Conspiracy

  “Yes, of course,” he murmured, eyes still focused on the paper. “I never met Sergeant Yara, but I owe her a thank you for arranging to have the bounty on my head removed. I should like to take this opportunity to offer it.” Despite his words, he did not move.

  “Something scintillating?” Amaranthe noticed he was looking at a tintype of Sespian that dominated the front page. The emperor stood before a stone wall, perhaps in front of some military outpost, his face inscrutable as he gazed toward the camera. The headline read, “Emperor Sespian Soon to Return to the Capital. Festival Plans Underway.” Imperial citizens liked to work and train hard, but they were quick to find an excuse for a holiday too. “Everything still going according to schedule?” she asked.

  “Hm?” Books said. “Oh, yes. I’m simply concerned over...” He touched the tintype.

  “What?”

  “Perhaps it’s simply the poor quality of the tintype, but do you notice something odd here? On the emperor’s neck?”

  Amaranthe leaned in and squinted. “A smudge of ink? Or—no, it looks like a little bump. What—” Her mouth froze, and she couldn’t get another word out. A bump on his neck. She lifted a hand to rub her face, her mind lurching to her encounters the previous spring with two people who’d been afflicted with bumps in the flesh of their necks, bumps that disappeared, burrowing deeper beneath the skin, when investigated. One of those people had died in front of her eyes, overtaken by a violent seizure. The other had been dead when she walked into his cabin, dead in a room with no one else around.

  “Maybe it’s nothing,” Amaranthe whispered, taking the lantern from Books. She held it close to the newspaper so she could get a better look. Her heart thumped in her chest.

  If Sespian had been implanted with whatever device killed those other people, was he even now Forge’s puppet? Completely under their control? Worse, did the device’s presence mean that they could kill him remotely if Amaranthe and the others succeeded in kidnapping him? Her throat tightened at the thought of Sicarius pulling Sespian out of the enemy’s clutches only to have the emperor—his son—die in his arms.

  “It does not appear to be a flaw of the tintype process,” Books observed.

  “No.”

  Amaranthe glanced toward the door Sicarius had left open. He hadn’t returned. A thump came from the cargo area behind the cab. The boiler hissed softly, and machinery rumbled and clanked even with the lorry idling. Back there, Sicarius wouldn’t have heard Books’s comment. Should she call him up and tell him? Or wait? He was already irritated by this side trip, and the knowledge that the emperor was in even greater danger than they’d thought might anger him further. Amaranthe remembered the one time she had seen him lose his temper. He’d smashed his fist into a cabinet—at times, she wondered if he’d been anywhere close to smashing that fist into her face—and stalked off to handle things on his own. She didn’t want to see that again. But he had a right to know. Sespian mattered more to him than anyone else. But what could he do with the knowledge? Right then, nothing.

  Amaranthe gazed toward the Yara house, remembering that the enforcer sergeant had been part of the team that had first discovered Shaman Tarok’s secret workshop. Tarok had made numerous magical tools for Forge along with the artifact used to sabotage the city water supply. Might he have made these miniature control devices as well? If he had crafted them, maybe there were a few prototypes in that workshop, prototypes that Akstyr and Books could analyze. If so, maybe those two could figure out a way to get the device out of Sespian’s neck without harming him. Too bad Books had set the mines up to flood. Maybe Tarok’s workshop had survived—it had been on a higher level of the mine.

  A lot of mights and maybes, Amaranthe admitted, but it was worth checking out. Yes. If her idea proved fruitful, then, when she told Sicarius about the implant, she could also offer him a solution. That’d be the more humane choice. He wouldn’t worry as much then. And—she admitted there was a selfish component to her considerations—he wouldn’t be tempted to abandon her and go off on his own. Now she had even more reason to question Yara, though she’d have to make sure and do it without Sicarius around.

  “Are you coming?” Sicarius asked from outside the cab door.

  Amaranthe flinched, nearly falling off the seat. “Er, yes.” She barely kept herself from snatching the newspaper and hurling it into the furnace, where it’d burn before Sicarius could see it. Feigning calm, she told Books, “Better put that away so we can complete this errand and return to the road.”

