Dark Currents

  “Really, Booksie,” Maldynado drawled. “You needn’t act so affronted. I’m quite a catch, you know.”

  Books planted a hand on Maldynado’s chest and pushed him back. “He may be incorrect about that, but he’s right that I felt badly about abandoning you. I wanted to make sure you weren’t seriously injured, but also to talk to you about the explosion. And those men who started it. Do you know them? Is there a reason someone would be after you?”

  Vonsha touched the bandage around her neck. “Don’t take this as a slight, but I was hoping they were after you, not me.”

  Though that was a possibility, Books said, “I don’t think anybody knew I was going to be at the real estate library then. Besides who would want to blow me up for…” Careful, he told himself, remembering his story. “Researching retirement properties?”

  Maldynado snorted.

  “Hm,” Vonsha said.

  She didn’t believe he was telling the truth, of that he was certain. But he doubted she was telling the whole truth either. Why would her family be concerned about the boundaries of their property at that particular moment? Dare he risk telling her more of what Amaranthe’s team had uncovered? Maybe he could make Vonsha an ally. Whoever had thrown that explosive had targeted both of them, after all.

  “Why don’t you come in?” Vonsha said. “We should talk.”

  • • • • •

  Eyes gleaming, Akstyr grinned like a bully on the trail of a weakling as he maneuvered the lorry. The vehicle bounced and lurched, and Amaranthe had to grip the railing with both hands to keep from being hurled out. Basilard sat on the driver’s bench with Akstyr, and he pointed at the road ahead of them, but Amaranthe could not tell if it was to suggest detours around the craters in the weed-infested dirt road or to encourage Akstyr to drive through them. The old, rusty lorry groaned and squealed at the maneuvers.

  “I never thought I’d miss Maldynado’s driving,” Amaranthe said.

  Sicarius stood near the firebox, alternately monitoring the steam levels and surveying the rocky terrain. The road followed the river, though the hisses and clanks of the vehicle drowned the sound of rushing water. If the bumpy ride bothered him, he gave no indication of it.

  The road bent around a wide stump sprouting three saplings from its decaying top. A dilapidated wood-and-rope suspension bridge came into view. The property they had come to investigate started on the other side.

  Basilard and Akstyr bent their heads low, pointing and discussing.

  “…can make it,” Akstyr said.

  Even as Amaranthe shook her head and reached for Akstyr, Sicarius said, “No,” in a flat, hard tone that cut across the clanking machinery.

  Akstyr’s shoulders slumped, but he angled the lorry off the road. Basilard offered a sheepish shrug.

  “We’re enrolling you two in structural engineering classes when we get back,” Amaranthe said. “I’m not sure it’s even safe to walk across that bridge.”

  Akstyr cut off the lorry. Amaranthe grabbed her rucksack and climbed out, taking a moment to appreciate the solid unmoving nature of the ground.

  A pile of donkey dung adorned the entrance to the bridge, suggesting the usual mode of transportation in these parts. A rusty bicycle missing a tire leaned against a stump. Across the river, the road dwindled to a narrow, twisting path that climbed a steep hill, disappearing into new-growth forest.

  “Looks like we continue on foot,” Amaranthe said.

  “I’ll stay with the lorry.” Akstyr hefted his book out of the back. “I have a lot of studying to do.”

  “Really,” Amaranthe said.

  “Sure, you want me to be able to heal you if wolves attack again, right?”

  “Won’t you find that hard to do if you’re here, and I’m five miles up the trail, bleeding to death?” Though Amaranthe was giving him a hard time, she had already planned to leave someone behind. It would be foolish to desert the vehicle since it held all their gear and Sicarius’s gambling-house winnings. “All right, Akstyr. You stay. And Basilard, will you stay too?” She rubbed her fingers in a sign just for him: Watch the money.

  He nodded.

  Amaranthe strapped on a rucksack full of food, water, and spare clothing. “Sicarius, are you ready for a hike?” She faced him only to find he had armed himself—more so than usual. In addition to his daggers and throwing knives, he held two rifles, two pistols, two cargo belts laden with ammo pouches, and a bag of his smoke grenades. “Or a single-handed all-out assault on the forest?”

