The woman stepped inside first with noapparent fear of Basilard. The men followed after, one at a time,ducking and stepping over the raised frame of the door toenter.
“Greetings,” the woman said. “I havequestions for you.”
Though Basilard would not have been in a rushto answer their questions under any circumstances, he doubted itwas a possibility here. The soldiers would not understand his signlanguage, and he did not think the woman was Mangdorian. Thoughfair-skinned, she was not as pale as his people, and he thought shemight be Kendorian or perhaps from one of the island nationsbetween Turgonia and Nuria.
He touched the scar tissue at his throat andshrugged. Maybe they would not think to ask if he could read,though Arbitan had insisted Basilard learn that skill before hetook over as head of security for the wizard.
“You can’t speak?” the woman asked, eyesnarrowed.
Basilard shook his head and signed, Whoare you? more out of habit than because he wanted a response.In reflection, maybe he should not have done that. Maybe it wasbetter if they believed he could not answer their questions at all.Or would that mean they had no use for him?
The gray-haired officer’s eyebrows rose. “TheMangdorian hunting code?”
Basilard nodded.
“That answers your question, Litya.”Taloncrest scribbled something on his notepad.
“Yes, but race matters little for myexperiments,” the woman said in a lilting, almost musical accentBasilard did not recognize. “I prefer Turgonian stock, given thegoals of my clients, but your people have such muddied bloodlinesthat no one will be the wiser as long as we breed the foreignerswith darker skinned specimens.”
Breed? Basilard caught his mouth danglingopen, and he snapped it shut.
“If you don’t need him,” Taloncrest said,eyeing Basilard as he tapped his pen on his clipboard, “I’m sure Icould use him.”
“You can have them all for your cuttingsafter I’ve taken my samples.”
“Excellent,” Taloncrest said.
“I can move ahead with him as soon as mysister returns with the anesthesia ingredients.”
Cuts were nothing new to Basilard, butTaloncrest’s smile and the enthusiastic way he scribbled notes onhis clipboard made Basilard uneasy. As did the talk of “samples”and “anesthesia.”
“Your speed in the race,” thewoman-Litya-said, “is that typical for you, or do you believe itwas a fluke performance? Your agility must have impressed our boy,because he’d had another pegged as our last acquisition. I have nodata on you however.”
Basilard clasped his hands behind his back.These people had nothing good planned for him, so he saw no reasonto assist them.
“Taloncrest,” Litya said, “can you understandhis hand codes? Can you make him speak?”
Basilard raised his chin. They couldtry to make him speak.
The young soldier stepped forward at this, aneager smile tightening his lips.
“I don’t know enough of the signs,”Taloncrest said.
“Maybe he’s learned to write Turgonian?”Litya asked. “Or does anybody here read Mangdorian? They’re vaguelyliterate, aren’t they?”
Basilard thought about waving for a pen, ifonly so he could attempt to stab the woman in the belly with itbefore the men stopped him, but it was probably better to pretendhe could not write and did not understand much of what they weresaying.
“When Metya gets back, we’ll question himunder the influence of pok-tah,” the woman said. “If heknows anything, he’ll be eager to share it with us then, one way oranother.”
“It didn’t work on Sicarius,” Taloncrestmuttered, head down, scrawling notes again.
Had Basilard thought about it, he would haveassumed Sicarius was here somewhere, too, but hearing the namestartled him. He covered his surprise quickly and hoped nobodynoticed.
He waited, hoping they would say somethingthat would indicate whether Sicarius was alive or if they hadalready…disposed of him, but nobody spoke again. After Taloncrestfinished scribbling his notes, he nodded to the woman, and the trioleft.
The door clanged shut, and the locks thunkedinto place.
Basilard could only guess at what thesepeople were up to, but he knew he wanted to be no part of it. If hewas on a ship, steaming away from the city, he could not count onAmaranthe and the others finding him and rescuing him. He wouldhave to escape.
He eyed the solid metal walls and the sparseconfines of the cabin. It would not be easy.
