Busy dwelling on the ramifications of his victory, Sespian almost missed Maldynado’s words. “Slip in?” he asked after a moment. “Why can’t you get an appointment on your own? He’d see you.”
“I am... less confident of that than you are. I may have tried a little too hard at Books’s funeral, going on about statues. And then there was that incident with Evrial and me barging into that office while there was a meeting going on...” Maldynado cleared his throat. “It’s possible he thinks I’m a buffoon.”
Sespian decided not to mention that he’d often thought that of Maldynado as well. “I’m not seeing Mahliki, at least not in any capacity that would cause me to call upon her at home. I, ah... might check on her though, as I’m surprised she hasn’t contacted me yet for the diving suit mission. It’s possible she’s found another. I wasn’t as... enthusiastic about helping as I might have been. At the time, I was still finishing up with—”
“Sespian, if you can help me get into see Starcrest, I’ll help you get the girl.”
“But I’m not trying to get the girl.”
Maldynado rolled his eyes. “Why not? She’s pretty and smart and your age.” He emphasized this final fact with a pointed stare.
So, everyone on the team had learned of Sespian’s past... infatuation with Amaranthe. How lovely. He was over that now, though. He had smiled at a few of the women he’d passed in the halls at the university, and some had even smiled back. Of course, every time he had chatted with someone, the conversations had ended up on such subjects as homework, tests, and overbearing parents—all trite topics after the life-and-death situations he had survived. Sespian had found himself more likely to converse with his professors, people who didn’t intimidate him the way they did the other students, not after he had grown up around sword-spitting generals. But neither fifty-year-old professors nor sword-spitting generals tended to interest him on romantic levels, so his winter had been rather... chaste.
“Actually, she’s two years younger than I am,” Sespian said, “and I think you’re mistaken that her interest lies this way. Given my... dubious heritage and current circumstances, her parents wouldn’t consider me a suitable suitor for their daughter.” Not to mention that the idea of approaching President Starcrest and asking if he could court Mahliki was terrifying. The man hadn’t said a cross word to him, but Sespian couldn’t help but feel inadequate around the war hero. He was someone who had deserved to rule a nation all along. Sespian had never been more than a pretender, a day-dreaming callow one at that.
Maldynado snorted. “First off, I don’t know what century you think you’re living in, but I highly doubt the Starcrests are going to arrange a marriage for her or have much say whatsoever in who she sees. Second, girls that age don’t pay attention to the wishes of their fathers anyway. Lastly—” Maldynado turned his head, frowning at something behind them.
A draft of cold air gusted across Sespian’s bare shoulders, and he sank lowered into the pool. Maldynado’s hand landed on his head, shoving him under. Water deluged his nostrils, his backside slipped off the seat, and he almost cracked his skull on the concrete.
Sespian swam out of Maldynado’s reach before coming up, wondering what stray boulder had knocked his ore cart off its tracks. He swiped water from his eyes, clearing his vision in time to see Maldynado’s backside as he sprinted through the steam toward the changing rooms.
Surprise gave way to wariness. Just because nobody had tried to assassinate him for a while didn’t mean it couldn’t ever happen. He peered around for clues and spotted one of the grumpy architects walking over to a potted banana tree. He plucked an arrow from the dirt, its fletching bright with green and blue. Even from a distance, Sespian knew it wasn’t a Turgonian design. He peered back and forth from the pot to the changing room doors. Direct line, and his head would have been in it. He might owe Maldynado a bigger favor than getting him in to see the president.
Several other people grabbed towels and stomped in the direction Maldynado had gone, either to find the idiot shooting arrows into the baths or to get out of there before more trouble came. In Turgonia, it could go either way.
The architect tossed the arrow into the pool in front of Sespian. “I believe that was meant for you.”
“I gathered that, thank you.” Sespian squinted at the man, wondering if he was disappointed it hadn’t taken his head off, or if he might have even had prior knowledge of the attack. There wasn’t a monetary prize attached to winning the design competition, and it was hard to believe someone would kill over losing, but he had seen crazier things.
After delivering the arrow, the man merely shrugged and walked back to the other architects, grabbing a towel and pointing back and forth from the pot to the doorway, pantomiming what had happened for those who hadn’t seen it. Surely a guilty man would charge out of there as quickly as possible—and wouldn’t have drawn attention to himself by retrieving the arrow. An arrow, Sespian realized, that had paper tied around the shaft. He plucked it out, lest whatever message it contained be dissolved in the water.
