Conspiracy ee-4

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Basilard, Maldynado, keep those men busy!” Amaranthe shouted, though she knew it was pointless. They were already doing the best they could. “Aim for their guns with the water, Basilard. Get their powder wet.” Maybe that would be a more useful order.

  She grabbed the edge of the doorway, and leaned out, extending her hand for Sicarius. It was a pointless gesture-it wasn’t as if her sticking her hand out could make him run faster-but she didn’t know what more she could do. She thought about ordering her men to charge into the coal car, but three against fifteen odds would be foolish to take on. At least in their current setup, the soldiers were forced to attack via the narrow ledges leading to the locomotive.

  Sicarius’s face turned her way.

  “You don’t call that a sprint, do you?” Amaranthe called. “You can do better than that!”

  Sicarius glanced toward the coal car, seemed to decide the people shooting at him were as distracted as they were going to get, and he angled out of the trees, sprinting to catch up with the train. On the flat, cleared ground beside the tracks, he could run faster, and his legs were a blur as he raced to gain ground. He caught up with the coal car and was nearing the locomotive where Amaranthe waited, hand still extended, when a soldier ducked beneath Basilard’s hose water and threw himself down at the edge of the car. He dropped his arm over the side, aiming a pistol for the back of Sicarius’s head.

  Amaranthe grabbed at the knife on her belt, but knew her throw would come too late. Sicarius must have seen her looking at the sniper, for he whipped a knife over his shoulder. It slammed into the man’s eye. The soldier collapsed, the pistol falling free from his limp hand.

  Amaranthe swallowed. There was no doubt as to whether that one would survive.

  She glanced over her shoulder, hoping Sespian was somewhere he couldn’t see what was going on outside. She wouldn’t lie to him if he asked how many had been killed, but she’d prefer it if he didn’t have a reason to ask.

  Sespian was bent over the furnace, shoveling coal into its belly. He noticed her checking on him and said, “The water tank is below an eighth.”

  “We’re cutting off the water, Basilard,” Amaranthe called.

  She stepped inside to turn the knob and returned, almost running into a leaping Sicarius as he caught the corner of the door and pulled himself inside. With his momentum, he might have knocked her to the floor, but he caught her about the waist and kept her upright, despite the jostle. Sweat streamed down his face, blood stained his short hair, and rips and holes gouged his shirt. She had a feeling she wouldn’t have survived if she’d taken the decoupling job.

  “Welcome back.” Amaranthe might have hugged Sicarius had there not been witnesses around.

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “We will discuss what I call a sprint the next time the group trains.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that’ll be a fun day.”

  Sicarius’s gaze shifted, and he met Sespian’s eyes over Amaranthe’s shoulder. He released her and stepped away.

  Still poised before the furnace, Sespian stood straight, his fingers tight about the haft of the shovel. He looked like he was thinking of swinging it at Sicarius’s head. Something between fear and hatred hardened his eyes. Sicarius returned the stare without any of the same rancor, at least not in Amaranthe’s opinion, but many people found that unwavering gaze of his as icy as a glacier.

  “Return to full speed?” Yara asked.

  “Not yet,” Amaranthe said.

  A gunshot fired in the coal car. They still had work to do.

  “We need to help Maldynado and Basilard knock the rest of those men off our train.” Amaranthe pulled out her short sword, wincing as the motion drew a new surge of pain from the bullet wound in her shoulder, and tried to step past Sicarius.

  He caught her by the arm. “You are injured.”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “Stay here.” Sicarius jumped out the door, bypassing Basilard by pulling himself straight up onto the roof.

  “I give the orders around here, remember?” Amaranthe called after him. As expected, no answers floated down from above. “Difficult man.”

  Considering Sicarius appeared much more injured than she did, she didn’t want to hang back and force him and the others to handle the fighting. After checking to make sure Yara and Sespian were fine, Amaranthe climbed outside again.

