by Joseph Lallo
“This isn’t your fight,” Amaranthe whispered to Maldynado. “If you drop your sword, they probably won’t hurt you.”
“No talking!” Wholt barked, his gaze shooting back and forth between them.
“My two weeks isn’t up, boss,” Maldynado said. “What’s the plan?”
Good question. Amaranthe searched her old partner’s face.
“You don’t have to do this, Wholt,” she said.
“I have my orders, Amaranthe,” he said. “I have to...”
Wholt didn’t want to do it. If there weren’t seven men standing behind him, he would have turned his back and let her walk away. She was sure of it. But if he let her go in front of them, his career would be destroyed. Wind gusted, tugging at her hair as Amaranthe sought a solution.
“Kill them, Sarge?” the most vocal enforcer asked.
“Why not just capture us and take us in?” Amaranthe ignored the others and kept her eyes locked on Wholt. “Let the chief put us to death if that’s the order.” And, with luck, she would have time to think of something else before that happened. “No innocent blood on your hands.”
“Kill on sight, Sarge! We shouldn’t be yapping.”
“Bet she’s weaving magic right now with her words,” another muttered.
“Witch,” someone behind Amaranthe whispered.
Boots shifted nervously and the circle tightened. The sword tips behind Amaranthe and Maldynado loomed closer. Another moment and whatever order Wholt might say would be lost in yells and clashes as fearful men attacked without waiting.
“Wholt,” she whispered. “Give the order. We’ll surrender if you agree to take us in. None of your men get hurt. You’re still doing your job.”
Wholt opened his mouth to speak.
A dark shape loomed behind him, and a dagger appeared at his throat.
“No!” Amaranthe shouted.
Too late. Blood gushed from severed arteries.
The lantern clattered to the ground.
A fast-moving head of short blond hair identified the newcomer. Amaranthe had already known.
“Back to back,” she barked to Maldynado. There was no way out of a fight now.
Chaos erupted, and swords slashed in multiple directions.
“Get the witch!”
“Watch out for—”
“Over there!”
Metal screeched behind her as Maldynado engaged someone. Amaranthe held her knife before her, but she only parried when a blade streaked at her chest.
How could she attack enforcers? They were on the same side as her!
Her opponent lunged again, slashing at her face. She ducked the blade and angled into his body. With her knife in hand, she could have finished the fight with a stab to his chest, but she struck with her free hand. She hammered a palm strike into his solar plexus and drove her knee into his groin.
His breath whooshed out, and he bent double. He reflexively brought his elbow down, clipping her shoulder. Wincing, she rammed the heel of her hand into his nose. This time, he pitched backward, hitting the street and curling onto his side.
All around her, deafening screeches of metal tore through the night. Darkness hid the details, and she struggled to tell friend from foe.
“Try not to kill them!” she called, wondering if Sicarius or Maldynado would hear.
An enforcer stepped out of the shadows of the hedge. “Witch.” It was the one who had egged Wholt on. “You die!”
He lunged and attacked, not with an efficient fencer’s stab but like a logger hacking at a tree. She leaped backward, then jumped in again while the enforcer was trapped by the momentum of his great swing. When he tried to recover, he bumped the foot of the man she had downed earlier.
His attention flickered to the ground, and she kicked his sword hand. The blade flew into the hedge. Branches rattled and snow flew.
“We’re not enemies!” she yelled. “Let me explain.”
He reached for the utility knife at his belt, but she darted around him. She pressed her blade to his throat, keeping her body beside and behind his, so he couldn’t easily kick or punch. She need not have bothered, for he froze at the first touch of cold steel.
“Witch,” he breathed.
Not sure what she could possibly say to sway him, she opened her mouth to try anyway. A throwing knife thudded into his chest.
Stunned, she could only gape as he went limp in her arms.
Sicarius appeared to retrieve the weapon before the enforcer hit the ground.
Amaranthe stammered a moment before finding words, and even then they weren’t elegant. “What did you...why... He couldn’t do anything!”
“Any you leave alive today will be after you tomorrow.” Sicarius wiped his blade on the enforcer’s uniform and sheathed it with his others.
She could only stare.
He reached out a hand. “Are you injured?”
“No, curse your ancestors, I was never—damn it, you can’t try to save the emperor on one hand and kill his civil servants on the other. It doesn’t work that way, you—”
She cut off further expletives. Her voice rang, far too loud on the suddenly silent street. Besides, this wasn’t his fault. It was hers.
All the enforcers lay sprawled all on the ground, dead or dying. Only a blurry Maldynado stood, sword drooping, chest heaving, as he watched her uncertainly. Everything was blurry. Amaranthe cursed and wiped tears from her eyes.
How had this gone so wrong so quickly?
Legs so numb she could hardly move, she stumbled to Wholt’s prone form. With a trembling hand, she turned up the lantern light. There was no use checking for a pulse. He had been dead before he hit the ground. She brushed his eyelids down, closing the accusing gaze.
“I’m sorry, Wholt,” she whispered.
