Beneath the Surface

by Lindsay Buroker

  Akstyr straightened, clunking his head on the bunk above him. “Arstor Island? That’s known to be, uhm, in certain circles, the closest place to the empire where one can acquire artifacts, constructs, and various components that are of interest to... certain persons.”

  Yara leaned closer to Maldynado. “He just said they sell magic stuff, right?”

  “Yup. One can’t be too careful with one’s phrasing of such things when one’s in the empire, you know. I’m surprised you’re open to the idea that magic exists.”

  “It’s called the Science,” Akstyr groused from below.

  “I’ve seen too many strange things in the last couple of weeks to doubt its existence,” Yara said.

  “The Traveling Ice Show and Circus does entertain in Kendor and on some of the Gulf islands at the southern end of their circuit,” Amaranthe said, “but they’re originally from the empire and wouldn’t incorporate magic—” she glanced at Akstyr, “—the Science into their acts, not when they spend eight months a year in Turgonia. At least I wouldn’t think so.”

  “You’re quite correct,” Books said. “In fact, there was a thorough investigation done of the outfit several years ago. I remember reading the newspaper accounting—and scoffing at the notion that magic existed. It was proved, at least in the minds of the investigating enforcers and journalists, that all of the troupe’s acrobatic feats were acts of mundane skill and that they used nothing more than black-powder fireworks to enhance their shows. It’s possible they simply stopped on Arstor Island for a performance.”

  “According to the ledger, they were only there for one day.” Amaranthe tapped her fingers on the table. “You’d think that an organization that’s been previously investigated would stay away from a place like that to avoid suspicion.”

  “If that ledger is the only place their stopover was recorded, not many people would know about it,” Books said.

  “Do we believe it likely this circus troupe will have anything to do with the coup in the capital?” Sicarius asked.

  “Are you implying that we’re wasting our time with this discussion?” Amaranthe asked him.

  “Our time may be better spent training for the inevitable confrontation with Forge and Ravido, rather than meddling with inconsequential affairs.”

  Ah, Sicarius, always the blunt one. He was probably right, though Amaranthe wondered why he cared about Forge and Ravido and, for that matter, the fate of the empire. With Sespian no longer in Forge’s grasp, Sicarius no longer had a wrestler in the Games, not so far as Amaranthe knew. Unless he hoped to help his son get the throne back. Perhaps he felt that by doing so, he could gain Sespian’s trust?

  All she said out loud was, “This might not be inconsequential.”

  “You have a hunch?” Books asked.

  “Why would the circus troupe be going to the capital now if they didn’t have some role to play in the events there? From everything we’ve been able to discern from the newspapers, Stumps is in upheaval with martial law on the horizon, if it isn’t in place already. As far as everyone there knows, the emperor is dead, and there’s going to be chaos until a successor is appointed. Stumps should be the last place the troupe wants to visit right now. Who’s going to worry about getting circus tickets at a time like this?”

  “Even in eras of economic woe, people will spend money to be entertained,” Books said.

  “This isn’t so much woe as chaos, or the potential for it,” Amaranthe said. “Would you go to the circus if there were soldiers marching up and down the streets, enforcing curfews and who knows what else?”

  “We don’t know that’s happening yet,” Books said. “We won’t know the exact scenario until we’re on the ground there and able to investigate for ourselves.”

  Sespian waved toward the open ledger. “It could just be that they’ve made a commitment to perform and are financially obligated to do so. And the Forge woman that owns them... maybe she simply boarded the River Dancer because it was the fastest way to get back to the capital and reconnect with her Forge cronies. Maybe she didn’t even know the troupe was aboard. Maybe she’s sneaking about so they won’t spot her and question the fact that they’re being forced to travel to a city on the brink of war.”

  “In other words, you two both think we’re wasting our time?” Amaranthe looked back and forth from Sicarius and Sespian. Though she felt a tad ganged-up-on, she managed to find amusement in the situation. “Is this the first time you’ve been in agreement over something?”