Feeling vulnerable in the pool—alone now, for everyone else had retreated from the baths—Sespian climbed out. He wrapped a towel around himself and put his back to an alcove, one that would let him watch the rest of the chamber—and keep an eye on those doors—while examining the arrow more closely. More specifically, he untied the note.
In crisp, tidy penmanship, it read, I did not have to miss. You owe me your life. I may wish to collect a favor. It wasn’t signed, but at the bottom of the small page, the language switched for the final two lines. It reminded him of Nurian, but he would have been able to read Nurian, most of it anyway. This... was gibberish to him. As was the notion that he ought to owe someone a favor for threatening his life, though it did seem in line with what he knew of Nurian logic. He examined the fletching again. The brightness of the feathers could have been Nurian, for that culture loved its colors, but it hadn’t come off a traditional war bow—the texts said those always had crimson-feathered arrows. The arrowhead had been napped from obsidian, and when he brushed an edge with his thumb, it drew blood.
“Reinforced and sharpened with magic?” he wondered.
Akstyr would have known if he were around, but Professor Komitopis might know as well. Also, she should be able to translate the rest of the note.
The steam by the changing rooms stirred, and Sespian tensed, ready to use the arrow for a weapon if he had to. But it was Maldynado jogging back toward him, grimacing and grabbing at his foot every few steps. His hand came away bloody. He hadn’t stopped to put on any clothes or even grab a towel.
“Didn’t get him,” Maldynado said, “sorry.”
“Did you see who made the shot?” Sespian held up the arrow.
“Sort of. Not when he made it though. It was too steamy back there. But I heard the back door clang when I ran into the changing room, and I sprinted out into the alley. I wouldn’t have seen a thing if I hadn’t had a hunch and looked up. Someone lean and fast and dressed all in white with a bow on his back was climbing over the lip of the five-story building next door. I scrambled up the wall, but by the time I reached the roof, that white figure was five buildings away. He glanced back, saw me, then jumped down into the next alley. How he could have heard me following, I don’t know, because I’m not an amateur at such things, even if I wasn’t—ahem!—properly clothed. Anyway, he must have had a rope or something I couldn’t see, because nobody jumps off a five-story building.”
“All in white, you say?” Sespian asked. “I guess it wasn’t Sicarius then.”
Maldynado snorted. “I thought you’d gotten over the notion that he might try to kill you someday.”
“I have, but your description... that just sounds like him.”
Maldynado scraped wet hair out of his eyes. “Yes, I guess it does. Isn’t that just what we need? Another Sicarius in the world.”
Sespian stared at the arrow for another moment, but it didn’t offer further en
lightenment. Not to his eyes anyway. He hoped the weapon would tell a different tale to Professor Komitopis.
“That meeting with Starcrest you wanted,” Sespian said, “are you available tonight?”
“I can go right now.” Maldynado peered down at himself. “I might put on clothes first.”
“Yes... I believe the president’s office may have a dress code.”
Chapter 4
The night air smelled of jungle foliage, a strange scent for a lake bordering a city of a million people, and in a climate zone more suitable for oak and maple trees. Sicarius crouched on the hull of the submarine, the raised hatch at his back. Down below, Amaranthe was piloting the craft toward the docks. A niggling feeling made him want to tell her to veer toward another port. Though spring had come and the lake ice had melted, meaning berths on the waterfront should be accessible, dozens of ships were anchored a quarter mile or more from the shoreline, their masts and steam stacks creating a noticeable skyline against the flat, barren remains of Fort Urgot to the north.
Clouds obscured the stars, and Sicarius had only the gas streetlights of the city to rely upon to make out the waterfront. Interestingly, lamps that should have been lit along its main street were dark. The shadows held... he wasn’t sure, but more than pilings and docks rose up from the lake. Whatever lay over there, it might be the reason Starcrest had requested the return of the submarine.
“Amaranthe,” he called down. “We may want to dock to the north of the city.”
“Uhm, just a minute.”
Sicarius ducked his head through the hatchway. Amaranthe wasn’t at the controls.
“Are you cleaning again?” he asked.
“No.” A cupboard door clanged shut, the cupboard in the back—his ears told him—that contained a mop, broom, and various scrubbing implements. “Tidying perhaps.”
“The Explorer is sufficiently clean.”
“I know. But I want to return it in good order.” Amaranthe trotted past, heading for navigation. “Now what were you saying? Dock north? I thought you were eager to head straight into town, so we could do all the things we’ve missed out on for so long. Visit fine eating houses, see the latest plays, catch the spring wrestling matches, shop for a certain blend of tea...”
