When she reached the dock, she crouched, half-expecting someone behind the pilings. Nobody was there. A couple of packs and bedrolls lay tucked in the shadows, however. Had the soldiers chanced upon this campsite and been killed for their discovery? She crept forward, intending to investigate.
Snow crunched behind her.
Instincts ruling, she lunged behind a thick piling. The sound of a sword whistled through the air inches behind her. But when she turned, using the piling for cover, she saw only the emptiness of the bleak white shoreline.
She kept her sword ready. Magic, it had to be. It was almost unheard of here in the heart of the empire, where imperial mandates hypocritically forbade its use and denied its existence, but she had bumped against it a time or two.
“What do you want?” Amaranthe did not know if she addressed a person, or some wizard’s minion, but it would likely not hurt to ask.
Silence.
Clothing rustled behind her. She threw herself to the side, rolled, and came up as a chunk of wood sheared off the piling. Amaranthe swung at the spot the attacker should have been, but connected with nothing.
Her gaze slid downward, though she lowered her eyelashes so her foe would not see. Maybe she could spot prints being made, even if her opponent was invisible.
There.
In the weak light, she had to strain her eyes, but the snow depressed in slow, deliberate steps. She drew some comfort from the normal boot-shaped prints; her attacker was likely human.
She stepped toward the piling and poked behind it, feigning clueless stabbing, even as she kept those footprints in the corner of her eye. The enemy circled toward her side, walking slowly enough not to make a sound. She continued jabbing in front of her until the prints grew closer. The invisible person lunged.
Amaranthe whipped her sword to the side, raking the air.
A man cursed in a foreign language. Drops of blood spattered the snow. Footsteps, loud and quick, announced a hasty retreat.
Amaranthe lunged out of the shadows, wondering how to stop the man.
A dark figure dropped from the top of the dock, landing beside her. She brought her sword up, her heart lurching, but she recognized the newcomer and almost laughed in relief.
“Sicarius. You—”
He stopped her with an upraised hand. His other hand held a throwing knife, and, after listening for a second, he hurled it toward the trail. The steel blade zipped through the falling snow.
A cry of pain ripped along the waterfront, and a man appeared. He pitched forward, landing face-first in the snow, the knife hilt quivering between his shoulder blades.
“Nice aim.” Amaranthe nodded appreciation toward her comrade.
If Sicarius felt satisfaction from the throw or gratitude for her compliment he showed neither. As always, his aloof, angular features remained masked, suiting the grim black he wore from soft boots to wool cap. Only his armory of daggers and throwing knives broke the monotony of his wardrobe. He was not the type of person one wanted to run into in a dark alley. Unless he was on one’s team.
“You’re late.” His voice was as emotionless as his face.
“How’d you know I’d be running the lake trail?” Amaranthe asked.
“Books beat you on the obstacle course this morning.”
She grimaced. Though pleased he cared enough to come looking, she was chagrined she was so transparent. Did the other men know she trained extra to keep up with them at physical feats?
“I expect to lose to you,” Amaranthe said, “but if I can’t even beat Books, then how can I…” She stopped herself short of saying “presume to lead the group.”
“Your words are what convinced him to train harder.”
“Yes, and I’m pleased at his progress. I just wish his progress was a teeny bit behind mine.”
“I see.”
Too much, probably. If one whined about whether or not one was fit to lead, one probably wasn’t. She lifted a hand to dismiss her comments and headed up the bank toward the body. Sicarius walked beside her, somehow gliding across the snow without a sound. He retrieved his knife, slipped a folded black kerchief from his pocket, and cleaned the blade meticulously.
“Kendorian?” Amaranthe nodded at the body.
“Yes. A shaman.”
The foreigner wore buckskins rather than the factory-sewn wool garments Amaranthe had on, and the thick blond braid and pale skin were unlike the darker coloring of imperial citizens. Tattoos of snakes and rats adorned the side of his cheek and neck—the rest of his face was buried in the snow.
