Deadly Games

  “Corporal Jev,” Amaranthe said. She trusted Sicarius had seen the inept legerdemain and hoped he interpreted her head tilt as would-you-be-so-kind-as-to-retrieve-that-for-me. “Begin the search.”

  Sicarius gave her a hard look, no doubt wondering why they were dickering around instead of simply taking what they needed. She flicked her fingers, hoping he would play along a little while longer. These people were not experienced criminals, and they would likely give her everything they knew without the need for force.

  “You’re not going to disturb the children, are you?” Pella asked.

  Amaranthe had forgotten they were sleeping behind one of the walls of clutter. She trusted Sicarius with her life, and she resented that doubt curled into her at the idea of sending him in to deal with a couple of kids on his own, but what he had shared of his history did not lead her to believe he would be good with them. Granted, the order to dump decapitated heads on the floor with five-year-old Sespian watching had been Emperor Raumesys’s command, but still.

  “We’ll check them last,” Amaranthe said. Together. She hoped Sicarius did not read the reason for her hesitation in her words. She trusted him. She did. She just figured that even at his most innocuous, he would scare children.

  “Mister Raydevk, where do you work? Black Peak?” she asked while Sicarius went through shelves and drawers in the room.

  “Yes.” He took a swig of applejack, though he had appeared more relaxed before the alcohol touched his lips.

  Yes, Amaranthe definitely wanted that paper. “Then it’ll be easy enough to check up on this story about a lottery and winners.”

  Raydevk froze again, the amber liquid to his lips. He recovered and shrugged. “I imagine so.”

  Pella scraped her fingers through her hair and chewed on her lip.

  “You and other miners have been seen at the Imperial Games a number of days this week,” Amaranthe said. “Care to explain what you’re doing there?”

  “Just watching the athletes and enjoying my time off.”

  Amaranthe decided to try talking about herself instead of asking questions. It might put the man at ease and make him more likely to slip with his comments. “It’s fortunate you got that much time off. My father was a miner. He never received more than a couple of days off in a month.” Though he had once come all the way into the city to watch Amaranthe’s race even though he had to get right back on a train to make it to work the next morning.

  “He die young, did he?” Pella asked.

  “Yes,” Amaranthe said. “It’s a hard life, I know.”

  “Got that right,” Raydevk said.

  “Can’t blame people for wanting to better their lot,” Pella said.

  “Is that what you’re doing at the Games?” Amaranthe asked.

  “I told you,” Raydevk said, quick to speak over Pella, Amaranthe sensed, “I’m just down there to enjoy my time off.”

  “I’d think you’d want to spend more of that time with your family.”

  “Don’t you judge me.” Raydevk scowled and pointed a finger at her face. “I take care of my family real good.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Amaranthe said.

  “Then what exactly are you accusing me of?”

  Sicarius paused at the curtain leading to the children’s sleeping area. His ear was cocked. Had he heard something?

  “The boys are sleeping in there,” Pella said. “No reason to go in.”

  Amaranthe could not tell if she was hiding something, or simply did not want enforcers scaring her children.

  Sicarius pushed the curtain aside. A five- or six-year-old boy stumbled out and collapsed at his feet. Someone listening at the “door,” apparently. Eyes round, the boy stared up at Sicarius.

  “Are they here?” a young voice queried from the darkened sleeping area. Soft thumps sounded—bare feet running across a thin carpet. “Ma, you said we could come say, ‘Hello,’ when Uncle Drovar came.” A boy younger than the first charged out of the room as he spoke, and he would have crashed into Sicarius’s leg, but Sicarius lifted his foot, removing the obstacle.

  When the boys realized they had strange visitors, in intimidating uniforms no less, they grew quiet and slunk over to their mother. She lifted a finger, as if she might send them right back to bed, but Sicarius slipped into the vacated area. A light came to life. A good time to search, but Amaranthe wished he would get her that note first. He would be a smoother pickpocket than she.

