Out of a sense of stubbornness, or maybe some delusion it would impress him, Amaranthe opted for bravado rather than outward unease—or an apology. She tugged the blade free and held it up. “You dropped this.”
His soft exhalation might have been a snort.
The strange black metal of the knife seemed to swallow the wan light coming through the window above. He had never explained where he had acquired it or what it was made from. She shuffled over and laid it next to him.
“Do you want some apple juice?” She hefted the jug.
“No.”
“You’re probably not that practiced at being sick, but the doctors say you’re supposed to drink liquids.”
“Bring water then. That’s too sweet.”
“You say that about everything that tastes good,” Amaranthe said. “Maybe the reason you’re sick is that you don’t eat anything except fish, meat, and vegetables, and all you ever drink is water. You—” She halted as a new thought ricocheted through her head. “Water. Is that it?”
Sicarius issued an inquisitive grunt.
“When did you start feeling sick?” she asked.
“Last night.”
He had been snippier than usual the night before, and maybe not just because of Ellaya’s interests.
“You drink a lot of water,” Amaranthe said. “Where’d you drink yesterday? The city fountains?”
“Yes, and the tap here.”
“Maldynado’s sick, too, and he said he drank a lot of water. I feel fine.” She closed her eyes, thinking about what she had consumed the previous day. “I had water yesterday morning, but switched to a pitcher of tea in the afternoon—tea I made the day before.” Was it possible the public works lord had come because of a complaint about water? Were other people in the city ill? Maybe it had been the water itself Akstyr had sensed down in the tunnels. Some kind of magical poison? “I have to talk to the others.”
Amaranthe started to turn away, eager to check her hypothesis, but she paused, remembering Sicarius probably felt miserable. She touched his shoulder.
“Can I get you anything? Milk? Tea?”
“I require nothing,” Sicarius said.
Of course not. He had probably never accepted help from anyone in his life. “You know,” Amaranthe said, “you’ve saved my life countless times. I owe you a lot, and I certainly wouldn’t mind taking care of you while you’re sick.”
“Go solve your mystery.” Sicarius rolled onto his side, turning his back to her.
Amaranthe sighed and left to talk to the others.
• • • • •
Books finished his glass of milk and bent over a three-day-old copy of The Gazette. More newspapers, those from underground presses as well as government-approved ones, scattered the desk. He scribbled notes onto a piece of paper, cursing when his pencil pierced the page, thanks to a knot hole beneath.
The wood plank balanced on crates made a poor desk, and the lack of windows left him grumbling about the lamp’s weak illumination, but at least he had the boiler room to himself while the other men moaned and bellyached in the sleeping area. Though not Sicarius, of course. He would never deign to wallow in communal misery.
Amaranthe walked in, a fresh newspaper tucked under her arm. “How’s it going?”
“How’s it going? Last night, I was nearly blown up, then I was attacked by a loon with a club, and then I almost smacked into a pile of enforcers, and finally I twisted my ankle following Sicarius out a window. Today I have a monstrous headache, not to mention scabs in places that should never be exposed to violent acts. Also, at some point, I tripped and stubbed my toe against the end of my boot. The nail is turning purple. I think it may fall off.”
She pointed at the desk. “I meant the research.”
“Oh.” His cheeks warmed. “The research is fine. I’m your researcher extraordinaire. You know that. Why else would you have given me this pile of work?”
Someone else would have made a snide comment, pointing out he was the only other person in the group who hadn’t been drinking water and wasn’t sick, but she simply patted his shoulder and said, “Because you can handle it.”
He shuffled through his notes. “I haven’t found anything about the water in these papers, or remote lots in the mountains, but there are a lot of incidents of vandalism and violence toward the foreigners who have set up shop here in the last few months.” He paused at the sound of rustling papers. Amaranthe was tidying the desk, though she watched him as she did it, maybe not aware of her busy hands. “These problems aren’t all that surprising,” Books went on, “but they do seem to be escalating. More incidents in the last couple of weeks than in the previous months combined.”