  “Hm, yes.” Books folded the paper and tucked it away with his journal. He didn’t seem to notice the desperate don’t-say-a-word-about-this-to-anyone look Amaranthe implored him with. She’d have to remember to pull him aside later and make sure he knew.

  Amaranthe led the men down a side street and up a stairway to the residential entrance of the smithy. The lamp was burning behind the shutters near the door, so Amaranthe paused on the landing to listen. Footsteps sounded, someone walking into the room. She couldn’t tell if the treads were male or female.

  Amaranthe knocked softly. Without hesitation, the footsteps approached the door. It swung open. A man stood there, tall, burly, and wearing enforcer grays. His uniform tag read YARA, though he bore the rank of a corporal instead of a sergeant. He had a strong, square jaw and angular face similar to that of his sister, and he regarded Amaranthe and the men with narrow suspicious eyes also reminiscent of Sergeant Yara.

  “Good morning,” Amaranthe said, “sorry to disturb you so early, but we were passing through and wondered if—”

  The door slammed shut in her face.

  “Am I losing my knack for chatting with people?” Amaranthe wondered.

  The door whipped open again. This time the corporal had a repeating crossbow pressed to his shoulder, the quarrel targeting Sicarius. Or at least it was in the process of targeting him. Between one eye blink and the next, Sicarius stepped inside and tore the crossbow from the man’s hands. The burly corporal had fifty pounds on Sicarius, but was the one to stumble back. When he launched a fist, Sicarius caught it in his hand and twisted the corporal’s wrist while spinning him to face the wall by the door.

  The corporal opened his mouth to yell something, but Sicarius stopped him with a palm smashed over his lips. Amaranthe stepped through the doorway and checked to see if anyone else occupied the room, but only a worn sofa and chairs on a forest-green rug greeted her. One wall held a fireplace with a sword and a number of antique smithy tools mounted above it.

  “An admirable collection,” Books remarked from behind Amaranthe’s shoulder. “That hammer on the lower left is made from copper, so it predates iron as a—”

  Yara’s brother growled.

  “A discussion for another time,” Amaranthe suggested.

  Footsteps sounded in a nearby room. Sergeant Yara came out, also dressed in her enforcer uniform, though she had not yet buttoned her jacket over the black undershirt. She held a brush to her head and was in the process of taming her short tousled hair when she saw the scene. She dropped the brush and tore the sword from its perch above the fireplace.

  “This isn’t precisely how I imagined my ‘thank you’ going,” Books said.

  Before Sicarius could decide he wanted to incapacitate Sergeant Yara as well as her brother, Amaranthe stepped forward, hands spread. “Good morning. Your brother is fine. He just decided to greet my comrade with a crossbow in the face.”

  “Your comrade deserves much worse than that,” Sergeant Yara said.

  In their last conversation—Yara might consider it a confrontation—Amaranthe had learned the woman lost some of her vitriol if one didn’t engage in arguments with her. “Do you have a moment before work?” Amaranthe asked, keeping her voice pleasant despite Yara’s hostile scowl. “We found something going on in your district and thought you should know about it.”

  “Mevlar, are you hurt?” Yara asked.

  Sicarius lowered his hand, though Mevlar’s face was still s
mashed against the wall.

  “Do you know who these people are?” Mevlar demanded, ignoring her question. “There’s a wanted poster out for them, especially him.”

  “I know,” Yara said, her eyes locked onto Amaranthe. “Why are you here?”

  Amaranthe waved to Sicarius, hoping he would rearrange Mevlar so the man wouldn’t feel quite so uncomfortable. Though he gave her a long look first, Sicarius turned his captive around so they both faced the room. He kept his grip on the enforcer’s arm and pulled his black dagger out, holding it so the young man could see it. Though Sicarius’s head only came to the young enforcer’s chin, Mevlar stood quietly, an eye toward that inky blade.

