He jogged to catch up with Akstyr, and they took the path that meandered around the grounds. A nervous flutter teased his gut, and he did not start a conversation immediately. If he guessed incorrectly, and Akstyr tattled on him, he would be a dead man.
They avoided the crowded areas as they walked. Basilard could not tell if Akstyr was checking for signs of magic use or simply ogling female athletes. They veered into the shadows to avoid a pair of enforcers marching in their direction.
“They’ll all over the place,” Akstyr said when the men had passed, “and as annoying as flies on dung.”
Perhaps it’s because Sicarius was supposedly spotted this morning, Basilard signed, seeing a chance to bring up the topic he wanted to discuss.
“I guess,” Akstyr said. Unless one was talking about the mental sciences, he was a hard man to draw into a conversation.
Basilard tried again. I wonder why that man impersonated Sicarius. Especially when it only got him killed.
“Because he was stupid,” Akstyr said.
Someone paid him perhaps.
“Not enough.”
Yes, even if the enforcers did not kill him, Sicarius himself might have...for having the audacity to impersonate him.
“Probably.”
Basilard gritted his teeth. With the conversation going nowhere, he decided to drop it, but then Akstyr gave him a lead-in.
“I hate him sometimes.”
Sicarius?
They stepped into the shadows behind a food tent to avoid more enforcers.
“Sometimes he kind of seems all right,” Akstyr said. “Like he stood up for me once when we went to see my old boss, but I think that was on account of Am’ranthe and not because he cares if I live or die.”
Likely, Basilard signed, but he did not know if Akstyr could see his hand codes in the gloaming light.
“But I hate when he climbs all over our backs just because we aren’t good enough at his dumb exercises. I want to be—” Akstyr caught himself and lowered his voice. “Well, you know what I want to be. I don’t care about running and swords and obstacle courses. You can’t object though or he threatens you. He’s such as cold bastard.”
Basilard drew Akstyr around the side of the tent where there was more light. Raised fire pits illuminated tables and benches where men and women chatted over tea and cider.
He lifted his hands to sign the next question. A bead of sweat dribbled down his spine. Do you ever think of...collecting his bounty?
“Oh, dead deranged ancestors, yes.” Akstyr laughed. “Don’t you?”
The blatant admission surprised Basilard, and his fingers hung still for a moment before he could sign a response. Maybe.
“Bas, you don’t know how bad I want to get out of this balls-sucking sinkhole of an empire. I’m tired of having to hide all my...interests, and I can’t find anyone to teach me, and people here would shoot you just for—” Akstyr’s voice tightened, and he cleared his throat.
Basilard had not realized how passionate the boy was about learning the mental sciences.
“If I had a million ranmyas,” Akstyr said, naming the price on Sicarius’s head, “I could get out of here. I could go to Kendor or the Kyatt Islands and hire a teacher, and nobody would care ‘cause it’s normal there.”
Basilard nodded. Though money would do nothing for his predicament, it made sense to encourage Akstyr’s fantasy if he wanted him for an ally.
“But it’d be a dumb move,” Akstyr said. “He’d kill you in a heartbeat if he thought you were serious about it. And how would you get him anyway? He never sleeps, and he won’t eat anything we cook unless he’s seen everyone else eat it first.”
Yes, Basilard had already considered the fact that he prepared more meals for the group than anyone else. He knew of numerous herbs that could incapacitate or even kill. But Sicarius never ate his stews or soups, nor did he drink anything besides water. Basilard was not sure if it represented paranoia or simply dietary preferences. He’d never seen Sicarius eat anything except fruits, vegetables, nuts, and plainly prepared fish or meat. Basilard thought he might try something Amaranthe offered, but his stomach turned at the idea of using her to get to him. It would devastate her to be the instrument of his death, and Basilard did not want to hurt her.
One would have to be extremely careful, Basilard signed. Perhaps there’s some...magic?
Akstyr’s forehead furrowed. He glanced around—three times—then lowered his voice. “Are you actually thinking of doing this?”
