Deadly Games (16 page)

“Er, I don’t. I mean, the newspapers said
that, didn’t they?”

“No.”

“Just a guess, then,” Raydevk muttered.

The boy peering into the sleeping area leaned
in further. “What are you doing, mister?”

His mother stepped around the younger one and
stretched out a hand to grab him, but the boy slipped inside.

“Do you want to see my models? I have an
imperial warship, the first steam ferry, and Da’s friend made me a
replica of the city’s ice breaking ship.”

Amaranthe figured Sicarius would ignore the
questions, but he was pragmatic to the point where he probably
wouldn’t think twice about tying the boy up to keep him out of the
way. She stepped toward the curtain to make sure nothing like that
happened, but knocks at the door made her pause.

Raydevk cursed under his breath. His wife
winced.

“Problem?” Amaranthe asked.

“No,” Raydevk said. “Wrong address.”

Nobody said anything for a moment, but then
the knocks came again—multiple fists striking the wood. “Ray,
what’s the hold up? You two entertaining the neighborhood from the
fire escape again?”

The wife’s face flushed red, and even the
miner had the sense to appear mortified.

“Why don’t you let that wrong address in?”
Amaranthe asked. “Maybe they know something about the missing
athletes.”

“Come on, Ray, we have to go. Meeting starts
in ten minutes.”

“Meeting?” Amaranthe smiled even as Raydevk
cursed. She supposed she should not feel pleasure at watching
someone’s lies falling apart, but fate usually tormented her, so it
was nice seeing someone else have trouble.

“I...uh...I’ll just answer that,” Raydevk
said.

He backed toward the door, watching her as he
went, and she sensed he meant to try something. He wore no weapons,
but he might have one stashed in the flat. A small table with a
drawer leaned against the wall near the door. Amaranthe eased
behind the sofa, figuring she could duck for cover if need be.

Raydevk reached for the doorknob, though, not
the drawer. “You gentlemen will have to come back another time,” he
said loudly without taking his eyes from Amaranthe. “There’s an
enforcer lady here who’s talking to me about—” He flung the door
open and darted into the hall. “Run!”

Surprised, Amaranthe did not react
immediately. The coward had left his wife to deal with the
enforcers while he ran off with the boys? The wife gaped at the
open door, as startled as Amaranthe. All the men had taken off, and
footsteps thundered in the stairwell at the end of the hallway.

“Si—Corporal Jev,” Amaranthe called.

Sicarius strode out.

“I need you to follow that...” The grinning
boy riding Sicarius’s leg and clutching a toy boat made her pause.
Well, Sicarius hadn’t tied the child up. That was good. “Our miners
are off to a secret meeting. If you could extricate yourself, I’d
appreciate it if you’d find out who they’re meeting and where.”

Without a word, Sicarius unwound the boy from
his leg, deposited him on the sofa, brushed past Amaranthe, and
slipped out the window. He vaulted over the fire escape rail
without bothering with the ladder.

“How come that man can’t talk?” the boy
asked.

“He can talk. He’s just not the chatty type.”
Amaranthe eased around the sofa toward the door. She doubted Pella
would run off and leave her children behind, but there was no need
to tempt her. As she was shutting the door, her hand brushed her
pocket, and something inside crinkled. She slipped her fingers in
and slid a piece of paper out—the note Raydevk had stashed. When
Sicarius had been close enough to him to retrieve it, she did not
know, but she itched to unfold it and read it.

“My brother isn’t chatty either,” the boy
said.

Conscious of the mother’s gaze upon her,
Amaranthe slid the note back into her pocket. She would check it
later.

“He liked my boat,” the boy added.

Amaranthe wondered how that deduction had
been made if Sicarius hadn’t said anything. “I’m sure he did. It’s
very nice.”

“Marl, Denny, go back to bed,” Pella
said.

Marl, huh? Amaranthe wondered if Books would
be flattered to know a boat-loving toddler shared his name.

“Where did Da go?”

Pella dragged her hands through her hair. “I
don’t know. Just go to bed, please.” She shoved them toward the
curtain and sank down in a chair.

Amaranthe thought that “I don’t know” sounded
authentic, but she perched on the sofa across from the woman,
intending to find as many answers as she could. “Ma’am, mind
answering a few questions?”

