Emperor's Edge Republic (39 page)

Maldynado lifted a shoulder. “Starcrest sent me there to do a job.”

“Yes, one that involved shoveling dirt, at least that’s what you were complaining about last night.”

“I decided to take some initiative in hopes of earning a promotion.”

“To what? Foreman over the dirt shovelers?”

“Nah, that would be too much responsibility. I want to drive the cement mixer. That would be fun.”

Yara shook her head. Amaranthe couldn’t tell if she had yet figured out that Maldynado cared about quite a few things beyond hats and sex. He might have to actually reveal that, and to be serious from time to time, to keep someone as strict, honorable, and work-loving as Yara.

“Starcrest might be afraid you would pour the cement into a Maldynado statue mold if he were to give you that job,” Amaranthe said.

She had reached the wall and was patting around, trying to remember where the secret switch was to push aside the veneer and reveal the safe. She had never been allowed to touch it herself, but she had seen Sarevic do it a couple of times. As far as the combination of the safe went, she had no idea about that.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Maldynado said. “I could leave a little present in the basement. Or on the front lawn.”

“Ugh,” Yara said.

A click sounded, and Amaranthe stepped back. “There we go.”

The wall slid aside an inch. She pulled it open the rest of the way, like a door on a freight train, the rollers hidden inside. As she had suspected, the steel vault was closed.

“Emperor’s warts,” Yara said, “that’s a big safe. Was she running a bank on the side?”

“Don’t you mean president’s warts?” Maldynado asked.

“Enh, I haven’t gotten used to that yet. I’m not even sure that works. Wasn’t that saying born in the fourth century, because of an emperor who truly was covered in warts?”

“Emperor Grigothferduvk the Crusty,” Amaranthe said. Books had given her the story once; she wished he were here to expound on the details—and provide a history on safes and safecracking as well. She tried turning the wheel and pulling it open, but met resistance promptly.

“So we’ll have to wait for a warty president to be elected before we can use that phrase?” Maldynado asked. “Starcrest does have that scar. Maybe we could design a curse around that. President’s blighted eyebrows.”

Yara stared at him.

“What?” he asked again.

“I’m surprised you were even able to talk him into giving you a shoveling job.”

“I charmed him with my golden tongue.”

“You know,” Yara said, “if you’re willing to shovel or wield other tools for a living, we could find you a job in my town. There are lots of farms around the countryside.”

Amaranthe had her ear to the safe door and was spinning the dial slowly, hoping some click or tick might give her a hint. This new comment from Yara distracted her though.

“You’re thinking of moving back to your rural home?”

“I was offered a promotion there. Lieutenant. I would be the first female lieutenant and one of the youngest overall in the satrapy.” Yara smiled. “I looked it up.”

“Congratulations. When was this?”

“A few weeks ago,” Yara said.

“When do you start?”

Yara glanced at Maldynado. “I haven’t taken the job yet.”

“Oh.” Amaranthe wanted to ask more, but Maldynado was studying his feet, and Yara had stuck her hands into her pockets, the smile gone, her face masked.

Change the topic, those expressions said. “Anyone have any guesses as to the combination?” Amaranthe asked.

“One, two, three, four,” Maldynado said.

“Anyone have any
good
guesses?”

“No,” Yara said.

“Do you know what we should do?” Maldynado asked in an inspired tone, the sort that said he was indeed eager to switch to a different subject. “Plan a dinner party for Sespian and Mahliki.”

“What?” Yara asked, her own tone flatter than the cement floor.

“The girl likes him. He likes the girl. Between all this craziness going on and their own painful shyness—Sespian’s especially—they don’t seem to be making much progress toward developing a relationship. Left to their own devices, they could be too arthritic and feeble to make the bed rock by the time they finally admit that they have feelings for each other.”

“I’m sure they can figure it out without your help,” Yara said.

Hm. Amaranthe wasn’t usually the type to play matchmaker, but she had always felt bad that Sespian had developed feelings for her that she didn’t reciprocate. It had been even more of a blow to him to have her fall in love with his
father
. To see him happy with someone else would be a pleasure. And, all right, it would assuage some of the guilt that she shouldn’t feel but always did anyway. “I’ll help with that dinner party,” she said.

