The lantern puzzled Akstyr for a moment, until he looked toward the door. Strings dangled from the metal hinges.
Books held up a blasting stick with the fuse missing and the end hollowed out. “I very carefully performed a surgery. Should be enough on there to blow the hinges without bringing the ceiling down upon us.”
Akstyr considered the carved rock over their heads.
“A little hustle, if you don’t mind,” Books said, his last word breaking off in a coughing spasm. He wiped his eyes with one hand and waved Akstyr toward the door with the other.
“Right.” Akstyr jogged to the exit with the lantern in hand. Tarry dabs glistened on the hinges. Before lighting the fuses, he tried the latch again. It’d be silly to blow the hinges off a door that wasn’t locked, but it didn’t budge. “Right,” he repeated and lit the two fuses.
Flames hissed and spat as they climbed the dangling strings toward the hinges. Akstyr sprinted for the far side of the room. He didn’t know how much explosive power the dabs had, but he doubted his “filter” would keep his head from being blown off.
Books was already hunkered down behind the row of workbenches, and Akstyr skidded in beside him, ducking low a split second before a pop sounded. A second followed, the noise substantial but not bone-shaking like that of the blasting sticks. Other than pillows of gray smoke joining the murky pink air around the armoire, nothing happened.
“It didn’t work,” Akstyr said.
The door fell inward, landing on the stone floor with a clunk.
“Never mind,” Akstyr said.
Books, a hand to his mouth, was already stumbling for the exit. Akstyr jogged after him with the box in hand. Books stopped at the intersection and bent over, hands on his knees, and retched. Figuring it was fresher out here, and safer, Akstyr let his filter fade away. He wiped sweat out of his eyes and was, as always, surprised by how much working his mind worked his body.
After a moment, Books stood straight again, his coughs having faded away. He took a step toward the exit, but paused and gazed back toward the workshop.
“What?” Akstyr asked.
“Nothing,” Books said. “I just wish we’d had more time to look around.”
“Why? I mean, I know why I’d want to look around, but I didn’t think you cared about the Science.”
“I don’t. I merely wondered if there might be some trace of Vonsha Spearcrest.”
“Who?” Akstyr scratched his head. He thought that was the woman who Books had nearly been blown up with in the real estate library the spring before, but he’d never met her and couldn’t remember for certain.
“I never found out what happened to her,” Books murmured. “Her house in the city has been empty since...”
“Is now a good time to chat about women?” Akstyr waved back toward the workshop where the pink gas was oozing into the tunnel.
A wistful smile crossed Books’s face, but he said, “Doubtlessly not,” and headed for the mine exit. “The others are waiting for us. I’ll translate that schematic for you, and you can spend our travel day figuring out how to get those out of people’s necks.”
“What will you be doing while I’m doing that?”
Books’s smile grew bleak. “In addition to pondering the ramifications of us having stowaways and a mutinous pilot on board, I’ll be determining how to take off and get that dirigible to the Scarlet Pass despite my utter lack of formal aviation training.”
“Should I be worried?”
“That depends. Can wizards fly away if a crash is imminent?”
“If they can,” Akstyr said, “I haven’t learned how to do it.”
“Then worry may be warranted, yes.”
“Oh.”
Chapter 11
The train arrived in Forkingrust after dark. None of the town’s buildings rose more than two stories, and the neighborhoods seemed quiet and rustic to Amaranthe’s city-bred eye. After Stumps’ one million people, Forkingrust and its ten thousand permanent residents seemed... quaint. Still, thanks to its location at the convergence of the Capital-Gulf and East-and-West railways, the town could support a few thousand travelers at a time, and the brisk autumn air couldn’t keep everyone inside. Numerous people walked the streets and gathered in eating houses, and the thumps of dancers’ drums flowed from more than one tavern.
Inside the team’s dark freight car, Amaranthe had the sliding door open a couple of inches, and observed through the gap, waiting for an opportune moment to jump out. The clickety-clack of the wheels on the rails had slowed, and they only had a mile or so before the train would reach the station, where there would be more eyes to view its arrival, eyes that might spot a pack of mercenaries hopping out of one of the cars.
