“Sergeant Yara was useful to us once,” Amaranthe said, “and she may be again. If she was the one out here, investigating things, she may know more about the weapons manufacturing scheme. What if this isn’t the only facility? What if they’re all over the place out here, funneling supplies into the city?”
Sicarius, she reminded herself in the silence that followed her questions, wouldn’t care about this jaunt to investigate weapons. He was focused on Sespian.
“Remember the note she sent us?” Amaranthe asked softly so Books wouldn’t hear. “Yara has seen Sespian more recently than either of us. She wrote of advisors being present when she met with him, so she may know more about the pressures being applied to him. If we can get more information about how he’s doing before we attempt to kidnap him, we’ll have more to go on. Right now, we don’t even know if he genuinely wants our help or if he’s setting us up for a trap.”
Seconds floated past as Sicarius continued to face her, but she thought his gaze felt less hard, less intense. He finally released her from his stare and sat back in the seat.
“You should be negotiating with these Forge people instead of sneaking about,” Sicarius said.
“What? Why?” Amaranthe asked, startled by the topic shift.
“Because talking people into things is your gift.”
Despite the bleakness of the night’s events, Amaranthe managed a faint smile. “Does this mean you’ll drive after all?”
Chapter 6
Akstyr jumped and caught the lip of the trapdoor. He pulled his head through the opening and braced his elbows on the roof. Dawn was creeping into the sky, revealing the outskirts of Stumps. The greenhouse supplies in their car and everything else on the train-except the secret weapons-had been delivered at a stop in Ag District Number Seven. Apparently the last stop would be in the capital.
Akstyr looked forward to returning to town so he could put his plans into motion. He had some ideas on who he wanted to contact first and had ruled out gang members. Some of them had money, but they couldn’t be trusted not to backstab him. There were a few mercenaries and bounty hunters he’d heard of with reasonably honorable reputations. They charged enough for their services that they might be able to afford Akstyr’s finder’s fee, and they might be ambitious enough to want a chance at taking down Sicarius.
Maldynado popped up beside Akstyr and propped his elbows on the roof of the car. “Finally. We should be able to find out where those weapons are being delivered and get back to regular life for a couple days. And women.”
“Is that all you ever think about?”
The train was rumbling through the rolling hills north of Stumps where some of the oldest aristocratic families maintained orchards, farms, and ranches. Akstyr had heard that most of them didn’t even pay helpers, because it was supposed to be an honor to work for the warrior caste.
“After a week stuck with you, yes,” Maldynado said. “And don’t tell me you don’t think about girls. You’re too young not to. If you could actually talk to them, you might be able to get one without having to pull out your purse.”
“I can talk to girls just fine,” Akstyr said.
“Oh, yes, that stammering you do in front of them is endearing. I’ve been waiting to see if you’d grow out of that, but I think I’ll have to intervene. We need the young women of Stumps to find out that you’re the type of bloke who can hurl a cutlass across a moving train car to vanquish an enemy wizard. Girls love that stuff.”
The train crested a ridge, offering a view of the city core with its miles and miles of brick and stone houses, buildings, and factories. The black smoke of the industrial district smudged the horizon and hid the lake from sight. This time of year, thousands of other chimneys added to the pall, and it all settled in the old part of town where the gangs squabbled for territory. Akstyr hadn’t been sad to leave the cesspit, though it was true he wasn’t sure how to talk to girls from better parts of the city.
“Just because you failed to set Am’ranthe up with that journalist doesn’t mean you should start working on me,” Akstyr grumbled, though he wouldn’t object more vehemently than that. If Maldynado could find him someone who didn’t look at him like he was some mentally damaged gang thug… that might be all right.
“Someone has to,” Maldynado said. “You’re always holed up with those dusty magic tomes. That’s not entirely horrific for someone old and curmudgeonly like Books, but you’re a young fellow. Your snake will wither up and die if you don’t get it greased once in a…” Maldynado frowned at the tracks ahead. “Nobody’s out operating the switch.”
“Huh?”