“You can’t be serious,” Yara said.

“Do you think we should let Maldynado plan such an event by himself?” Amaranthe asked, though she confessed that he probably had more of a clue as to what should go into a dinner party than she did. “Did he ever tell you about the birthday party he organized for me last year?”

“The one at the brothel?” Yara asked.

“Yes, need I say more?”

“I’m sure the sex-addicted oaf has more tact than to invite the president’s daughter to a dinner party at a brothel.”

“You are?” Amaranthe raised her eyebrows.

“Mostly.”

“Come now, ladies,” Maldynado said. “You can trust me to plan something suitable. I’m quite aware of how innocent Sespian is.”

“You don’t think Mahliki is innocent?” Amaranthe asked.

“I... wouldn’t think so to look at her—surely, she’s received ample attention from the young males of the species. And the not-so-young ones too. But then again, given that she’s been traveling the world with her rather towering and intimidating father, I suppose it’s possible she’s been sheltered. Perhaps the dinner gathering should involve some educational activities? The better for both of their futures. What do you think?”

Yara’s jaw dropped.

“We
definitely
need to help with the planning of this party,” Amaranthe said.

Jaw still dangling open, Yara shook her head. “We need to stop this party from ever happening. And we also need to focus on what we’re doing, before some
on
-duty enforcer comes by and arrests us as suspects in this dishevelment.”

“Agreed.”

Maldynado didn’t say whether he agreed or not. He was busy stroking his chin and wearing a thoughtful expression. Maybe they would get lucky and the plant would eat all of the dining furniture in the city.

Amaranthe ticked the vault with a fingernail. She considered hunting for something that could be used to amplify the sounds of the dial clicking through the numbers. She had heard of criminals using such methods to thwart safes, but had never tried it herself and would probably be wasting their time. What did she hope to find inside anyway? Proof that the place had been robbed and not simply destroyed? A note signed by the assassin that read, “Thanks for the blasting sticks, and here’s my address if you want to send the bill?”

What she wasn’t expecting, as she stood there with her ear to the door, fiddling with the dial, was a resounding thump from the other side.

Amaranthe jumped back, almost tripping on a crate of oilcans.

“What is it?” Yara asked.

“Did you hear that?” Amaranthe pointed at the safe.

“No...”

Maldynado shook his head as well.

Amaranthe returned to the door, hesitated, then pressed her ear to the cool steel. The thumps came again, lots of them, reminding her of the frustrated fury of someone stamping her feet.

“Someone’s in there,” she whispered.

“What?” Yara jumped forward, putting her own ear to the door. “We have to get them out. A safe would be airtight, wouldn’t it? How long could someone even stay alive inside?”

“No idea.” Amaranthe grabbed a hammer and clanged a rhythm on the outside of the door.

The thumps inside stopped.

“Can you hear us?” Yara shouted. “Hello?”

“I saw how thick the door was when Sarevic opened it,” Amaranthe said. “I doubt our voices would carry through.” She did a few more clangs with the hammer.

The thumps returned, this time evenly spaced. By now, Amaranthe had a hunch who might be inside and she started counting right away.

“Seventeen,” she said when they stopped.

“What is—”

“Sh.” Amaranthe held up a finger. Another series of thumps had started. “Seven... Twelve.”

“The combination?” Maldynado asked.

“I’m guessing so.” Amaranthe spun the dial, hoping it worked the way other safes she had seen did.

On her first try, the lock clicked, and she was able to pull the door open. The safe was completely empty of explosives, precious metals, money, and any other typical valuables, but it did contain one red-faced, gray-haired woman lying on her side with her ankles tied together and her hands bound behind her back. She must have used her feet to bang on the vault door. Her bun was in utter disarray, her green-and-brown calico dress wrinkled and stained, and her red-rimmed spectacles dangled from a chain around her neck. The safe smelled of sweat, urine, and feces.

Amaranthe’s nose crinkled, but she rushed forward, pulling out her knife to deal with the ropes. “Ms. Sarevic, how long have you been in here?”