“Interesting.” Amaranthe finished straightening the papers, swept pencil shavings into her hand, and carried them to the furnace for disposal. “The question is, does this tie in with the water problems, or are we looking at two mysteries?”
“You don’t look daunted by the possibility.”
“More problems, more work. We need to focus on the water issue though. It’s more of an…opportunity. More of a chance for us to get noticed if we solve the problem.” She laid the morning’s newspaper on the newly tidied desk.
The front page headline of The Gazette screamed: THOUSANDS ILL; EPIDEMIC COMES TO CITY.
“Ah, I see.” Books skimmed the article. “No mention of the water.”
“My guess could be incorrect, or maybe they hadn’t figured out the connection when the paper was put together.”
“Or they may know and not want people to burst into hysterics,” Books said. “As much as this city enjoys its juice, brandy, and wine, it wouldn’t take long to run out of water alternatives and for people to start hoarding. Theft and fights would break out. It could be utter chaos.”
“The soldiers in Fort Urgot would impose martial law before complete pandemonium broke out, but, yes, this represents a massive problem.” She bounced on her toes and smiled.
“Good birthday present, eh?”
“Well, I don’t wish people to be sick, especially our own men.”
“But…”
“But, yes, this is a gift. Maybe. If we’re able to make use of it.”
“You have something in mind?” Books asked. “A journey into the mountains to investigate the source?”
“That would be a good idea, but we’re not sure where that source is yet. I think another trip is in order first.” She nodded at him. “And you’re the perfect person to go on it.”
“A mission for just the two of us?” The incident at Mitsy’s Maze—where he had proven completely ineffectual in a crisis—still haunted him. Though their daily training had improved his fitness and combat skills over the last couple of months, he worried how he would react in another desperate situation.
“More like an errand,” Amaranthe reassured him. “I want to seek out your new lady friend and have a chat.”
“Lady friend?” he asked casually, though a tingle of anticipation fluttered through his belly at the thought of Vonsha.
“Aren’t you wondering how she’s doing after the explosion? And why there was an explosion to start with? Was she the target? Were you the target? Would anyone who was researching that spot in the mountains have been targeted? Is it all tied in with this new illness? That lot is on a river, maybe a river that feeds into the city’s water supply. I want to know what she knows.”
“She didn’t tell me where she lives.”
Amaranthe pointed at the paper stacks. “I thought you were a researcher extraordinaire.”
He rubbed his lips. “That is true…”
“You find out. I’ll check the men and see what my new disguise looks like—Maldynado picked it up before heading to The Pirates’ Plunder last night.”
“This should be good,” Books murmured as she walked out.
• • • • •
A breeze blew a rumpled food wrapper across the empty street. Sidewalks that should have been busy with workers running
about on lunch break were sparsely populated. More than one business had its windows shuttered or a CLOSED sign hanging on the door. Books could not believe how quickly this “epidemic” had manifested.
With few trolleys running, he and Amaranthe had to bike to the upscale urban neighborhood at the base of Mokath Ridge, a task she found difficult in her “disguise.” At least, he assumed that was what the frequent invocations to dead ancestors signified. The curses may have been for the disguise itself.
A flamboyant white-brimmed hat with a dangling tail of mink fur perched atop her braided hair. Her low-cut blouse revealed…a lot more than he was used to seeing from her. The short skirt hugged her thighs like a sausage casing, giving her legs little freedom for peddling. The short hem caught when they parked the bikes and got off.
“Don’t say it,” she said when Books opened his mouth.
“As you wish.”
“I assure you, I already discussed the inappropriateness with Maldynado, and I pointed out my thought had been to cover up more of my body rather than less, to which he said, ‘Yes, but nobody will be looking at your face in that.’”
“Possibly true.”
