Deadly Games

  Basilard smiled briefly, but it did not reach his eyes. I understand. It’s good that you are making your own trail. I fear that’s not an option for me. I believe my destination is chosen.

  “I thought you’d decided to work to end the underground slavery in the empire and to make things better for your people.”

  He poked a brick with his toe for a moment, shrugged, then stood. Thank you, he signed and went into the sleeping car.

  Amaranthe sighed, not sure if she had helped, or that she knew how to help him.

  * * * * *

  A steam whistle blew, and workers streamed out of factories. Positioned between the industrial district and the shops and studios of the northern waterfront area, the old Gazette building overlooked one of the canals that flowed through the city. From the mouth of an alley across the waterway, Amaranthe, Sicarius, and Maldynado observed men exiting, shucking their single-breasted jackets and frock coats to walk home in the warm air.

  Though evening had come, the sun still shone, offering few shadows to cloak the alley. The idea of heading along the broad waterfront street and over the wide canal bridge made Amaranthe uneasy. This was part of her old patrol route, and any enforcers she ran into here would recognize her.

  “It’s not going to be a trap,” Maldynado said. “I know this fellow. We used to fence together back before he took a spear in the hip at Amentar. He earned a medal of valor because he was leading the attack to save some border town and risked his life to save a bunch of children. He’s a good, noble man.”

  “Good, noble people are the types who feel obligated to turn in outlaws,” Amaranthe said, drawing an approving nod from Sicarius.

  “He’ll expect you to come in through the front,” Sicarius said. “I’ll see if there’s another entrance.”

  He went down the alley instead of walking out the front, presumably choosing a route that would keep him out of sight.

  “He’ll probably find us a third-story window to crawl through,” Maldynado muttered. “Look, I’ve had brandy with Deret twice since I became an outlaw. He hasn’t turned me in yet. And he doesn’t look down on me because I’m disowned. He’s one of the few who don’t.”

  “I’m sure he’s a fine fellow,” Amaranthe said. “We’re just being cautious.”

  While they waited for Sicarius to return, the traffic leaving the front of the building dwindled. A pair of enforcers strode along the timeworn cobblestone street lining the canal, and Amaranthe eased deeper into the alley. An ordinary patrol, she told herself. Nothing that suggested they were conveniently around to play a role in a trap being sprung.

  She nibbled on a finger, wondering if she was letting Sicarius’s paranoia get to her.

  “This way.” Sicarius appeared at her shoulder.

  Maldynado was the one to jump. “Always sneaking up on people,” he muttered under his breath.

  Without a word, Sicarius led them through the alley and around the building to a ladder leading down to a ledge along the canal. Keelboats and cargo rafts floated up and down the waterway, but nobody paid attention to Amaranthe’s team. The pilots were too busy navigating past houseboats, skiffs, and each other to watch the foot traffic.

  Sicarius stopped at the base of one of the city’s newer steel bridges and gripped one of the support beams. Legs dangling, he swung from handhold to handhold, like a monkey skimming through the treetops.

  Amaranthe and Maldynado exchanged incredulous looks.

  “Is he joking?” Maldynado asked. “Why can’t we walk across the bridge?”

  “Training?” Amaranthe guessed.

  Sicarius, midway across, paused and peered back over his shoulder. “The top of the bridge is visible from The Gazette’s upper windows.”

  “So?” Maldynado said.

  “It would be unwise to let them see us coming.” Sicarius returned to the climb, apparently considering the discussion over.

  “Does he truly believe someone is sitting at a window, watching the bridge for your arrival?” Maldynado asked. “I didn’t tell Deret you were that cute.”

  “Thanks,” Amaranthe said dryly.

  Sicarius had already reached the other side. Glad she had rejected Maldynado’s suggestion that she wear a dress for the night, Amaranthe hopped and caught the girder. A couple of keelboats were coming; she had best not delay.