  Amaranthe reached into a pocket for one of the cartridges from the weapons manufacturing facility and tossed it. Yara plucked it from the air with her left hand; the sword in her right never wavered.

  “Were you the enforcer investigating the farm at the end of Four Pond Lane?” Amaranthe asked.

  Yara glanced at her brother.

  “You went back out to the farms?” Mevlar frowned at his sister. “I thought the captain told you to let that—” Mevlar seemed to remember they had company and clamped his mouth shut.

  “I haven’t been back out there since last month,” Yara said, her tone snappish, and Amaranthe guessed the two had argued over the matter before.

  Yara opened her fist to examine the bullet, then sucked in a quick breath.

  “What is it, Evy?” Mevlar asked.

  Yara held up the cartridge so her brother could see, but she addressed Amaranthe. “I chanced across some of these and a broken rifle of a strange design two months ago. I’ve been trying to locate the source and find out if there are more or if they were prototypes.”

  “There are more,” Amaranthe said. “A lot more.”

  “Evy.” Mevlar shifted his weight, but Sicarius’s grip tightened on his arm, holding him in place. “These are criminals. The only discussion you should be having with them is to tell them their rights and how we’re going to escort them down to headquarters.”

  Before Amaranthe could point out the unlikelihood of the enforcer leading them anywhere, given his current position, Books stepped forward and lifted a finger.

  “I’m not a criminal. Thanks to your sister’s kindness, the indictment that was wrongly placed upon my head has been lifted. Would you object if I spoke to her?”

  “I object to this whole situation!” Mevlar barked, his face growing red.

  Yara was staring at the bullet in her hand, and Amaranthe didn’t know if she had noticed Books.

  “If you go out to that farm today,” Amaranthe said, “you might be able to see some of the weapons and the remains of the manufacturing facility. I don’t know how quickly they’ll be able to clean up and hide everything again, considering...” She met Sicarius’s eyes for a moment. “Well, I think they’ll be delayed.”

  “I’ll bet.” Yara’s jaw tightened and she gave Sicarius a hard stare, one utterly devoid of fear. “What’s your stake in all of this?”

  Amaranthe smiled. “We’re simply concerned citizens.”

  Yara snorted.

  “We can leave now if you wish,” Amaranthe said, “but I believe you have a piece of knowledge that I need. Perhaps we could trade information for information? I could tell you what I know about the weapons and who might be behind them, and you could better decide if they represent a threat to your district.” Appealing to Yara’s sense of duty would be more likely to interest her than anything else. Such an offer would have swayed Amaranthe once.

  “What knowledge are you looking for?” Nothing in Yara’s tone suggested she was in the mood to share information, but at least she was asking. That might represent a door being cracked open.

  “Evrial.” Again, Mevlar tried to take a step forward, but Sicarius restrained him easily. That did not keep the enforcer from talking. “You can not spend time with these felons. I’ll be duty-bound to tell the captain that Sicarius was here in town and you did nothing to—”

  “What do you want me to do?” Yara snapped at him. “He’s got you by the balls, and he could kill us both in half a second.”

  “It might take a whole second,” Amaranthe said lightly, trying to alleviate the tension crackling between the two of them. She had a feeling she had walked into a brother-sister argument that had been simmering for some time. Had something about Yara’s investigations bothered her higher-ups? Maybe they had distracted her from her regular duties.

  The only one who paid attention to her comment was Sicarius. He gave her the barest hint of an eyebrow twitch. Maybe he disagreed with the one-second estimation.

  “Remember our adventures last spring?” Amaranthe said, drawing Yara’s eyes back to her. “With the makarovi and those magical machines? I need to know what happened to the shaman’s workshop in that mine.” She avoided looking at Sicarius, though she could feel his eyes upon her. He must be wondering at her opening topic choice.

  Yara scowled. “Looking to acquire some of his toys for your own use?”

  “No, but there’s still at least one of his creations out there, threatening people.” Amaranthe kept it vague and hoped Sicarius would think she was talking about the sentries in the weapons manufacturing facility.