“Do I have a choice?” Her bleak smile held no
humor.

“Not really, no.” Though she had a good
memory, Amaranthe withdrew a notepad and a pen. It might help her
appear official. “Do you know what he’s involved with? He’s not
responsible for kidnapping athletes, is he?”

“No, no, he wouldn’t do that. I don’t even
know why...” Pella shrugged. “I’m not sure what he’s up to.”

“It’s strange that he’s home for the week,
isn’t it?”

“Yes, he never gets this much time off.
He...I shouldn’t be betraying his trust to you, should I? A good
wife is supposed to keep the books and her husband’s secrets.”

“You do know,” Amaranthe said, “that the law
no longer requires a woman to go to jail with her husband if he’s
convicted of a crime, right? Unless she’s found to be an
accomplice....”

“I’m no accomplice! He shows up here, takes
all our savings, and promises me it’s for the greater good. That we
won’t have to worry about anything in the future. That it’s worth
living in poverty today if we can live like emperors tomorrow. I
don’t know what I’m supposed to make of that. He won’t tell me
more. Just says not to worry about it. I’ll have to work for our
reward, but it’ll be worth it in the end.”

“You’ll have to work for it?” Amaranthe
tapped her pen against the notepad. That did not sound like a
gambling scheme. Unless Raydevk meant his wife would have to work,
taking care of kidnapped prisoners. But, no, she did not know about
them, and some had been missing for days, so she would have been
recruited by now if that were her task.

“That’s what he said.”

Amaranthe leaned back. A broken spring
beneath the sofa cushion prodded her in the butt. Though she feared
she would get little more information, she spent another fifteen
minutes questioning Pella.

“I’m not going to jail, right?” Pella asked
when she walked Amaranthe to the door at the end. “Whatever he’s
gotten tangled up with, it wasn’t my idea. I’m a good, loyal
citizen. I swear it. And my boys are, too. They need me.”

A guilty twinge coursed through
Amaranthe—this woman had doubtlessly committed fewer crimes than
she
had. She forced a smile and gripped Pella’s shoulder.
“If what you say is true, you’ve nothing to worry about from the
enforcers.”

Her husband was another matter.

The building’s parlor remained empty, so
Amaranthe stopped beneath a light to check the note.

Two columns of names were written in sloppy,
barely legible handwriting that an imperial code-breaker would have
struggled to decipher. She recognized three out of the five, and
one of them was Sicarius.

A chill ran through her. Had Raydevk known
who Sicarius was all the time? He hadn’t shown any signs of
recognition when Sicarius stepped through the door. And Raydevk
hadn’t been that great at hiding any of his other thoughts. Surely,
he would have given something away.

Sicarius’s name was at the top of the
left-hand column, one with three entries in it. Deercrest, the
missing wrestler, came under him, and Amaranthe did not recognize
the third. The top name on the second column belonged to Fasha’s
sister Keisha. The other two looked like Borsk and Allemah.
Maybe.

Amaranthe pocketed the note again and stepped
outside. She debated whether to wait on the sidewalk in front of
the building, return to the hideout, or go back up to Pella and see
what her reaction would be to the name, “Sicarius.” Her gut
squirmed, knowing she had sent him off to spy on people who
apparently wanted him for some nefarious reason.

She headed back into the building, adjusting
the stiff collar of her enforcer uniform as she climbed the stairs
again. It was scratching her neck more than she remembered—maybe
the fabric was reminding her she no longer had any right to wear
it.

When she reached the flat and lifted her hand
to knock, the door stood ajar. Strange. She would have thought
Pella would lock everything up and put the children to bed after
the incident.

Amaranthe pushed the door open. Darkness
shrouded the room, but she sensed what she would find even before
she brought in a lantern and searched. Pella and the children were
gone.

Basilard urged his legs to greater speed,
though the darkness made the footing treacherous. He snorted. Even
by day, the footing was treacherous.

He reached the end of the swinging platforms,
leaped onto the last wall, pulled himself over, and dropped the
ground. He sprinted the last ten meters to the finish line.

A soft clack sounded as Akstyr stopped the
watch. He held it up to one of the few gas lamps still burning.
“Just over two minutes. Nice. You’re going to be a real competitor.
Imagine how speedy you’ll be when it’s light enough to see.”