Maybe.
“What’d he do to you? I thought you got along with him better than anyone except Am’ranthe.”
Basilard debated whether or not to share his reason. Akstyr would care nothing about the deaths of the Mangdorian royal family—he probably wouldn’t even be outraged at the idea that Sicarius had killed children—but he might understand why Basilard would be committed and trust him not to back out or cross him.
Remember that note in the Mangdorian shaman’s hideout?
“Yes,” Akstyr said.
I recently learned that fifteen years ago, Sicarius was the one responsible for the assassination of my rulers.
“Oh. Huh.” Akstyr stuffed his hands into his deep pockets and prodded a tuft of grass with his boot. “If I found a way to make him sleep, would you do the deed?”
Yes.
“And I’d get half the money?”
You can have it all.
Akstyr’s eyes bulged. “Really?”
Yes.
“Well, maybe we could look into things a little. You gotta swear not to say anything to anyone though. Maldynado and Books wouldn’t get on this locomotive.”
Agreed. You make same promise?
“Oh, I’m not saying a word.”
As they left the side of the tent and the tables full of happily chattering people, Basilard wondered if he had taken the first step down a path that would result in his death. The idea of death terrified him, especially since that priestess had confirmed he had no chance of avoiding eternity in Ethor, but shouldn’t he at least go out striking a blow of justice for his people?
* * * * *
Amaranthe nibbled on a fingernail. She hid in the shadows behind a street vendor’s cart while she waited for Maldynado. Almost a half an hour had passed since he disappeared into the busy market. She needed to get back before the Mancrests left the Gazette building.
Though twilight had settled in, the throng of shoppers had yet to wane. Gas lamps shone light onto the vegetable stands, smoked meat carts, and tables displaying candles, soaps, and flower bundles. Across the street from Amaranthe, a man and woman were selling freshly roasted walnuts and almonds doused in cinnamon and sugar. Her mouth watered, reminding her it had been a long time since breakfast.
Maldynado ambled into view with bulging canvas bags draped over both arms.
Amaranthe stared at the sizable haul. “You were just supposed to get flatbread and cheese,” she said when he joined her. “Maybe a cheap jug of applejack.”
“You do not know how to prepare a romantic dinner.” He poked through his bags. “I got you red wine, Anduvian rolls, quiche, fresh herbs and greens, carrots, parsnips, cider vinegar, and walnut oil—you can make a lovely salad. Oh, and cedar-wood scented candles. Those promote stamina.” He wiggled his brows.
“First off, I’m not romancing the man. He tried to turn me over to the army tonight. Second, how did you get all that? I only gave you five ranmyas.”
“That’s right, you did.” Maldynado rearranged the bags, fished in a pocket, and pulled out a five-ranmya bill. “Here’s your change. I got it all for free. Samples, you see, on account of the lavish spread my mother is planning. If she likes what she tries, she’ll put in a huge order for her annual summer tea party.”
“This is the mother who hasn’t spoken to you in a year?” Amaranthe asked.
“Closer to two.” Maldynado winked and started loading bags onto her arms, but paused midway through. “Maybe I shoul
d go with you and help set things up. You’re a capable woman in general, but I’m not convinced you have the necessary experience to seduce a man.”
“I’m not seducing anyone.” She took the remaining bags from him. “I’m just trying to talk him into listening to my story and publishing the truth about our adventures.”
“I got you today’s copy of The Gazette, too. You might want to see if he’s got an article in it. Then you can talk to him about it. Men love it when you’re interested in their work. And sports. Do you know anything about the athletes entering the wrestling? You could—”
“Thank you, Maldynado.” Amaranthe did not quite manage to keep the exasperation out of her voice. “I’ve got to get back before he leaves the office.”
“You’re certain you don’t want me to come?”
“I’m certain.”
“At the least, I feel I should go along and punch him in the nose a couple of times for betraying me and trying to ensnare you. That’s not a gentlemanly thing to do.”