“He has a friend.” She waved to indicate the blankets and bags.
“I saw.”
While Sicarius searched for other tracks, Amaranthe knelt and rifled through the Kendorian’s pockets. Nothing identified him, nor did a handy why-I’m-invading-the-empire-and-killing-soldiers note provide illumination. She checked the belongings under the dock but again found no identifying items. A small toolkit stirred her imagination though.
Sicarius returned. “No other recent prints.”
“Hm. Any idea what Kendorians would be doing down here?”
Other than the ice workers chiseling out blocks for the summer trade, little activity centered around the lake in the winter. The military’s ice-breaking ship kept the transportation lanes open for imports and exports, but the fishing boats and canneries lay dormant.
“Something important enough to warrant killing soldiers to avoid discovery,” Sicarius replied.
“Kendorians would kill our soldiers whether discovery was involved or not. The empire isn’t exactly loved by neighboring nations.” She stuck her hands under her armpits. Now that her body had cooled, she noticed the chill air probing her sweat-dampened clothing. “Still, most of them don’t travel a thousand miles in the middle of winter for random soldier-slaying.”
“We should go.”
True. With the bounties on their heads, being found loitering around murdered soldiers was not a good idea.
“Agreed.” Amaranthe picked up a jog again, heading for the broad street lining the waterfront. “We’ll need to hurry to have a shot at finding the second Kendorian before he does…whatever it is he’s planning.”
Sicarius matched her pace, but the long look he slanted her suggested that was not the “go” he had in mind.
As her mind whirred with possibilities, the weariness from her run bled away. If the second man could turn himself invisible, too, he could be anywhere. It would take some lucky guessing to suss out his destination.
When they reached the ice-free channel fronting the merchant and naval docks, she slowed. Could one of the trade vessels be a target? Most ships sat dark. The gathering night and the snowfall had sent folks home for the day. Only one pier was lit up, its great steel steamship sending a few black wisps from its stacks. The Ice Cracker II must be heating the boilers in preparation to leave in the morning. Soldiers paced the dock. Crewmen strode about the deck, stowing cargo, and—
Amaranthe halted so abruptly she almost tripped. “That’s it.”
Sicarius turned, watching her face.
“The ice-breaking ship,” she explained.
“You think that’s the target?”
“What else would a Kendorian be after at this time of year on the waterfront? The snow’s already too high in the passes for the locomotives to plow the rail tracks. If the shipping lanes freeze over, the capital city goes without imports for the rest of the winter. Not to mention we’d be unable to get more troops in if something happened to the city. It’d be especially bad this year, since the Ice Cracker I was decommissioned last month. There aren’t any other ships in the Seven Lakes that can break ice.” She hammered a fist into her open palm. “That’s it, it has to be.”
Sicarius pulled her into the shadows of a dark warehouse. “You have no evidence.”
“No, but I have this lovely hunch, and it’d be downright uncivil to ignore it.”
“We have no way of knowing the Kendorian
is on board,” Sicarius said. “We do know there are a hundred soldiers and sailors. Maybe more. Men who would be duty-bound to shoot us if they saw us.”
“I know.”
“Even if the Kendorian is in there, he can turn invisible. We can’t.”
“I know that, too.”
Two soldiers marched along the street, rifles balanced on their shoulders. Amaranthe put her hand on Sicarius’s forearm and guided him into an alley.
“I know this is dangerous,” she said, “probably more dangerous for you than for me—my poster just says wanted, yours says shoot on sight—but this could be a chance for both of us.”
For years, he had assassinated politicians, warrior-caste scions, and wealthy entrepreneurs, never for the money, always for the challenge. While she had won many victories in her adventures, her greatest might have been in convincing him the most worthy challenge was in becoming a man the emperor might one day be proud to know.
“But,” Amaranthe continued, “you’re going to have to be seen doing some empire-saving heroics before the emperor will consider lifting that mountain-sized bounty on your head.”
“Heroics aren’t my specialty,” Sicarius said.