  Sicarius had already cleared the roof. He leaped into the coal bed where Basilard and Maldynado joined him. Already they were advancing as a team, forcing their opponents back. In the confines of the coal bed, the soldiers couldn’t circle around her men to attack from the sides. They had to face the formidable swords and daggers face-on, and their numbers did little to help.

  Not sure if she’d do anything except get in the way, Amaranthe waited in the corner, ready to help if someone faltered. But they didn’t. She rarely had a chance to watch the team at work, and admitted to a feeling of pride at the way they attacked as one unit, as if they’d choreographed their movements. Their opponents were forced back and soon ran out of room. Once the numbers were even, Amaranthe expected the soldiers to jump off the train of their own accord, but if anything they fought more tenaciously than ever at the end. True to her wishes, her men did their best not to kill anyone, and the last soldier sailed over the side of the car with nothing but bruises.

  When only Maldynado, Sicarius, and Basilard remained standing, Amaranthe sheathed her sword.

  “Well done.” She gave Sicarius a sheepish look. “I guess you were right and that you didn’t need me.”

  “Of course we did,” Maldynado said. “Someone has to witness our glorious battles in order to relay our deeds to others.” He leaned to the side, eyes toward the locomotive cab. “Yara didn’t come out, eh? I thought she might enjoy seeing me do something more impressive than turning water on and off.”

  “She’s with the emperor, and they’re busy keeping the train moving,” Amaranthe said. She remembered her idea about getting Sespian to develop an interest in Yara. It wasn’t the best time to worry about such things, but she couldn’t help but hope they were up there, talking and bonding.

  “I’ll see if they need a hand,” Maldynado said.

  Amaranthe was tempted to tell him to leave Sespian and Yara alone for a while longer, but he was already climbing past her, heading for the cabin. Basilard came up to her and pointed to her shoulder. It was too dark to read his hand signs, but she assumed he was asking after her health.

  “It’s fine, thanks. Do you have any injuries?”

  Basilard hesitated, then shook his head. Amaranthe took that for a yes, but not severe.

  “We have two hours left before we reach the pass,” she said. “Why don’t you get some rest?”

  Basilard pointed at the back of the locomotive.

  “Hold on.” Amaranthe hunted about, looking for the lantern one of the men had brought out earlier. “Let me find some light, so I can see what you’re saying.”

  Sicarius found the lantern first. He lit it and handed to her.

  “Thank you,” Amaranthe said, but almost forgot about Basilard when she saw Sicarius under the light.

  Whatever head wound he taken in the woods had bled copiously. Crimson smeared the side of his face and stained his blond hair. If he was bleeding elsewhere, his black clothing hid it, but the number of tears and holes made her uneasy.

  Amaranthe caught herself before her hand strayed up to touch his cheek. She cleared her throat instead. “Thanks for…” Getting shot up on behalf of the team? Or protecting her from suffering a worse fate? Surely she couldn’t have run that fast to catch up with the train if she’d had to jump away to avoid gun-slinging soldiers. “Thanks for your help,” she said. That was ridiculously inadequate, but he inclined his head once.

  Amaranthe held up the lantern and nodded for Basilard to sign whatever he’d been wondering. The light revealed a number of new gashes amongst the scars on his face, head, and hands as well. One of his sleeves had been to
rn down to his wrist, and blood ran down his arm. An embarrassed flush ran through Amaranthe because she had been quicker to thank Sicarius for his help-and to show concern over his injuries. Basilard had far less reason to be here, risking himself for this cause.

  She gripped his uninjured arm. “Thank you as well, Basilard.”

  He nodded solemnly, then signed, Will there be time for me to speak to the emperor on behalf of my people?

  Yes, Amaranthe had to remember that Basilard had a reason for being here as well. She had best try to accommodate that if she wanted to keep him happy as a team member. Sometimes, she admitted ruefully, it’d be easier if everyone had joined up for the pay.

  “You’ve already told him of the slavery and how your people are targeted, right?” Amaranthe asked.

  Briefly.

  “So, he knows. If I were you, I’d just try to talk to him while we’re doing… whatever it is he wants us to do for him. I can translate for you, of course, or Maldynado can.”