  He gazed back without comment.

  “Is any of that for me?” she asked.

  Sicarius handed her a rifle, pistol, and ammo belt.

  “I guess we’re prepared if any badgers look at us the wrong way,” she said.

  Sicarius, of course, did not smile, but neither did Basilard or Akstyr. She was not sure if it was because they dared not laugh at Sicarius, or because they were concerned at seeing him load up with so many weapons. Maybe he knew something they did not and believed they would face something truly inimical.

  Feeling weighted down, Amaranthe decided to leave her crossbow. She followed Sicarius, letting him set the pace. A brisk one, of course.

  Though the suspension bridge might not support the weight of the lorry, it proved sturdy enough for two hikers. It still swayed and creaked more than Amaranthe would have preferred.

  She paused in the middle to gaze upriver, wondering if she might be observing the source of the tainted water. The craggy mountains rose in the background while spring wildflowers peeped out along the banks. On a steep hillside, a mountain goat grazed between patches of snow. Everything appeared…normal.

  She trotted to catch up with Sicarius, who apparently had no interest in pausing to admire the landscape.

  “Basilard and Books pointed out this river would be large enough to feed the agricultural lands around the city as well as the aqueducts,” Amaranthe said as they left the bridge and started up the trail. “But there’d be a dam up here somewhere if it was servicing Stumps, right? There’d be a need to control the influx nature gives us, don’t you think?”

  “It’s a long river,” Sicarius said.

  “True, but this is one of the main passes to the east. It seems like it’d be hard to hide a dam anywhere around here.” Amaranthe pictured Books’s terrain map in her head. “Of course, the river and the road aren’t always side by side, and this mountainous terrain could hide a lot. I suppose if we see any mutilated bodies washed up on the shore, we’ll have a clue we’re on the right waterway. If this is the wrong waterway, we won’t find whatever killed those dead people in this valley.” She probably should not admit to being disappointed. Another thought occurred, and she snapped her fingers. “Do you suppose the water problem is what the enforcers and the soldiers are up here to investigate? Could they have figured things out and gotten a team together as quickly as we did? Or maybe the enforcers realized the bodies in the aqueducts came from someplace upstream. They could even know about that Waterton Dam. Drat, I wish we could have followed them. Say, next time a lorry full of soldiers passes on the road, you should jump onto the other vehicle as it passes, spy on them, and then report back to me.”

  This earned her a long backward stare. She tried to decide if it signified amusement or annoyance.

  “If you want me to stop talking so you can more efficiently monitor the wilderness, let me know,” Amaranthe said.

  Sicarius did not speak right away—maybe he was mulling over her offer—so his answer, when it came, surprised her: “Sometimes useful ideas come from your burbling.”

  Burbling? Hm. “Thanks, I think.”

  A moss-draped wooden sign by the side of the path read: TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT. MANY TIMES.

  They stopped and Amaranthe unfolded the plat map. “The owner of the property is Lord Hagcrest. Ever heard of him or his kin?”

  “No.”

  “Whatever emperor gave him his land must not have liked him much,” she said, perusing
the map. “The only thing you could farm up here is rocks, and I doubt you could even get machinery in to log. It’d all have to be done by hand. Any special value in any of these trees, I wonder? Or ore on this mountainside? A gold or silver deposit could definitely spur interest in the land.”

  While she talked—or maybe it was burbling again—Sicarius examined the trail and the surrounding area. He stopped to dig something out of a dent in the wooden sign. A musket ball.

  “Guess that warning isn’t an exaggeration,” Amaranthe said.

  Sicarius scraped blood off the ball.

  “Not an exaggeration at all,” she murmured.

  CHAPTER 12

  Books shifted on the hard log chair in the Spearcrest’s great room. A cushion would have been nice, but if the one-armed seventy-year-old lord of the manor did not need cushions, Books supposed he could do without.