Chapter 14
The moon had come up, and silvery light illuminated the canneries, warehouses, and docks crowding the waterfront. Amaranthe stared across the frozen lake without seeing any of it. Footsteps crunched on the snowy dock behind her. She winced and rubbed away tears, her wool mittens scratchy against puffy eyes. At least the noise meant it wasn’t Sicarius.
Books cleared his throat. “Maldynado told us about the fight.”
“Massacre,” she muttered.
“And that you...bellowed at Sicarius and cursed his ancestors.”
“He killed them all without a thought. He killed my partner, Books. Someone I worked with, someone I knew.”
“Someone who was about to kill you?” he asked.
“No. That’s just it. I was talking to him. I think he was listening. I think he was going to take us to headquarters instead of attacking, and then...well, there would have been a chance to escape. I don’t think it had to end this way. People didn’t have to die.”
“What if you thought incorrectly?” Books asked.
“He could have waited to see. He just slithered in and started—” Amaranthe swallowed and sank into a crouch, head buried in her hands as the experience flashed through her mind again. Wholt’s slashed jugular.... The shocked expression on his face.... She grabbed a fistful of snow and hurled it off the dock. “We just had to escape. There was no need to kill everyone for that to happen.”
“And then they would have come after you again.”
“You sound just like him.” For the first time, Amaranthe peered over her shoulder at Books. “Are you actually condoning the murder of those enforcers? Wholt was just doing his duty—something I told him to take more seriously. He didn’t deserve to die for following orders.”
“That was his decision. When he put on that uniform, he agreed to risk his life for the city, for something he believed in. A lot of men die for nothing at all.”
“Books!” She stood and slashed her hand in exasperation. “You were married; don’t you know how this is supposed to go? The woman doesn’t want you to argue or try to solve the problem with logic. The woman wants you t
o commiserate with her. You don’t have to fix anything. Just stand there and nod and say ‘uh huh’ and ‘I understand.’ That’s all you’re supposed to do.”
She dropped her gaze and brought her clenched fist to her lips. Get a hold of yourself, girl. You’re going to drive them all away. She opened her mouth to tell him she appreciated him coming out, but he spoke first.
“Is that really what women...?” He prodded thoughtfully at his beard. “Hm, maybe that’s why my wife left. I always thought I was helping, but she never appreciated it. I never understood why.”
At least someone was having useful revelations tonight. She managed a faint smile for him. “Do they not teach these things at professor school?”
“A deficiency in the curriculum, it seems.”
She gripped his parka sleeve. “Thank you for coming out here. I’m sorry I snapped at you. You’re not the one I’m mad at.”
And it wasn’t Sicarius either. Amaranthe sighed. She knew who and what he was, and she had cajoled him into helping anyway. Sure, it had been out of desperation, but she could hardly start carrying a sword and then later be surprised it could cut someone. It was her own stupid choice she was angry about. How had she ever thought becoming a criminal to stop criminals would do anything except add horror to the world?
“Yes,” Books said, “about that... I don’t mean to, ah, try to fix anything, but you may want to apologize to him.”
It took her a moment to wrench her mind back to the conversation. “Sicarius?”
“He’s not a man you want to turn against you.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“He has no morality, no conscience. I’ve seen him kill enforcers too. It’s not as if this is a new hobby for him. He’s utterly heartless. I’m not sure what hold you have over him...”
The emperor.
“But if I were you,” Books continued, “I wouldn’t presume it to be absolute. Be careful. You trust too easily. The first day we met, you told me you were wanted by the enforcers. What if I had turned you in?”
“I knew you wouldn’t.”
“How could you possibly know that?” he asked.
“You weren’t sober enough to find Enforcer Headquarters.”
Books snorted. “You see people the way you want to see them, not the way they are. You think Maldynado is a gentleman, for spit’s sake.”
“What do you think he is?”
“A worthless scoundrel who’s never worked in his life. And Akstyr—I’m shocked he hasn’t murdered us all in our sleep. You’re going to get surprised someday. I...don’t want to see that. Please be careful. Sicarius isn’t someone you can trust. Don’t push him too far.”
“All right, Books. I’ll consider your advice.”
“Good.” His tone lightened. “I came out here for another reason. I did some research for you today.”
“Oh?”
Paper rustled. He held something up, though darkness obscured the details. “It’s your list of Larocka’s business names. You had question marks by a few of them.”
“Yes, it wasn’t clear from the names what the businesses did.”
“That’s what I assumed, so I looked into them. Interden builds steam carts for farm use and the annual Plains Races. Yestfer is a local smeltery, the first in the empire to use raw anthracite coal in the blast furnace. And Tar-Mech creates steam vehicles for military use.”
Amaranthe frowned. “Vehicles for the military? One wonders if that might somehow come into play if she carries through her assassination attempt.”
“Probably not, unless she intends to run Sespian over with a steam tramper. Though being a supplier to the military might give her some privileged insights into imperial affairs.” Books rustled another paper. “I also created a diagram for you. It has Larocka at the center and shows all the people she’s been mentioned in concert with in newspapers and publications. And it shows which of those people are connected with each other. It’s all supposition at this point, but some of the names that link most heavily amongst each other could indicate key players in the Forge organization.”