  Basilard’s eyebrows twitched at that, and she recalled that Maldynado had chosen a dubious pseudonym for him when Basilard had signed up for the Imperial Games.

  “Books, then,” Amaranthe said. “We should be back with him and Akstyr soon, and I’m sure he would translate for you. You might try teaching the emperor a few of your signs. He seems the curious, inquisitive sort.”

  Basilard scratched his chin thoughtfully, then nodded and signed, Thank you. He headed for the locomotive, leaving Amaranthe alone with Sicarius.

  Sometime during all the activity, the train had started climbing into the mountains. She wished there were some way to tell Books and Akstyr they didn’t need to cause a landslide, but the deed had probably already been done.

  Sicarius was collecting his throwing knives and approached the man he’d dropped when he’d been sprinting alongside the train. The dead soldier lay at the edge of the coal car, his arm dangling over the lip. Amaranthe couldn’t chastise Sicarius for defending himself, not when the man had been about to shoot him in the back of the head, but the body was blatant proof that her plan hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped it would. It upset her that this soldier had died trying to protect Sespian.

  Sicarius lifted the man by the hair and pulled his throwing knife free. Amaranthe winced. She wondered if he ever felt any remorse for those he killed. Perhaps not.

  “Shall we leave him here or…?” Amaranthe waved to the forest. Tossing the body overboard sounded callous, even if they’d given the living soldiers the same treatment.

  “Leave it.”

  Amaranthe closed her eyes and sent a silent apology to the man’s spirit and to any family he might have. Small solace.

  “Sespian will find out that some of his men died regardless,” Sicarius said.

  “I know. I wasn’t planning to lie to him, but statistics tend to be easier to stomach than corpses.” Especially when the knife-in-the-eye wound would tell Sespian exactly who had been responsible. The last thing Amaranthe wanted was for Sicarius to get the blame for her failures out here. “We better head in and talk to him, find out what he wants us to do now that he’s free of Forge’s influence. Am I right in assuming his female chaperone is dead?”

  “Yes,” Sicarius said.

  Amaranthe stepped toward the locomotive, but Sicarius rested a hand on her uninjured arm.

  “We need to arrange time to speak with him alone.”

  She nodded. That was part of the plan, although… “When you say we do you mean you and he or you, he, and me?”

  Sicarius hesitated. “I do not believe he would listen to anything I had to say.”

  “So, Books is translating for Basilard, and I’m translating for you?”

  “He will listen to you.”

  Maybe not after she told Sespian about the dead soldiers, Amaranthe thought, but what she said was, “And, should we find this time alone, do you want me to tell him everything?”

  “You don’t know everything.”

  Not surprising. “Do you want me to tell him everything I do know?”

  Sicarius gazed toward the forest. He was still holding Amaranthe’s arm, and she rested her hand on his, trying to offer reassurance, if he needed it. One never knew with him.

  “What do you think would be an appropriate course of action to ensure an optimal result?” he finally asked.

  Amaranthe didn’t know if he had ever asked for her opinion on anything before. Given the occasion, she wished she had a better answer for him. “I don’t think you can ensure anything when it comes to people. I’m sure you find it odd, but most of us react based on feelings, not pragmatism. Rational hypothesizing can’t necessarily predict the outcome.”

  His gaze shifted from the trees to her eyes. “People are impractical.”

  “Of that I have no doubt. I’ll give you the same recommendation I offered Basilard. Spend some time with him. Let him get to know you as a person, not as the scary assassin who stalked the Imperial Barracks all through his childhood.”

  “That is the person I am.”

  “You’re more than that. Be yourself, but try to be… friendly. Talk about small, unimportant things. Ask him how he’s doing. Make a joke.”

  “A joke.”

  “You’ve done it before,” Amaranthe said. “Your sense of humor is dryer than the desert city-states, but it does exist.”

  He stared at her as if she’d told him he had fur and horns.