“No, but I’m partial to them.” She squeezed his arm. “And I know when the current’s too strong for my swimming level. I need your help for this.”
A trolley clanged in the distance. A clump of snow fell from the gutters. Pale flakes gathered on Sicarius’s dark shoulders.
“What’s the plan?” he finally asked.
She rubbed her hands together. “I’ll get on the ship, get some information, and get the crew hunting for intruders. You start looking for the Kendorian.”
“How do we get on?”
“I’ll go my way, you go the assassinly way.”
“Assassinly?”
“You know, skulk under the docks to the ship, climb the dark side of the hull without so much as a rope, slip unnoticed onto the deck, ghost through the shadows without a sound, and surprise the enemy in the act.” Amaranthe quirked a smile at him. “Isn’t that your usual method?”
“I might use a rope,” he said mildly.
“You didn’t bring one. Also, make sure to come find me before you leave. I’m guessing getting on board will be easier than getting back off again.”
“Likely.”
“One more thing,” Amaranthe said before Sicarius could disappear into the shadows. “You can’t kill anyone.”
A moment passed before he looked back at her, and she imagined an inward sigh despite the lack of expression on his face.
“Heroes don’t leave trails of dead soldiers behind, no matter how practical it may be to dispose of anyone who wishes to harm you.”
When he had disappeared into the shadows, Amaranthe shook the tension out of her limbs and strode toward the Ice Cracker II. On this section of the waterfront, frequent lampposts drove the shadows away, and soldiers spotted her long before she turned down the dock. The two privates standing guard at the base of the gangplank watched her coolly, rifles cradled in their arms, cutlasses hanging in their sheaths.
As she neared them, Amaranthe held her hands well away from her own blade. “I need to report an incident. Is your captain available?”
“He’s busy.”
“Would the knowledge that two soldiers were murdered on the trail a couple miles down un-busy him?” she asked. “Oh, and there’s a dead Kendorian, too. Looks like he might have done the murdering.”
The two men exchanged concerned looks, but the speaker merely said, “You’d need to report that to someone at Fort Urgot. We’re detached to the Ice Cracker and don’t patrol the city.”
“It’s snowing and dark. I’m not running five miles to the fort. I just thought I’d try to help you boys out. It looks like someone inimical is around causing trouble.”
Amaranthe turned to walk away, but a hand clamped onto her shoulder.
“Who are you and what were you doing out there in the first place?”
“I was jogging,” she said, intentionally ignoring the first question. She doubted anyone was going to recognize her through the snow and wan lighting, but her name might set their steam clocks to whistling.
“With a sword?”
“One never knows when one might have to defend against…” Bounty hunters? Soldiers? Enforcers? “Opossums.”
Judging from the matching scowls that blossomed on their faces, they did not appreciate her humor. The soldier who had grabbed her arm shoved her toward the other.
“Remove her sword and take her to the LT. She’s all kinds of suspicious.”
Amaranthe tamped down a smile as she was marched up the gangplank. Step one, get on the ship, was complete.
*
The wardroom might have been a decent place to spend time, if Amaranthe’s wrist was not shackled to a post. She sat in the one chair she could reach, tracing the whorls on a teak table, the only piece of wood in sight. Brass kerosene lamps hung on the walls, casting yellow reflections on the ubiquitous bland steel surrounding her. The scent of lye soap added to the sterile feel.
The main hatch creaked open. Two bulky grunts strode in and assumed guard positions to either side of the entrance. A graying man with gold bar-and-sail pins on his collar followed. He had a cleft chin, intense brown eyes, and a nose sharp enough to break ice without the aid of his ship.
Amaranthe stood. “Greetings, Captain. I came to discuss—”
He slid a sheet of paper onto the table before her. Her wanted poster. The guards murmured to each other, and one eyed her with calculation.
“—something of more importance than that,” she finished.
“I’ll bet.” Though chilly, the captain’s voice was not hostile, and his dark eyes seemed to be weighing her. “We found the bodies you mentioned. There was no sign of any Kendorian.”
