Conspiracy

by Lindsay Buroker

  Sicarius returned her gaze, and, not for the first time, Amaranthe wondered if he ever wondered what she was thinking.

  “Am I correct in assuming he no longer works for the emperor?” she asked.

  “Sespian saw to his dismissal shortly after Raumesys died,” Sicarius said.

  “Good for him.” Maldynado pushed aside the tiles on the table and waved to the map. “Are we going to plan the emperor’s rescue, or sit around squawking like hens all day?”

  Basilard pointed at the scattered tiles. You only did that because you were losing.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Your brother, I believe,” Amaranthe said. “I’d like a few more details there, if you don’t mind. Is he an officer at Fort Urgot? Does it make sense that he’d be in charge of overseeing a delivery of weapons? Any idea what he’s doing with this Major Pike?”

  “In no particular order, I don’t know, I don’t know, and I don’t know,” Maldynado said. “I haven’t seen him in years, and I haven’t talked to anyone in my family since before I joined up with you.”

  “Can you tell us his name, at least?”

  “I like to call him Lord General Dungpile,” Maldynado said. “Technically it was Lord Lieutenant Dungpile when I was a boy, but both have a nice ring.”

  “Maldynado,” Amaranthe said, “I can see there’s not a lot of love flowing between you and your family, but I’d appreciate a little help here.”

  “Ravido,” Akstyr said. “That was it, right? General Ravido something-crest.”

  “Thank you, Akstyr.” Amaranthe frowned at Maldynado, and he squirmed under her gaze, oozing discomfort. He was always so relaxed and unflappable that she could only imagine that his family was a source of painful memories. She wanted more details, but had a feeling she would have to get him somewhere private to extract them. Like a private shopping trip. “Maldynado, how would you like to help me purchase a few items this evening?”

  He winced, though he covered it quickly with a smile. “With you? Why don’t you let me go on my own? You know I get the best deals when I operate solo.”

  He must know she wanted to pump him for information. “Yes,” Amaranthe said, “something about you finding it easier to convince female businesswomen and vendors that they have a chance with you if there’s not a lady tagging along behind.”

  Books had pulled out his journal and a fresh newspaper he’d picked up and seemed to be looking around for suitable workspace, but he paused to snort at the conversation.

  “I need to go along to do the special knock,” Amaranthe went on. “I’ve already put in the order, but I’m concerned I won’t have enough funds to cover the fee she quoted me. I thought you might be able to talk her down a little. Any reason you can’t make it?”

  “None that I can think of,” Maldynado muttered.

  “Good.” Amaranthe faced Sicarius. “That farm lorry we... acquired—” truth though it may be, she couldn’t bring herself to say stole, “—do you think it’s in suitable shape to be driven up to the Scarlet Pass?”

  “There will be snow in the mountains,” Sicarius said. “A storm could make the roads impassable.”

  “Even to people with blasting sticks?” Amaranthe asked.

  The look Sicarius gave her suggested her question did not deserve an answer.

  Basilard signed, Aren’t we taking a train across the mountains?

  “Most of us are,” Amaranthe said, “and we’ll infiltrate the emperor’s train at Forkingrust, but for my plan to work, I’ll need a couple of people to go to the pass separately, with a few blasting sticks, to create a slight distraction that will force the engineer to stop.”

  “A distraction?” Books frowned. “Such as a landslide?”

  “One that covers the railway completely, yes,” Amaranthe said.

  Books’s frown deepened. “You intend to blockade one of the main supply lines to Stumps?”

  “Not permanently. We’ll just drop a tiny bit of rubble across the tracks, so the soldiers need to climb out and work on clearing it.”

  Basilard signed, While we pull the emperor out?

  “That’s the idea,” Amaranthe said. “Once the train is delayed and we escape with the emperor, the team can get away in the lorry.”

  “You’re going to ask the emperor to ride in that dilapidated pumpkin hauler?” Maldynado asked.

  “He’s the one who asked mercenaries to kidnap him,” Amaranthe said. “He can’t expect us to pick him up in a velvet-cushioned steam carriage.”