  “Also, smile after you make your joke. To let him know that’s what it was.” Amaranthe gave him a zealous smile to demonstrate. “As for what you should tell him… if he believes you, he might abdicate. He seems to be an honorable man, and he might feel he doesn’t have a right to the throne given that particular piece of information.”

  “He would be safer that way,” Sicarius said. “I should have told him long ago.”

  A lump of emotion tightened Amaranthe’s throat. A lot of people in Turgonia, when given the chance to have a son rule over the entire empire, would lust for the position it would earn the family without worrying about whether or not it was good for the child.

  “Do you want me to tell him then?” she asked.

  “No. I will do that. You tell him… that he has nothing to fear from me.” Sicarius released her arm.

  Amaranthe squeezed his hand before letting go of it. “I will.”

  Chapter 16

  Akstyr shivered and stuffed his hands under his armpits. The snow had abated, but dark clouds lingered in the sky. Icy wind gusted across the mountaintops. Akstyr would have stamped about the snow-covered precipice to generate warmth, but his calf hurt, and the deep drifts made moving about difficult under any circumstances. He’d ventured close enough to the edge to verify that he could see the landslide-smothered railway below and then scooted back. Icicles the length of swords hung from a nearby outcropping, and he didn’t need to see if more ice lay underfoot.

  The rounded top of the dirigible hovered behind him, with most of it floating below the level of his ledge. Anyone approaching the pass from the direction of Forkingrust wouldn’t see it. Akstyr had a red flag-technically it was a shirt one of the stowaways had been wearing-to toss over the side to let Books know when the train showed up. If Akstyr didn’t freeze to death before then.

  “Shoulda kidnapped the emperor when he was near some army fort on the Gulf,” he groused. “By a beach. With palm trees. And sun. And girls not wearing any…”

  A faint rrr-ring noise drifted to Akstyr’s ears, and he closed his mouth to listen. The train, that was his first thought-what else would be cruising through the mountains at night? — but the sound wasn’t right. Nor did it seem to be coming from the correct direction. The emperor’s train would be chugging in from the southwest, but this noise came from…

  Akstyr tilted his head and spun slowly, trying to pinpoint the location. Mountain peaks surrounded him on all sides, and noise bounced about unpredictably, but he thought the noise originated in the north. He inched toward the edge of the
precipice and peered into the darkness in that direction. Nothing but snow, rocks, and cliffs lay to the north. Akstyr didn’t think there was a road over there, or even a trail. The rrr-ring grew louder though, and he became more and more certain it was coming from that direction.

  “Something in the ground?” he wondered. “In the mountain?” He thought of mining equipment, but didn’t think they were near any mines.

  Then lights came into view, a lot of lights. And they weren’t on the ground. They outlined a sleek black dome-shaped craft gliding into view above a pair of peaks to the north. The noise grew louder as it cleared the ridge.

  Akstyr had no idea what it was-some kind of flying contraption, but it didn’t have a balloon for lift, nor could he see any propellers or wings. All he knew was that it was huge. Anything should have appeared small next to the substantial mountain peaks, but it did not. He looked down at the dirigible for comparison. This new machine had to be at least four times the size. More like four hundred times the size, if one didn’t count the balloon on the dirigible, but only the occupiable space.

  The lights illuminated hints of an inky black hull, but Akstyr would need a spyglass to see details. Or he’d need to be a lot closer, but that didn’t sound like a good idea. Somehow he doubted the thing was friendly.

  After the craft cleared the ridge, it turned toward Akstyr, showing a narrower but still substantial profile and confirming that there weren’t wings. He let his eyelids drop and stretched out with his senses, seeking the telltale tingle of a construct that had been crafted using the mental sciences. He sensed… nothing.

  “Mundane technology?” Akstyr muttered, shaking his head. How could that be? There wasn’t anything in the empire like that. Was there? Maybe he was just too far away to sense the Science being used.

  He squinted at a horizontal bank of light near the top half of the dome’s front end. The illumination seemed to come from within rather than from the running lights-or whatever one called them-attached to the hull. Maybe the windows represented a navigation chamber, similar to the one Books occupied. Except there had to be room for a whole crew behind them.