When they drew even with a few dark warehouses, Amaranthe pushed the door open. “Time to go, gentlemen.”
She jumped from the moving train and landed in a crouch on the gravel. The speed and her heavy pack threatened her balance, but she caught herself before succumbing to an embarrassing nose-first topple to the earth. Maldynado, Basilard, and Sicarius flowed out of the train without trouble. The team waited for the rest of the cars to pass, then crossed the rails and jogged into a shadowy street between two warehouses. The windows were dark, and few people roamed that side of the tracks.
Amaranthe turned onto a wide street parallel to the tracks. The log and timber-frame buildings had cozy hand-carved architectural details that gave the area more personality than the modern warehouses in Stumps.
Maldynado shuffled his feet, stirring the piles of dried leaves on the side of the street. “No snow. Good.”
“We’re out of the mountains,” Amaranthe said. “Forkingrust is at a lower elevation than Stumps, and it’s further south as well. It shouldn’t get too cold tonight.”
“I can see my breath, boss,” Maldynado said.
“I didn’t say it was balmy. We won’t have to wait long anyway.”
“Can we wait in the train station instead of outside?”
“No,” Amaranthe and Sicarius said at the same time.
“So nice when you two are in agreement,” Maldynado muttered. “They have a big crackling hearth in there,” he told Basilard, who walked at his side. “And there’s a lady who sells steaming-hot mulled cider inside.”
They passed near a streetlamp, and Basilard signed, What’s it mulled with?
“Wholesome stuff,” Maldynado said. “Spices, cinnamon, orange zest.”
Alcohol?
“Oh, naturally. Every mug is about half brandy.”
“Not a beverage I’d recommend given the calisthenics tonight’s mission will require,” Amaranthe said.
“You’re not much fun, are you, boss?” Maldynado draped an arm over her shoulder.
“Not really, no.”
Sicarius glared at Maldynado, and he dropped his arm.
Unfazed, Maldynado went on, “Don’t you think we should have a beverage to offer the emperor when we get him? We don’t want him to think we’re savages.”
Maybe Amaranthe should have tucked alcohol in with the blasting sticks she gave Books and Akstyr. She glanced at Sicarius, thinking of at least one conversation that might go easier under the influence of a bottle.
“I do want to check inside in case Yara is there,” Amaranthe said.
Sicarius turned his glare onto her.
“No need to fret,” or glower, she thought, “I’ll go in alone.”
As she spoke, they reached the end of the block of warehouses, and the train station came into view. Amaranthe stumbled to a halt. No less than ten army vehicles were parked around it, including two steam trampers that towered over the brick building, their banks of cannons bristling like quills on a porcupine. Lanterns outside and chandeliers inside illuminated soldiers patrolling the premises, both the debarkation boardwalk next to the tracks and the big hall inside.
“What’s going on?” Amaranthe murmured. “Is all of this just because the emperor’s train is going through? He??
?s not even scheduled to get off here.”
“You told the enforcer woman there would be a kidnapping.” Sicarius’s tone was as cool and emotionless as ever, so it might have been her imagination that there was an accusing I-told-you-so in there... but she doubted it. “It’s likely she informed the authorities.”
“We don’t know that,” Amaranthe said, though a heavy feeling gathered in the pit of her stomach. Mistake, that conversation had been a mistake. One she might not have made if she hadn’t been thinking of ridiculously unimportant things like who was going to date whom.
“You did what?” Maldynado asked after a moment of stunned silence.
“I invited her to join us and help the emperor,” Amaranthe said. “I didn’t tell her to alert the army to anything.”
“What’d you invite her for?” Maldynado sounded like a petulant boy whose parents had told him a neighborhood girl was coming to play in his treehouse.