  Sicarius said nothing, but Sespian straightened his spine and uttered a hasty, “No.”

  “You’ve agreed on a point before?” Amaranthe asked.

  “No, I meant we’re not agreeing now. We’re just spreading our tiles on the board. Everyone is. Isn’t that what one does at meetings like this?” Sespian peered about the cabin, seeking support.

  “I don’t know.” Maldynado pointed at Sespian and Sicarius. “Your tiles do look similar to me.”

  Sespian frowned at him. Amaranthe supposed Maldynado had given up on greasing the kid’s lube points when he realized Sespian was in no position to grant him a statue. Or maybe he thought everyone appreciated his ribbing.

  Amaranthe patted the air in a placating gesture. “Maybe you’re all right. Maybe this is all nothing and we blew up an absolutely lovely door for no reason.”

  “Being trapped on the wrong side of it was reason enough for me,” Yara said.

  “But we don’t have anything else to do until we reach the capital,” Amaranthe said. “We might as well—”

  “Train,” Sicarius said.

  “Er, what?”

  “We can train. Whatever awaits us in the capital will be taxing.”

  “I’ll... keep that in mind,” Amaranthe said, “but we may find it’s worth having a couple of people go out to poke around.”

  “In maid outfits?” Maldynado gave Yara a speculative look, as if disappointed he hadn’t seen her in the disguise.

  She flushed, but was quick to counter with, “Only if you’ll be the one wearing it.”

  “That would certainly alarm those old Forge ladies,” Sespian said.

  Akstyr snickered. “Imagine returning to your cabin after dinner to find a big muscle man in a skirt and slippers.”

  “There’d be screaming involved, surely,” Books said.

  Maldynado sniffed. “I assure you, I look good in anything. If there were screams, they’d be screams of delight.”

  “No more maid outfits,” Amaranthe said of the groans of protest. “For anyone. Security will be on alert after the first incident. Those of us with notorious faces will stay in our cabins.” Unfortunately, that probably included her.

  “And those of us working on more important tasks as well?” Books asked.

  “Yes, yes, you can continue concocting your new-government paradigm,” Amaranthe said. “I do want someone with a gift for stealth to roam around and see if any more Forge people are aboard. I also want someone to find out where the circus troupe is staying and see if they acquired any interesting items on their Gulf stopover.”

  Basilard glanced at Sicarius and, when he didn’t volunteer for the stealth mission, signed, I will look for Forge people.

  “Thank you, Basilard,” Amaranthe said.

  “I’ll look through the troupe’s belongings,” Yara said. “I’m... responsible for our earlier discovery. You might have found more if I hadn’t dropped my knife.”

  Amaranthe’s first instinct was to wave the notion away and alleviate any guilt Yara might be feeling, but maybe she could use the moment to her advantage. She sensed that Yara was undecided as to whether this was her fight anymore, now that Sespian wasn’t who she’d thought. But Amaranthe would need every hand she could get once they returned to the capital. Giving Yara some responsibility might be a good way to get her thinking she was an integral part of the team.

  “Thank you for volunteering, Sergeant,” Amaranthe said. “I’ll put you in charge.”

&
nbsp; “In charge? Of... what?”

  “Are you sure you should be roaming around the ship after nearly being caught by security?” Maldynado asked before Amaranthe could assign someone else to go on the mission.

  “I think the troupe is staying on the lower deck near the staff and servants,” Yara said. “Better for me to be down there than up where I might run into Forge people.”

  “Or better for you to stay in your cabin instead. We can find some in-room recreational activities for you to engage in if you get bored.” Amazing that he could say that with a straight face. Only his eyes twinkled.

  “If you’re worried about my safety, you can come with me.”

  Amaranthe blinked, surprised that she’d invited him.

  Maldynado sat up. “Really?”

  “Er.” Ah, maybe Yara was surprised she’d invited him too.

  “That’s a good idea,” Amaranthe said before the other woman could back out. “Akstyr, will you go with them too?”