“I am grudgingly trying it until I have time to shop for something more my style. I did make a modification.” She untied a sash, revealing a hidden belt with a sideways knife sheath. “A spot for my sword would be better, but so few women carry them that it’s a suspicious accoutrement.”
“Yes.” He fought to keep a smile off his lips. “I, too, believe Maldynado would say it clashes with that outfit.”
“Wouldn’t want that.” She jammed the bicycle into a rack with more force than the task required. “At least you’re armed.” She nodded to his short sword.
Lucky him. “The address is a couple of blocks down the street.”
Books led the way down an old but well-kept cobblestone lane. Tall, narrow row houses rose three stories high on either side. One or two steam carriages were parked in the street, but most houses had bicycles secured out front. An upscale neighborhood, but not as drenched-in-ostentatiousness as the ones further up the hill where people looked down upon the city from their vast estates.
“Nice area.” Amaranthe waved at early spring flowers peeping from window planters and hanging baskets.
“Nothing I could have afforded as a professor.” Books and his wife had rented a small house near campus. The empire did not pay its educators well unless one happened to be a retired officer teaching at a military academy.
“Maybe she’ll let you move in with her.”
“Premature to speculate on such things. Though…I wonder if, ah… The directory only listed her name under the address.”
“Hoping there’s no lover, eh?”
“No,” Books said. “Well. Maybe.”
Amaranthe smiled. It was a gentle, warm smile, not an amused one, and he sensed she actually cared and would root for him to find happiness, even if it meant leaving the group.
She paused on a corner and laid a hand on his arm. “I am concerned though—did Sicarius tell you about their past?”
“Their past?” Books stumbled and caught himself on the pole of a gas lantern. “They weren’t—I mean, he doesn’t even…” Dear ancestors, he did not want to think about Sicarius sleeping with a woman at all, much less one he had an interest in.
“No, no, I didn’t mean to imply…” Amaranthe lifted a hand in apology, though amusement quirked her lips. “She used to work for Hollowcrest at the Imperial Barracks, part of the intelligence department. She’s a cryptography expert, or she was, and she made ciphers for the empire during the Western Sea Conflict.”
“Oh, that’s actually… Well, naturally, I loathed Hollowcrest, but working for the Imperial Intelligence Network isn’t necessarily ignoble. Indeed, if she’s that smart, I am…further intrigued.”
Amaranthe’s smile broadened. “I love that you’d be interested in a woman because of her brain.”
“Yes, well, you haven’t seen her. She has other fine…attributes as well.”
She chuckled. “Of course.”
They circled a clunky statue towering in the center of the wide intersection. The bare-chested Darkor the Deathbringer held a sword aloft while a shoulder-high wolf stood beside him, water squirting from its maw. The address on one of the corners behind the statue matched the one Books had written down.
A snake wriggled a dance in his belly. Time to see her again. Would she be mad he had left her to the enforcers’ care the night before? Would she blame him for the explosion?
Stairs rose from the sidewalk to the front door. Amaranthe spread her hand, indicating he could go first.
Books paused at the front door, more worries churning through his head. He stared at the knocker, noting the handsome vine and leaf pattern comprising the heavy brass ring.
Amaranthe cleared her throat. “Knocking is usually Step One in these situations.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that.” Books drew back his shoulders and thumped the ring three times. As they waited, a new worry reared its head. He eyed Amaranthe—and her revealing attire. “If she’s here, can we say you’re my…” He groped for a relation that would suggest absolutely no sexual connotations.
“Daughter?” Amaranthe suggested.
“Dear ancestors, no. She’ll think I’m ancient. Er, my age, anyway. And what would she think of my parenting influence if she saw you in that outfit?”
“Did you just, in the same breath, call me old and promiscuous?”
“Uhm.”
Fortunately, her eyes twinkled as she waved at the door. “I imagine she would have answered by now if she were home.”
Amaranthe headed down the stairs.