“No need. Go check on the others. Books will be bored without you.” Amaranthe strode away at a brisk pace before he could burble more.
“That is true,” was the last thing she heard him say.
With the bags in hand, she headed toward the canal where she had left Sicarius watching the Gazette building. Though she appreciated Maldynado’s enthusiasm for planning her evening—sort of—his shopping trip had taken her away for longer than expected. If Lord Mancrest left before she returned, Sicarius was supposed to follow him and find out where he lived, but Amaranthe worried that sending Sicarius off after a man he loathed might not be wise.
Deepening twilight made it easier to travel without worry of being recognized, and she was almost jogging by the time she reached the canal. Lamps brightened the street paralleling the waterway, but shadows obscured the alcoves and alleys. She headed for the niche where she had left Sicarius, but a figure stepped out of a doorway before she reached it.
Two figures. One threw back the hood of a lantern with a clank, and light flared.
Amaranthe squinted and stepped back.
Two enforcers stood before her, one a sergeant holding a sword and the lantern, and the other a young private aiming a repeating crossbow at her chest.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” she asked, hoping they had not identified her for certain yet. Across the canal, the windows of the Gazette building were dark. If the Mancrests had left, Sicarius would be gone, too, following Deret home. No chance for help.
“Former Corporal Amaranthe Lokdon,” the sergeant said.
So much for not being identified.
“We were told you might be in the area tonight.”
Idiot, she cursed herself. She should have assumed Mancrest would tip off the enforcers as well as his brother in the army.
“Who?” Amaranthe asked innocently. “You must have the wrong person.” It was worth a try. She hefted the shopping bags. “I’m heading home to prepare a dinner for the young man who’s courting me.”
Footsteps sounded behind her. Steel rasped—a sword being drawn—followed by the thunk of a crossbow lever being set. She peeked behind her, verifying that two more enforcers stood less than ten paces away. One she recognized, Corporal Riek, a man she had worked with before. Not good.
The sergeant snorted. “Who’s courting you? Sicarius?”
“We know who you are Lokdon,” the crossbowman in front of her said. “You worked with us until you turned traitor.”
Right, no chance of convincing them they had the wrong person.
“Do it,” the sergeant told the crossbowman.
The weapon came up, quarrel aiming at Amaranthe’s chest, and the meaning of “do it” became clear.
“Sicarius,” Amaranthe blurted.
“What?” The crossbowman and the sergeant looked around.
Amaranthe might have taken the moment to run and fling herself into the canal, but it was a dozen paces away, and the two men behind her surely had her targeted.
“Sicarius is in the neighborhood,” she said. “And he’s more of a reward than I am, isn’t he?”
The sergeant scowled at her. “We’re not in this for a reward. Taking down criminals is our job, a job you once shared.”
“I know you wouldn’t be granted a monetary reward,” Amaranthe said, glad she had him talking. Talking to her was far superior to shooting her. “But surely promotions have been offered.” She remembered how much the promise of a promotion had meant to her once—it was the reward Hollowcrest had dangled to get her to go after Sicarius all those months ago.
The men exchanged glances. Soft murmurs came from the enforcers behind her.
“Out of curiosity, has a promotion been offered for me?” Amaranthe said.
“Killing you, or bringing you in, is worth a positive commendation,” the sergeant said.
“And Sicarius?”
“A promotion to captain.”
If not for the bags in Amaranthe’s hands she would have propped her fists on her hips. “I’m only worth a positive mark in your record, and getting him can leapfrog you straight to captain?”
The crossbowman laughed. “Jealous?”
The sergeant glared at him, and he forced his features into a more professional expression. That’s right, Amaranthe thought, chat with me, laugh at me, and think I’m a friend and not someone you want to kill....
“Look,” she said, “I don’t want to die tonight. I know you gentlemen have no reason to believe it, but I wasn’t the one who kidnapped the emperor. I helped free him in fact. You should be looking up an outfit called Forge.”
The sergeant was shaking his head, and he lifted a hand, as if to give an order. Yes, that tactic was worthless.
