Blood and Betrayal

by Buroker, Lindsay

  “Because I’ve so obviously left you in the mood to do me favors,” Pike said.

  “Put yourself in my position. Wouldn’t you do anything, agree to anything, to escape?”

  “Nice try.” Pike rested his elbows on the table and leaned in close. “If you want to end this, tell me what the emperor means to Sicarius and why.”

  “No.”

  “If you die before you share the answer—and it’s a distinct possibility as my salve can only heal the same flesh so many times—it won’t matter. The Forge people are smart. They’ll figure it out eventually. They’ll figure it out and use the knowledge to kill or otherwise unman him. They’ll put Ravido on the throne, and I’ll have the position I should have had long ago.”

  Pike strode out the door without applying her salve. Amaranthe had a feeling nobody was coming to put her in her crate—or heal her—that night.

  • • •

  Maldynado eased along the hulking length of one of the steamboat’s two boilers. Basilard crept behind him while Yara stood watch near the door. Ahead, the red glow of an open furnace shed light on the back half of the boiler room. Soft scrapes and clanks came from that direction. At least one person worked, stoking the fires. No windows lined the walls in this part of the ship—one wouldn’t want upscale clientele to be forced to stroll past something as ugly as boilers or soot-covered attendants—so Maldynado hoped they could overpower the firemen and claim the out-of-the-way spot as their hideout.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stirred as he drew close to the end of the boiler. Before Maldynado stepped into the light, he paused to listen. The scrapes continued, someone shoveling coal out of a pile and into the furnace. Nothing to worry about, Maldynado told himself—and those waving neck hairs. The worker might have a comrade or two, but, even without weapons, he and Basilard could surely handle lowly firemen.

  Maldynado peeked around the corner of the boiler. Two figures were shoveling coal, their faces, hands, and clothes cloaked in soot. He waited until their backs were to him, then lunged out of hiding, intending to bowl both men to the deck.

  Before he’d taken more than a step, something hammered into his back. Whatever it was didn’t strike with the force of that cursed rolling pin, but Maldynado dove forward anyway, to put space between him and his attacker. He rolled and jumped to his feet, coming up with his back to a wall and fists cocked.

  A tall figure strode toward him, a shovel raised for another blow.

  Heat poured from an open furnace door to Maldynado’s right. The other two firemen had noticed him and lifted their shovels too. One stopped.

  “Maldynado?” a familiar voice asked. Akstyr.

  His hair, which was usually spiked artfully about his head, hung damply about his jaw, and so much soot clung to his face that it looked like he’d used his head to swab out a coal bin. Akstyr could have walked past his own mother without stirring recognition, but now that Maldynado knew it was him, he identified Sespian as the other “fireman.” Books was the one who’d leaped out of hiding and clubbed him. Naturally.

  “Emperor’s eyeteeth, professor,” Maldynado said, “what was that for?”

  Books set the shovel down. “I apologize. I didn’t recognize you without your hat.”

  Maldynado might have tossed out a retort, but he was so relieved to see the others that he let the comment go. Besides, the loss of such a fine hat still upset him.

  By then Basilard had slipped in beside Books. With five men crowded between the towering bins of coal and the furnaces, the space had the coziness of a sardine can, but nobody rushed to leave. Basilard gripped Books and Akstyr’s arms in greeting.

  “Good evening, Maldynado,” the emperor said, “and Basilard. Is Yara with you?”

  “Yes, Sire, she’s standing guard by the door. How did you get on board? We heard… ” Maldynado traded glances with Basilard. “Let’s just say that you look well for a man who’s been incontrovertibly destroyed.”

  Sespian nodded. “We sensed the trap before they sprang it, or rather, your young wizard did.” He extended a hand toward Akstyr.

  “Practitioner,” Akstyr mumbled.

  “Sire,” Books hissed.

  “Sire, they’re called practitioners by people who aren’t ignorant about such things.”

  “You really need to stop correcting his lack of honorifics,” Sespian told Books. “His words tend to be more insulting when he has a chance to think them over and utter them again.”

  “Yes, Sire, I apologize.” Books glowered at Akstyr. “The youth lacks a proper upbringing.”

