Deadly Games (5 page)

Basilard smiled briefly, but it did not reach
his eyes.
I understand. It’s good that you are making your own
trail. I fear that’s not an option for me. I believe my destination
is chosen.

“I thought you’d decided to work to end the
underground slavery in the empire and to make things better for
your people.”

He poked a brick with his toe for a moment,
shrugged, then stood.
Thank you
, he signed and went into the
sleeping car.

Amaranthe sighed, not sure if she had helped,
or that she knew how to help him.

* * * * *

A steam whistle blew, and workers streamed
out of factories. Positioned between the industrial district and
the shops and studios of the northern waterfront area, the old
Gazette
building overlooked one of the canals that flowed
through the city. From the mouth of an alley across the waterway,
Amaranthe, Sicarius, and Maldynado observed men exiting, shucking
their single-breasted jackets and frock coats to walk home in the
warm air.

Though evening had come, the sun still shone,
offering few shadows to cloak the alley. The idea of heading along
the broad waterfront street and over the wide canal bridge made
Amaranthe uneasy. This was part of her old patrol route, and any
enforcers she ran into here would recognize her.

“It’s not going to be a trap,” Maldynado
said. “I know this fellow. We used to fence together back before he
took a spear in the hip at Amentar. He earned a medal of valor
because he was leading the attack to save some border town and
risked his life to save a bunch of children. He’s a good, noble
man.”

“Good, noble people are the types who feel
obligated to turn in outlaws,” Amaranthe said, drawing an approving
nod from Sicarius.

“He’ll expect you to come in through the
front,” Sicarius said. “I’ll see if there’s another entrance.”

He went down the alley instead of walking out
the front, presumably choosing a route that would keep him out of
sight.

“He’ll probably find us a third-story window
to crawl through,” Maldynado muttered. “Look, I’ve had brandy with
Deret twice since I became an outlaw. He hasn’t turned me in yet.
And
he doesn’t look down on me because I’m disowned. He’s
one of the few who don’t.”

“I’m sure he’s a fine fellow,” Amaranthe
said. “We’re just being cautious.”

While they waited for Sicarius to return, the
traffic leaving the front of the building dwindled. A pair of
enforcers strode along the timeworn cobblestone street lining the
canal, and Amaranthe eased deeper into the alley. An ordinary
patrol, she told herself. Nothing that suggested they were
conveniently around to play a role in a trap being sprung.

She nibbled on a finger, wondering if she was
letting Sicarius’s paranoia get to her.

“This way.” Sicarius appeared at her
shoulder.

Maldynado was the one to jump. “Always
sneaking up on people,” he muttered under his breath.

Without a word, Sicarius led them through the
alley and around the building to a ladder leading down to a ledge
along the canal. Keelboats and cargo rafts floated up and down the
waterway, but nobody paid attention to Amaranthe’s team. The pilots
were too busy navigating past houseboats, skiffs, and each other to
watch the foot traffic.

Sicarius stopped at the base of one of the
city’s newer steel bridges and gripped one of the support beams.
Legs dangling, he swung from handhold to handhold, like a monkey
skimming through the treetops.

Amaranthe and Maldynado exchanged incredulous
looks.

“Is he joking?” Maldynado asked. “Why can’t
we walk across the bridge?”

“Training?” Amaranthe guessed.

Sicarius, midway across, paused and peered
back over his shoulder. “The top of the bridge is visible from
The Gazette’s
upper windows.”

“So?” Maldynado said.

“It would be unwise to let them see us
coming.” Sicarius returned to the climb, apparently considering the
discussion over.

“Does he truly believe someone is sitting at
a window, watching the bridge for your arrival?” Maldynado asked.
“I didn’t tell Deret you were
that
cute.”

“Thanks,” Amaranthe said dryly.

Sicarius had already reached the other side.
Glad she had rejected Maldynado’s suggestion that she wear a dress
for the night, Amaranthe hopped and caught the girder. A couple of
keelboats were coming; she had best not delay.

The smooth, cool steel did not make the most
ideal handhold, but she navigated it without trouble. Sicarius’s
frequent obstacle-course runs had given her experience with awkward
moves that relied on upper body strength, and she could perform as
many pull-ups as the men. As many as Books and Akstyr anyway.

