Akstyr grabbed her helmet and tossed it onto the dock. “What is that thing?”
She winced when the helmet nearly bounced off and into the water on the other side. “I’ll tell you about it when we’re safe.” She heaved the suit over the railing and gestured for Books and Akstyr to follow.
“Whatever it is,” Maldynado said to Akstyr, voice muffled, “I’ll pay you a thousand ranmyas if you can incinerate it with your mind.” He was wearing his helmet.
Akstyr paused, his foot on the railing. “Really?”
“No.” Amaranthe shoved him from the boat and nodded toward Books. “You next.”
The tentacle grabbed the rail on the opposite side of the ship and pulled. The deck tilted thirty degrees, lifting Amaranthe’s side high in the air.
She hooked her elbow over the railing, even as her feet skidded out from beneath her. Books was not as quick to grab hold. He hit the deck and started to slide away. Amaranthe thrust a foot out, and he caught it.
The jolt popped something in her hip, but she gritted her teeth and hung on to the rail. She caught it with her other hand and anchored herself, so Books could crawl up her leg and find purchase again.
The dock, previously ten feet below the deck, lay twenty feet down now.
“Go,” Amaranthe told Books.
Without pause, he flung himself over the side. The deck rocked. The kraken seemed to know Amaranthe and Maldynado were still on board, and it was trying to shake them free. They pushed the last of the gear over the side.
“You go first,” Maldynado said.
A new tentacle shot up between the dock and the ship, the gleaming purple skin not five feet from Amaranthe and Maldynado. Water sprayed everywhere and spattered her in the eye.
“Both of us,” she said. The tentacle swept down toward them. “Now!”
They leaped over the railing just as the kraken smashed through it. A chunk of wood hammered Amaranthe on the back as she fell. Air whistled past her ears.
In the dim lighting, she struggled to judge the distance to the dock. Through luck more than skill she landed with a roll that kept her from breaking legs, but her momentum threatened to send her tumbling into the water on the far side.
A hand clamped about her collar, hauling her back before she flew over the edge.
“Thanks,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” Maldynado said, head still ensconced in the helmet.
“I caught her, you dolt,” Books said. “You’re lucky you didn’t land headfirst wearing that thing.”
Amaranthe hustled to her feet and grabbed one of the sets of gear. “Let’s chat later.”
The dock lacked any sort of comforting sturdiness, and she ran for the street as quickly as she could while dragging the suit and helmet. The men raced after her. Wood cracked behind them, and the dock shuddered. She did not look back. Only when they reached land and the solid cobblestone of the waterfront street did Amaranthe feel safe enough to check.
“Emperor’s warts,” she breathed at the sight. Or the lack of a sight.
The Tuggle was missing, along with half of the dock. A ship that had been moored opposite the tugboat was tilted on its side, its wooden masts broken, with water flowing through a hole in its hull. Tangled sails smothered the deck. In the water, boards, rope, and other jetsam floated, the only remains of the salvage ship.
The tentacles were gone.
“That was a kraken?” Books shook his head. “That cannot be here. The Aracknis Kraken is a deep-sea-dwelling relative of the giant squid that’s native to the Trechara Trench, two thousand miles away. It feeds on large fish, squids, and other species found only in that environment. It’s physiologically adapted to a saltwater habitat, and it cannot be here.”
“Thank you, professor.” Maldynado removed his helmet, and his damp curls stuck out, creating a silhouette reminiscent of a dandelion gone to seed. “Perhaps you should swim into the lake and tell that to Lord Tentacles out there.”
“That was brilliant,” Akstyr said. “My first sea monster.”
“Sea monsters can’t be in freshwater lakes,” Books muttered.
“They can if they’re guarding a submerged magical fortress full of kidnappers,” Amaranthe said.
“A fortress?” Books frowned.
“That’s what I’d call it, yes.”
He groaned.
“Does this mean we’re not going diving tonight?” Akstyr asked.