  The smooth, cool steel did not make the most ideal handhold, but she navigated it without trouble. Sicarius’s frequent obstacle-course runs had given her experience with awkward moves that relied on upper body strength, and she could perform as many pull-ups as the men. As many as Books and Akstyr anyway.

  She landed with a grunt on the other side, and Maldynado soon plopped down behind her. Sicarius jogged a few meters and stopped above a storm-water-runoff grate on the canal wall beneath the ledge. Thanks to the recent dry weather, nothing flowed out of it. When he crouched to wait for the river traffic to dwindle, Amaranthe groaned.

  “We’re not going in there, are we?”

  Sicarius dropped to his belly, fiddled with a lock, and opened the grate. He rolled off the ledge, twisting to land on his feet inside a tunnel that led inland from the canal.

  “I think you’re right,” Maldynado said. “He’s doing this because he can’t pass up a chance to torment, er, train us.”

  “Come,” Sicarius said, his voice sounding hollow in the concrete passage.

  Amaranthe was starting to get the feeling he had a reason for this circuitous route, so she slithered off the ledge and into the tunnel without answering Maldynado. After sighing dramatically, he followed her. Sicarius closed the grate behind them and jogged into the darkness.

  “I forgot to bring a torch,” Maldynado said. “I wasn’t aware you’d preface your date with a spelunking expedition.”

  Amaranthe headed up the tunnel at a slower pace, keeping one hand on the cool cement wall for guidance. Though dry, the surface sported frequent lumps of indeterminate fuzzy or squishy—or fuzzy and squishy—growth. She wiped her hand often, wishing she had a glove.

  Fortunately, their subterranean trek did not last long. Light appeared ahead—Sicarius lifting an access cover. He slithered out before Amaranthe could ask where they would come up. Trusting him to guard the top, she jumped, caught the lip, and pulled herself out.

  Sicarius crouched in the shadow of a steam lorry stamped with the newspaper’s name. The travertine of the old Gazette building rose behind it. They were on the back side rather than the front, and no windows gazed out upon the alley. Closed loading bay doors loomed nearby, but nobody was shipping papers out this time of day.

  Maldynado clambered out of the tunnel, and Sicarius closed the manhole cover.

  “We did all that just so we could go in through the loading bay?” Maldynado asked.

  “No.” Sicarius pointed at a vent under the eaves of the four-story building. Before they could debate with him, he grabbed a ceramic drainpipe and started climbing.

  Amaranthe shook her head in bemusement. “And you thought he’d settle for a window.”

  Maldynado groaned. “You did tell him this isn’t one of our morning training sessions, right?”

  Amaranthe headed for the drainpipe, wondering if she should put her foot down and say this was too ridiculous and that they would go in through the loading bay. Then something hard poked into the bottom of her shoe. She lifted her foot to check for a chunk of gravel. It wasn’t a rock that had prodded her though; a shiny metal rifle ball rested in the groove between two cobblestones. A dark, fine powder sprinkled the ground. She swiped her finger through it and sniffed. Black powder.

  “You’re right.” She picked up the rifle ball. “I don’t think this is a training session.”

  Within city limits, firearms were forbidden to all except the military. Though it was true that gang members and criminals risked enforcer ire to carry pistols now and then, it was rare to see evidence of their use.

  “Attic entry it is,” she said, grabbing the pipe.

/>   Maldynado issued another dramatic sigh. Sicarius had already unfastened the vent and disappeared inside. Amaranthe clambered up, amused that what would have once seemed an impossible climb did not cause her to break a sweat. She did have to perform an acrobatic lunge to launch herself from the pipe to the vent opening, but she had mastered the art of not looking down some time ago. She shimmied through and landed on a dusty, wood floor littered with owl pellets and rat droppings. Grimacing, she removed a kerchief from a pocket and wiped her hands.