Amaranthe swept dust and food crumbs off thetop of the lookout car. Despite the busy night, she had sleptpoorly when she, Maldynado, and Books returned to their camp in theboneyard. She had woken at dawn, the lump on her head throbbing,and frequent yawns had been tearing her gritty eyes ever since.Morning sun beat against her back, making the night’s rain a faintmemory, but the warmth failed to cheer her. Akstyr had notreturned, and she was beginning to fear he had been captured, too.Or worse.
She could not stop picturing Fasha’s deadbody in her mind. Though the girl had never officially hired herteam, or asked for protection, Amaranthe knew she had failed her.She should have kept better tabs on the girl, or at least warnedher not to go hunting for clues on her own.
She swept more vigorously.
“Amaranthe?” Books called. “Are you upthere?”
She swept a walnut shell off the edge,sending it clanging against the rail car on the far side of theircamp.
“Must be a yes,” Books muttered as he climbedup. He frowned over the top of the ladder at her. “I can seecleaning the cars we’re dwelling in, but the tops of them? Is thatnecessary?”
Books held a napkin full of food, andAmaranthe stopped sweeping. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her thatmany hours had passed since her last meal.
“Someone ate walnuts up here and left shellseverywhere,” she said.
“Yes, but is it necessary to cleanthat?”
“No, it’s not necessary, Books, but this iswhat I do when-” She broke off, not wanting to start ranting overnothing. He was not the one upsetting her; it was the cursedsituation and the fact that she was losing men every time sheturned around. “This is what I do.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I just thought…youshould get more rest.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Ah.” Books cleared his throat, glanced down,and seemed to remember he held food. “Breakfast?” He offered her acouple of hard-boiled eggs and a slab of ham.
Amaranthe drew her kerchief from her pocket,found it soot-stained, and sighed. She set it aside to wash laterand grabbed the food barehanded. “Thank you.”
“It’s an all-protein breakfast,” Books said.“I believe Sicarius would approve.”
She tried to smile. “He’d add seeds and rawvegetables to counteract the saltiness of the ham. Or maybe they’reto keep morning movements regular. I think I’ve finally got hisdiet down, but I can’t remember all the reasons for all therules.”
“I just know we’re lucky to have food at allwith Basilard gone. What are we going to do next to find them?”
“I’m not sure.” Which meant she had no idea.“They know we’re looking for them now. I wish we had some soldierfriends at Fort Urgot, so we could ask if anyone knew whatTaloncrest was last working on.” Amaranthe took a bigger bite ofham than normal, tearing it off with a savage chomp.
“Yes, soldiers have that tedious tendency totry and capture us when we get close. Or shoot us on sight.”
“We were this close….” She held upher thumb and forefinger, a millimeter between them. “I don’t knowif that was their hideout or simply a transfer station, but thefire surely destroyed any evidence left behind. They must haverealized there were witnesses to Basilard’s kidnapping. Or maybethey intended him to be the last person they stole, and they didn’tneed the fire brigade building any more.”
“I know it seems bleak now,” Books said, “butwe can’t give up.”
“Of course not. We’re just…” Amaranthetouched the lump on her head, eliciting
a stab of pain. “Recoveringfor a few hours.”
“Anyone home?” a familiar voice called.
Akstyr. Amaranthe rose to her feet andstepped to the edge of the car roof. He slouched into camp, hisspiky hair drooping, and dark circles beneath his eyes. He appeareduninjured.
Amaranthe knew it was uncharitable, but shewished it were Sicarius striding into camp instead. Akstyr mighthave information though. She waved for him to come up.
“Busy night?” she asked.
“Boring night,” Akstyr said.
That didn’t sound promising. “Did you learnanything?”
“Enh.”
She circled her hand in the air, implying hecould explain further.
“I spotted the woman and the man running outof the smoke and into an alley,” Akstyr said.
“Woman and man? From inside the carriage?”Amaranthe asked. “What did they look like?”