Maldynado pointed toward a section of the railway where several tracks converged and split off, heading in different directions. “If the train’s going to turn south and into the city, someone needs to pull the switch.”
“Maybe we’re not going to the city.”
“Where else would we go?”
Akstyr shrugged. “A different city?”
“Obervosk?” Maldynado asked, naming the next closest population center to the east. “Why? There’s nothing going on there except pit mining and orchards. Besides that’s not on the official itinerary.”
“Neither was stopping to pick up secret weapons.”
Basilard squeezed in beside Akstyr and Maldynado to poke his head through the trapdoor opening. He yawned, rubbed an eye, and peered about. They had passed the switch and were barreling through the training grounds around Fort Urgot. Rows of trees edged the fields, dropping their red and orange leaves onto mud marked by vehicle tires and thousands of boots.
Basilard signed, We go to the army fort?
“Nah,” Maldynado said. “I’m sure we’re just passing through.”
Passing through to where?
While Maldynado pondered an answer, the rumble of the train grew less pronounced. The wheels were slowing.
The walls of Fort Urgot came into view. Running east to west, the railway passed north of the water tower and the army installation itself, but a depot station waited ahead. A pair of black lorries, their stacks sending plumes of smoke into the crisp morning air, idled before a warehouse with a loading dock.
Though Akstyr didn’t see any companies out for morning exercises yet, he decided it was light enough that some bright-eyed sentry might be able to see heads poking out of the top of the train, so he sank back down, out of view. The other two men joined him. Maldynado sat down hard, a stunned expression on his face.
“Did we thump up the wrong men?” he asked. “Are the blokes we threw from the train working for the army?”
“If we did, we might be in trouble once they wander back to civilization,” Akstyr said. “Especially if they’ve got broken bones and stuff. They’ll be madder than a Caymay fiend who got his sniff stolen.”
“Emperor’s warts.” Maldynado rubbed his face. “If Amaranthe and the others tracked the weapons to their source, I hope they didn’t do anything they’ll regret.”
“I don’t think Sicarius regrets anything, ever,” Akstyr said.
Basilard waved for their attention. Why would civilians be making weapons for the army?
“Somebody’s gotta make them,” Maldynado said. “The army has contracts with all sorts of civilian companies for everything from tins of food to blankets to steam vehicles. But if everything is legitimate, I don’t know why the manufacturing facility would be out in the hills or why there’d be all that secrecy during the loading.”
Perhaps the army doesn’t wish enemy spies to learn of their new weapons, Basilard signed.
“Can’t be that secret if the train is stopping at the depot beside the fort,” Akstyr said.
Maldynado stuck his head outside again briefly. “It’s in plain sight of the fort, but there’s not anyone around to watch the train.”
“That’s because it’s early.”
We have often jogged past the fort at this time of the morning, Basilard signed. Soldiers are usually out early doing exerc
ises.
“Is it a holiday?” Akstyr couldn’t remember. Though Amaranthe was open to giving the men time off, Sicarius usually made them train in the mornings anyway, so Akstyr didn’t pay much attention to imperial holidays.
The train’s steam brakes squealed. Akstyr poked his head outside, though he kept his shoulders low. Voices sounded by the loading dock, but he couldn’t make them out over the rumble of the engine. A couple of cars down, a wooden L-shaped arm hung over the train for transferring mailbags, but nothing dangled from it now. This was a delivery run, not a pickup.
Maldynado crawled past Akstyr, keeping his head down as he eased onto the roof. “Let’s see who’s picking these weapons up.”
Akstyr shrugged and wriggled onto the roof beside him.
As the train came to a stop, two men stepped out of the closest lorry. One wore black fatigue trousers and jacket, typical workday wear for a soldier, though a brass emblem on his matching gray cap meant he was an officer, a high-ranking one if the amount of brass was any indication. Gray mixed with the brown in his hair, but he had the sort of chiseled jaw and rugged looks that women liked, and Akstyr promptly hated him for that. The man had an arrogant tilt to his chin too. In fact, he looked like an older, stuffier version of Maldynado.