She landed with a grunt on the other side,
and Maldynado soon plopped down behind her. Sicarius jogged a few
meters and stopped above a storm-water-runoff grate on the canal
wall beneath the ledge. Thanks to the recent dry weather, nothing
flowed out of it. When he crouched to wait for the river traffic to
dwindle, Amaranthe groaned.

“We’re not going in there, are we?”

Sicarius dropped to his belly, fiddled with a
lock, and opened the grate. He rolled off the ledge, twisting to
land on his feet inside a tunnel that led inland from the
canal.

“I think you’re right,” Maldynado said. “He’s
doing this because he can’t pass up a chance to torment, er, train
us.”

“Come,” Sicarius said, his voice sounding
hollow in the concrete passage.

Amaranthe was starting to get the feeling he
had a reason for this circuitous route, so she slithered off the
ledge and into the tunnel without answering Maldynado. After
sighing dramatically, he followed her. Sicarius closed the grate
behind them and jogged into the darkness.

“I forgot to bring a torch,” Maldynado said.
“I wasn’t aware you’d preface your date with a spelunking
expedition.”

Amaranthe headed up the tunnel at a slower
pace, keeping one hand on the cool cement wall for guidance. Though
dry, the surface sported frequent lumps of indeterminate fuzzy or
squishy—or fuzzy
and
squishy—growth. She wiped her hand
often, wishing she had a glove.

Fortunately, their subterranean trek did not
last long. Light appeared ahead—Sicarius lifting an access cover.
He slithered out before Amaranthe could ask where they would come
up. Trusting him to guard the top, she jumped, caught the lip, and
pulled herself out.

Sicarius crouched in the shadow of a steam
lorry stamped with the newspaper’s name. The travertine of the old
Gazette
building rose behind it. They were on the back side
rather than the front, and no windows gazed out upon the alley.
Closed loading bay doors loomed nearby, but nobody was shipping
papers out this time of day.

Maldynado clambered out of the tunnel, and
Sicarius closed the manhole cover.

“We did all that just so we could go in
through the loading bay?” Maldynado asked.

“No.” Sicarius pointed at a vent under the
eaves of the four-story building. Before they could debate with
him, he grabbed a ceramic drainpipe and started climbing.

Amaranthe shook her head in bemusement. “And
you thought he’d settle for a
window
.”

Maldynado groaned. “You
did
tell him
this isn’t one of our morning training sessions, right?”

Amaranthe headed for the drainpipe, wondering
if she should put her foot down and say this was too ridiculous and
that they would go in through the loading bay. Then something hard
poked into the bottom of her shoe. She lifted her foot to check for
a chunk of gravel. It wasn’t a rock that had prodded her though; a
shiny metal rifle ball rested in the groove between two
cobblestones. A dark, fine powder sprinkled the ground. She swiped
her finger through it and sniffed. Black powder.

“You’re right.” She picked up the rifle ball.
“I don’t think this
is
a training session.”

Within city limits, firearms were forbidden
to all except the military. Though it was true that gang members
and criminals risked enforcer ire to carry pistols now and then, it
was rare to see evidence of their use.

“Attic entry it is,” she said, grabbing the
pipe.

Maldynado issued another dramatic sigh.
Sicarius had already unfastened the vent and disappeared inside.
Amaranthe clambered up, amused that what would have once seemed an
impossible climb did not cause her to break a sweat. She did have
to perform an acrobatic lunge to launch herself from the pipe to
the vent opening, but she had mastered the art of not looking down
some time ago. She shimmied through and landed on a dusty, wood
floor littered with owl pellets and rat droppings. Grimacing, she
removed a kerchief from a pocket and wiped her hands.

Sicarius waited inside, close enough that he
could have helped if she had needed it. He never presumed she would
though. She liked that he trusted her to take care of herself, but
it would have been considerate if he’d kept her from stepping in
the dubious pile of... Was that
bat
guano?

Thanks to Maldynado’s broad shoulders, he had
more trouble squeezing through the vent opening. He grunted and
pushed and cursed Sicarius’s ancestors and finally plopped onto the
floor.