“The woman had red hair and she was nice andcurvy. The man was older. Short, gray hair. Looked like a soldier,but he was just wearing a black shirt, so it was hard to tell.”
That sounded like Taloncrest and the womanthe young thieves had described. Amaranthe nodded. “Go on.”
“I followed them, figured you’d want to knowwhere they went.”
“Yes, I do. Thank you. And?” Sometimes sheappreciated that Maldynado launched into the whole story at thetiniest prompting. Surely soldiers could get information out ofprisoners of war more easily than she could dig it out of Akstyr attimes.
“Stayed back in the shadows so they wouldn’tsee me. Almost lost them a couple of times, but I found ‘em againon the docks. They went out on Pier Thirteen to a warehouse at theend.”
Amaranthe frowned at Books. “That’s theBolidot’s Imports warehouse, isn’t it? She has a huge business witha big turnover, and cargo ships go in and out of there every day.Kidnappers needing to maintain a low profile couldn’t use such abusy place.”
“Agreed,” Books said.
“They never came out,” Akstyr said.
“That seems unlikely,” Books said.
Akstyr stepped toward him, chest puffed out.“You thinking I’m blind? Or lying? While you were sleeping, I wassitting there watching and waiting for them to come back down thedock and they never did. I stayed until workers showed up and wentinside. What’d you do? Come back here and snore all night?”
“Four hours, perhaps,” Books murmured.
Amaranthe rested a hand on Akstyr’s arm,drawing his attention to her. “Is it possible they slipped away ina boat?”
“Don’t think so,” he said. “I thought of thatand checked how many boats were around. Didn’t see anydisappear.”
“I guess we can take a look,” Amaranthe toldBooks.
Akstyr yawned. “You two do that. I’m going tomake it thunderous in the sleeping car.” He emulated a noisy snore,then jumped to the ground.
“Akstyr,” Amaranthe called. She stifled atwinge of annoyance that he had dismissed himself without asking ifshe needed anything else. He had to be tired after staying up allnight, and he was surly even on a perky day. “We need you tocome.”
“What?” he called up in a whiny voice a fiveyear old could not have bested.
“I’ll bet you ten ranmyas Taloncrest and hisforeign lady aren’t working out of that warehouse.”
“So?”
“So, if you didn’t see them leave bymundane means, isn’t it possible they used the mentalsciences?”
“Oh,” Akstyr said. “Well, yeah.”
“Then we’ll need you to stick yourmagic-sniffing nose in the corners,” Amaranthe said, “see if youcan catch a scent.”
“I’m not a hound, you know.”
“We know,” Books said. “Hounds work alot harder for a lot less incentive.”
“You’re not helping,” Amaranthe said.
“We can’t go until night, right?” Akstyrasked. “Lots of people will be working, so we can’t sniff arounduntil they go home.”
Amaranthe leaned over the edge of the roofand smiled down at him. “I’ll get us in. Have some breakfast, andwe’ll head over. You can sleep later.”
Akstyr stabbed a finger at the open door ofthe sleeping car. “Does Maldynado get to stay here?”
“That wouldn’t be fair, would it?” Amarantheasked. “You better go wake him up.”
“Good.” Akstyr smiled for the first time andleaped into the car with zealousness.
“Misery is more palatable when shared withothers,” Amaranthe noted to Books.
“Indeed.”
Amaranthe led Maldynado, Akstyr, and Booksonto Pier Thirteen, her strides long and her chin high beneath thebrim of her sunhat. It hid her face to some extent, and, on thetrolley ride over, she had arranged her hair in a number of braids,then pinned them up in a creative bundle that looked nothing likethe style on any of her wanted posters. She supposed she could lookinto cosmetics to disguise her facial features, but shewanted to be recognized when she was doing something good,something that might help her clear her name.
