Deadly Games (32 page)

The starlight did not offer enough
illumination to read the name on the bow, but she could not imagine
this being anything except the ship they sought, the
Tuggle
.

“Must not be any treasure on there now,”
Maldynado said. “Nobody’s on guard.”

“Some of the crew might be sleeping below
decks,” she whispered.

They stopped beside the ship. No gangplank
offered easy access, but Amaranthe had come prepared. She unwound a
length of thin rope she had looped around her waist several times
and dug out a collapsible grappling hook. She fastened it and swung
the tool, releasing it toward the ship’s railing. The hook clinked
softly and caught on the first try.

“You’re turning into a proficient burglar,”
Books said.

“Is that a compliment or a condemnation?”
Amaranthe tested the secureness of the rope.

“It depends on whether we’ll be leaving
monetary compensation for the suits we’re stealing.”

Maldynado groaned. “You’re wholesome enough
to teach toddlers right alongside her.”

“I was hoping to return the suits without
doing any damage,” Amaranthe said.

“Such as with the trash vehicle?” Books
asked.

She winced. “When we have our men back, I’ll
see what I can do about compensating those we’ve wronged.”

“I know,” Maldynado said in response to a
muttered comment from Akstyr. “They are the
worst
outlaws
you’ll ever meet. What criminals worry about such things?”

Amaranthe shushed them, then shimmied up the
rope. Before climbing over the railing, she paused to listen for
voices or movement on the deck. Only the soft lapping of the waves
reached her ears.

She slipped over the railing and landed in a
soundless crouch. Nothing stirred. She glided through the shadows,
skirting the crane and capstans the size of huts. A single closed
hatch allowed access to the lower levels. She collected the men
before exploring further.

“Shall we light the lanterns?” Books
whispered.

“Wait until we’re below decks,” Amaranthe
said.

At this point, she did not think anyone was
aboard, but she did not need someone on another dock noticing their
light and coming to investigate.

Amaranthe pressed an ear to the hatch. Again,
she heard nothing. She turned the latch and eased the door
open.

A powerful stench rolled out, smelling of
rotten meat and death. Her unprepared stomach roiled, and images of
the dam—those eviscerated men and women—washed over her. She braced
herself against the wall.

“Ugh,” Akstyr said. “It smells like a
half-eaten possum left to bake on the street in summer.”

“Or dead people,” Books said, his voice
hoarse, as if he was fighting back the urge to retch.

“Really, boss,” Maldynado said, “is it
necessary to take us to such desecrated destinations all the
time?”

“Apparently.” Amaranthe wondered if the
Saberfist
might have been a better bet after all. “Books, is
it possible these people brought back some sort of contagious
disease from their explorations? Something that...killed them?”

“Pizzle rot?” Maldynado asked.

“I made that up.”

“If it helps,” Akstyr said, “it smells like
more than pizzles are rotten down there.”

“How does that help?” Maldynado asked.

“I read the dock master’s report,” Books
said. “These fellows have been in port for a couple of weeks, and
before that they were working Squall Lake.”

“So whatever happened...” Amaranthe
started.

“Happened after they arrived here,” Books
said.

“Do you think we’re in danger of catching
something if we go down?”

“If it is a disease, I’d guess we’re finding
them after the point of contagion, but I couldn’t be certain.”

Akstyr lifted a finger. “How about I stay up
here and stand guard?”

“How about you go first?” Maldynado said.
“You’re the youngest. The most expendable.”

“
What?
”

“Maybe they just brought back a treasure that
someone wanted and someone killed them for it.” Amaranthe mused
that it was a strange line of work she found herself in when that
was a cheery thought.

“And maybe not,” Maldynado said.

“I’ll go,” she said. “Akstyr, you get to find
out a way to heal me if I contract something.”

“Uh, I don’t know how to do diseases,” Akstyr
said. “It’s not in the On Healing book.”

“Get a shaman then. Sicarius has found them
in the city before.”

“Sicarius isn’t here,” Maldynado pointed
out.