  “No, no. A clunker purloined from a farm will never do for this mission,” Maldynado said. “You need a reliable vehicle to get the blasting sticks into the mountains, one with enough size and comfort to fit everyone in afterward, including persons accustomed to fine things.”

  “Do you know where we could get a more appropriate vehicle?” Amaranthe asked, wondering if she would regret it.

  “Better, faster, you bet. I have a friend, well, more than a friend in truth... Lady Buckingcrest. She has all sorts of interesting conveyances. I’m certain I could arrange for a suitable transport for our needs, providing I’m not being tasked with the unchallenging task of bartering for lower prices on blasting sticks.”

  The blasting sticks weren’t going to be inexpensive, and Amaranthe had a feeling Maldynado would be useful in that negotiation, but his eyes were gleaming, and he seemed quite pleased at the notion of talking to this Lady Buckingcrest. Amaranthe wondered if he wasn’t simply looking for a way to avoid spending time alone with her. Still, a better vehicle would be a boon.

  “You think you can get us something suitable for a climb into the mountains?” Amaranthe asked. “For a low price?”

  “For free, I should think.” Maldynado examined his nails and smiled. “Lady Buckingcrest and I have a special relationship. We’ve known each other since we were teenaged youths, first exploring carnal endeavors. She’s married these days, but she finds me quite fascinating now that I’m disowned and running with outlaws. Not that I wasn’t fascinating before. And she owes me for countless hours of—”

  Amaranthe flung up a hand. “Those types of details aren’t necessary.”

  Maldynado blinked innocently. “I was going to say witty conversation.”

  “Please,” Books said.

  “Either way, I’m certain I can acquire something suitable.” Maldynado winked, and Amaranthe had a feeling she should be worried.

  “This isn’t going to go smoothly, I can tell.” Books pocketed his journal, pulled a chair up to the table, and laid out the newspaper. “Fraught. Already this mission is fraught with perilous dangers and morally ambiguous choices.”

  “Booksie.” Maldynado flung an arm across Books’s shoulders. “Don’t say things like that.”

  Books shoved the hand off. “Why not? They’re true.” He scooted his chair out of Maldynado’s reach.

  “Well, of course they’re true. It’s an Amaranthe plan after all. But the way you say things makes you sound old and stodgy. You’ll never get a woman by blathering on like that.”

  Amaranthe arched an eyebrow at Books. “I’m not sure which one of us he insulted more there.”

  “Oh, it’s me,” Books said. “It’s always me.”

  Maldynado smiled broadly. Books hunched over the newspaper and ignored him.

  Sicarius had moved closer to the table, and, thinking he wanted to add input, Amaranthe asked him, “Any thoughts on the plan? Or whether I should feel more insulted than Books?”

  “No.”

  That surprised her. Actually it worried her. He had more at stake than any of them. If Books thought her plan was “fraught” she imagined Sicarius would find problems with it too. If he didn’t have any input, maybe it was because he’d already decided to go off on his own. He’d given her nothing but steely glares ever since she’d talked with Sergeant Yara.

  “Any news on us?” Akstyr asked Books.

  “No,” Books said.

&nbs
p; Amaranthe wondered at Akstyr’s sudden interest in newspaper articles. He hadn’t noticeably cared when Books read the previous ones that mentioned the team.

  “This is interesting though.” Books pointed to a front-page entry. “A banker was found in his bed, dead of a violent seizure.”

  Akstyr’s nose crinkled. “You think that’s interesting?”

  “It might be a signal of fractures amongst the Forge coalition. Or perhaps not everyone in the business world is choosing to sign on. This man was only thirty, and there’s mention of a mysterious bump at his neck.”

  Amaranthe stepped toward Books, lifting a hand, afraid he would mention Sespian. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him she was keeping information about the implant from Sicarius.

  Books didn’t see her. His sentence seemed to flow out as slowly as molasses, but at the same time Amaranthe couldn’t get to him to stop it in time. “It sounds like what we saw on Sespian’s throat in his photograph.”

  “What?” Sicarius demanded.

