“Stop the vehicle,” Amaranthe repeated,putting more pressure on the muzzle pressed against his temple.
“Very well.” The man grabbed a lever.
Steam brakes squealed, and the abrupt haltnearly threw Amaranthe from the bench. She gripped the frame andwould have been fine, but the chauffeur took advantage. He launcheda kick at her ribs. She dodged, avoiding the majority of the blow,but it upset her balance. Before she toppled off, she grabbed hisleg and took him over the edge with her.
They tumbled toward the street. Amaranthetwisted in the air and landed on top of him. She caught his wrist,yanked it behind him, and slammed his face into the wet cement. Hegroaned and ceased struggling. With her knee in the chauffeur’sback, she patted him down and found the weapon he had been reachingfor, also a pistol. She stuffed it inside her belt.
Steel squealed behind them.
Amaranthe rolled to the side and jumped toher feet, afraid someone had started the carriage again. Gettingrun over was never a good plan.
Neither it nor Maldynado’s vehicle was movingthough. The noise came from one of the garbage truck’s articulatingarms. It had latched onto a flue on the carriage and was liftingthe back end of the vehicle into the air.
“They’re not going anywhere now,” Maldynadocalled, leaning out of the cab and grinning.
A carriage door opened. Somethingglinted.
“Look out,” Amaranthe called.
A shot rang out.
Maldynado yelped and ducked out of sight.
Not sure if he had been hit or not, Amarantheleft her man and sprinted for the opposite side of the carriage.She grabbed the door handle, thinking to surprise those inside ifthey were watching Maldynado, but it was locked. The dark curtainswere still drawn, and someone had extinguished the lightinside.
Amaranthe was debating about using her pistolto smash through the window when footsteps sounded to the rear. Shepeered around the end of the carriage. Books and Akstyr wererunning toward her, swords drawn.
She waved for them to cover the back of thecarriage, in case the people inside jumped out and ran in thatdirection, then she left the locked door and eased around thefront. The chauffeur was sprinting toward an alley. She ignoredhim, figuring the important people were inside.
Using the front of the carriage for cover,Amaranthe leaned around the corner, her pistol ready. The carriagedoor dangled open.
Books hunkered by the front of the garbagetruck, using it for cover while he pointed a pistol at the opendoor. Akstyr had gone to the far side of the carriage in case theriders tried to escape that way.
“Come out,” Amaranthe said. “We have yousurrounded.”
Something tiny flew out from within, andAmaranthe jumped back. Glass hit the cement and shattered. Smokepoured from a broken vial.
She fired into the few inches of opendoorway. She did not expect to hit anyone, but maybe it would makethem think twice about throwing anything else outside.
“Is that-” Books started.
“Back up,” Amaranthe called over hisquestion. If this was the stuff that knocked peopleunconscious…
Though she backpedalled several meters, thesmoke billowed outward at an alarming rate. It soon smothered thestreet and hid both vehicles. An acrid scent stung her nostrils andeyes. She fumbled to reload the pistol, but had to stop to dashaway tears that blurred her vision. At least she did not feel woozyor sluggish. This was some new concoction with adifferent-horrible-smell from the yellow powder.
She wiped her eyes again.
Movement stirred the smoke. She lifted herpistol, but did not fire, not when it might be one of her men.
Amaranthe listened, expecting telltalefootfalls. Surely, the occupants intended to use the smoke tocamouflage their escape.
Though the vehicles had stopped moving, theirengines still rumbled and clanked. But then she heard somethingdifferent. A clatter. Something hitting the ground.
She dropped to a knee, left arm supportingher right hand to steady it for a shot. She waited, searching thesmoke through bleary eyes.
A boom shattered the night. Its force hurledAmaranthe backward, and her head cracked against the cement street.Pain exploded in her skull, and black dots danced before her eyes.Rain pelted the street around her. No, not rain. Pieces of metaltinkling and clanking to the ground.
A shard gashed her cheek, eliciting new pain,and she rolled over, wrapping her arms over her head. Somethingslammed onto the street inches from her face. She found herselfgaping at a detached portion of the articulating arm.
“Up, girl,” she told herself, forcing hermind into gear.