The plump, older woman tried to speak, but her voice rasped, and little more than air came out.

“Long enough to have yelled herself hoarse.” Maldynado stepped around Amaranthe, and as soon as the ropes were cut away, he picked up the woman and carried her out into the main room. “She needs a doctor. Evrial, can you find some water?”

“I need—” Sarevic’s voice broke, but she cleared her throat and forced the words out. “I need to see the president. Those buffoons can’t be allowed to wander the street, terrorizing businesswomen and wreaking havoc. And with my inventions!” Sarevic’s wrists were raw and bleeding from the ropes, and she had to be thirstier than a slug in the desert, but she flailed about, almost lunging out of Maldynado’s arms. She grabbed a pair of scissors off a shelf, taking them in her fist as if she gripped a dagger. “I’ll kill them! Let me kill them!”

“Uhm.” Maldynado didn’t drop the angry woman—though he leaned his head back as if he were thinking about it. “What do we do with her?”

“You heard the lady,” Amaranthe said. “She wants to see the president.”

“Right now?” Maldynado sniffed gingerly. “Sespian informs me that there’s a dress code over there.”

Yara, returning with a dented metal urn filled with water, managed to punch him in the shoulder without spilling a drop.

Chapter 15

T
ikaya strode through the first-floor hallway of the hotel, passing a window and noting the soldiers charging around in the side yard with weapons and blow lamps—since Rias hadn’t yet given the order to move his headquarters, the young men were doing everything they could to keep the plant in check, though several vines had popped open manhole covers around the building and were growing up toward the sun.

“We need to resolve this soon,” she muttered to herself, drawing a glance from a passing butler. Apparently the hotel employees hadn’t grown as accustomed to her wandering around, muttering and lost in thought, as the workers on her family’s plantation back home.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor, her heavy Turgonian footwear clomping on the carpeted treads. She missed her sandals, though her toes would freeze off if she tried to wear them here. The Turgonian calendar promised spring had come—and certain plants were obviously coming up—but frost still smothered the ground most nights, and the morning’s rainstorm had turned to snow at some point. Still, with her note decrypted, she was in a better mood than she had been in recent weeks.

After knocking on the windowless conference room where Rias had set up, she bounced from foot to foot, tempted to barge in with the news. The guard stationed outside didn’t regard her with the cool wariness of a man who planned to thwart her if she should do so. But the door opened before she had to test that notion, with Rias himself answering it.

“I thought it might be you.” He stepped aside, holding out an arm to invite her in.

She blew past him, forgetting their customary kiss, and laid her notes on the table. Sespian and Mahliki already sat there, gesturing with each other and debating—or maybe arguing; it was hard to tell with Sespian. He never lost his temper or grew noticeably irritated with people.

“Is that our hijacked note, now nicely decoded?” Rias closed the door and stood beside Tikaya, gazing down at the papers.

She noted with relief that no guards had been invited to stand
inside
the conference room this time, nor were any members of the hotel staff wandering around, taking drink orders. The note had done nothing to identify the snitch, but it had made her doubly certain someone on the inside was divulging information.

“It is,” Tikaya said. “I’m sorry it took so long. I had assumed it was Old Turgonian, but the base language actually predates that. I’ve done so little work related to this continent that I forgot Turgonian started out as an amalgamation between Middle Nurian and Kriskrus, one of the languages of the people who lived here before your ancestors showed up. They’re the ones who worshiped gods that were part animal and part their imaginations—the remains of a statue is on top of your big pyramid in that park.”

Rias nodded. “I’ve seen it. Though the pyramid predates that civilization, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, but the Kriskrusians thought it a lovely monument that would be perfect for their religious ceremonies, many of which involved animal and human sacrifice, and they made the pyramid theirs for a time.”

Sespian held up a finger to pause the conversation he and Mahliki were having. “Those sacrifices weren’t made to honor or appease a certain Magu or Dagu, were they?”

“Not those gods specifically,” Tikaya said. “Those were actually two of the more benign ones from the religion, neither being portrayed as bloodthirsty, but they were a part of the mythology, yes. They were twins and represented fertility and power.”