  “Mister Raydevk,” Amaranthe said, “you’re not accused of anything yet, but it’s clear you’re not telling the truth. If you don’t answer my questions honestly, we’ll be authorized to take you to the magistrate for further questioning. Are you sure you don’t know anything about the missing athletes?”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  The older of the two boys left his mother’s side to peer into the sleeping area.

  “If you did know something,” Amaranthe told Raydevk, “and it led to the arrest of those who spawned the plot, it’s possible we could work a deal where your punishment was waived.”

  Raydevk hesitated, but only for a second. He spread his arms wide. “What would a miner have to do with kidnappings?”

  “I only said athletes were missing, not that they were kidnapped,” Amaranthe said. “How do you know someone is taking them?”

  “Er, I don’t. I mean, the newspapers said that, didn’t they?”

  “No.”

  “Just a guess, then,” Raydevk muttered.

  The boy peering into the sleeping area leaned in further. “What are you doing, mister?”

  His mother stepped around the younger one and stretched out a hand to grab him, but the boy slipped inside.

  “Do you want to see my models? I have an imperial warship, the first steam ferry, and Da’s friend made me a replica of the city’s ice breaking ship.”

  Amaranthe figured Sicarius would ignore the questions, but he was pragmatic to the point where he probably wouldn’t think twice about tying the boy up to keep him out of the way. She stepped toward the curtain to make sure nothing like that happened, but knocks at the door made her pause.

  Raydevk cursed under his breath. His wife winced.

  “Problem?” Amaranthe asked.

  “No,” Raydevk said. “Wrong address.”

  Nobody said anything for a moment, but then the knocks came again—multiple fists striking the wood. “Ray, what’s the hold up? You two entertaining the neighborhood from the fire escape again?”

  The wife’s face flushed red, and even the miner had the sense to appear mortified.

  “Why don’t you let that wrong address in?” Amaranthe asked. “Maybe they know something about the missing athletes.”

  “Come on, Ray, we have to go. Meeting starts in ten minutes.”

  “Meeting?” Amaranthe smiled even as Raydevk cursed. She supposed she should not feel pleasure at watching someone’s lies falling apart, but fate usually tormented her, so it was nice seeing someone else have trouble.

  “I...uh...I’ll just answer that,” Raydevk said.

  He backed toward the door, watching her as he went, and she sensed he meant to try something. He wore no weapons, but he might have one stashed in the flat. A small table with a drawer leaned against the wall near the door. Amaranthe eased behind the sofa, figuring she could duck for cover if need be.

  Raydevk reached for the doorknob, though, not the drawer. “You gentlemen will have to come back another time,” he said loudly without taking his eyes from Amaranthe. “There’s an enforcer lady here who’s talking to me about—” He flung the door open and darted into the hall. “Run!”

  Surprised, Amaranthe did not react immediately. The coward had left his wife to deal with the enforcers while he ran off with the boys? The wife gaped at the open door, as startled as Amaranthe. All the men had taken off, and footsteps thundered in the stairwell at the end of the hallway.

  “Si—Corporal Jev,” Amaranthe called.

  Sicari
us strode out.

  “I need you to follow that...” The grinning boy riding Sicarius’s leg and clutching a toy boat made her pause. Well, Sicarius hadn’t tied the child up. That was good. “Our miners are off to a secret meeting. If you could extricate yourself, I’d appreciate it if you’d find out who they’re meeting and where.”

  Without a word, Sicarius unwound the boy from his leg, deposited him on the sofa, brushed past Amaranthe, and slipped out the window. He vaulted over the fire escape rail without bothering with the ladder.

  “How come that man can’t talk?” the boy asked.

  “He can talk. He’s just not the chatty type.” Amaranthe eased around the sofa toward the door. She doubted Pella would run off and leave her children behind, but there was no need to tempt her. As she was shutting the door, her hand brushed her pocket, and something inside crinkled. She slipped her fingers in and slid a piece of paper out—the note Raydevk had stashed. When Sicarius had been close enough to him to retrieve it, she did not know, but she itched to unfold it and read it.