Books groaned again.
CHAPTER 14
Though darkness had fallen hours earlier, light crept beneath the door of Deret Mancrest’s flat. No lamps burned in the hallway outside.
“He stays up late for a respectable newspaper man,” Amaranthe said.
“Maybe he’s entertaining,” Maldynado said. “Though I’d expect more thumping and moaning if that were the case.”
Books was not there to glare at him. Amaranthe had sent him and Akstyr to slip into the library and research krakens—specifically how to kill them—and check for information on underwater habitations as well, though she doubted they would find anything there. She did not think the technology existed to create something like that without the mental sciences, and the curators of the imperial libraries would never put books discussing otherworldly construction on the shelves. Not if they valued their necks.
“Be ready. He answers the door with a sword stick.” Amaranthe knocked.
“Naturally,” Maldynado said.
Shuffling sounds came from within, along with a noisy yawn that could have woken half of the building. A moment later, the door opened. Mancrest stood inside, leaning on his sword stick, his tall form limned by candlelight coming from behind him. Papers scattered a desk, as well as a couple of quills and an old-fashioned ink jar.
Mancrest gaped at them, though he dismissed Maldynado with a glance and focused on Amaranthe. She tensed, expecting a barrage of imprecations.
“Ms. Lokdon!” he blurted.
“Yes....” She tried to judge his tone, but could only read the surprise. Given the hour, that was hardly shocking.
“Hello. I didn’t expect you.” Mancrest winced. “That’s obvious, isn’t it? What time is it? After midnight?” He peered at a clock perched on a fireplace mantle. “It is. Huh.”
“Does he seem scattered to you?” Amaranthe whispered to Maldynado.
“His shirt buttons aren’t in the wrong holes, so I don’t think he’s been entertaining,” Maldynado whispered back, then he raised his voice. “Have you been drinking, Deret?”
“What? No?” Mancrest rubbed his eyes and yawned again. “Just been up. Thinking.”
Amaranthe fought back a yawn of her own.
“Come in, come in.” Mancrest shuffled to the table in sandals that slapped the wood floor with each step. The neighbors below probably loved that. “Since you’re here,” he said, “I might as well...” He poked through papers. Some were empty, some had a line or two on them, and some had more. A few crumpled balls occupied a nearby waste bin. “No, that’s awful. Ugh, what was I thinking there?” He discarded those two pages and surveyed others. “No, I was closer on a previous draft. Uhm...this one isn’t entirely horrible. It’ll have to do.”
Amaranthe exchanged eyebrow raises with Maldynado while Mancrest folded the selected page with care. He placed it in an envelope, melted the end of a wax stick over a candle, and sealed the missive with a smudge. He tugged on a golden chain around his neck, pulling a flat, oval signet out. Mancrest pressed it into the wax, leaving the image of a soldier holding a sword aloft—his family’s crest.
Amaranthe was about to interrupt letter-crafting time—they had important matters to discuss—when Mancrest straightened, marched the envelope over, and handed it to her.
“Er, what’s this?” she asked.
“It’s in the letter.”
“Did you...want me to read it now?”
Mancrest glanced at Maldynado. “Maybe later. When my ego isn’t around to watch.”
“De
finitely drinking,” Maldynado whispered.
Mancrest was acting strangely, or at least not in accordance to what she expected from him based on previous meetings, but no scent of alcohol lingered about him.
“All right.” Amaranthe considered the creamy envelope. It was too large to stick into a pocket without folding, and she feared it was rude to treat a missive stamped with someone’s warrior-caste seal so cavalierly. “Can we talk, Lord Mancrest? It’s about your brother’s ship, the Saberfist. And the missing people.”
Mancrest’s forehead crinkled—had he thought she’d come about something besides business? No, he was probably surprised to have his brother brought into things. He recovered and waved them to seats around a gaming table.
“No soldiers waiting to jump out?” Maldynado slid open the door of a credenza, as if a squad might be hiding inside.
