“Sorry,” Amaranthe said, “but I couldn’t lift it when I tried. Alas, I’m not as brawny as you and Books.”
Books looked mollified at being called “brawny,” though his face had an unhealthy turnip-like hue. Amaranthe was glad when Sespian said, “I’ll take a turn.”
Maldynado smiled brightly, though it faded when Sespian replaced Books instead of himself. “Hmmph,” he announced loudly.
“What are we going to do with this big can anyway?” Maldynado added a few steps later.
“It’s full of… I don’t remember what exactly Mahliki called it,” Amaranthe said, “but it’s a liquid compound she derived from the venom sacs of… I forget that too. Some kind of spider. I remember that she was relieved that the city’s main bug farmer had the correct specimens in suitable numbers, due to most bugs dying or hibernating in the winter.” Amaranthe was lucky to remember that much of the explanation she’d received, as the young woman had spoken rapidly, sometimes slipping into Kyattese and sometimes into technical bug-babble that Amaranthe had followed even less than the foreign language. “The venom sacs contain a poison that paralyzes insects, so the spider can easily snack on them.”
“I hope the plan isn’t for us to go around shooting my brother’s men full of poison and then eating them, because I had some of Basilard’s chicken dumplings before we left, and I’m not in the mood to snack.”
Amaranthe met Yara’s eyes. “Did you want to smack him, or should I?”
“That’s most likely my duty,” Yara said, “though I wouldn’t want him to drop that barrel, especially now that I know it’s full of paralyzing poison.”
“Actually, that’s not quite it,” Amaranthe said. “Mahliki and her cousin performed some fancy alchemy to turn it into an anesthesia of sorts. We’re to pour it onto the coals in the basement furnace that warms the air that flows into the ducts of the building. It’ll waft out of the vents as a colorless gas, supposedly without much of an odor either. We’ll wait a few minutes, and when we come up, most of the resistance should be groggy or outright unconscious. Those on the inside of the building anyway. We’ll still have to deal with the guards in the courtyard and on the walls.”
“She made an anesthesia from spiders innards?” Akstyr asked. “How old is she?”
“Seventeen, I believe,” Amaranthe said.
“That makes me feel less… special about my ability to use the Science to pull down people’s trousers.”
Amaranthe couldn’t remember ever hearing Akstyr sound impressed by anyone, not out loud anyway. He usually rolled his eyes or curled his lips at the admirable feats Sicarius and his teammates could accomplish. Perhaps it was Mahliki’s age. Or the fact that she was beautiful. Amaranthe decided not to mention that she’d caught Mahliki glancing Sespian’s way a few times during the team meeting. “Don’t belittle your skills,” she said. “They’ve saved our lives a few times now.”
“Wait,” Maldynado said. “Akstyr’s running around, forcing people to model their undergarments? When did he learn this new talent?”
“Don’t ask,” Books said, “or he may try it on you.”
“I’d rather we head to the dance halls together, so he can demonstrate that skill on the pretty—ouch.”
“Thank you, Yara,” Amaranthe said without looking back.
“You’re welcome.”
Basilard jogged in front of Amaranthe and dropped to one knee, examining the dirt. The ursine makarovi prints weren’t as perfectly defined as they had been in the snow, but one could make out partial tracks in the soft earth, not to mention the finger-thick punctures that marked the spots their long claws had set down.
“Same number of them as we saw at the entrance?” Amaranthe asked, though logic suggested the answer had to be yes. They hadn’t passed any side tunnels or exits.
Basilard nodded. The smell is getting stronger.
Amaranthe hoped she wasn’t directing the team into the heart of a makarovi den. Maybe they should have chanced dealing with shamanic alarms and booby traps instead. She peered into the darkness ahead. Sicarius hadn’t returned.
“I thought that was Maldynado and Books smelling that bad,” Akstyr said, “on account of working so hard to tote that big can.”
“Ha ha,” Maldynado said, “your sharp quip has skewered me like a venison kebob for a grill.”
“How come he didn’t include Sespian in his witty lambast?” Books pointed to the rear, where Sespian trudged along, now carrying the back half of the canister.