Pain lanced through her at the change inposition, but she shoved her feet under her anyway, and turnedtoward the crash site. Smoke still hazed the street, and the airstank. Her first thought was that one of the boilers had ruptured,but perhaps the people in the carriage had thrown some sort ofexplosive.
Two tall figures strode toward her, theirfeatures masked by the smoke and night shadows.
Amaranthe had lost her pistol in the fall.She yanked out the one she had taken from the chauffeur.
“It’s us,” Maldynado said.
“Are you all right?” Books asked.
Amaranthe lowered the weapon. “Yes. Did yousee anyone? Did you capture anyone?”
Given that they dragged no prisoners betweenthem, the latter seemed unlikely, but Akstyr wasn’t accounted foryet. Maybe he had had better luck.
“Sorry, I was busy getting shot,” Maldynadosaid.
In the poor lighting, she could not see if hewas bleeding, but the way he reached for his temple and thenlowered his hand to check it made her suspect so.
“Can you walk?” Books asked. “I think theyset the fire in that building down there. If so, they must havebeen trying to hide something, to destroy evidence perhaps.”
Before he finished the words, Amarantheforced her legs into a jog. “Let’s check it. Where’s Akstyr?”
The back of her head sent a pulse of painthrough her skull with each step. She probed her scalp gingerly,and her fingers met dampness. What a night.
“I’m not sure,” Books said. “I saw him racinginto an alley. I think it was him. He must have seen someone.”
Amaranthe thumped her fist against her thigh,torn between wanting to race after him to make sure he did not getin trouble and wanting to investigate the building before theflames burned away any evidence that might be inside. “Whichalley?” she asked.
Books hesitated, then pointed at one a half ablock down the hill. Amaranthe veered toward it, but when shereached the mouth, she could not see anyone. Several alleys openedto the left and right before the main one emptied onto a street ablock away.
“Could be anywhere,” she muttered.
“Let’s check the building,” Books said. “I’msure he’ll be fine.”
Amaranthe was not, and she did not want tolose any more men, but she let Books lead her away. Maldynado hadstopped to gawk at the wreckage revealed by the clearing smoke.Warped and charred, the vehicles slumped like candles melted downto stubs. Though warehouses and commercial buildings filled theseblocks, Amaranthe doubted that explosion would go unreported forlong.
Shaking her head, she followed Books to atall, double-door entrance-one large enough to accommodate arailway carriage. Smoke poured out, and he had pulled his shirt upover his nose. Flames continued to burn at the ground-level window,and fire danced behind the upper floor windows now, too.
Even before Amaranthe stepped inside, dryheat blew over her face. The rail carriage sat in the middle of anopen bay. Flames crackled and danced along the wooden ceiling highoverhead, but the fire had not damaged the carriage yet.
She rifled through a pocket and found thekerchief she had used earlier in the night.
“The flames have likely compromised thestructural integrity of the building,” Books said.
“That’s his way of saying we’re stupid to goinside, right?” Maldynado asked.
“I believe so.” Amaranthe went in a
nyway,heading straight for the rail carriage. Hot air and light assaultedher already beleaguered eyes, and tears streaked down her cheeks,cool against skin flushed from the heat. “Spread out and searchthis floor.”
A board fell away from the ceiling andthudded to the cement ahead of her. Flames licked the charred wood.She ran around it and circled the carriage, hoping one door wouldbe open. None were. She tugged her jacket off, wadded it up toinsulate her hand, and reached for the handle.
The heat seared her flesh even through thecloth barrier, and she yanked the door open as quickly aspossible.
A ceiling beam snapped, and half of itdropped, smashing onto the engine of the rail carriage.
Amaranthe gulped. Wisps of charred paper andwood floated in the air, and even with the kerchief over her mouthand nose, hot fumes seared her lungs.
Using her boot, she nudged the door openwide. Nothing rested on the carpeted floor or black-velvet bencheson either end. A shirt or jacket hung over the back of one though.Amaranthe doubted it would reveal anything useful, but she lungedin and grabbed it.
“Amaranthe!” Books yelled.
She jumped out of the carriage. “What?”
“Over here,” he called from the far corner ofthe bay, somewhere behind the carriage. “You’re going to want tosee this.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Maldynadosaid.