  “What? But my face is notorious, and I’ve got as much research to do as Books.” Akstyr thumped his magic tome.

  “Yes, but nobody else here will recognize magical doohickeys if they chance across them,” Amaranthe said.

  “They’re called artifacts,” Akstyr said. “Fine, I’ll go. Do I get to keep what I find?”

  “That depends on the explosive potential of the items.”

  Yara snorted, probably thinking Amaranthe was the last one to chastise someone about explosives. Amaranthe shrugged. She’d see for herself how things went if she had to command those two.

  “What will the rest of us be doing?” Sespian asked.

  Amaranthe’s gaze slid toward Sicarius. He lifted his chin, and though his eyes wouldn’t think about twinkling with so many people in the room, his voice held a hint of satisfaction when he said, “Training.”

  “I’m glad I’m going with you,” Maldynado whispered to Yara.

  * * * * *

  The next night, Evrial leaned against the railing on the lower deck, using Maldynado to block the snowflakes blowing sideways down the river. Having a big, broad man around might have its uses after all.

  “I think we should go into the show.” Maldynado pointed to a poster hanging next to the double doors leading into the dining hall. It announced the circus troupe would be performing that evening, and couples were streaming inside. “We probably look suspicious loitering here.”

  “We’re not loitering, we’re standing purposefully,” Evrial said.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.”

  “It’s cold enough to shrivel the balls off a donkey,” Akstyr said from the other side of Maldynado. “I say we go inside too. I can let you know if their show has any unusual features, if you get my meaning.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Maldynado said, “don’t you think?”

  Both men were looking at Evrial. How had she let Amaranthe put her in charge? “As long as nobody recognizes us.” She had her hood pulled up, something that was quite natural out on the snow-dusted deck, but which would draw attention inside. “Maybe we can stand in the back.”

  “Whatever you say, my lady.” Maldynado bowed and offered his arm.

  Evrial decided it wasn’t worth arguing over hand holding when it was a ten-foot walk to the door. She linked her arm with Maldynado’s. He beamed.

  Akstyr’s lip curled up. “Are you two going to pretend you’re engaged again?”

  “Yes,” Maldynado said at the same time as Evrial said, “No.”

  “Uh huh.” Akstyr’s lip curled up further, and he left them to stride into the hall.

  Evrial was about to follow when two men approaching the door made her pause. She hadn’t been scrutinizing the flow of people, but almost every other pairing had been male-female. These two men had short hair, clean-shaven jaws, and—

  Emperor’s warts, they were enforcers. Enforcers she recognized.

  Evrial spun about, drawing Maldynado with her, and stepped back to the rail. She pointed at the bank. “Look, the snow is starting to stick. Do you think there’ll be enough on the ground to make a decent snow gladiator when we reach Stumps?”

  Maldynado leaned close, shoulder-to-shoulder, and lowered his head to whisper, “Don’t you listen to any of the outlaw-enforcer drinking-house stories? You’re supposed to kiss the fellow you’re with when you’re trying to avoid someone’s notice. You know, to look like an amorous couple too engrossed in each other to be up to anything suspicious.”

  Cold snowflakes landing on Evrial’s cheeks drew her attention to how warm they’d grown. “Enforcers don’t really fall for that,” she said.

  Maldynado eyed the door over her shoulder. “I think they recognized Akstyr. I told him he should have flattened out that hair and put on a hat. Come on. They went in after him.”

  “They must remember him from the steamboat fight,” Evrial said.

  Maldynado paused, his hand on the door. “Those are the same enforcers?”

  “Yes, it looks like everyone hopped the first ride back upriver.”

  “We already passed the town those enforcer boats originated from though. Unless it’s a coincidence? Maybe they were given medical leave after we thumped them so soundly.”

  “More likely they spotted one of us boarding and got permission to follow.”

  “Lovely.” Maldynado lowered his chin to peer through one of the portholes in the doors. “They’ve dimmed the lights.”