  Books looked up and blinked. “Oh, you didn’t see the other paper. That’s right.” He removed a torn-out page from the back of his journal and held it out.

  Sicarius’s eyes were frozen, staring at Amaranthe, piercing her to the soul. She swallowed. Without breaking eye contact, Sicarius accepted the newspaper, though he continued to stare at Amaranthe. She wanted to tell him she’d only meant to keep him from worrying so much, but she didn’t know if she could say it when, in the back of her mind, she knew she’d also stayed silent to keep him from storming off and taking action on his own. Lying now could only make him resent her more. And she couldn’t explain herself, explain any of it, not with the whole team looking on. Even now, the men were shifting uneasily and sharing confused expressions over the icy silence in the attic.

  Sicarius looked down at the paper. Amaranthe felt like she’d been released from the clutches of a glacier. She braced herself against the table while he scrutinized the picture.

  “I have an idea,” Amaranthe said quietly. “We’ll get him first—there’s no time to alter our plans for the kidnapping—but then we’ll take him to—”

  Sicarius crumpled the newspaper, dropped it, and stalked out the door.

  Amaranthe groaned to herself. That was exactly what she’d been afraid would happen. There was no telling what he’d do now.

  “What’s his problem?” Akstyr asked.

  Books looked back and forth from Amaranthe to the door through which Sicarius had disappeared. His brown eyes were narrowed thoughtfully, and Amaranthe avoided them.

  “The man obviously needs to find a woman,” Maldynado said. “Or a man. Whatever he prefers.”

  “You offering?” Akstyr smirked.

  “Oh, please.” Maldynado sniffed. “I can do far better than him.”

  Basilard lifted his eyebrows.

  “Speaking of the emperor and this device that may be in his neck,” Books said, pointedly ignoring the side conversation, “should this change our plans? What if we kidnap him, and Forge is able to... end his life from a remote location?”

  “They’ve kept him alive this long,” Amaranthe said. “They must have some use for him.”

  “Maybe they’re just keeping him to ensure peace in the city while Forge readies themselves for something,” Books said.

  “Something involving the army and a lot of weapons?” Amaranthe asked and glanced at Maldynado. “Or a certain faction in the army?”

  “Maybe the emperor wants us to kidnap him, so he gets out of range of that neck-bump thing,” Maldynado said, and Amaranthe wondered if he was deliberately steering the conversation away from family matters.

  Perhaps that old woman we saw escorting him at the dinner last summer holds the controls to the device, Basilard signed.

  “You’re suggesting there’s a range of effectiveness and he hopes that we can take him beyond that range so he can act freely?” Books asked. “If he couldn’t get away on his own, that might explain why he wanted to hire us. He must know about the device.” Books patted his pockets. “I wish I’d thought to research some of the technology and gadgets we’ve seen Forge employ. As it is, I’ve only got...” He frowned, gave himself another pat down, and delved into his pockets only to come out empty-handed. “It’s gone.”

  “What is?” Amaranthe asked.

  “My journal with the list of Forge names and addresses and everything I know about the outfit.” Frowning, he checked his pockets again. “That represents three months worth of research. I just had it. I didn’t leave it in the lorry, did I?”

  Amaranthe stared at the open door, the door Sicarius had long since disappeared through.

  Chapter 8

  Metal shutters secured the windows of Ms. Sarevic’s Custom Works, and a lock secured the patchwork copper-and-steel door. Aside from a streetlamp burning at the closest intersection, darkness blanketed Molten Street. The owners of the smithies and metalworking shops along either side had gone home for the night. Mounted on the brick wall above Ms. Sarevic’s sign, a perpetual motion clock ticked softly, its gears turning behind a clear glass display. Five minutes until ten.

  “I guess we didn’t need to rush.” Amaranthe waved at the clock. “We’re early.”

  Books stood to her side, wearing an expression of disapproval. Amaranthe suspected it was for the shop and what one could purchase there rather than her overzealous punctuality. Maldynado would have been a more suitable companion for the night. She hoped his side-trip proved fruitful.