Sicarius took the lead again, padding through
a dusty maze that sprawled before them. Boxes and bundles of
yellowed newspapers rose to the ceiling, creating twisting aisles
that often ended without notice. Most of the clutter in the attic
was what one might expect, though a stuffed grimbal head sat
inexplicably under one window.

Sicarius’s route led them to a trapdoor. He
pressed his ear to the wood, then lifted it. After peering about,
he dropped out of sight. Amaranthe waited for his signal, then
followed him through.

As soon as she landed, she heard voices
coming from below, but she could not make out words yet. No
lanterns burned, but enough evening light angled through the
windows to illuminate the area. They were on a broad balcony filled
with book-laden shelves. The floor vibrated from printing presses
at work somewhere below.

When Maldynado joined them, Sicarius headed
toward the balcony railing. Before he reached it, he waved for them
to drop to their bellies. On elbows and knees, Amaranthe crawled to
the edge.

Two stories below, in a vast workspace open
to the ceiling, rows of desks stretched from wall to wall. Only one
was occupied. A man with dark, wavy hair sat before a stack of
papers, head bowed, pencil scrawling, while a second fellow paced
around him. The first wore civilian clothes, a cream-colored shirt
and forest green vest, and he seemed to be doing his best to ignore
the mutterings of the other. The second man had the same hair,
though shorter, and wore black army fatigues, complete with a sword
and pistol hanging from his belt.

Amaranthe squinted but could not make out the
rank pins on the man’s lapel.

“A lieutenant,” Sicarius whispered, and she
wondered when he had come to know her so well that he could guess
at the thoughts behind her squints.

Maldynado wriggled up beside them. He pointed
at the man at the desk and whispered, “That’s Deret.”

“Trap?” Amaranthe flicked a finger at the
officer.

“Maybe not,” Maldynado said. “I think that’s
Ferel Mancrest, one of Deret’s brothers. There’s an older one, too,
but I think he’s a captain. Ferel’s probably in town for the
Imperial Games and visiting his little brother.”

“So he stopped to load a weapon in the
alley?” Amaranthe whispered.

“Hm.”

Down below, the officer leaned his hands onto
the desk. “You said six, didn’t you?”

“That’s what Maldynado said.” Deret kept
working without looking up.

“That disowned drunken gigolo,” the officer
growled. “You’ll be lucky if he gives her the right directions to
find this place.”

Maldynado’s eyebrows rose. “
Drunken?
”
he mouthed.

“Just don’t shoot me with your grandiose
plan,” Deret said. “The army has already damaged me enough.” He
flicked a hand at a cane leaning against his desk.

“Don’t be bitter because my C.O. didn’t
consult you. You let me know about her. You did your part.”

“Wonderful.”

“You don’t need to be here. We’ll—” The
officer broke off and faced the balcony.

Amaranthe tensed, prepared to back away from
the railing, but his eyes focused on something on his own floor. A
soldier jogged into view, a rifle in hand. He saluted and clicked
his heels together as he came to attention.

“Sir, Corporal Dansek checking in, sir. No
change in status. The target has not been spotted yet. The men
remain ready.”

“Very well. Dismissed.”

“The
men
?” Amaranthe whispered,
turning an incredulous eye on Maldynado. “This
is
a
trap.”

Sicarius leveled a dark stare at him as
well.

Maldynado’s eyes widened. “I didn’t
know.”

Amaranthe scooted back, gesturing for the
others to follow her. They retraced their route in, not stopping
until they reached the back alley again. Maldynado muttered to
himself all the way out.

“I can’t believe he’d betray my trust like
that,” he said.

Sicarius took a few steps toward the alley
entrance, but Amaranthe caught his arm.

“Wait,” she said. “Let’s talk about
this.”

“You’re not going in,” he said, more an order
than a question.

“Going in, no. That wouldn’t be too smart if
there’s a squad of soldiers waiting to capture me.”

“Then what is there to discuss?”

“This man could still be the ally we want him
to be. It’ll just take more work than we thought to sway him to our
side.” Amaranthe smiled.