  When Evrial opened the door, the susurrus of dozens of conversations flowed out. She stepped inside and almost crashed into someone’s back. The formal dining hall might be the largest room on the steamboat, but it seemed tiny that evening. Passengers filled every seat at the round tables, and more people stood along the walls, some stacked three or four deep in the back. Even with her height, Evrial had to stand on her tiptoes to glimpse the stage up front. Green-, red-, and blue-hued lamps burned up there, spilling colored globes of illumination onto the raised platform. Trampolines and other apparatuses awaited the performers. The ceilings were high, but not that high, and Evrial pictured a much more abbreviated show than usual. As a rural gal, she’d never been into the city for the circus, but she’d heard that the performers skated and performed most of their acrobatics on the ice.

  “Ouch.”

  “Erg.”

  “Terribly sorry,” Maldynado said, pulling Evrial in his wake. He apologized as he went but continued to elbow his way along the wall until he found a shady nook near a support pillar. People grumbled, but nobody attempted to stop him. The flames in the wall lamps burned so low that one couldn’t make out faces back there, but it was hard to miss Maldynado’s height and breadth.

  More grunts and curses came from along the wall on the other side of the door. The enforcers pushing their way through?

  As Evrial followed in Maldynado’s wake, she tried to spot Akstyr’s spiky locks. They needed to get him out of the room before the enforcers found him.

  Drums started up somewhere behind the stage, and the conversations grew softer.

  Maldynado found his nook and pulled Evrial into him, her back against his chest. Before she could decide if she wanted to protest this familiarity, he pointed over her shoulder toward a cluster of tables near the stage. The colored lighting illuminated those first few rows, revealing faces. Evrial groaned. Another pair of men occupied half of one table, men she also recognized from the steamboat battle.

  “Definitely not a coincidence,” she said. “Or medical leave.”

  Maldynado sighed, his chest expanding against her back. “I suppose not. Though I’ll take some pride in that one’s eye, more precisely the sickly yellow bruise around it that hasn’t quite healed.”

  “Are you sure that’s one you thumped?” That whole event had been so chaotic that Evrial scarcely remembered specifics. “Basilard and I were defending the railing too, as you’ll recall.”

  “I recognize my handiwork.”

  “The bruise is on the large side.
It might match your fat fingers.”

  “I’m not sure whether I should reject the notion that anything on me is fat—stout or muscular perhaps, but not fat—or simply be pleased that you’re developing a sense of humor.”

  “We’ve discussed this. I’ve always had a sense of humor. You people just aren’t funny.” Evrial thought she glimpsed someone with a prickly ridge of hair making his way along one of the side walls toward the stage. “Is that your man? Or just someone with a hat stranger than most of yours?”

  The drumbeats increased in speed and intensity, and Evrial didn’t hear Maldynado’s answer. It sounded indignant though.

  “Welcome to this special showing of our traveling circus,” a voice rang out, amplified somehow to echo throughout the dining hall, “in which we shall entertain, mystify, and impress you with feats of dexterity and skill. We’ll follow this with a theatrical reenactment of the infamous Drunken Valley Battle from the Second Border War.”

  “That should prove interesting on that tiny stage,” Maldynado said. “I’m surprised they’re performing here at all. Their usual milieu is a frozen lake.”

  “It’s probably how they’re paying their way.” Evrial leaned to the side, trying to track the movement of the figure she thought might be Akstyr. “Did you just say milieu?”

  “Dear ancestors, I believe I did. What a dreadful word. I’ll have to thump Books later. He’s the only one who would have cursed my vocabulary with such an addition.”

  “Make sure to smack him in the eye, so I can compare his bruise to the one on that enforcer, and see if your stout, muscular fingers truly can claim that blow.”

  For a moment, Maldynado didn’t respond. She hadn’t offended him, had she? That hardly seemed possible.

  Then his breath stirred her hair—not a breath, a soft laugh. “You do have a sense of humor. That’s delightful. You should trying unsheathing it as often as your sword.”

  “I’ll consider it.” Evrial pointed again. “Now there are two figures working their way along the wall after—”