  “One wouldn’t think someone who deals with the nocturnal criminal element would be able to worry about keeping precise shop hours,” Books said.

  “I’ve heard Ms. Sarevic is a stickler.” Though only recently. Amaranthe had patrolled this neighborhood as an enforcer for years, and she’d had no idea that the proprietor kept two sets of shop hours.

  Books’s lips puckered, reminding Amaranthe of an old lady contemplating a diatribe on the wayward nature of today’s youth. He’d been in a rotten mood all evening, railing at the others and demanding that whoever took his journal return it. As far as she knew, he didn’t suspect Sicarius. Amaranthe hadn’t told Books where the journal had gone or that it’d likely be returned with blood on the pages.

  “You could have gone with Maldynado if you find this errand distasteful,” Amaranthe said.

  “You think I’d find watching him seduce some businesswoman for the use of her very expensive private vehicle less reprehensible than purchasing illegal blasting sticks? A private vehicle that will likely, under our care, be shot full of bullets or perhaps crashed.”

  “Should I be more offended that you find my shopping list reprehensible or that you’re certain we’ll wreck our getaway vehicle?”

  “Given our history with stolen conveyances, it’d be shocking if we didn’t damage it.”

  Amaranthe checked the clock. Three minutes to go. “We won’t be stealing this one, simply borrowing it, assuming Maldynado can sufficiently woo this woman with his talents.”

  “Please, he’s as talented as a sock,” Books said. “Besides, didn’t you borrow that garbage lorry last summer? The most recent newspaper article I read on the subject said the Imperial Ash and Refuse Collection Service is still looking for one of the articulating arms.”

  “It is not,” Amaranthe said, though the deadpan way Books had said it caused her to eye him with concern. There hadn’t truly been an article, had there? “As to the borrowing, no, I think the magistrate would find us guilty of theft in that case.”

  As they so often did, Books’s comments showed her how flexible her morals had become of late. Amaranthe hoped the team would successfully snatch Sespian and earn a chance to talk to him. With a hand wave, he could remove their bounties and her new hobby of crime could come to an end. So long as he still had the power to act within the Imperial Barracks. Amaranthe winced, thinking of the implant.

  Two minutes to go.

  “You haven’t mentioned who will be responsible
for the landslide,” Books said.

  “I haven’t?”

  “No.”

  “Ah.

  One minute to go on the clock. Amaranthe was tempted to knock early, so she wouldn’t have to answer Books right away, but she needed a good deal from Ms. Sarevic, and she didn’t want to risk irking her.

  “Who is planting the blasting sticks?” Books asked.

  Amaranthe cleared her throat. “I need my best fighters on the train. Even with smoke grenades and knockout gas—” she pointed to the appropriate items on her shopping list, “—it’s likely we’ll have to brawl with numerous well-trained soldiers.”

  “I see. So, Akstyr and I get this portion of the mission.” Books couldn’t have sounded less tickled if a dog had peed on his leg.

  “Why, thank you for volunteering, Books,” Amaranthe said, hoping enthusiasm on her part would encourage the same from him. “You’re the only one I can trust with an independent mission of such importance.”

  “Uh huh. Even if you hadn’t just admitted you were choosing based on fighting prowess, I know you trust Sicarius more than me, though only your dead ancestors could guess why.”

  “That’s... actually not true. I’d trust him to protect my back in a fight, but not necessarily to do things in a way that doesn’t endanger my plans.” Indeed, Amaranthe worried that he was off doing something like that as she spoke. “Trust me, you’re far more steady and reliable in this regard.”

  “All right, you already have me. You can save your flattery for outsiders,” Books said, though his tone had lightened, and Amaranthe thought her words might mean something to him.

  “If it makes you feel better, you’ll only be dealing with blasting sticks, not the empire’s elite bodyguard and a train full of soldiers. If the infiltration team gets itself killed, you’ll still be alive, and you can escape.”

  “We’ll see. I’m not convinced sharing a vehicle with blasting sticks and a young wizard who likes to light things on fire with his mind is healthier than fighting soldiers.”