Amaranthe eased around the carriage andspotted the two men behind a low wall that partially hid a bank ofstanding lockers. Books was staring at something on the ground, hisface twisted in a horrified rictus.
Maldynado backed away, his expression grim.“I can’t look at that.”
Amaranthe took a deep breath and joinedBooks.
The woman’s body on the ground did notsurprise her, but its nudity and the scars gouging the torso did.Though the smell of burning wood-burningeverything-dominated the building, she caught a whiff ofblood, and her stomach twisted into a knot, threatening to ejectits contents. Amaranthe took a deep breath and sought to finddetachment, at least enough to study the body and figure out whatit meant.
The scars seemed systematic rather than theresult of sword or knife fighting. Some were stitched and partiallyhealed while others appeared more recent. Though blood saturatedthe blonde hair, the face was oddly unmarred.
A jolt of recognition went through her. Itwas Fasha, the woman who had first alerted Amaranthe to thekidnappings. Either that, or the missing sister was a twin, butgiven that Fasha had failed to show up for their lastmeeting…
“Some of those scars.” Books coughed andcleared his throat. “Some of those look like they’re over thereproductive organs.”
Amaranthe stared at him. “What are yousaying? Someone removed her organs?”
“It seems likely someone did somethingto them.”
Another beam snapped, and burning shards ofwood fluttered to the floor.
“We ought to get out of here,” Maldynado saidfrom a few feet away. “I’m sure you two can further discuss thecreepiness of this whole situation outside.”
“Good idea,” Books said, stepping pastAmaranthe.
“Wait, we should remove the body,” she said.A doctor could tell them more about the cuts and if anythingwas…missing. “Can you help me-”
A massive crack boomed above her head.Burning boards plummeted toward her.
Amaranthe leaped back. Someone’s hand grippedher collar and yanked her further. Charred wood and rubble from thefloor above buried the body and hurled smoke and ash into theair.
The rag about her mouth did little to keepfine particles from invading her throat. Coughs wracked her body,and she bent over, trying to find air. The heat and fumes broughtdizziness, and blackness encroached upon her vision again.
More wood snapped overhead. An arm snakedaround Amaranthe’s waist, and she found herself slung oversomeone’s shoulder.
“Help you get out of here?” Maldynado askedin response to her request. “Why, yes, yes I can.”
When Amaranthe opened her mouth to protest,another series of coughs sent spasms through her body.
“You approve?” Maldynado said.“Excellent.”
Despite her reluctance to leave without thebody, a surge of pleasure raced through her when they steppedoutside and cool night air replaced the heat of the building. Rainsplattered the back of her neck, and she didn’t mind it onebit.
“Dear ancestors,” Books said, “what amess.”
“Me?” Amaranthe croaked.
“I believe he’s referring to the crash youinstigated,” Maldynado said.
He had not set her down yet. Amaranthe, buttin the air, torso dangling down his back, twisted her head to theside to view the tangled metal carnage in the middle of thestreet.
“Take a good look,” Maldynado said. “I wantyou to remember this the next time you bother me about running overa street lamp.”
“Are you planning on destroying more streetlamps?” Books asked.
“Oh, I think that’s a given as long as wework for the boss here.”
Amaranthe opened her mouth to tell him to sether down, but motion up the hill stopped her. A vehicle had turnedonto the street and was rolling toward the crash. Night made itimpossible to make out details, but she could guess at theoccupants. “Enforcers coming. Time to go.”
“Right.” Maldynado jogged toward analley.
Amaranthe bumped and bounced on his shoulderlike a crate on a bicycle navigating cobblestones. “I can run on myown,” she said, voice vibrating with Maldynado’s every step.
“Promise you won’t sprint back inside and tryto drag that body out?” Maldynado asked.
“Yes.” Unfortunately.
Maldynado lowered her gently. She scrapeddamp hair out of her eyes, wincing when she brushed against a knotthe size of a chicken egg on the side of her head. She wassurprised to find she still clutched the jacket she had pulled outof the carriage. Not exactly the chance for illumination the bodywould have provided, but maybe a pocket would contain a usefulclue.
Several blocks away and back on the streetfollowing the waterfront, Amaranthe paused beneath a streetlight toexamine it. The flame revealed heavy black material in the cut ofan army fatigue jacket.