  Sicarius waited inside, close enough that he could have helped if she had needed it. He never presumed she would though. She liked that he trusted her to take care of herself, but it would have been considerate if he’d kept her from stepping in the dubious pile of... Was that bat guano?

  Thanks to Maldynado’s broad shoulders, he had more trouble squeezing through the vent opening. He grunted and pushed and cursed Sicarius’s ancestors and finally plopped onto the floor.

  Sicarius took the lead again, padding through a dusty maze that sprawled before them. Boxes and bundles of yellowed newspapers rose to the ceiling, creating twisting aisles that often ended without notice. Most of the clutter in the attic was what one might expect, though a stuffed grimbal head sat inexplicably under one window.

  Sicarius’s route led them to a trapdoor. He pressed his ear to the wood, then lifted it. After peering about, he dropped out of sight. Amaranthe waited for his signal, then followed him through.

  As soon as she landed, she heard voices coming from below, but she could not make out words yet. No lanterns burned, but enough evening light angled through the windows to illuminate the area. They were on a broad balcony filled with book-laden shelves. The floor vibrated from printing presses at work somewhere below.

  When Maldynado joined them, Sicarius headed toward the balcony railing. Before he reached it, he waved for them to drop to their bellies. On elbows and knees, Amaranthe crawled to the edge.

  Two stories below, in a vast workspace open to the ceiling, rows of desks stretched from wall to wall. Only one was occupied. A man with dark, wavy hair sat before a stack of papers, head bowed, pencil scrawling, while a second fellow paced around him. The first wore civilian clothes, a cream-colored shirt and forest green vest, and he seemed to be doing his best to ignore the mutterings of the other. The second man had the same hair, though shorter, and wore black army fatigues, complete with a sword and pistol hanging from his belt.

  Amaranthe squinted but could not make out the rank pins on the man’s lapel.

  “A lieutenant,” Sicarius whispered, and she wondered when he had come to know her so well that he could guess at the thoughts behind her squints.

  Maldynado wriggled up beside them. He pointed at the man at the desk and whispered, “That’s Deret.”

  “Trap?” Amaranthe flicked a finger at the officer.

  “Maybe not,” Maldynado said. “I think that’s Ferel Mancrest, one of Deret’s brothers. There’s an older one, too, but I think he’s a captain. Ferel’s probably in town for the Imperial Games and visiting his little brother.”

  “So he stopped to load a weapon in the alley?” Amaranthe whispered.

  “Hm.”

  Down below, the officer leaned his hands onto the desk. “You said six, didn’t you?”

  “That’s what Maldynado said.” Deret kept working without looking up.

  “That disowned drunken gigolo,” the officer growled. “You’ll be lucky if he gives her the right directions to find this place.”

  Maldynado’s eyebrows rose. “Drunken?” he mouthed.

  “Just don’t shoot me with your grandiose plan,” Deret said. “The army has already damaged me enough.” He flicked a hand at a cane leaning against his desk.

  “Don’t be bitter because my C.O. didn’t consult you. You let me know about her. You did your part.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “You don’t need to be here. We’ll—” The officer broke off and faced the balcony.

  Amaranthe tensed, prepared to back away from the railing, but his eyes focused on something on his own floor. A soldier jogged into view, a rifle in hand. He saluted and clicked his heels together as he came to attention.

  “Sir, Corporal Dansek checking in, sir. No change in status. The target has not been spotted yet. The men remain ready.”

  “Very well. Dismissed.”

  “The men?” Amaranthe whispered, turning an incredulous eye on Maldynado. “This is a trap.”

  Sicarius leveled a dark stare at him as well.

  Maldynado’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know.”

  Amaranthe scooted back, gesturing for the others to follow her. They retraced their route in, not stopping until they reached the back alley again. Maldynado muttered to himself all the way out.

  “I can’t believe he’d betray my trust like that,” he said.

  Sicarius took a few steps toward the alley entrance, but Amaranthe caught his arm.

  “Wait,” she said. “Let’s talk about this.”