  The dimness of the boiler room didn’t hide the rude gesture Akstyr offered Books.

  “Yes, you seem to be an eclectic group,” Sespian said, then nodded toward Maldynado. “What happened in the castle? There was a commotion and a rather abrupt departure. An officer came in and yelled at us to shovel at double-time to bring the boilers up to full steam. Fortunately, he seemed too fraught to realize we weren’t his usual firemen.”

  “You’re rather well camouflaged.” Maldynado waved at their sooty skin. “As for the castle… It didn’t go well. It seems the rumor that my father wanted me back in the family was incorrect.”

  “How surprising,” Books said dryly.

  Sespian eyed the pools of water forming at Maldynado and Basilard’s feet. “Were you able to sneak aboard without being detected?”

  “Well… ” Maldynado exchanged looks with Basilard. “Nobody currently on the boat detected us.”

  “I see.”

  Maldynado tried to decide if the short statement held censure.

  “The plan,” Sespian went on, “is to take the role of the stokers, who are also not currently on board to object, stay in here for the duration of the trip, and hope nobody cared enough about any of these men to come chat with them and notice that they’ve been replaced.”

  “We may have a problem with that plan, Sire. We can tell you the details of our castle trip later—” though Maldynado would rather not, “—but, right now, you need to know that Mari, who is indeed snuggled up to Forge’s bosom, can track you.”

  “Track me?” Sespian touched the scab on his neck where the implant had once been. “How?”

  “Actually, it’s not you so much as Sicarius’s knife,” Maldynado said. “Mari has recruited a pretty blonde gal who can track that black technology.”

  Sespian drew the black knife and stared at it. Though the furnace door remained open, the flames inside writhing in a vibrant dance, none of the light reflected on the inky material.

  “That would explain the attack at the park,” Books said.

  “Your assassin set me up?” Sespian asked, still staring at the blade.

  “I’m sure that wasn’t the case,” Books said.

  Maldynado propped a fist on his hip and frowned at Books. “How come you’re sure Sicarius wasn’t setting the emperor up to get captured or killed, but you were so quick to throw me to the alligators?”

  “If Sicarius wanted a person dead, he’d stick a knife in his chest.” Books grimaced, teeth white against the soot smearing his face. “He wouldn’t leave anything to chance. Nor would he worry overmuch about whether you deserved to die or not.” Another grimace. He must be thinking of those assassinations.

  If the discussion comforted Sespian, he didn’t show it. Indeed, the way he glanced at the furnace made Maldynado think he wanted to chuck the knife into the flames.

  “I don’t think that would melt it,” Maldynado said. “But we should figure out something to do with it. As soon as Mari and Brynia get over their scare of having to flee the resort, they’ll probably check for it. Mari wasn’t convinced you were dead, Sire.”

  “I can throw it overboard,” Sespian said.

  Basilard stepped forward, shaking his head. Not Sicarius’s weapon.

  “That’d just make them suspicious anyway,” Maldynado said. “We’re a few miles downstream by now, so they’d know it had moved.”

  “How is th
is new woman tracking the artifacts?” Books asked.

  “She had a black egg-shaped doodad of her own.”

  “Small?” Books asked.

  “Pocket-sized.”

  “I wonder how long they’ve been able to track that knife,” Books mused. “Is that how they located the train? For that matter, didn’t some assassin jump you in Forkingrust?”

  Maldynado touched his temple. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  Akstyr said, “I thought she was… uhm, something to do with me.”

  Maldynado hadn’t gotten the whole story on Akstyr’s situation, but Books had mentioned that the team needed to be on the lookout for bounty hunters sent by gangs.

  “Maybe she was freelancing for Forge,” Books said. “They have a big reason to want to get rid of Sicarius.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Akstyr muttered.

  “That doesn’t matter now.” Books rubbed his lips thoughtfully. “We need to focus on this new device and the threat it represents to us. What if we set a trap? We place the knife somewhere on the boat where we can easily attack whomever comes to collect it. Then we can capture and gain control of this tracking device.”