It will be easier to avoid the swinging
axes
, Basilard signed with a nod toward the dark, deadly
shadows swaying back and forth.

Akstyr squinted, and Basilard could tell he
struggled to read the hand signals in the dim lighting. When Akstyr
had told Maldynado to take the night off, that he would work with
Basilard on his “training,” Basilard had assumed the young man
wanted to speak about Sicarius—perhaps he had some idea?—but thus
far Akstyr had not mentioned him. Basilard should bring it up. This
was his quest after all.

As if sensing his intent, Akstyr whispered,
“I was thinking about that powder. If it’s what I think it is....
Am’ranthe tell you the details?”

Basilard drew closer to the light, so his
hand signs would be visible.
Yes.

“If we could get some...”

A creak sounded behind them, and Akstyr
jumped a foot, spinning in the air to face the sound. The
maintenance fellow who manned the obstacle course’s furnace strode
from a doorway in the stone wall below the first tier of
seating.

Akstyr chuckled nervously. Basilard touched
his arm and nodded, indicating they should walk. The man would be
powering down the engine for the night anyway, so training was
over.

You suggest finding the kidnappers and
colluding with them? To get some of the powder?
The thought did
not sit well with Basilard. Though he had no reason to love the
athletes attending the Imperial Games, he had no reason to wish
them ill either, and he did not care for the idea of working
against Amaranthe.

“No, I wasn’t thinking about that.” Akstyr
said, keeping his voice low as they walked. “Am’ranthe wants me to
go investigate apothecaries tomorrow, to see if we can find out if
a local sells the stuff and if someone suspicious has been buying
it up. If I get a chance, I’ll buy some while I’m there. Then we
just have to figure out how to use it on Sicarius, and you can...”
He sliced a finger across his throat.

Basilard swallowed. Even if he was no longer
the model Mangdorian, he shrank from the idea of killing an
unconscious man. But at the same time, he could not foresee downing
Sicarius in a fair fight. He had never even drawn blood when they
sparred. Basilard had a measure of talent when it came to knives,
but Sicarius had...
erkt mahlay
. That was the Kendorian term
for it, and one his people used as well. Literarily, snake blood.
Figuratively, the ability to strike, not just with the speed of a
viper, but with a snake’s utter lack of hesitation and remorse.
Even knowing what he knew about the man’s crimes, Basilard would
hesitate. He knew he would. Sicarius would not.

Basilard massaged the bridge of his nose with
his thumb and forefinger.

“You’re not backing out, are you?” Akstyr
asked.

No. I’ll do it.

“Good.”

* * * * *

Amaranthe stood on top of the rail car, her
back to the rising sun. A thousand metallic objects in the boneyard
reflected its rays, and her eyes already ached from staring across
the expanse.

Clanks sounded below her—one of the men
climbing up. The others spoke in low tones around the fire pit
below. Basilard was cooking eggs, and the appealing scent wafting
up should have pleased Amaranthe, but she was busy worrying.

Books’s head poked over the top of the
ladder. “Breakfast is almost ready. A particularly fine one. The
men are in a celebratory mood because they got to sleep in and
nobody dragged us off to exercise before dawn.”

Great. Sicarius was missing, and that caused
a celebratory mood. Maybe Amaranthe should have led an exercise
session, despite his absence.

Books clambered up beside her. “No sign of
him yet?” He nodded toward the metal-filled vista.

Amaranthe shook her head once.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Books said. “He’s
always disappearing to do...whatever it is he does when he
disappears.”

“Not when he’s on an assignment for the
team.” Amaranthe sat down on one of the crates Maldynado had
dragged up while claiming that a person could stand watch just as
well sitting down as he could fully upright.

“He’s probably trying to fulfill his
assignment then. Perhaps he’s chanced onto something good and needs
to observe it before reporting back.”

“Perhaps.” Amaranthe rubbed her eyes. She had
lain awake most of the night, waiting for Sicarius’s return, and,
as the hours had dwindled on, she had begun to question herself for
sending him after the miners. They had seemed innocuous enough, but
that was before she read the note with his name on it. And before
the family had disappeared, leaving her with no link to the miners.
“I should have let him do it his way, Books.”