“He doesn’t seem to sweat much,” Akstyr said. “Even when he’s not doing bookly things.”
Sespian shook his head.
Basilard stood, pointing ahead. A moment later, Sicarius jogged out of the darkness. Yes, jogged, Amaranthe noted; he wasn’t sprinting as if a herd of… makarovi were after him. Good.
“Come,” he said, turning as soon as they saw him.
“No, no,” Amaranthe said. “No need to tell us what you saw. We’re not the curious sorts.”
He’d already disappeared into the tunnel depths.
Amaranthe grumbled, but strode after him anyway. The others followed, this time without the banter. Sicarius hadn’t appeared any grimmer than usual, but there’d been an urgency about his terse command and quick retreat.
A breeze drifted down the tunnel, bringing with it the scent of earth and snow, though the makarovi musk nearly smothered those more delicate odors. Amaranthe noticed her hand pressed against her belly, against the scars she’d forever have, a tangible memory of her last encounter. We’re not heading into a den, she told herself. If she smelled snow, there was another exit to the tunnel.
Soon sounds as well as smells came from ahead. A din that Amaranthe couldn’t place: bangs and clangs and shouts. They ought to be close to the Barracks; could they be hearing sounds of an attack? Starcrest wouldn’t have sent men to charge the gates, would he? As a diversion? No, he didn’t have many men, and certainly none to spare for something foolhardy. Maybe Flintcrest or Heroncrest were attacking. Except that her team had already stumbled across Heroncrest’s men. He’d been the general with the tunnel-boring machinery. His original plan of attack had to be on hold now.
Metal glinted ahead, not in the center of the passage, but off to the side in a hollow. Thus far, the tunnel had been straight without so much as a wall niche for holding the canteens and lunch boxes of the workers.
Sicarius stepped out of the hollow at the same moment as Amaranthe drew close enough to identify the metal object. The conical head of the tunnel borer stuck a few inches into the tunnel, with the rest of the vehicle backed into the nook.
When she took a step toward it, thinking to peek inside the cab, Sicarius lifted a restraining hand.
“There is nothing to see except mauled corpses. They were trying to turn around, to escape. Presumably the machine’s forward speed is greater than its reverse speed. Either way, it wouldn’t have mattered. Makarovi can cover ground quickly.”
“I see.”
“There are two exits ahead. One where the borer came up in the root cellar, and another in the courtyard where the ceiling caved in—or was pulled in—” Sicarius made an upward grasping motion with his hand, and Amaranthe imagined makarovi claws tearing into the earth. “That’s where the tracks diverge.”
“Root cellar?” Sespian asked. “Was the food destroyed? That’s where most of the stores to feed the compound are kept. If Marblecrest was depending on those rations for his men…”
“I’m more concerned about what he means about tracks diverging,” Amaranthe said. “Are we dealing with more than five makarovi?”
“At least twelve,” Sicarius said. “More than half of them went up into the courtyard instead of down the tunnel.”
“Twelve?” Maldynado groaned. “And us without a dam to hurl them off?”
“Maybe we can lead them to the lake,” Books said. “The ice will be weakened with the warmer weather, and their corpulent frames ought to break through a c
ouple of inches regardless.”
“Lead them with what bait?” Yara frowned.
Sicarius gave Amaranthe a quelling expression. She hadn’t planned to volunteer for that job again anyway.
Sespian raised a finger. “Just to be clear, you’re saying they originated in the root cellar? How would that be possible?”
“An empty portion was sectioned off and turned into a cage, a cage secured with thick steel bars. The tunnel borer came up underneath it.”
“That must have surprised the piss out of the operator,” Maldynado said.
“Heroncrest’s people must have thought the root cellar would be the ideal place to bring up the borer.” Sespian touched the cone, its metal blades scraped and pitted after so much use. “It’s underground, of course, and out in the courtyard, not attached to the main building. Unless a few servants were out collecting supplies for breakfast, who would hear the rumbling of the machinery underfoot?”