All too aware of that fact, Amaranthe pushed
the hatch further open, descended three steps, and entered a dark
corridor. Mosquitoes whined in the air. The scent of urine and
feces lingered beneath the overpowering stench of death. She
breathed through her mouth as she turned up her lantern. Closed
cabin doors lined either side of the short corridor. She glimpsed
metal and coiled rope through an open hatchway at the end.
Storage?

A creak sounded from the steps behind
her—Books following with a lantern of his own.

“You’ll need help collecting all the
equipment and hauling the suits out,” he said, “The kits weigh over
one hundred fifty pounds each.”

She gripped his arm. “Thank you.”

Her intent was to bypass the cabins and go
straight to the storage area, but, in the confining corridor, Books
bumped an elbow against one of the doors. It had not been fastened
so it creaked open. He hesitated, then eased his lantern
inside.

Whatever he saw arrested his attention for he
stared for a long moment.

“Body?” A few steps farther down the
corridor, Amaranthe could not see in, and she was not quick to run
up and poke her head under his arm.

“Yes.”

“Throat cut?” She doubted it.

“No. It does appear to be some sort of
disease.”

Reluctantly, Amaranthe went to take a look.
If it
was
a contagious disease, it was probably too late for
them to avoid it anyway.

The inert male body lay on a cot, his chest
bare, his blankets thrown to the floor. A rough red rash covered
the flesh, a rash Amaranthe recognized. Maybe it wasn’t the same.
Maybe the symptoms were just similar. Maybe...

“What is it?” Books asked, watching her
face.

“Hysintunga,” she whispered.

“That’s one possibility, but there are other
diseases with similar symptoms. The insects that carry Hysintunga
aren’t native to this area—they prefer hot, humid climates—and it’s
unlikely this man died of that malady.”

“I’ve seen it in Stumps before,” Amaranthe
said. “I’ve been
infected
with it here before. By that
colonel, Talconcrest.”

Books closed the door on the dead man.
“Hysintunga is always fatal, isn’t it?”

“Unless you know a shaman who can heal
it.”

“But Sicarius is the only one who knows where
to find one?”

“Yes,” Amaranthe said. “It looks like these
people are beyond help anyway.”

“If those responsible for the kidnappings are
also responsible for this...how could they have known we’d come
here?”

“Maybe this has nothing to do with us. Maybe
they just didn’t want this crew poking around on the bottom of the
lake. For these people to be dead now, they would have to have been
infected days ago.”

Amaranthe continued down the corridor. More
narrow steps led down to the storage area where spindles secured to
the deck held coils of rope and chain. Cabinets lined the
sidewalls, and a low ceiling sloped down to a larger double-door
cubby. She could stand straight, but Books would have to hunch low
to keep from hitting his head on ceiling beams.

“Let’s check these,” she said.

Books took one side and Amaranthe unlatched
the cabinet doors on the other. Hooks and chains occupied one
cubby, rope another, and copper equipment she could not identify a
third. No diving suits.

“Any luck?” she asked.

“Not yet.” Books had reached the larger doors
at the end. He unlatched them and tugged one open.

An angry buzz came from the darkness within.
A familiar angry buzz.

“Close the door!” Amaranthe shouted,
stumbling for the exit. “Get back!”

When Books tried to comply, he cracked his
head on one of the beams, and his foot caught in a coil of rope. He
dropped his lantern and stumbled to the floor. His light winked
out. The door he’d thrust shut banged against the frame and bounced
open again.

The glow of Amaranthe’s lantern was enough to
reveal a fat insect as long as her finger flying from the hold. A
tail reminiscent of a lizard’s streamed out behind it. Some utterly
useless part of her mind remembered the Kendorians called them
Fangs.

Wings flapped, and the insect veered straight
toward Books. His feet were tangled in the rope, and he
floundered.

Amaranthe tore her sword free and set the
lantern down in one motion. She darted to Books’s side and swung at
the insect. The blade sliced it in two. Its halves splatted to the
deck, the long tail still twitching.

Before she could reach down to help Books to
his feet, more buzzes filled the silence.

“Emperor’s warts,” she cursed. She started
toward the cabinet, hoping to shut them in, but movement near the
door made her jerk back.