  “You’re not going in,” he said, more an order than a question.

  “Going in, no. That wouldn’t be too smart if there’s a squad of soldiers waiting to capture me.”

  “Then what is there to discuss?”

  “This man could still be the ally we want him to be. It’ll just take more work than we thought to sway him to our side.” Amaranthe smiled.

  “Dear ancestors,” Maldynado said. “You already have a new scheme in mind.”

  “Nothing big. Maldynado, I need you to do a little shopping, then you can meet the others at the stadium and let them know we’ll be late. Sicarius and I will be arranging a kidnapping.”

  Maldynado scratched his head. “A kidnapping that requires...shopping?”

  “One must be prepared.” Amaranthe smiled again.

  CHAPTER 3

  “What are all these slagging enforcers doing here?” Akstyr slouched against a tree and glowered at the grounds where athletes mingled, roaming from the barracks to the baths and to various eating and shopping tents.

  Books stood beside the tree as well, though he was scribbling something in a notebook and paying little attention to the scene before them. As far as Basilard could tell, serious training had ended for the day, but the evening was young enough that few of the athletes were heading for the barracks. More enforcers than one would expect patrolled the grounds.

  “We’re not going to be able to investigate a cigar butt without getting spotted,” Akstyr went on.

  In the fading light, Basilard exaggerated his signs so Books and Akstyr could read them. We’re only supposed to see if magic is being used. We don’t need to get close or talk to anyone.

  “Cursed enforcers will bug me just because of my brand.” Akstyr lifted a fist to display the arrow mark scored into the skin on the back of his hand. That seemed less likely to get him harassed than the greased ridge of spiky hair bisecting his head and the baggy mismatched clothing any enforcer would assume he stole—probably correctly.

  “Then keep your hands in your pockets,” Books said.

  Where should we start? Basilard asked.

  “I believe I’ll observe from here,” Books said. “You two lads are young enough to pass as athletes, but with my gray hairs, nobody will believe I’m in the competition.”

  Basilard lifted his eyebrows, amused at being called a lad. He was close to thirty-five and had a bald spot it would take a beaver pelt to cover. All the scars made the hair on the sides grow in patchy, so he simply kept his whole head shaven.

  “That and the fact you can’t walk more than ten steps without tripping over something,” Akstyr said.

  “I’m not that clumsy.” Books tucked his notebook into a pocket.

  A gaggle of young women Akstyr’s age walked past, their sleeveless togs displaying enough flesh to stir one’s imagination. Akstyr straightened and touched his hair, as if to ensure it was still suitably spiky.

  Basilard signed a comment for B
ooks, I’m surprised your empire lets girls compete. Larocka and Arbitan did not have women fight.

  “They’re permitted to enter the running events and the Clank Race,” Books said. “Not wrestling or boxing. Women have never been allowed to fight in the empire. As to the rest, the historical precedent is interesting. In the old days, warrior caste men would come to the Imperial Games to hunt for brides. The women who won the events were presumed to be most likely to birth sons who would become superior warriors. The original awards ceremony involved interested men coming out to compete for the winners. Bloodshed was often involved. Sometimes death. I understand there are some warrior-caste men who still come with the intent of shopping for brides, but the women are less likely to be interested these days. They want to start shops or wide-ranging businesses, using the status and honor they gain from their victories to assist in their endeavors. We live in a fascinating time, I must say.”

  “Look at the chest on that one.” Akstyr pointed at a woman trotting to catch up with comrades. “I’d watch her run a race anytime.”

  “Fascinating for some of us anyway,” Books muttered. “Akstyr, why don’t you go look for magic. That’s why we’re here, right?”

  Akstyr shrugged and ambled off.

  Basilard had wanted to talk to the younger man alone and saw his chance. I’ll go, too, and see if all these enforcers are here about the missing people or Sicarius. Amaranthe had briefed Basilard, Books, and Akstyr on the morning’s events.