“I thought she might be useful.” Amaranthe chewed on a fingernail, wondering if they should avoid the train station all together now. They did have a backup plan—hopping onto the moving cars from Akron Bridge three miles northeast of Forkingrust. That had been the reason for their bridge-jumping practice the week before. “If we have to, we’ll switch to our back-up plan, but I’m going in there to get information first. For all we know, this is some splinter group supplied with modern weapons and assigned the task of taking over the emperor’s train.” She looked at Maldynado as she said the last sentence, thinking of his brother, and he scratched his jaw thoughtfully. Sicarius’s expression, too, grew a little less icy, as he seemed to consider the possibility.
Amaranthe shouldn’t hope for such a thing—she didn’t want to witness a bloodbath as soldiers battled soldiers, with Sespian in the middle—but she did hope that these people weren’t here because of her own foolishness.
“You three, why don’t you scout the water tower and coal-filling station?” Amaranthe suggested. “I’ll meet you back there when I’m—”
Sicarius gripped her arm. “You’re not going in there alone.”
Amaranthe wasn’t sure if he was concerned for her safety or simply thought he needed to save her from another stupid decision. She didn’t like having him countermanding her wishes in front of the men, but she didn’t want to squabble in front of them either. Maldynado and Basilard were already pretending to study the nearest lamppost.
“Excellent,” Amaranthe said. “I was hoping someone would volunteer to accompany me. I fear it shouldn’t be you, however, as those blond locks are quite distinctive. Maldynado, would you like to dress up in a costume and go inside with me? Perhaps you can get a jug of that brandy cider to take with us.”
“Excellent idea, boss,” Maldynado said.
Though she had been speaking to Maldynado, Amaranthe hadn’t looked away from Sicarius, and she raised her eyebrows, silently asking him if her compromise would do.
He didn’t look pleased, but he released her arm and stepped back. “Basilard and I will be nearby if you need assistance.”
Basilard nodded at this.
“Thank you,” Amaranthe said, hoping he knew that she meant her thanks to include the fact that he was still going to support her, even though her loose lips might be the reason they had an extra obstacle to deal with.
What costumes will you use? Basilard pointed at Maldynado. His hair is too long for a soldier.
“I don’t want to beat anyone up for a uniform,” Amaranthe said, “though I have observed that warrior-caste men tend to ignore such things as army regulations.”
“We ignore anything that gets in the way of good fashion sense.” Maldynado stroked the dyed raccoon tail dangling from his fur cap.
Amaranthe refrained from comment. Barely.
* * * * *
“I can feel Sicarius glowering all the way over here,” Amaranthe muttered.
She and Maldynado had, courtesy of an unlocked bedroom window, acquired costumes and were getting ready to casually stroll into the train station as a couple of weary travelers. Amaranthe wore a businesswoman’s skirt, blouse, and fitted jacket, while a wig gave her a head of curly reddish brown hair. Maldynado wore workman’s togs and was still grousing that they hadn’t been able to find something suitable to his tastes—as if anything on an average person’s laundry line would do for him. She meant to pass him off as her servant, should anyone ask, though with his bumptious posture that might be difficult.
“He can hurl that glare around like a cannonball.” Maldynado adjusted an unimaginative wool cap that had replaced his raccoon-fur masterpiece. “You don’t usually get it though.”
“You’re just not around for it. Ready?” Amaranthe waved toward the front door, trying not to focus on the fact that they had to walk between two army lorries to reach it.
“You voluntarily spend time with him, so you can’t blame anyone except yourself,” Maldynado said as they started walking. “You could always spend more time with me.” He wriggled his eyebrows. “I’m fun.”
“Yes, I’ll keep that in mind.”
When they walked past two soldiers posted at the front door, Amaranthe tilted her face downward, ostensibly watching the steps. Maldynado didn’t seem to have it in him to avoid looking anyone in the eye. Though the bounty on his wanted poster had never been raised above a meager two-hundred-and-fifty ranmyas, Amaranthe wouldn’t be surprised if numerous soldiers recognized him at this point. She hoped his drab clothing would keep them from looking too closely.