  “My brother isn’t chatty either,” the boy said.

  Conscious of the mother’s gaze upon her, Amaranthe slid the note back into her pocket. She would check it later.

  “He liked my boat,” the boy added.

  Amaranthe wondered how that deduction had been made if Sicarius hadn’t said anything. “I’m sure he did. It’s very nice.”

  “Marl, Denny, go back to bed,” Pella said.

  Marl, huh? Amaranthe wondered if Books would be flattered to know a boat-loving toddler shared his name.

  “Where did Da go?”

  Pella dragged her hands through her hair. “I don’t know. Just go to bed, please.” She shoved them toward the curtain and sank down in a chair.

  Amaranthe thought that “I don’t know” sounded authentic, but she perched on the sofa across from the woman, intending to find as many answers as she could. “Ma’am, mind answering a few questions?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Her bleak smile held no humor.

  “Not really, no.” Though she had a good memory, Amaranthe withdrew a notepad and a pen. It might help her appear official. “Do you know what he’s involved with? He’s not responsible for kidnapping athletes, is he?”

  “No, no, he wouldn’t do that. I don’t even know why...” Pella shrugged. “I’m not sure what he’s up to.”

  “It’s strange that he’s home for the week, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, he never gets this much time off. He...I shouldn’t be betraying his trust to you, should I? A good wife is supposed to keep the books and her husband’s secrets.”

  “You do know,” Amaranthe said, “that the law no longer requires a woman to go to jail with her husband if he’s convicted of a crime, right? Unless she’s found to be an accomplice....”

  “I’m no accomplice! He shows up here, takes all our savings, and promises me it’s for the greater good. That we won’t have to worry about anything in the future. That it’s worth living in poverty today if we can live like emperors tomorrow. I don’t know what I’m supposed to make of that. He won’t tell me more. Just says not to worry about it. I’ll have to work for our reward, but it’ll be worth it in the end.”

  “You’ll have to work for it?” Amaranthe tapped her pen against the notepad. That did not sound like a gambling scheme. Unless Raydevk meant his wife would have to work, taking care of kidnapped prisoners. But, no, she did not know about them, and some had been missing for days, so she would have been recruited by now if that were her task.

  “That’s what he said.”

  Amaranthe leaned back. A broken spring beneath the sofa cushion prodded her in the butt. Though she feared she would get little more information, she spent another fifteen minutes questioning Pella.

  “I’m not going to jail, right?” Pella asked when she walked Amaranthe to the door at the end. “Whatever he’s gotten tangled up with, it wasn’t my idea. I’m a good, loyal citizen. I swear it. And my boys are, too. They need me.”

  A guilty twinge coursed through Amaranthe—this woman had doubtlessly committed fewer crimes than she had. She forced a smile and gripped Pella’s shoulder. “If what you say is true, you’ve nothing to worry about from the enforcers.”

  Her husband was another matter.

  The building’s parlor remained empty, so Amaranthe stopped beneath a light to check the note.

  Two columns of names were written in sloppy, barely legible handwriting that an imperial code-breaker would have struggled to decipher. She recognized three out of the five, and one of them was Sicarius.

  A chill ran through her. Had Raydevk known who Sicarius was all the time? He hadn’t shown any signs of recognition when Sicarius stepped through the door. And Raydevk hadn’t been that great at hiding any of his other thoughts. Surely, he would have given something away.

  Sicarius’s name was at the top of the left-hand column, one with three entries in it. Deercrest, the missing wrestler, came under him, and Amaranthe did not recognize the third. The top name on the second column belonged to Fasha’s sister Keisha. The other two looked like Borsk and Allemah. Maybe.

  Amaranthe pocketed the note again and stepped outside. She debated whether to wait on the sidewalk in front of the building, return to the hideout, or go back up to Pella and see what her reaction would be to the name, “Sicarius.” Her gut squirmed, knowing she had sent him off to spy on people who apparently wanted him for some nefarious reason.