“What’s that?” Books asked, stopping besideher.
Maldynado stopped as well, though he turnedhis attention the way they had come, watching for pursuit.
“It was in the carriage.” Amaranthe checkedthe pockets and found nothing. So much for that hope. The rank pinshad been removed, though the nametag was still sewn on above thebreast pocket. She turned it toward the light. “Taloncrest,” sheread and paused. That name seemed familiar.
“Nobody I’ve heard of,” Maldynado said.
“Nor I,” Books said. “Amaranthe?” he askedwhen her thoughtful silence continued.
“Colonel Taloncrest,” she murmured, an uneasyflutter vexing her stomach at the memory.
“Who’s he?” Maldynado asked.
“He was the surgeon performing medicalexperiments on people in the Imperial Barracks dungeon whenHollowcrest had me thrown down there.”
Memories of that miserable place floodedAmaranthe. The military could not be behind the kidnapped athletesand her missing men, could it? No, Sespian would not allow that tohappen. Unless he didn’t know it was happening. He hadn’tknown of the experiments in the dungeon the winter before. But hehad been drugged then. The more likely scenario was that Sespianhad learned of the experiments in the dungeon and ousted Taloncrestfor being one of Hollowcrest’s lackeys. That would mean Taloncrestwas a rogue, perhaps hirable by someone else. Such as thisred-haired woman.
“You’re sure?” Books asked. “Medicalexperiments?”
“Dear ancestors,” Maldynado said, lookingback the way they had come, toward the dead woman. “That’sdisturbing.”
Amaranthe tried not to think of Taloncreststanding over Sicarius, a scalpel poised. It did not work.
CHAPTER 11
When Basilard woke, his head ached worse thanit ever had after
a night out carousing with Maldynado. He openedhis eyes to-thankfully-dim lighting emanating from a globe hangingbeside a metal door. The entire room-cubby might be a betterword-was made from dark gray metal. He lay on a narrow cot, staringat riveting running along ridges traversing the walls from floor tocurved ceiling. He had never been on a steam ship, but guessed thatwas his location. Engines somewhere rumbled, the reverberationspulsing through the floor and up his cot.
Was he being transported somewhere? Though hehad never sailed, he had seen maps of the empire and knew that onecould travel from the Chain Lakes down the Goldar River and all theway to the Gulf. From there, one could go…anywhere in the world.Had he been captured to be sold into slavery once again? This timesomeplace far away? Someplace so far away there was no chance hewould ever return home again to see his daughter?
The daughter you could have already gone tosee if you weren’t such a coward, he told himself.
Basilard sat up, and the pounding in his headintensified so much he groaned and grabbed his temples. Toughen up,he told himself. Sicarius would not bellyache so.
He sneered at himself. Why was he holdingSicarius up as a model to emulate?
When the throbbing calmed enough to handle,he swung his legs over the edge of the cot and found the floor-thedeck? Was that what ship people called it? The cold metal numbedhis bare feet. With a twitch of surprise, he realized everythingwas bare. He patted himself down, checking for…he did not knowwhat, but one couldn’t trust people who kidnapped one and stoleone’s clothing.
Soft, rhythmic clangs sounded beyond thedoor. Footsteps.
A scratch and thud echoed through the door.Basilard slipped off the cot and dropped into a defensive crouch.One that could easily turn offensive, if the situation permittedit. Though he should perhaps figure out where he was beforeattacking people. Who knew how long he had been unconscious?
Another thud sounded, then a clank. Multiplelocks being thrown? If so, they had secured him well.
The thick, metal door squeaked open.
A woman stood there, her long red hair pinnedinto a swirling dervish atop her head. Two men framed her. Theywore the black fatigues of army soldiers, though no rank pinsadorned their collars. One appeared to be “the muscle.” He crowdedthe hallway with broad shoulders and tree-trunk arms that evenMaldynado would have dubbed substantial. He aimed a pistol atBasilard, though the challenging sneer curling his lips said hewould be happy to battle barehanded or perhaps with the swordsheathed at his waist. The surname stitched on his jacket read,LEV. The second man had neatly trimmed gray hair and wielded aclipboard instead of a gun. His tag read, TALONCREST. Awarrior-caste officer involved in this scheme? Surprising.
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