As they entered the brick building, though, the soldiers weren’t paying much attention to visitors. Some patrolled along the boardwalk outside, but more simply seemed to be waiting. Quite a few had rucksacks with them and were sitting on them. She had the sense of men preparing for a trip to the borders to stave off an enemy encroachment rather than soldiers ready for an immediate brawl.
While pretending to study the blackboard listing arrivals and departures, Amaranthe eased toward a group of chatty privates. With her back to them, she listened to the conversations.
“...was going fast and hard when the call came. Can you believe it? Finest girl in town.”
“Should have seen what I was doing with that buxom woman from the eating house up the street.”
“Oh, yeah? I was with her sister. And she was way more...”
Maldynado snorted as the bragging-disguised-as-complaints continued. “Bet none of them were entertaining more than their hands.”
Amaranthe was about to give up on getting information from the group—maybe there were some officers around with more to talk about—when a familiar voice addressed her from behind.
“You’re audacious to show up here.”
Careful to keep her back to the soldiers, Amaranthe turned to face Sergeant Yara, someone else who could hurl a glare like a cannonball. Yara wasn’t wearing her enforcer uniform, but she managed to appear stern and authoritarian even in an unadorned gray wool sweater. In fact, she looked extra stern. Irked and irritated might be better words.
“Good evening, ma’am,” Maldynado drawled, giving Yara a lazy smirk. “You’re looking well.”
Amaranthe winced. She doubted Yara was in the mood for Maldynado’s charms.
“You’re looking like a buffoon,” Yara told him. “Hasn’t anyone shot you to collect on your bounty yet?”
“Any number of degenerate hoodlums have tried, but they lacked the fighting prowess to threaten me.”
Amaranthe decided not to encourage the conversation by pointing out how many of those degenerate hoodlums had been children armed with slingshots. They had more pressing matters to discuss.
“Sergeant Yara,” Amaranthe said, “I thank you for coming. Ah, you didn’t have anything to do with all of this, did you?” She waved at the soldier-filled lobby.
“No.” Yara’s hard gaze grew harder. “Reinforcements are being sent to the capital because of this.” She removed a knapsack—it clinked, probably from weapons stuffed inside—and withdrew a
pair of wrinkled newspapers. She thrust them at Amaranthe.
The headline on the first one was familiar, the story of the assassinations she’d read about before they got on the train. Amaranthe flipped to the second, a Forkingrust newspaper from that morning. It updated the death tally, adding another six men and women, and posited theories as to the culprits. Sicarius’s name was mentioned more than once. A paragraph at the end implored citizens not to worry because troops from nearby garrisons were being called in to aid in finding the murderer and to protect innocent citizens.
Amaranthe slumped. All of these soldiers were on the alert because of Sicarius’s actions? That meant their presence had nothing to do with her choice to talk to Yara, but she couldn’t find it within herself to gloat. This would only make things more difficult for her team. It was odd, though, that soldiers would be called in; enforcers handled crimes in the city. A discordant twang sounded in the back of her mind. Was it possible someone was using the murders as an excuse to bring more troops to the city? Troops possibly loyal to the commanders ordering that advanced weaponry?
Yara rattled the papers, recapturing Amaranthe’s attention. “Did your man do this?”
At least she didn’t accuse the entire team. “Why don’t we go outside to discuss this?” Amaranthe asked.
“Oh, certainly. We wouldn’t want these soldiers to figure out who you are and put an end to any felonies you’re in the process of committing.” Yara’s voice wasn’t quiet.
Amaranthe kept herself from glancing about nervously—and conspicuously. At least Yara wasn’t jumping up and down, yelling and pointing at Amaranthe and Maldynado. Maybe there was hope to placate her.
Amaranthe nodded toward the front door and headed that way, hoping Yara would follow.
A few blocks away, a clock tower tolled eight times. While the schedule for Sespian’s train hadn’t been announced anywhere, Books had done some fancy math based on known schedules for other trains sharing the railway to determine that the emperor would likely arrive between nine and ten. That didn’t leave Amaranthe a lot of time to win over Yara. At least the sergeant was following them out of the train station without alerting anyone on the way.