  Though large, the inside of the Spearcrest home did not bespeak wealth any more than the outside did. No dust plagued the mantel ledge and little clutter perched on tables, but the house held numerous signs of delayed repairs: water damage at the top of a window frame, chipped bricks on the hearth where Maldynado lounged, and a broken banister rail on stairs leading to a second floor. The upholstered sofa next to Books was as threadbare as the rug that covered the dented and scratched hardwood floor.

  Vonsha entered the room carrying a tray, and the scent of steamed cider wafted to Books’s nose. She handed a cup to each of them.

  “There are honey pear tarts left,” she said. “May I get you one?”

  Books started to say “No, thank you,” and that they had eaten breakfast, but Maldynado lifted a finger. “Absolutely.”

  As soon as Vonsha left, Maldynado leaned forward. “Why don’t they have any servants? That’s unheard of.”

  “Maybe they prefer a simple life that doesn’t include ordering people around like subhuman minions simply because they weren’t fortunate enough to be born into a landed family.”

  “Or maybe the Spearcrests are destitute,” Maldynado said.

  “This house hardly qualifies as an abode of the destitute.”

  Vonsha returned with a plate of pastries.

  “Excellent.” Maldynado plucked three tarts off for himself.

  Books curled a lip at him. Maldynado could eat less of their food if he was worried the family was destitute.

  Books selected a small tart for himself. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Vonsha, please. We’re not formal out here.” She set the plate down and sat on the sofa across from Books.

  “She’s feeding them?” Lord Spearcrest’s voice drifted down the hall.

  Vonsha put a hand over her face.

  “Why?” Spearcrest went on. “You only feed people if you want to encourage them to stay.” A door thumped, cutting off the rest of the tirade.

  “Please forgive my father.” A flush of embarrassment colored Vonsha’s cheeks.

  Books liked the warm glow it gave her face. Besides, he had been the one flustered in all their conversations thus far. It was nice seeing her equanimity jostled.

  “He was a general before his injury forced retirement,” Vonsha went on. “He’s spent his life yelling orders, even at his children.”

  “You have siblings?” Books asked.

  “My brothers are off serving in the marines. Not that they’re much help when they’re around.” Her lip curled.

  “Not your favorite relatives?”

  “They tormented me a lot when we were younger, and they’ve given me a hard time over…events in my adult life as well.”

  Events like being ostracized for failing the emperor, Books guessed. “Sorry to hear that.”

  Maldynado, who had already devoured two tarts, made a face. His eyes rolled and his brows twitched in a manner that either meant he was choking on his food, or he wanted Books to take this conversation somewhere more interesting.

  “Alas, we all have these family members and people we’re cursed with.” Books gave Maldynado a pointed look. “Sometimes working with them requires us to go spelunking to new depths of patience.”

  Maldynado groaned. “Spelunking to new depths? Don’t say things like that to women, Booksie. Not if you ever hope to get your sheets toasted by more than a fire-warmed brick.”

  Vonsha chuckled. Books forced his lips into a smile, though it was a slight one. She was supposed to chuckle at him, not his over-muscled sidekick.

  Maldynado did not appear to notice her attention. His gaze had shifted to the doorway. Lord Spearcrest stood in the hallway, scowling. Vonsha noticed and waved for her father to leave. It was a call from his wife that bestirred him, not his daughter’s gesture.

  “What were those soldiers and enforcers doing here?” Maldynado picked a crumb off his shirt, tossed it in his mouth, and licked his fingers.

  “They’re on some mission in the mountains,” Vonsha said. “They spoke little of it, just showed the emperor’s seal and requested lodging for the night. Naturally, it’s our privilege to put them up.”

  The emperor’s seal. So, young Sespian knew there was trouble up here. Amaranthe would be excited to learn that. If the team helped with the problem, maybe it would lead to the recognition she wanted. Books wished he could be happy working toward that goal himself. What he wanted was something he could never have again: his son back. He missed being a part of a family, of knowing someone needed him—that he mattered. Surely it was too early to think of finding that with Vonsha, but his mind did linger on the idea.