  “Oh, I like that idea,” Maldynado said. “Then we can hunt down a gigantic dirigible-destroying aircraft for ourselves.”

  Akstyr brightened at this notion, something that was hard to do with all that soot caking his face.

  “Or, we can track their craft,” Books said, “and whatever else they’ve unearthed.”

  “And take it for our own, right?” Maldynado couldn’t help it; the idea of controlling that thing made him grin like a boy. Maybe he could learn to fly it.

  Books sighed. “Haven’t you crashed enough types of vehicles already?”

  “No, not yet.” Maldynado smiled.

  Sespian lifted a finger. “While I’m not opposed to depriving Forge of this tracking device, how can we set a trap without alerting them to our presence on the steamboat? If Mari knows I’m onboard, she’ll get off and make other arrangements for travel, arrangements I might not be able to track. Or she might simply send all the armed men on the ship down to kill us all.”

  She can try, Basilard signed.

  “I fear it’ll be difficult to keep our presence masked, regardless,” Books said. “Do you have any idea where the final destination is?”

  “I don’t know if the steamboat is taking her all the way, or only part of the way. She might not be staying on the river.” Sespian frowned. “Or in the empire.”

  “Why do we have to follow this Marblecrest lady?” Akstyr asked. “Why can’t we tie her up, thump on her a while, and force her to tell us what you want to know?”

  Sespian stared at Akstyr. Books winced. Even Maldynado winced. Thumping on women wasn’t honorable, even irksome sisters-in-law.

  Akstyr scowled back at everyone. “How is that not more practical than hiding down here, risking discovery, and hoping she’ll lead us where we want to go?”

  He has a point, Basilard signed, though he didn’t look happy about it.

  “Not that I’m partial to Mari,” Maldynado said, “but could we explore other options before we start torturing the womenfolk in my family?”

  “Yes,” Sespian said. “Give me more ideas. Preferably ideas that don’t involve violence.”

  “Wait.” Maldynado snapped his fingers. “We do know the final destination, don’t we? Sicarius drew those lines on the map, right? And Markworth and Deerlick Wood were the only possible spots within five hundred miles.”

  Books’s brow wrinkled. “Even if that craft were flying in a straight line, and those cities represented likely landing spots, Sicarius was hypothesizing about the destination of that aircraft, not the Forge meeting place.”

  “Wouldn’t it be going to the meeting place?” Maldynado asked. “Mari’s heading south, and that craft was heading south. You don’t really think that’s a coincidence, do you? What else would they have been heading south for? What with the coup going on and all, I can’t imagine they’re planning an escape to the Gulf for beach bumper ball.”

  Books lifted a finger, as if to object, but he lowered it again. He looked around, a faintly perplexed expression on his face. “As unlikely as it seems, I believe Maldynado has a point.”

  “You needn’t sound so surprised,” Maldynado said.

  “Typically, the only thing pointed about you is your sword.”

  “Swords.” Maldynado winked, never able to resist ribbing Books.

  Books rolled his eyes.

  “Markworth and Lake Seventy-three are accessible via a river that flows into this waterway,” Sespian said without so much as an eyelid flicker at Maldynado’s innuendo.

  Maybe it went over the kid’s head; he probably didn’t get out of the Imperial Barracks much. When all this was over, Maldynado ought to take him under his arm and show him how to have a good time.

  “There are all those islands down there, owned by the wealthy and warrior caste,” Sespian added. “Perhaps one of them is the meeting place.”

  “Sure,” Maldynado said, “I’ve been there. The family has a little island in the middle.”

  Everyone stared at him.

  “What?” Maldynado asked.

  “Could it be that obvious?” Sespian mused. “Did your brother invite his Forge allies to enjoy the family manor while they scheme plots that will, among other things, put him on the throne?”

  Maldynado shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t get an invitation.”

  Clangs sounded outside, boots on one of the exterior staircases. Guards on patrol, Maldynado guessed, the noise reminding him that someone might come looking for Sicarius’s knife soon.

  “Are we going to set a trap?” he asked. “I only bring it up because it might be inconvenient if we’re still standing here, chatting about our plans, when a bunch of guards burst in on us.”

