya would have guessed her a schoolteacher or librarian, but grease and oil stains smeared her calico dress. Several of the pockets in that dress bulged with items that clinked when she walked. Not weapons—security wouldn’t have let her come up here armed—so maybe tools? Mahliki sat up straighter, regarding the woman with interest.

  “We apologize for interrupting your meeting,” Amaranthe said, meeting everyone’s eyes and offering each person a solemn nod, “and we would have waited, but Ms. Sarevic here has been tied up in her own vault for the last three days, and she’s eager to tell her story before finding a peaceful place to rest and recoup.”

  “The Kyatt Islands are nice,” Mahliki suggested. “Warm, sunny, beach-filled. A variety of interesting flora and fauna.”

  The woman—Ms. Sarevic—scowled. “I don’t take to those who spin magic. Real science is crafted with tools.” She pulled a screwdriver out of her pocket and held it up for emphasis.

  “Ah.” Mahliki leaned back in her chair, some of her interest in the woman fading.

  Maldynado nudged Ms. Sarevic. “Tell them who locked you up.”

  “Men in dark green robes,” she said. “They wore hoods to hide their faces. They blew their way into my shop with grenades and magic and didn’t even care that two of their people went down to my booby traps. They forced their way, demanding blasting sticks and whatever other explosives I could make. One was looking for tools to use against machines, to make boilers explode or otherwise be rendered inoperable. I told them to rip up their ugly robes, make rope with them, and hang themselves. They hurled me about my shop as if I were a rag doll. Then one stepped forward—he hadn’t said a word, but I sensed that he was older—and he raised his hand. Lightning danced between his fingertips. He zapped me with it, the lizard-licking miscreant. It hurt like nothing I’d felt before. They forced me to tell them my secrets and somehow one of them found my vault. They made me open it. I was in enough pain to have lost my fight at that point. I told them to take what they wanted and leave me alone. They did, indeed, take what they wanted. Then they tied me up and locked me in there to die. I would have died, too, if I hadn’t rigged that thing to have some airflow because I occasionally house valuable spiders and lizards for their... venom sacs.”

  Tikaya arched her brows. Explosives must not be the only things this woman crafted.

  Amaranthe must have heard the story before—she wasn’t paying much attention. She walked around the table to sit beside Sespian and whisper a question to him. Ah, she must be asking about Sicarius. Had he returned to the hotel yet? Sespian shook his head. Tikaya hadn’t seen him, either, though she had been focused on deciphering the message.

  “Devices for making boilers explode,” Maldynado mused. “Sespian, your work site...”

  Sespian nodded. “Yes, I thought of that too. Someone doesn’t want the president’s new building to be constructed. Or maybe someone objects to my design having been chosen.” He chewed thoughtfully on that.

  “Ms. Sarevic,” Amaranthe said. “I know you didn’t have time to take an inventory of everything missing, but do you know if blasting sticks were among the items taken?”

  “Oh, yes, those were among the first things those robed hooligans grabbed.”

  “We found her craftsman’s mark on the remains of the blasting stick that landed in the submarine,” Amaranthe told Rias. “The one that so effectively destroyed the power source.”

  “Oh?” Rias leveled a cool stare at the woman. Odd how the man could brush away news of assassins stalking him but grew ever so protective over his engineering projects.

  Ms. Sarevic shrank back. “There’s... nothing illegal about civilians manufacturing those items. I checked. They’re bought by the crate for mining operations.”

  “I see,” Rias said. “If I were to send someone to fetch your sales records and contacts for the last month, we would find that miners were the clients who most often frequented your shop.”

  “Of course. Though... those records were likely destroyed along with so many other items during this abhorrent burglary.” Ms. Sarevic smiled weakly.

  “What else is missing from your shop?” Dak asked.

  Rias nodded at him. “Yes, good question. What do we need to worry about next?”

  “I...” The woman eyed the president, then Sergeant Yara’s uniform. “I don’t know. I will need time to take a thorough inventory after I recuperate.”

  “You mentioned venom sacs,” Amaranthe said. “Do you make poisons that could kill a man?”

  Interesting. She must be thinking of the bomber who had died of poison. Nurian outfit or not, maybe he was tied in with the religious fanatics. As the assassin apparently was.

  “I don’t make poisons,” Sarevic said. “I simply make delivery mechanisms.”

  “And house the raw materials for making the poisons?” Dak asked.

  “There’s nothing illegal about gathering items from animals.” Sarevic glanced at Yara again. The enforcer woman hadn’t said a word, but between her height, her crisp uniform, and all the weapons she carried, she did make an intimidating representation of law enforcement.