  “What could they be doing up here?” Maldynado frowned at Books, probably wondering why he was not asking the questions. “They didn’t look like they were continuing across the pass. They drove off the other way, going higher up in the mountains.”

  Books straightened. He needed to pay attention.

  “They didn’t see fit to tell us their business,” Vonsha said.

  “Has anything unusual happened here that you or your parents have noticed?” Books asked.

  “Well…” She studied him, perhaps wondering if she could trust him. “You know that Kendorians are sometimes spotted in imperial territory on the other side of the mountains, right? That’s why Fort Dretsvar sits at the bottom of the pass over there. Soldiers usually come through every month, some heading to the fort for a new assignment and others rotating out. They usually stay the night here, but my parents said there haven’t been any visitors for two months.”

  “You believe there’s a problem at the fort?”

  “If there is…” Vonsha frowned. “My parents live up here, in the path of potential trouble. They have few neighbors so, if something has happened to that fort, there’ll be nobody around to help them defend the property.”

  “Vonsha,” Lord Spearcrest said from the hallway.

  Books flinched. He had not heard the old man slip up on them again.

  “I will discuss matters with these men,” Spearcrest said. “Privately.”

  “Father, they came to see me and—”

  “Now.” He rapped his knuckles on the doorframe. “Go help your mother in the kitchen.”

  Vonsha sighed. “No matter how old you are, you’re still a child when you visit your parents’ home. Pardon me, gentlemen.”

  As soon as she left, her father stalked in. He propped his lone arm on his hip and scowled down at them. An old service pistol that had not been there before hung from his belt.

  Books stood. “My lord.”

  Maldynado continued to lounge on the floor. He scratched an armpit.

  “Who are you boys?” Spearcrest demanded. “And what’re you doing spying about up here?”

  “We’re simply friends of Vonsha.” Books eyed the pistol, noting the cocked hammer. The old man stood far enough away that he would have time to draw and shoot before Books or Maldynado could cross the distance and tackle him. “I was in the accident with her at the real estate library,” he said. “I wanted to check on her.”

  “That’s not the story yo
u started out giving me.” Spearcrest’s hand descended to rest on the pistol butt.

  Books tried not to wince. That was right. He had changed stories when Vonsha came out. He suddenly found himself admiring Amaranthe’s ability to think—prevaricate—on her feet. Oh, how he preferred the settled calm of a library.

  “That is true,” Maldynado said. “We weren’t sure you’d see Books if you knew.”

  “Knew what?” Spearcrest asked.

  “His real reason for coming,” Maldynado said.

  “Which is what?” Spearcrest spoke slowly, enunciating each annoyance-laden word.

  Books raised his eyebrows at Maldynado, wondering where he was taking this.

  “That Books came courting,” Maldynado said. “Your daughter’s not married, right?”

  Books was not sure if his jaw dropped as far as Lord Spearcrest’s or not. It felt like it.

  The old man opened and closed his mouth several times before speaking. “No. She lost her husband in the Western Sea Conflict. She said… Well, it’s been so long, me and Mother just figured she wouldn’t remarry.” He turned an appraising eye on Books.

  He squirmed like a sixteen-year-old boy come to ask a girl’s father for permission to take her to the stadium to watch the races.

  “Some fathers are particular about who their daughters marry,” Maldynado said. “We weren’t sure, so Books figured on the story as a guise to get to know you.”

  “I’d have preferred honesty,” Spearcrest said though his face softened a smidgeon.

  “Yes, my lord,” Books said. “It was cowardly of me to spin a fabrication.”

  “Vonsha’s old enough to make up her own mind on such matters. That’s truly your reason for being here?”

  “What else would people come way up here for?” Maldynado asked.

  “Nothing,” Spearcrest said. “Not a thing.”

  He left abruptly.

  Maldynado threw a smug smile at Books. “You’re welcome.”

  “Welcome!” Books struggled to keep his voice down. “When he tells her—she’s going to think I want to marry her. That’s ludicrous. We’ve barely spent an hour together uninterrupted. I just want to…”