Books extricated himself and leaped to his
feet, his blade out before he stood fully upright. Four Fangs
streamed out of the cubby.

“Back to back,” Amaranthe barked. “Slice them
or squash them beneath your boots, but you’re dead if you let them
bite you.”

“Understood.” Books lowered into a crouch,
sword raised.

One Fang veered toward Amaranthe. She whipped
her blade at it, but the insect sensed the threat and flitted
upward. Her tip smacked into a beam instead, jarring her arm. The
blade stuck in the wood, costing her precious time.

The insect arrowed toward her neck. She
ducked, spinning and tearing her blade free. Books’s sword sliced
in, hacking a wing off the Fang. It spiraled toward a wall.

Before Amaranthe could thank him, she spotted
two insects flapping toward him. “Watch out!”

The wingless one bumped against a cabinet
door near her. Fear stole finesse, and she chopped at it like a
logger with an axe. Wood chipped free, and bug guts splattered.

“Got one,” Books said.

“Where are the other two?”

Amaranthe put her back against the cabinets
and held her sword ready before her. She strained her ears,
listening for their buzz, but she heard footfalls instead.
Maldynado and Akstyr.

“Stay back, you two,” she called, charging
for the corridor. “The bugs are deadly.”

She darted through the hatchway in time to
see Maldynado ducking and flailing his arms. Akstyr lingered
behind, and he backed away at her warning.

A Fang buzzed about Maldynado’s head.
Amaranthe ran toward him, sword poised for a strike.

He saw her coming and dropped to the deck.
She never took her focus from the bug. It drew in its wings to dive
at Maldynado, but she skewered it.

“Where’s the last one?” she demanded. If it
escaped into the night, it could buzz about the city, infecting
countless citizens.

“Got it,” Akstyr said in a strained
voice.

He stood on the steps, his arm outstretched.
A bug hovered in the air, inches from his open palm. The wings
continued to flap, but it did not make any forward progress.

Amaranthe raised her blade. “Shall I?”

“Wait,” he whispered.

Akstyr’s eyelids drooped, almost as if he
were falling asleep, but Amaranthe knew better. She did not lower
her sword and debated on simply ending it, but Akstyr needed
practice to master his art.

Seconds ticked by. Though she heard Maldynado
rising behind her, she kept her eyes focused on the Fang.

She opened her mouth to question Akstyr, but
paused when smoke wafted from the insect’s wings. A heartbeat later
it burst into flame. Amaranthe gaped as it burned to a crisp. Ashes
trickled to the deck.

“It worked,” Akstyr blurted, a grin on his
face.

“That was...disconcerting,” Books said.

“Can you do that with people?” Maldynado
asked.

Akstyr shrugged. “Probably not yet.”

Yet? The day he could do that would be the
day Amaranthe feared Akstyr.

“Let’s see what they were guarding,” was all
she said.

The large cubby in the back of the storage
area held five diving helmets and suits as well as tubing and
pumps.

“Now
that’s
disconcerting,” Amaranthe
said.

“What is?” Maldynado asked.

“The fact that Taloncrest booby-trapped the
very equipment we need?” Books knelt to inspect the gear.

“This does lend credence to our theory,”
Amaranthe said. “That something’s down there in the lake and these
people don’t want it discovered.”

“So they killed the whole crew?” Maldynado
asked.

“It’s possible this doubled as an experiment.
When I met that colonel, he was quite cheerful about furthering his
research and didn’t seem concerned about deaths. Actually, he was
looking forward to dissecting my cadaver.”

“He sounds like a lovely fellow,” Maldynado
said.

“I’m not sure how experimenting with diseases
could tie in with the kidnappings though.” Amaranthe reached up and
gripped one of the beams over her head. “But if it
is
connected, and if there
is
a laboratory or hideout on the
lake bottom, it might be handy to have a tugboat specializing in
underwater operations.”

“You want us to steal a ship?” Maldynado
gaped at her. “Oh, Books is going to give you an extra hard time
for that. He was whining when you just wanted the suits.”

“Actually,” Books said, “if the owners of
this vessel are all dead, I believe Maritime Salvage Law would be
in effect.”

“What?” Maldynado asked.