  Tikaya caught Amaranthe’s eye. Since she was no longer an enforcer—indeed, might Ms. Sarevic know her from her days as an outlaw?—and was neither on the president’s payroll nor a member of his family, she might be the ideal person to entice further information out of the sketchy craftswoman.

  Can you talk to her later? Tikaya signed in Basilard’s sign hand code.

  Amaranthe hesitated. She probably wanted to search for Sicarius instead of taking on more tasks, but she nodded.

 
; “Maldynado,” Rias said, “why don’t you take your charge down to reception and have someone check her into a room here? After this ordeal, I’m sure she’ll find our secured hotel safer and more comfortable than her home.”

  Sarevic’s ruddy face grew pale at this, and her red-rimmed spectacles slipped down her nose. She either had a good understanding of what a target the president—and his domicile—was at the moment, or she realized she was going to be held until she spoke more openly.

  “Enh, I don’t know about that.” Maldynado rubbed his head. “I bet her home doesn’t have vines growing out of the nearby sewers and trying to find an open window to get in.”

  Rias’s expression hardened. He had made his request a question, but clearly meant it as an order. Ms. Sarevic wasn’t to be allowed to roam free.

  “Oh,” Maldynado said. “Sure, My Lord. I understand.” He and Yara guided the woman out.

  “Should I go too?” Amaranthe glanced around at the family gathering plus Sespian.

  Before anyone could answer, voices in the hallway distracted everyone.

  “Uh,” Maldynado said from outside the room. “Go right in with that, why don’t you? No, no, I don’t need a closer look. I’m sure that Mahliki will want to see that, Bas. Yes, impress her with it.” His voice lowered into disgusted mumbles that didn’t drift in clearly enough to hear.

  “Basilard,” Amaranthe said to Rias’s and Dak’s raised eyebrows. “Wasn’t he working with Mahliki?”

  “Yes.” Rias waved to a guard standing in the door, the young man not certain whether he should block this newcomer or let him in, or—judging by the way his top lip was wrinkled halfway up his nose—run in the other direction.

  Basilard nodded as he passed the guard and walked in with his translator behind him, though the red-haired woman wore a similar lip-wrinkled expression. Basilard carried a large jar in his hands, the lid firmly affixed, Tikaya was relieved to see, for the creatures inside were a mixture of antennae, slime, and green-gray squishiness. Trails of slick goo coated the inside bottom half of the jar, and one was in the midst of trying to scale the wall to the lid.

  “Oh,” Mahliki said, standing for a better look. “Are those Mangdorian Tree Snails?”

  Basilard nodded, smiled, and placed the jar on the table. Tikaya managed not to push her chair back, but only because her nephew and Mahliki had been bringing unappealing insect specimens home for years. It was only alarming when they escaped their jars. Fortunately, Basilard had not drilled air holes that were overly large...

  “This is... related to the plant?” Rias asked.

  Basilard pointed to a green stub on the bottom of the jar. Due to the trails of slime all over the glass, Tikaya had to stand up and peer in from above to make it out. Mahliki rushed over to join her.

  “They’re eating the plant,” Mahliki said. “Did you, ah... how long has it been, Basilard? Remember my theory about the indigestibility of the vine, due to its tendency to keep growing, no matter what the environment?”

  It’s been twenty-four hours, Basilard signed. The Mangdorian woman translated his gestures for Rias and Dak.

  “And no snail stomachs have exploded?” Mahliki.

  “Exploded?” Amaranthe blurted. She had pushed her chair back from the table, even though she was on the other side from the jar.

  The snails have been fine, Basilard signed. They seem to be thriving on the plant, and have even chosen it above other foods that I’ve placed into the jar.

  “How fast do they consume the plant?” Rias asked.

  I put a three-inch-long piece of vine in there last night, and these four have almost consumed it.

  “Uh,” Mahliki said.

  “Unless you have a few billion of those snails,” Rias said, “I believe we’ll have to go ahead with our plan to create an electricity generator.”

  Billion? No, but I thought we could start breeding them here in the city. Their reproduction cycles are relatively short... Basilard shrugged, looking daunted at the prospect of trying to breed a billion slugs.

  “What then eats the slugs when we’ve let them loose on the city with an unlimited food supply?” Tikaya asked.

  Snow lizards are their natural predators, Basilard signed.

  “Is anyone else having a vision of us trying to bring a million snow lizards into the city to eat the billion slugs running—or sliding—around?” Amaranthe asked.

  “Yes,” Rias said, “and we’d then have to find a predator for the lizards. Basilard, I’m glad you’ve found something that enjoys that plant, but let’s put that down as Plan B for the moment.”

  I understand, Basilard said.

  “Dak, prepare to have the city evacuated, or to at least have people moved to high ground. Mahliki, would you help me with the generator? We need to make sure to create something that can indeed slay the plant. Amaranthe, if you would talk to that craftswoman and find out what else we may face, I would appreciate it.”