  Yara’s brow furrowed. Apparently, the vagueness wasn’t convincing her of much. Maybe Amaranthe should share a few details about the threat to the emperor. Not the bump under his skin, but the Forge group’s behind-the-throne machinations. If Yara knew the emperor was threatened, she might be more willing to assist the team.

  “More than your district may be in jeopardy,” Amaranthe said. “A huge pile of weapons and ammunition is on its way to the capital, possibly to be used as part of a plot against the emperor.”

  Yara lifted her hand and fingered the sergeant’s rank pin affixed to her collar. “Let’s go outside. I will speak with you.”

  “Evy... don’t do this,” Mevlar said. “Being with them... this could destroy your career.”

  “Not if nobody finds out.” Yara fisted her free hand and propped it on her hip. At six feet tall, with shoulders almost as broad as those of her brother, she was an imposing woman, but Mevlar glared right back at her.

  “I can’t look the other way,” he said. “Going against your superior’s wishes to snoop was bad enough. What you do now could bring dishonor to the entire family. If you go with them, however briefly, I’ll have to tell the captain, lest he find out from someone else and—”

  “Think you’re involved too? By all means then, tell him. Maybe tattling on your little sister will earn you the promotion you’ve coveted for so long.”

  Mevlar clenched his jaw.

  Ah, Amaranthe thought, Corporal Yara and Sergeant Yara. Yes, it must have rankled Mevlar to have his younger sister promoted over him.

  Yara grabbed a gray enforcer parka from the back of a chair and stalked toward the door. Amaranthe stepped aside to let her lead. The woman brushed past Sicarius and her brother without sparing a glance for either.

  “You coming, Lokdon?” she growled, stomping down the stairs.

  “I hadn’t realized what a charismatic young lady she is,” Books said.

  Before stepping outside, Amaranthe told Sicarius, “Make sure he doesn’t run off to tattle on his sister right away, please. In a manner that doesn’t leave him permanently damaged.” And, Amaranthe thought, in a manner that keeps you busy for the next ten minutes.

  Sicarius gave her a curt return nod.

  Outside, dawn was brightening the gray clouds spanning the sky, and Amaranthe resolved not to take too long with Yara. In a town this size, some early riser would note the oddity of a steam vehicle parked in the street, and she didn’t need enforcers being sent to investigate. Amaranthe had no wish to incriminate Yara, and already regretted that she hadn’t found a way to contact the woman without involving the brother.

  Yara stopped at the last corner on the side street before it dwindled to a trail and h
eaded out into a field. An old barn towered to one side, and she stepped into its shadow. A rooster crowed nearby.

  “The soldiers blew up the mine,” Yara said.

  At first Amaranthe was tickled that Yara was talking so readily, but it seemed less of a victory when she realized the information wouldn’t prove helpful. “Blew up? With everything still inside?”

  Yara nodded. “They wanted to ensure none of the shaman’s foul tools were used again by anyone else, so they collapsed the entire side of the mountain.”

  “I... see. Do you know if they—”

  “The back entrance through the vertical shaft too.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now,” Yara said, “your information.”

  Though disappointed, Amaranthe briefed her on the details of the last couple of days. She couldn’t bring herself to mention the pile of bodies Sicarius had left on the lawn, but she spoke of everything else.

  Yara didn’t seem to notice the omission. “I’ve been trying to locate that sort of evidence for weeks. After I found the bullet and the broken rifle, I knew something was going on, and it disturbed me that it was happening in my district.”

  A small lump formed in Amaranthe’s throat at the way the sergeant spoke of her territory. It was the same way she had once felt about her own district, a mingle of pride and protectiveness.

  “When I showed the captain my findings,” Yara went on, “he dismissed it as nothing. When I started investigating on my own time and he found out about it, he ordered me to stop.”

  “Hm,” Amaranthe said, mulling over the possibilities. If Yara had been investigating on enforcer time and it interfered with her regular duties, then an order to stop would be understandable, but if she was snooping about when she was off-duty, why would it matter to her superiors one way or another? “Was your captain surprised when you first showed him the rifle and cartridge? Or was it as if...”