The man at the officer’s side might have been a soldier too-his white hair was cut short in the military style-but he wore plain black clothing without a hint of insignia or ornament. While he waited for the train, he pulled out a wicked trench knife with brass knuckles incorporated into the handle and the sort of three-edged blade that tore a man up so much that surgeons couldn’t easily fix him. A crescent-moon-shaped scar cupped the bottom of his right eye.
The officer said something to him, then headed to the front of the train where the engineer was climbing down. Akstyr flattened himself to the roof to stay out of sight. Maldynado was already flat, his eyes rounder than cannon balls.
“That bastard looks like an older version of Sicarius,” Akstyr whispered, figuring Maldynado had made the connection too.
“That bastard is my brother.”
“Uh, are we talking about the same bastard?” Akstyr asked before realizing Maldynado must be referring to the officer, not the man in black.
Maldynado shook his head as much as he could with his cheek plastered to the roof of the rail car. “I don’t know the other one, but the officer is Ravido, my eldest brother. He made general last year, and, last I heard, was the fort commander at Averkorke down south.”
“What’s he doing up here?”
“I don’t know. My kin haven’t seen a need to keep me abreast of the latest familial developments.”
“Because you’re disowned?” Akstyr asked.
“No, because I forgot to leave a forwarding address for my mail.”
Tension tightened Maldynado’s eyes, a stark contrast to his usual insouciant mien. Akstyr didn’t know anything about Maldynado’s family or even what his surname was. Maybe he had a whole passel of older brothers who used to beat him up when he was a boy. Akstyr did not find that notion unpleasant.
Metal scraped, and a door rolled open a few cars away-the men checking on the weapons.
“Where’s the delivery team?” someone with a resonant baritone asked. That had to be Ravido. He even sounded like Maldynado.
Akstyr lifted his head again so he could see. The two men had disappeared into the rail car. Akstyr chewed on his lip and tried to remember if he, Basilard, and Maldynado had lifted up the crates next to the bodies to clean up blood that might have seeped under them. They hadn’t anticipated a military inspection.
Someone tapped on Akstyr’s shoulder. Basilard. He lay on his belly and signed, Anything suspicious?
“Maldynado’s brother is accepting delivery of the weapons,” Akstyr whispered.
I meant, have they found anything suspicious in the car? Basilard glanced at Maldynado who had his head down, buried beneath his hands. Though that information is surprising too.
Before Akstyr could respond, Ravido hollered, “Corporal Mitts!”
A man hustled out of the second lorry and ran up to peer into the rail car. “Yes, sir?”
“Get your team in here and take inventory. I want a complete report on my desk. If anything’s missing, Jovak better be prepared to replace it, or Wolf Company’s next training exercise is going to be headhunting the thieving, bottom-rung workers that hopped out of this train.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Looks like we’re not going to get in trouble,” Akstyr whispered.
As long as they don’t search the train, Basilard signed.
“And as long as Amaranthe and the others didn’t do anything to tear up things on the other end,” Maldynado said. “The last thing we want is to pick a fight with the army.” He slithered back through the open trapdoor and disappeared inside the car.
More soldiers were moving about below, going from the lorries to the rail car and moving weapons out. Akstyr lay flat on his back to stay out of sight.
“Looks like this whole side trip was a waste of time,” Akstyr whispered. “This is all legitimate. Weapons for the army.”
Basilard was still watching the scene. He’d produced a collapsible spyglass. Perhaps, he signed with one hand.
“You think there’s something going on?”
Basilard lowered the spyglass. Would a general normally oversee something so simple as a weapons shipment being delivered?
“I don’t know.”
Akstyr didn’t know much about the army, except that the only job open for ex-gang members was infantry. He’d heard they put anyone with a branded hand up front, where he could take the fire and shrapnel from the enemy’s artillery weapons. Some people thought that was better than being on the streets, but Akstyr couldn’t imagine it, and, sure as dogs pissed on lampposts, he couldn’t have studied the mental sciences in a barracks full of soldiers.
Who is this man in black? Basilard further wondered. He seems important. The general is speaking to him as if he were an equal.