  Tikaya glanced at Rias, not realizing he had caught that exchange. She shouldn’t be surprised though.

  “Sespian, we may have to put your building’s construction on hold for the time being, though it is interesting that the same party seems to be behind all of this chaos. Dak, find out who’s leading those people, will you?”

  “Already working on it,” Dak said.

  “Sespian,” Rias continued, “Would you like to lend your design skills to the generator project?”

  “Er,” Sespian said, “I don’t have any engineering experience. All I could do is make it aesthetically pleasing. Is that... important?”

  “I was thinking more about compact and portable enough to be moved about by teams of soldiers.”

  “Ah, I can try to help. Do you already have ideas as to how to do this?”

  “I have a head full of ideas,” Rias said, “but if this were easy, my submarines would already be running on generators instead of magic balls. We’ll be designing a prototype. Speaking of submarines, whoever wrote that note seems to believe we’ll need ours to defeat the plant. Perhaps the underwater roots are the most vulnerable to electrical currents?”

  “It’s possible,” Mahliki said. “If you can provide me a tool, I can do some experiments.”

  “All right. In the meantime, it would still be nice to find someone who could simply replace the power source so we don’t have to worry about rewiring everything in there from scratch. Amaranthe, did you—”

  Amaranthe was shaking her head, but another knock at the door came before Rias finished asking his question.

  A guard stuck his head in. “My Lord President, Sicarius is here to see you.”

  Amaranthe jumped to her feet.

  “Let him in, thank you,” Rias said.

  Amaranthe raced around the table, bumping her hip on a corner, and met Sicarius at the door. She wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug. He wore the same black clothing as he had the night they had parted, his hair perhaps more wind-tossed than usual, though otherwise he was unchanged. He carried a small envelope in one hand and looked like he wanted to deliver it straight to Rias’s hands, but he returned the embrace first. If not as enthusiastically as Amaranthe—his gaze flicked toward those watching—he did at least lower his head and murmur something in her ear. An apology for being missing so long without sending word, Tikaya hoped.

  Amaranthe released the hug, though she kept hold of his free hand, and they walked to the table together.

  “Sicarius,” Rias said by way of greeting.

  “My Lord,” Sicarius said.

  Tikaya expected him to hand the note to Rias, but he laid it in front of her instead. “It is encrypted. It was in the belongings of the Nurian mage hunter.”

  Dak’s head came up. “You found him—her? Is she still alive?”

  “She lives, yes. Several soldiers disguised as poor citizens charged into her tenement building, interrupting me before I could capture her.” Sicarius stared at Dak as he spoke.

  “Mage hunter?” R
ias asked. “Is this the Nurian assassin you spoke of, Dak?”

  Dak rubbed his jaw. “I’m not that familiar with that profession, but it might explain the assassin’s aptitude. I can do more research on the matter.”

  “And on evacuations,” Rias said. “The assassination threat must be secondary to the safety of the city right now.”

  Dak grunted and headed for the door. “If you say so.”

  Rias touched Tikaya’s shoulder. “Is that note important?”

  “One moment.” She had been deciphering it while the others spoke and only had one line to go. “I’m almost done. Er...” She swallowed and blinked a few times. It couldn’t be right. Maybe it was a bluff.

  “Tikaya?” Rias murmured.

  She frowned up at him. “How are you feeling today?”

  “No worse than any other day. Better of late, since Sauda’s gift was removed from my presence.” His brows rose. “Why do you ask?”

  Tikaya lifted the translated note and read. “Ji Nah, focus on ridding us of Sicarius. Do not concern yourself with the president. The poison has been delivered. He won’t be a problem much longer.”

  The room grew silent, with all sets of eyes swiveling toward Rias.

  “I don’t feel poisoned,” he said.

  “Something slow-acting?” Sespian looked at his father.

  “Many such poisons exist,” Sicarius said.

  “Any of them developed via lizard or spider venom?” Amaranthe asked.

  “Not slow-acting ones,” Sicarius said. “Not that I know of.”

  Amaranthe sighed. “Of course it couldn’t have been that easy.”

  “You found this note today?” Tikaya asked Sicarius. “So it might have been delivered this morning? Or yesterday?”

  “The assassin was busy last night and this morning,” Sicarius said. “It is likely she received it yesterday at the latest.”

  Tikaya stared at Rias, her vision blurry. “So something might have been in your system for two days now.”

  “Just because someone told a Nurian assassin that I’ve been poisoned doesn’t make it the truth,” Rias said. “Remember the first note. These people are using her. This may simply be what they’re telling her to make her focus on Sicarius.”