“But regardless,” Amaranthe blurted, rushing to out-speak the man, “I can take you to Sicarius. In exchange for my life. I’ll show you his latest hideout.”
“You wouldn’t betray an ally.”
“Come, now, if you believe I betrayed the empire and the enforcers, why would you think I wouldn’t turn in an assassin? It’s not like he’s a friendly, cuddly fellow who I share a deep, meaningful relationship with.”
Though it was her intent, it saddened her in a wry way that the argument seemed to sway the men. At the least, they nodded in agreement. Who could have a meaningful relationship with a callous assassin?
“We can’t let you go, Lokdon,” the sergeant said.
“And we don’t have enough men to take down Sicarius,” the crossbowman said with a shudder.
The sergeant glared at him again.
“You don’t have to let me go,” Amaranthe said. “Just don’t shoot me. Take me to the magistrate, and I’ll plead my case to him. I’m sure you’ll still get your commendation. And then there’s the potential of that captaincy....” She met the sergeant’s eyes. He would be the one who would make the decision—and who stood to earn the reward. “Big pay increase, huh? And an honor as well. It’s true Sicarius is a dangerous man, but he won’t likely be there right now. It’s night...the time when he does his work. I can show you his hideout, and you can come back tomorrow with more men. Attack him while he’s sleeping.”
“I don’t know....” The sergeant scratched his jaw.
She had him. She sensed it. A little more, and she could sway him.
“Wasn’t he seen on the Imperial Games grounds?” Amaranthe asked.
The sergeant’s chin came up. “This morning, yes. What was he doing there? Do you know?”
“I’m not privy to all his whims,” Amaranthe said, “but if he did have some mischief planned...” She shrugged. “I’m sure you’d feel bad if he hurt someone there, and you knew you’d had the chance to take him down before it all happened.”
The sergeant glowered. He had to know she was trying to manipulate him, but her argument was persuasive—she hoped.
“If I agree to take you to the magistrate,” the sergeant said, “and to have you show us this hideout, will you give me
your word you aren’t walking us into a trap?”
“A trap?” How could she be walking them into a trap, when they’d been the ones to ensnare her? She almost blurted, ‘Of course,’ but stopped herself. If Sicarius saw her being escorted by these men, he would attack them without thinking twice, and he might kill somebody. She frowned at her thoughts? Might? Sicarius would kill somebody.
“I’m aware of what happened to Corporal Wholt and his team when he tried to arrest you,” the sergeant said coolly.
The crossbowman scowled, finger tightening on the trigger of his weapon. She wished nobody had mentioned that incident. They would be more wary while escorting her now.
“They tried to kill me,” Amaranthe said. “That whole night was...unfortunate.”
“I’ll say,” the sergeant said. More murmurs came from the men behind her. “Your word. You’re not walking us into a trap?”
Strange that her word meant something to him. She lifted her chin and announced loudly—loudly enough Sicarius would hear if he was nearby, “You have my word I’m not walking you into a trap.”
She hoped that was true. Fortunately, he had not made her swear she would not try to escape. That was more on her mind, and she had better do it before Sicarius showed up. Having more enforcer blood on her hands would be intolerable. She could not pretend she was some noble hero working for the good of the empire if her actions resulted in dead citizens.
“Check her bags,” the sergeant said.
“Want to carry them for me?” Amaranthe asked the young private who came forward to rifle through them. She hoped he would be less likely to confiscate them if she made it sound like it would be a favor. “They’re getting heavy.”
“Carry them yourself, outlaw,” the private said.
Good.
“Just food and wine, sergeant,” the private announced.
“Wine?” came a speculative inquiry from the crossbowman. “Maybe we should confiscate that.”
“Focus on your duty,” the sergeant told him in a clipped tone. “Get going,” he said to Amaranthe.
With two enforcers marching behind her, crossbows trained on her back, and one man on either side, Amaranthe led the way down the street. She doubted she could meander through the city for long before they grew suspicious about her ability to take them to this fictitious hideout.