“Excellent work, Books.” She couldn’t stomach the idea of perusing it that night, but perhaps by morning, she would have her resolve—her focus—back. “Are you sure I trust people too easily? I seem to have made the right choice with you.”
He lifted a mittened finger. “Yes, but...”
Amaranthe waited.
“Well, I’m obviously more reputable than someone like Maldynado or Akstyr, and...I...”
“Of course,” she said. Best to let him off the hook. “Did your research uncover the name Arbitan Losk at all?”
“He’s on the diagram, connected to a lot of people,” Books said. “It was interesting though, as he doesn’t appear to have been anyone worthy of a mention in the papers until the last year.”
“According to his desk files, he’s an orchard owner. Not as big time in the business world as someone like Larocka. Perhaps a year ago is when they first hooked up, and through her influence he’s become someone notable who...”
“What?” Books asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s using her for something.”
“Sleeping his way to prominence and power?”
“You never know,” Amaranthe said.
“Well, this is all I have. I’ll leave the papers for you to look over in the morning.”
“Thank you.”
Before he left, he put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Think about what I said regarding Sicarius, please. For all our sakes.”
* * * * *
When Amaranthe woke, early morning light slipped between the boards across the windows, streaking the maze of hanging papers with slashes. She could have slept longer, much longer, and quickly identified the sound that had roused her.
Maldynado was chasing a chicken around the building. Shrill squawks bounced from the walls.
“Isabel,” he called. “Come back here, girl.”
Isabel? Amaranthe rubbed crud out of her eyes. He had named the chickens?
Books, manning the press, said, “Apparently you’re not as smooth with the women as you claim.”
“Oh, be quiet. You could help. Isabel, stop running!”
“I have real work to do.” Books had shaved his matted, unkempt beard, and would have looked good, except for his red-rimmed eyes and snow-pale face.
An alarmed curse brought her attention back to the chicken chase. After ramming his hip on a counter, Maldynado fell behind. Isabel rounded a corner and sprinted for the exit, her tiny claws clacking on the floorboards.
Sicarius appeared in the doorway. The chicken squawked and tried to dart past him. He bent and deftly plucked it from its escape route.
Maldynado skidded to a stop, arms flailing to keep from crashing into Sicarius. A stricken expression twisted his face as he looked back and forth from bird to man, as if he feared Sicarius would snap Isabel’s neck. Surprisingly, the agitated chicken calmed in his grip. Though his slitted gaze was cool, he extended his arms so Maldynado could take her.
Shaking her head, Amaranthe swung her legs over the edge of the bunk. Sicarius might be pragmatic to the point of deserving Books’s ‘utterly heartless’ tag, but he was not sadistic.
Maldynado accepted the chicken and headed back to the makeshift pen he had constructed. Isabel promptly began fussing in his tight grip. Amaranthe almost smiled, imagining Maldynado as an overprotective father, until Sicarius strode her way. Wholt’s slashed throat invaded her mind again. She closed her eyes against the vision.
When she opened them, Sicarius stood before her. He held out a sealed envelope. “A boy came to the dock with a message for you.”
Ugh, she wasn’t supposed to be getting mail here. That meant people knew where she was and possibly what she was doing.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I would not presume to read your private co
rrespondences.” His tone was as warm as the ice under the dock.
Maybe Books was right. Maybe she should apologize. It wouldn’t hurt her, though it seemed a betrayal to Wholt’s spirit. Would it even mean anything to Sicarius? He never said “please” or “thank you” or seemed to have any use for social rituals.
She fiddled with the envelope. “Did you question the boy?” Perhaps it was one of the children she had seen spying on her.
“No.”
Amaranthe frowned up at him. “Why not?”
“If you would curse me for defending you from enforcers, I suspect you’d want me to interrogate a child even less.”
“I said question, not interrogate.”
“I don’t differentiate,” he said bluntly.
Jaw slack, she stared as he walked across the room and out the door. No, she did not need the image of a broken and battered child joining Wholt’s dead body in her mind. Emperor’s teeth, she would have to be careful what she asked Sicarius to do in the future.
Maybe you shouldn’t be working with him at all.
She broke the seal on the note and read: Time to redeem your favor. Mitsy.
“Feh.” Amaranthe glared at Maldynado and Isabel, wishing neither had conspired to wake her.
* * * * *
By day, the towering building that housed the Maze loomed silent and lifeless. Amaranthe tightened her parka against a breeze that whipped at the fur edging her hood. A twinge of trepidation stirred in her belly. What could Mitsy want?
“Thanks for inviting me to come,” Books said as they navigated an icy sidewalk toward the steel double doors. “I needed a distraction.”
“How long since your last drink?” Amaranthe asked.
“A couple—three days maybe.” Sweat gleamed on his forehead. “It’s been hard to sleep, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I hope I can be of use to you today.”
“Me too. I don’t trust Mitsy. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t owe her a favor. And, now that I know the Forge folks have their fingers in the gambling arena, I wonder if she may be a member of the coalition.” Still, Mitsy deserved to know Hollowcrest’s men were rounding up her gang members for medical experiments in the Imperial Barracks’ dungeon. Maybe sharing the information could help turn her into an ally.