Books knocked again. “We’re leaving? After riding all the way up here? I thought you’d want to snoop around even if she wasn’t here.” He tried the knob, but it was locked.
“Naturally, but invited guests enter through the front door for all to see. Snoopers enter through the alley.”
“Ah.”
Books followed her around back, where a fence contained garden beds with a few green sprouts thrusting through the loamy soil. He and Amaranthe let themselves through a gate and followed a stepping-stone path to a sturdy door. It too was locked.
“Keep watch.” Amaranthe delved under her sash and withdrew a small case of fine tools.
“I didn’t know enforcers were taught to pick locks.” Books put his back to the wall, so he could watch the side street and the alley.
“They’re not.” She slid two slender tools with crooked ends out of the case. “That particular deficiency in my education has proven inconvenient at times, so I asked Sicarius to teach me.”
“Are you sure you should spend so much time with him? He’s a dubious influence.”
Metal scraped as Amaranthe worked the lock. “You gave up the chance to play the role of my father today.”
“But not your friend, I hope. You do realize how much easier it’d be to clear your name if he wasn’t on your team, right? I know you like to see people as better than they are, but you must be aware of at least a portion of the heinous acts he’s perpetrated in his career. Even if you’re not, I’ll wager the emperor is.”
A click sounded, and Amaranthe pushed the door open. She did not respond to his comments. She was spending too much time with Sicarius.
Books stepped into a hallway after her. He hoped Vonsha was not simply recovering in bed and choosing to ignore the door. But the air held a chill, as if no one had been there that day to feed the stove.
He and Amaranthe padded through the hall and explored rooms. Sparse furnishings adorned the home, all of a lower quality than one expected from the warrior caste. Common woods with few ornaments comprised the chairs and tables. He did nod with approval at a well-appointed library that overflowed into other rooms. Even the hallway had bookshelves. By the front door, a stack of tomes leaned precariously on a boot bench.
Amaranthe’s fingers strayed toward the
haphazard pile.
Books cleared his throat. “It’s probably unwise to clean the house you’re illegally trespassing in, assuming you don’t want the person to know you were there.”
“I’ve heard that.” Amaranthe clasped her hands behind her back. “Though, if people invaded my home, I’d view the intrusion with less animosity if they dusted while they were there.”
The house was not dirty by Books’s reckoning, but he did have the impression of someone who devoted more time to her internal world than the external one. He brushed a finger across an easel as he passed, admiring the beginnings of a landscape of the Emperor’s Preserve.
Amaranthe detoured into an office and checked a filing cabinet.
“Should we be prying into her personal life?” Books leaned against the doorjamb, frowning disapproval. “I suspect her of being a victim, not a criminal.”
“I’m not prying.” She flipped through files, reading the labels. “I’m snooping, an activity we discussed outside and of which I thought you approved.”
“It’s true I’m curious about her, but…”
“As for the rest, don’t you find it suspicious she was there, checking lot lines, at the same time we were investigating the adjacent parcel?”
“I doubt it’s coincidental, but I don’t find it suspicious,” he said. “Perhaps her family is being vexed by the same people who killed the appraiser.”
“Hm.” Amaranthe flipped through a dusty file she had pulled from the back. “Vonsha earned a lot of accolades in school and received her professorship at a young age. As Sicarius said, she was recruited by Imperial Intelligence to work on encryption keys during the war. Ah, this is interesting.”
“What?” His disapproval forgotten, Books joined her and peered over her shoulder.
“She was the first woman and the first civilian invited into the intelligence office at the Imperial Barracks, and she was quite the star. Lots of praise from Emperor Raumesys. Less from Hollowcrest. He probably couldn’t acknowledge that a woman might be useful. But then things changed when that Kyattese cryptanalyst started cracking her ciphers. She was under increasing pressure and her position was terminated after a final failure led to the Nurians gaining the upper hand. Looks like a permanent demerit was added to her record, and she wasn’t able to return to the University.”
Dark Currents Page 10