A massive crane belched smoke as it liftedshipping containers from the bowels of a merchant steamer andlowered them to the dock. Dozens of burly, bare-chested stevedoresunloaded the cargo and ported it inside the towering warehouse. Theshirtless workers seemed to be competing with each other for therole of Tattoo Emperor. Amaranthe decided the man with the krakenwas the winner-its head emblazoned his neck while tentacles randown his back, both arms, and his chest, with the largest pairdisappearing beneath his trousers. Of its own wayward volition, hermind wondered how far beneath the waistband the tentacle motifmight continue and what exactly it would be doing down there.
The tattooed man glanced her way beforeheading into the warehouse with a crate in his arms. He caught hereye and winked.
“If Deret doesn’t turn out to be your dreamman,” Maldynado said, “we can always find you someone here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you dolt,” Books said.“If Amaranthe must copulate at all, it should be with a man whoknows how to read and preferably how to use the Imperial LocusSystem to pluck appropriately intellectual books from the libraryshelves.”
“A skill that would be completely useless forsatisfying her in bed,” Maldynado said.
“Surely, finger dexterity has crossoverapplications.”
“Gentlemen,” Amaranthe said, wondering whensuch commentary had ceased to make her blush. “Let’s go over ourstory.”
“You’re going to pose,” Books said, “as theowner of an escort service, with Maldynado as your employeeand-”
“Star employee,” Maldynado said.
“Uh huh.” Books stepped around a man carryinga massive ceramic jar and continued. “And you’re shopping forimported silks and tapestries and such for your…office? Is thatthe correct term for a place where someone like Maldynado would beprostituted out?”
“Close enough,” Amaranthe said.
“Costasce called her viewing room ‘TheParlor’,” Maldynado said.
They had reached the roll-up door of thewarehouse, so Amaranthe stopped. None of the men streaming in andout spared her group a glance. Maybe they could simply walk in andsnoop about without anyone caring. She peeped through thedoorway.
A woman in spectacles checked off items on aclipboard and directed men toward different areas in the warehouseor toward a massive lift that could deliver cargo to an upperlevel. The men might not care about interlopers, but she wouldsurely notice strangers strolling through the premises. Theplatform sandals crossing her feet with thin straps promised shewasn’t going to wander far to do lifting or other work.
“As to our role,” Books started, butAmaranthe cut him off with a raised hand.
“Akstyr?” she asked. With his disinterest forthings non-magical, she never knew how much he was payingattention. “Your role?”
“We’re your porters.” He yawned. “Me andBooks.”
“Good,” Amaranthe said.
“As long as we don’t have to really portthings.”
/>
“You just sniff about,” she said.
“Are we sure this is wise?” Books ask.“Should this turn…confrontational, we don’t have our two mostproficient fighters here.”
Maldynado propped his hands on his hips. “Youhave me.”
Books looked him up and down, then focused onAmaranthe again. “We don’t have our two most proficient fightershere.”
“You believe Basilard a better brawler thanme?” Maldynado asked. “Truly?”
“We’ll be fine,” she said and headed in.
The clipboard-toting lady’s head swiveledtoward the door before Amaranthe had gone more than three steps.No, this woman would not allow random snoopers, not without a coverstory.
“Morning,” Amaranthe said, strollingcloser.
“What do you want?” the woman snapped.
Ah, the friendly sort. Wonderful.
“Hello, I’m Darva,” Amaranthe said. “DarvaLarkcrest.” As long as she was making up names, she might as wellattach herself to a warrior caste family. “Who are you?”
Amaranthe’s invocation of warrior-castestatus did nothing to impress the woman. In fact, she scowled moredeeply. New money, perhaps, one who had no respect for thearistocracy. Still, if she was the owner, or someone high up in thebusiness, she ought to be interested in pleasing clients.
“Ms. Setjareth,” she said. “Partial owner.What do you want? This is my warehouse, and unless you’re carryingin cargo, I’m not interested in talking to you. You, Squid Tat,take that one to the second floor.”
“I’m interested in purchasing some of yourinventory,” Amaranthe said.
“Shop’s on Third and Canal.” The woman’s gazelowered to her clipboard again.
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