“Dunno that either,” Akstyr said.
Marblecrest, Basilard signed.
“Huh?”
Officer’s name. Basilard must have used the spyglass to read it off the man’s jacket. Do you recognize the family? Is it notable in your history?
“How should I know?” Akstyr said. “Nobody cared a whole lot about warrior-caste dung-sticks where I grew up. You should ask Maldynado. It’d have to be his name, too, wouldn’t it?”
He and Basilard peered into the darkness below, but Maldynado had disappeared into the shadows.
Before dawn worked up any enthusiasm for the day, Amaranthe, Sicarius, and Books pulled away from the enforcer headquarters building in a tiny town in Ag District Number Three. Amaranthe clutched a piece of paper with an address in her hand.
Out here in the country, the enforcers didn’t maintain a jail, and nobody worked a night shift. A sign on the door informed those with an emergency to report to a lieutenant who lived a few doors down. It had been a simple matter of picking a lock to get inside and search through a file drawer for employee addresses.
“Left at the fountain,” Amaranthe said.
Sicarius was still driving, while Books sat with the newspaper in his lap, making contented grunts as he read by lantern light.
According to the purloined address, Sergeant Evrial Yara resided at the edge of town with her father, grandfather, and an older brother. Her personal record said she had three other married brothers who lived on the same street. Amaranthe hoped she could manage a meeting with Yara without having to subdue a whole clan of protective male family members.
The lorry rolled past a two-story building with a smithy on the first level and the windows of a residence on the second. A light burned behind shutters in a room upstairs. The light of an enforcer who had to rise early to be at work?
A wooden plaque near the double-door smith entrance held a name as well as a picture of an anvil, but darkness obscu
red the lettering. This little town did not have gas lamps along the streets, and the sparsely hung kerosene lanterns had long since burned out.
Amaranthe leaned across Books and squinted at the plaque. Fortunately the name was painted white on the dark wood, and she made it out. YARA.
“Park down the street, please,” she told Sicarius. “I’m guessing privately owned vehicles aren’t that common here.” Bicycles leaned beside most doors, and railway tracks ran through town, providing transportation for anyone who needed to go farther.
Sicarius parked with the vehicle facing down the main road out of town, and Amaranthe wondered if he anticipated having to leave in a hurry.
He grabbed a shovel and checked the coal box. “Empty. I’ll see if there’s more in the back.” He hopped out of the cab.
Amaranthe waved for Books to open the door so she could get out, too, but he was frowning down at the newspaper and didn’t seem to notice that they had stopped. “Books?” she asked. “Are you coming?”
“Yes, of course,” he murmured, eyes still focused on the paper. “I never met Sergeant Yara, but I owe her a thank you for arranging to have the bounty on my head removed. I should like to take this opportunity to offer it.” Despite his words, he did not move.
“Something scintillating?” Amaranthe noticed he was looking at a tintype of Sespian that dominated the front page. The emperor stood before a stone wall, perhaps in front of some military outpost, his face inscrutable as he gazed toward the camera. The headline read, “Emperor Sespian Soon to Return to the Capital. Festival Plans Underway.” Imperial citizens liked to work and train hard, but they were quick to find an excuse for a holiday too. “Everything still going according to schedule?” she asked.
“Hm?” Books said. “Oh, yes. I’m simply concerned over…” He touched the tintype.
“What?”
“Perhaps it’s simply the poor quality of the tintype, but do you notice something odd here? On the emperor’s neck?”
Amaranthe leaned in and squinted. “A smudge of ink? Or-no, it looks like a little bump. What-” Her mouth froze, and she couldn’t get another word out. A bump on his neck. She lifted a hand to rub her face, her mind lurching to her encounters the previous spring with two people who’d been afflicted with bumps in the flesh of their necks, bumps that disappeared, burrowing deeper beneath the skin, when investigated. One of those people had died in front of her eyes, overtaken by a violent seizure. The other had been dead when she walked into his cabin, dead in a room with no one else around.
Conspiracy ee-4 Page 10