  She headed back into the building, adjusting the stiff collar of her enforcer uniform as she climbed the stairs again. It was scratching her neck more than she remembered—maybe the fabric was reminding her she no longer had any right to wear it.

  When she reached the flat and lifted her hand to knock, the door stood ajar. Strange. She would have thought Pella would lock everything up and put the children to bed after the incident.

  Amaranthe pushed the door open. Darkness shrouded the room, but she sensed what she would find even before she brought in a lantern and searched. Pella and the children were gone.

  CHAPTER 7

  Basilard urged his legs to greater speed, though the darkness made the footing treacherous. He snorted. Even by day, the footing was treacherous.

  He reached the end of the swinging platforms, leaped onto the last wall, pulled himself over, and dropped the ground. He sprinted the last ten meters to the finish line.

  A soft clack sounded as Akstyr stopped the watch. He held it up to one of the few gas lamps still burning. “Just over two minutes. Nice. You’re going to be a real competitor. Imagine how speedy you’ll be when it’s light enough to see.”

  It will be easier to avoid the swinging axes, Basilard signed with a nod toward the dark, deadly shadows swaying back and forth.

  Akstyr squinted, and Basilard could tell he struggled to read the hand signals in the dim lighting. When Akstyr had told Maldynado to take the night off, that he would work with Basilard on his “training,” Basilard had assumed the young man wanted to speak about Sicarius—perhaps he had some idea?—but thus far Akstyr had not mentioned him. Basilard should bring it up. This was his quest after all.

  As if sensing his intent, Akstyr whispered, “I was thinking about that powder. If it’s what I think it is.... Am’ranthe tell you the details?”

  Basilard drew closer to the light, so his hand signs would be visible. Yes.

  “If we could get some...”

  A creak sounded behind them, and Akstyr jumped a foot, spinning in the air to face the sound. The maintenance fellow who manned the obstacle course’s furnace strode from a doorway in the stone wall below the first tier of seating.

  Akstyr chuckled nervously. Basilard touched his arm and nodded, indicating they should walk. The man would be powering down the engine for the night anyway, so training was over.

  You suggest finding the kidnappers and colluding with them? To get some of the powder? The thought did not sit well with Basilard. Though he had no reason to love
the athletes attending the Imperial Games, he had no reason to wish them ill either, and he did not care for the idea of working against Amaranthe.

  “No, I wasn’t thinking about that.” Akstyr said, keeping his voice low as they walked. “Am’ranthe wants me to go investigate apothecaries tomorrow, to see if we can find out if a local sells the stuff and if someone suspicious has been buying it up. If I get a chance, I’ll buy some while I’m there. Then we just have to figure out how to use it on Sicarius, and you can...” He sliced a finger across his throat.

  Basilard swallowed. Even if he was no longer the model Mangdorian, he shrank from the idea of killing an unconscious man. But at the same time, he could not foresee downing Sicarius in a fair fight. He had never even drawn blood when they sparred. Basilard had a measure of talent when it came to knives, but Sicarius had...erkt mahlay. That was the Kendorian term for it, and one his people used as well. Literarily, snake blood. Figuratively, the ability to strike, not just with the speed of a viper, but with a snake’s utter lack of hesitation and remorse. Even knowing what he knew about the man’s crimes, Basilard would hesitate. He knew he would. Sicarius would not.

  Basilard massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

  “You’re not backing out, are you?” Akstyr asked.

  No. I’ll do it.

  “Good.”

  * * * * *

  Amaranthe stood on top of the rail car, her back to the rising sun. A thousand metallic objects in the boneyard reflected its rays, and her eyes already ached from staring across the expanse.

  Clanks sounded below her—one of the men climbing up. The others spoke in low tones around the fire pit below. Basilard was cooking eggs, and the appealing scent wafting up should have pleased Amaranthe, but she was busy worrying.

  Books’s head poked over the top of the ladder. “Breakfast is almost ready. A particularly fine one. The men are in a celebratory mood because they got to sleep in and nobody dragged us off to exercise before dawn.”