Amaranthe’s stomach went for a swim amongst the table legs. The second Kendorian must have circled back and hidden his comrade’s body. That was bad, very bad. That meant—
“My XO thinks we should shoot you outright. He suspects you of slaying the men yourself, especially since your wanted poster says you traffic with that cur-licking, soldier-slaying assassin, Sicarius.” The captain glowered at her, brow furrowed.
She kept her chin up and met his eyes. “But you know I wouldn’t have been foolish enough to turn myself over to your guards if that were the case.”
The captain snorted. “Perhaps you are a diversion while Sicarius sneaks aboard my ship to attempt some sabotage.” He thrust a finger toward her nose. “If my commanders learned that fiend was within a mile of my ship and I didn’t shoot him, I could be accused of treason and booted out of the service. I’d lose my warrior caste title, my military rank, my home, my land, everything.” A flash of real fear haunted his eyes.
Amaranthe grimaced in sympathy. “Sicarius isn’t the one you need to be worried about. I’m here because I don’t want to see some scheming Kendorian sink this ship. I believe one may be aboard even now.”
“The Ice Cracker II is unsinkable,” the captain growled. “Its reversible steam-piston engine has redundant screw repellers in case of failure, and the reinforced steel hull can smash through ice over two meters thick. It can withstand more than two thousand pounds of pressure per square inch along the waterline. If we ran into a rock, the rock would be pulverized, and there wouldn’t be a scratch on the bottom of my girl.”
“It sounds like a significant upgrade to the Ice Cracker I.” Amaranthe leaned against the pole, attempting to look casual. She had chanced upon his passion, and nobody liked to talk as much as someone discussing his passion.
“Drastically. That moldy tub was made of wood with only the bottom reinforced with iron. It’s a wonder it didn’t sink years ago. Though only that drunk lout, Captain Mekam, could ram his ship into a cliff on a lake.”
“Cliff? The newspapers said the ship was decommissioned.”
“The papers don’t—” The captain f
rowned at her, eyes narrowed.
“Was it an accident? Ineptitude?” Amaranthe knew the captain had realized he was saying too much, but hoped she might squeeze another drop out regardless. “Or maybe the Kendorians were at work even then.”
“Or maybe you’re about to spend the night in the brig.” The captain gestured for the guards to take her and stalked out.
Amaranthe barely noticed as the soldiers unlocked her and marched her out the hatch, her arms clamped in their hands. Her mind dwelled on that new information. The Ice Cracker I, not decommissioned, but destroyed. What if—
“How’re we going to do this?” one of her escorts asked, voice low.
“We’ll split it. Gotta make it look like she tried to escape.”
Emperor’s eternal warts, her soldiers were going to get greedy instead of taking her to the brig. She eyed the bleak gray corridors, textured flooring, hanging lanterns, and intermittent ladders and hatches. Sicarius would be aboard by now, but he would be hunting for the Kendorian, not looking to rescue her in some random passageway.
“This is good. Nobody’s around.” The men slowed. “Get your sword out. We’ll—”
“Are you really intending to risk your careers for a chance at my meager 10,000-ranmya bounty?” Amaranthe asked, hoping a little chitchat might distract them.
An alcove ahead held a bucket of sand, an axe, and a hand pump. Though she wondered what there was that could possibly burn on the metal ship, the firefighting station offered hope.
“Hush, woman.”
“10,000 is a lot. And ain’t nobody going to object to your death.”
“10,000 isn’t enough to live on for more than a couple years, and you have to split it, right? A mere 5,000 each.” She stopped to trade looks with them. In truth, she just wanted to take a break in front of that axe. “What you really need to do is get Sicarius. He’s worth millions.”
“Naw, too dangerous. He’s a sincere killer.”
“He’s on the ship. It wouldn’t be hard to set something up.”
She had their full attention now. The axe was in reach, if she could just get a hand free.
Ice Cracker II (and other short stories) (The Emperor's Edge) Page 5