“Yes, good plan from Heroncrest,” Yara said, “but is anybody else wondering how a bunch of makarovi got into the root cellar to start with and why they were brought here?”
“Maybe…” Amaranthe withdrew a kerchief and wiped earth off the borer’s grimy blades. “Maybe Ravido wasn’t planning on being a figurehead for Forge after all.”
“You think my brother caught twelve makarovi?” Maldynado blinked. “He shot one of our cousins when he was out on a stag hunt with Father. After that, he was encouraged to abandon the hobby.”
“With the money your family has, I imagine he could have hired someone to do the capturing for him,” Amaranthe said. “Maybe he learned about our shaman friend from the mountains. Maybe he even excavated that cave we collapsed and found some of those collars…”
“You believe Ravido Marblecrest brought the makarovi here and imprisoned them to be unleashed on the Forge people?” Books asked. “Once they’d secured his place on the throne?”
Basilard nodded in grim agreement. He must have been imagining the scenario too.
“Forge is comprised mostly of women.” Amaranthe’s hand strayed toward her scars again before she caught herself. She returned to cleaning the blades. “Makarovi like women.”
“Like,” Yara choked. “That’s not the way I’d put it.”
Gunshots erupted in the distance, drowning out the muffled shouts and general din drifting down the tunnel from the courtyard ahead.
“That’s a despicable plan,” Sespian said and frowned at Maldynado. “Your brother is a monster.”
Maldynado touched his hand to his chest. “Do you hear me disagreeing? I wouldn’t be surprised if Father had a hand in this as well. Anything to assure the family’s place in imperial history.”
Sicarius caught Amaranthe’s hand before she could stand on tiptoes to clean the top part of the drill head. She didn’t plan to fall into it, but supposed she was leaning precariously close to the sharp blades. There was no point in cleaning the machine; she just hated to leave those crusty edges alone. She gave him a sheepish shrug.
“Let someone else deal with eradicating the makarovi,” Sicarius said. “There are soldiers all over the place, and the creatures can be killed by attrition—enough bullets to the head will stop one of them.”
“What about twelve?” Sespian murmured.
“Now would be the time to enact our original plan,” Sicarius said.
“Put people to sleep while they’re defending themselves from man-slaying monsters?” Books balked.
“I climbed out of the hole in the courtyard long enough to assess the situation,” Sicarius said. “The Barracks doors have been barricaded, the shutters on the first floor closed and barred. Many people are inside, and more are on the ramparts, trying to kill the makarovi and keep them from climbing up or escaping into the city. I do not believe any made it into the building.”
“You don’t believe?” Sespian asked. “What if you’re wrong? How many did you see in the courtyard?”
“Two, but I didn’t explore. I had to warn you.” Sicarius met Amaranthe’s eyes. “Currently, there are no barriers between us and the makarovi running around the courtyard. It is only their distraction that has kept them up there, but it’s unlikely there are women on the walls amongst the defenders.”
“No, but there’ll be women inside,” Amaranthe said. “Maids and kitchen helpers if no one else.”
“Yes, one of the makarovi was clawing at the front doors, trying to get inside.”
“Dear ancestors.” Yara started pacing.
Amaranthe would have lifted a fingernail to her lips for thoughtful nibbling, but Sicarius hadn’t released her hand. Given that it was the first time she remembered him holding it with others around, she wasn’t about to yank it away. Alas, it probably represented a concern that she might race off and, at the urging of some foolhardy scheme, put herself into a makarovi’s path, rather than a sudden interest in public displays of familiarity. She squeezed his hand, letting him know she’d had enough of risking herself stupidly, thank you very much. And after the debacle with the Behemoth, she wasn’t in a hurry to risk anyone else either, not without agreement from the rest of her team.
“Any chance our anesthesia will put makarovi to sleep as well as people?” Amaranthe glanced from Sicarius to Books, guessing they’d be the most likely to know, though she was starting to wish Starcrest had sent his daughter along after all. Mahliki had been more than willing to come.
“Unknown,” Sicarius said.