“Not this time.” Mancrest smiled. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
Amaranthe slid into a seat and launched into the story, sharing not only the information on the underwater structure, but everything that had led them to discover it. When she admitted to the garbage vehicle destruction, Maldynado choked and thrust an accusing finger her direction, claiming she “practically forced me to drive at knife point.” Amaranthe swatted his finger away and continued on. She wanted to be honest since the head of The Gazette would have the resources to tease out any truths she left untold—especially truths that involved arsons and collisions. Mancrest merely stared at her through the recitation.
When she finished, he leaned forward, peering into her eyes from different angles.
“I believe,” Maldynado said, “he’s now wondering if you’ve been drinking. Or worse.”
“No.” Mancrest leaned back. “I just wasn’t sure... Well, I don’t know you that well, so I don’t know when you’re joking.”
Amaranthe resisted the urge to tell him that he would know her better by now if he had not been so insistent on trying to apprehend her.
“No joke,” she said. “I don’t know if they’ll attack the Saberfist or not, but this is a threat to Stumps either way, and your brother’s ship is best equipped to deal with it.”
Maldynado leaned close to her and whispered, “If they deal with it, what will we do? We’re supposed to solve the problems and get credit, right?” Whisper or not, his aside was loud enough for Mancrest to hear.
“What’s important,” Amaranthe said, lifting her chin and meeting Mancrest’s eyes, “is that the threat to the empire is vanquished. Who gets credit is immaterial.”
Besides, her plan should let her team come out as heroes to people who mattered—those trapped in the submerged structure. She brushed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, using the movement to hide a covert wink for Maldynado.
“The good of the empire,” Maldynado said. “Right, right.”
Mancrest stroked his jaw. “I’m not sure who would believe this story, but my older brother was a young lieutenant during the Western Sea Conflict, and he’s seen magic being used. He knows the imperial stance is propaganda. But, you might not get a chance to tell your story. He and all his marines would be duty-bound to apprehend you as soon as you stepped aboard his ship.”
“I wasn’t planning to talk to him.” She smiled at Mancrest. “I was hoping you would.”
“Oh. Yes, of course. I should have realized more prompted this late night visit than an interest in sharing a tip for the paper.”
“I wouldn’t interrupt your sleep—” Amaranthe glanced at the envelope, “—or midnight scrivener aspirations for something that wasn’t important.”
“Yes,” Maldynado said, “she’s not your average girl who shows up in the middle of the night to ply you with wine and sex in the hopes of being impregnated with a warrior-caste scion that your family would feel obligated to help raise, and, oh, maybe there’d be a stipend for the mother as well.”
“Surely, that’s not your idea of an average girl,” Amaranthe said, though Mancrest’s rueful smile might have meant he had experienced similar situations. “Are you willing to meet your brother at the docks in the morning?” she asked. “If he’s been gone on a long voyage, he’ll doubtlessly be eager to reunite with family and hear about what’s been going on in town. And the lake.”
“Doubtlessly,” Mancrest said dryly. “Though even with his ecumenical background, I don’t know if he’ll believe any of this. Especially from his little brother, the writer, who loved to tell stories as a boy.”
“He doesn’t need to accept it as fact based on words alone. I’ll give you the location. You just need to convince him to float over there and send divers down to take a look.”
“And get eaten by a kraken?”
“Well-trained military men know how to take suitable precautions, do they not?” Amaranthe hoped Books would come up with a tactic to use against the kraken, but she knew very well she might be endangering lives with her request. If that was what she had to do to get her men back and rescue the captives, so be it.
Mancrest sighed. “Why do I have a feeling working with you will cause me as much trouble as trying to capture you did?”
“That’s a given,” Maldynado said.
Amaranthe merely folded her hands on the table and smiled agreeably. Mancrest had given in; there was no need to cajole him further.
Her smile faded a few minutes later when she was standing beneath a streetlamp, reading Mancrest’s note.