  Sespian sighed. “I am reluctant to abandon my plan to remain in hiding, with Mari unaware of my presence, but I suppose your assassin has taken that option from me.” He frowned down at the knife.

  Maldynado hoped Sicarius hadn’t been planning to ask the emperor for a pardon or any other favors. Trying to be helpful—or at least cheer the kid up—Maldynado patted Sespian on the shoulder and said, “Our plans go awry all the time, Sire. Amaranthe always finds a way, through explosions, scheming, and battles with mechanical monsters, to make things work out in the end.”

  “She’s not here.” Sespian eyed the hand on his shoulder.

  “Er, that’s true.” Maldynado lowered his hand. “But you have us. We’re excellent at two out of three of those things.” He wasn’t going to make any claims about scheming, because that hadn’t turned out well for him thus far.

  Books was shaking his head. Perhaps Maldynado needed to work on his skills at cheering people up.

  Sespian said nothing. His eyes were bleak.

  Chapter 10

  Someone came into the room during the middle of one of Pike’s torture sessions, and, after they exchanged a few words spoken too softly for Amaranthe to make out, he slathered some salve on her body and walked out. She wasn’t sure whether to be thankful for the reprieve or not. The cold, gelatinous paste provided some relief as it permeated her wounds, but she was still stuck on the table with the pins driven through her limbs. Blood trickled from the gouges as well as from other wounds Pike had missed with his rushed application.

  This had been his second visit of the day, and he’d seemed agitated, rushing through his “work” and trying harder than ever to pull the answer to that one question from her. The aircraft had been on the ground for days, if Amaranthe guessed right, so she couldn’t imagine what fire ants might be crawling over his toes just then.

  Sicarius’s face floated through her thoughts. What if he had left Sespian behind to come for her, and what if he had found a way to track the craft? It seemed unlikely, but she dreamed that he’d caught up with them anyway and that Pike was worried because he knew it.

&nb
sp; The lighting had winked out when Pike left, pitching Amaranthe into blackness, but a door whispered open and a slash of brightness flowed in from the corridor. A tiny butterfly of hope fluttered in her breast. Sicarius?

  Amaranthe craned her neck, trying to see the entrance.

  “Amaranthe?” a soft voice whispered. Retta.

  The hope-butterfly didn’t stop fluttering. People whispered when they didn’t want to be discovered, and people didn’t want to be discovered when they were doing something of which others would disapprove. Like maybe, just maybe, helping a prisoner escape…

  “Still alive,” Amaranthe croaked.

  Footfalls sounded. The lighting level rose. Retta gasped, and her footsteps faltered. “You look… I can’t imagine how you… ”

  Ah, yes, Retta hadn’t seen Amaranthe outside of the crate since the first day.

  “You should have seen me before he put on the salve,” Amaranthe said.

  “I should’ve told Ms. Worgavic before she left. If she knew—”

  “She knows,” Amaranthe said. “Any chance my battered state is inspiring you to let me go?”

  “I figured out a way to help.”

  Help. That wasn’t the same as letting go, and Amaranthe feared Retta’s version of help might not match her own. “Oh?” she asked.

  Retta stepped up to the table. She eyed the claw pincers extending their pins into Amaranthe’s limbs. “This contraption was created to load cargo.”

  “How lovely that you’ve found an alternative use for it.”

  Retta winced. “I didn’t want to… I wasn’t thinking of… I mean, I never wanted to torture anyone.” She glanced at Amaranthe’s body, swallowed, and jerked her gaze back to Amaranthe’s face. It must be easier to look at. Pike hadn’t done as much work up there.

  Amaranthe kept herself from saying anything judgmental. “Why not end it then?” she asked. “You know how to operate it. Let me up. That’s all you need to do. I’ll find a way out on my own. We’re still on the ground, aren’t we?”

  “We are. The meetings haven’t started yet. We arrived early because those attending have to trek over two days’ worth of rugged terrain. The area around the lake was too populated to risk coming down closer in the Ortarh Ortak. We landed in a swamp. I don’t know if it’d be a favor, letting you out there, in your condition… ”