“Entomology is outside my area of expertise,” Books admitted, “though it’s possible. Mammals share some of the same aversions to venoms—a rattlesnake bite will kill a dog as surely as a man. It would, however, take a much larger dose to affect such a substantial creature. If it affected it at all.”
“I think… we need to get inside the building before we decide,” Amaranthe said. “Let the guards on the walls handle the ones outside. They have far greater firepower than we do, and—”
A scrape, then a pattering of earth sounded in the tunnel ahead of them.
As one, everyone stared in that direction. Something knocking dirt loose? Something jumped down into the tunnel? Amaranthe swallowed. A makarovi? More than one?
She pulled her hand from Sicarius’s grasp and signed, How far are we from the courtyard entrance?
Not far.
Any chance, Books signed, that was nothing more than loose earth falling free? Because of all the activity above us?
A heavy thud sounded, followed by more dirt pattering to the ground.
No.
Chapter 16
“Get Yara and Amaranthe into the cab,” Sicarius barked, stepping into the center of the tunnel. He crouched, his black dagger out and ready.
Before Amaranthe could decide if she wanted to object, no less than three sets of hands grabbed her. She was hoisted into the air like a sack of rice, ported into the tight aisle between machine and earthen wall, and stuffed into the cab. She landed on her rump between the back of the steering chair and the furnace. A dead man’s half-severed arm hung over the back of the chair. Amaranthe gulped.
“Let go of—ouch—you oaf!” Yara was deposited next to her.
“Stay,” Maldynado said, his eyes serious, all the lazy humor gone from his tone.
Assuming the order was for Yara, Amaranthe shifted to her feet. Maldynado pointed a finger at her chest, his hard gaze promising punishment if either of them went anywhere. Basilard, Sespian, Books, and Akstyr had already left the side of the cab to join Sicarius in the center of the tunnel.
The familiar musky scent of the makarovi rolled toward them, hanging so thickly in the air now that it stung Amaranthe’s eyes. Someone fired, and two more shots followed, the bangs thunderous in the confined passage.
“We can’t sit in here and do nothing.” Yara scrambled to her feet. She glanced at the door, then at the body in the chair, and decided against jumping out. Yes, she knew what these beasts could do and who their preferred targets were.
“I
don’t disagree.” Amaranthe turned around, considering the furnace and coal box. Plenty of fuel remained. If the boiler were cold, it’d take a long time start up, but if Heroncrest’s men had been using the vehicle recently…
More shots fired out front.
“Look out,” came Sespian’s voice.
“Into the hollow,” Sicarius said. “It’ll have a harder time—”
He leaped out of sight, his black knife raised overhead.
“We have to do something,” Yara repeated. “They can be killed, yes, but not without a ton of firepower. More than they have.”
Amaranthe opened the furnace door. The flames had died down, but the embers glowed red and heat bathed her face. “Help me shovel coal.”
A makarovi shriek pierced her eardrums, ricocheting down her spine. It made her want to cringe and crawl under the dead man’s chair. Or maybe crawl into the furnace and shut the door. If not for the burning embers, she might have been tempted.
“I hope that means Maldynado shot its balls off,” Yara growled. There wasn’t a second shovel, but she hurled coal in with her hands.
Amaranthe had to stop her lest they smother the fire with their vigor. She grabbed a bellows and blew fresh oxygen onto the embers. Flames burst to life.
“Take over.” Amaranthe thrust the bellows at Yara and turned to the controls. One of them would have to figure out how to work the machine.
Forward and reverse were easy enough—the lever was labeled—but how did one operate the drill? And where were the gauges to signal the boiler’s readiness? And—she grimaced—why did that man’s horribly mauled body have to be right there in the middle of the workspace?
Sicarius would have pushed it out of the cab, but she couldn’t bring herself to be so callous. She tried not to look as she studied the controls.
“Look out, Amaranthe!” came Books’s bellow from outside.
She lifted her head at the same time as a hulking figure leaped around the razored cone and toward her, a mass of shaggy black fur and fangs. It landed on top of the drill head, inches from the windshield. Claws like knives gleamed as it lifted a paw.
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