Ms. Amaranthe Lokdon,
I have treated you unfairly, and for that I apologize. I had plenty of time to think over my behavior when I was failing to reach those keys and waiting for the soldiers to wake up and...rescue me. Yes, that’s what it was, and I must confess it. For the second time, you left me helpless...but unharmed, though I deserved worse for trying to apprehend you without listening to your story or researching your situation.
I have done so now, and though I do not believe all the facts are out there to be discovered, I suspect you deserve to be exonerated. Of course, I am not in a position to grant you that, but I am open to listening, if you are still interested in sharing. You have no reason to trust me, but if you will give me another chance, I’d like to take you for a picnic dinner in the Imperial Gardens. I’ll understand if you bring your bodyguard (but I hope you won’t).
To the peace after the war,
~ Deret
“Guess you wooed him after all,” Maldynado said.
Amaranthe twitched, jerking the paper away. She had not realized he had been reading over her shoulder.
“I thought there was no hope for the relationship once you dropped the keys in the pyramid hallway and left him locked up.” Maldynado reached over her shoulder and tapped the page. “I agree. If we’ve got Sicarius back by then, leave him behind. He’ll kill the sunset-picnic-mood faster than a swarm of mosquitoes.”
“You know, people like privacy to read letters.” Amaranthe returned the page to the envelope. She had too much else on her mind to worry about Mancrest’s words. “Let’s check on Books and Akstyr. We need a way to defeat that kraken.”
“You mean the plan isn’t to use the marines as bait while we sneak in from below?”
“It is, to an extent. I do want the soldiers there as a distraction, so nobody will notice us walking up in our diving suits, but I don’t want them getting mauled either. We need to kill the kraken.”
“No chance you can woo it with your tongue, huh?” Maldynado asked.
“Judging by our previous encounter, I think it’d be more likely to pull my tongue out, wrap it around my body like bacon, and swallow me whole.”
“Such imaginative imagery.”
“I get creative when I haven’t had any sleep.”
“The next few hours should be interesting then,” Maldynado said.
“Likely so.”
CHAPTER 15
Awareness returned to Basilard slowly. Memories of dreams wafted away like smoke in the wind. A dim blurriness met his eyes, and he blinked, struggli
ng to focus. A face came into view.
Sicarius.
His features held no warmth or friendliness. Basilard tried to lift a hand, but bindings secured him to the table. Sicarius was free, though still nude. He wore his brace of throwing knives on his forearm and held two daggers, one the black blade he favored and the other one of Basilard’s fighting weapons. Basilard’s gaze lingered on the sharp steel, and he remembered his last thoughts; before he had succumbed to the drugs, he had been sure Sicarius knew of Basilard’s plan for killing him.
Basilard turned his head from side to side. Other prisoners lay on the tables, some horizontal and others tipped vertical against the wall. None appeared to be awake. How much time had passed? Deep shadows shrouded the corners of the laboratory, and the lights were dimmer than he remembered. It must be nighttime, though one might never know the difference down here.
Sicarius lifted his hands and signed, You are alert?
That he signed instead of speaking meant he had escaped, not been released, and being quiet was important.
Had Basilard’s hands been free, he would have responded with “vaguely,” but, strapped down, he had fewer options, so he only nodded.
Sicarius slipped a key into the first lock, the one that bound Basilard’s wrists to the table.
As soon as his hands were free, he asked, How’d you escape?
The woman. Sicarius’s signs were as terse as his spoken words.
She released you? Because she wanted to... Basilard stopped. He had no interest in the details; he just wanted to know if Sicarius had won her over—or forced her over—and if she could take them to the surface.
She was unable to craft the sphere.
Was? Basilard asked. She’s dead?
Yes. We have to find another way off. Only the other twin and a male telekineticist can make the protective bubbles. The woman is incapacitated from your attack, and the male isn’t on board right now. We may be too deep to swim out. Regardless, a kraken guards this place. Our blades would be useless against it.