Sicarius snorted softly. On the way back, he had missed the intimate moments—intimate hours, he corrected with a measure of satisfaction—that they had enjoyed for most of the trip. But they must learn if the city was in danger before succumbing to somatic pleasures. As well, he felt compelled to promptly return the borrowed submarine. Admiral—President—Starcrest had been generous to loan it to them.
“If we dock in front of the old Fort Urgot grounds,” Sicarius said, “it is only a five-mile jog to the city.” He waited for her to make a comment in relation to his use of the word jog, something about his over eagerness to return to an exercise regimen so soon. Only she would say it in a humorous way.
Except she didn’t. For a long moment, Amaranthe said nothing, and a twinge of disappointment filled him. He reviewed his words to see if he could have said something that disturbed her. Ah, yes. Fort Urgot represented an immense emotional burden for her.
“That’s... not a part of the lake I want to visit again for some time. Or forever.” Her words sounded strained. She had probably wished them to sound nonchalant, but she couldn’t hide the feeling—the pain—behind them.
Sicarius considered alternatives that wouldn’t require them to visit that destination. “I do not believe we’ll be able to dock on the waterfront. There are piers on the other side of the lake by the ice mining camps, but that would require a much longer jog.” One that would still take them past Fort Urgot unless they took the longer route around the south end of the lake. In regard to emotional burdens, he found he did not particularly wish to revisit those ice camps. An illogical feeling, but he knew they would remind him of the night he had fought the soul construct, thought he had lost Sespian and Amaranthe forever, and had allowed himself to be enslaved by that wizard. “We could pull into a cove to the south of the city and swim to shore.”
Another long pause followed before Amaranthe responded. As they had conversed, the submarine had continued to sail closer to the city’s waterfront, and Sicarius could make out shapes in between the docks. Elongated trees growing out of the lake? That couldn’t be right. He wished he had his spyglass, but that had also been among the items the pirates stole.
“Here I wanted to head straight to a hotel for a nice evening with you, and all you can talk about is jogging and swimming,” Amaranthe said, having recovered some of her humor.
“It is my understanding that the tea takes a couple of days before it is effective,” Sicarius said. “It also seems unlikely that you could find someone to purchase it from this late at night.”
“Have I ever said how charming I find your practicality?”
“No,” Sicarius said, anticipating her next word, his own humor piqued.
“Good.” A soft thrum vibrated through the hull, and he sensed their course turning before Amaranthe added, “I’m taking us toward that cove where we trained with the bricks last summer. You’ll have to direct me though. It’s darker than—gah!”
Sicarius had been focused on the waterfront, on trying to make out what exactly was growing between the docks, but he peered through the hatchway to check on Amaranthe. “What—”
Something thumped against the hull. A log?
“Cursed ancestors,” Amaranthe said, “there’s more than one.” Her words came out fast and clipped.
Sicarius stood for a better look ahead but couldn’t see into the dark waters. The submarine had a probe light that illuminated the area in front of the nose, but choppy waves broke up the white blur, making it impossible to see details beneath the surface from his viewpoint. Whatever they had hit, it wasn’t some log floating on the top. He slipped inside to join Amaranthe at the controls.
She stood frozen, staring through the viewport. Several strands of green seaweed stretched across the Science-enhanced glass, as well as a human arm—what remained of it. Fish had been nibbling at it for several days. It drifted away, not to bother them further. Sicarius wondered if the seaweed could become entangled in the rudder and affect the submarine’s steering ability.
“I do not recognize that species,” he observed.
“Of seaweed or arm?”
“Seaweed,” Sicarius said before the sarcasm in her tone registered.
“There are other body parts tangled up in there,” Amaranthe said. “The first thing that hit us was a man’s torso with the head... there were tendrils of that—whatever that is—growing out of the eye sockets.” She released the controls and rubbed her face with both hands. “Talk about an abrupt end to your vacation.”
Sicarius considered her, wondering if this was a time when she would appreciate a hug or other gesture of physical support. She shouldn’t have an emotional attachment to the bodies, unless they later discovered the parts belonged to someone they knew, but she clearly found their appearance distressing. Before he had decided one way or another, she took a deep breath and returned to the controls.
“Let me see if I can steer out of this, or if this whole end of the lake is full of mutilated bodies wrapped in seaweed,” Amaranthe said, her composure regained. “If the latter, then I think Starcrest should have ordered a whole fleet of submarines to help.”
Sicarius waited to see if they would have further trouble steering through the mess, but they soon pushed into clear water again.
“Some random tangle,” Amaranthe said.
“That may be what’s growing out of the water by the waterfront,” Sicarius said. “Though from what I could make out in the dark, some of it seemed quite tall, almost like small trees.”
“Seaweed trees, wonderful.” Amaranthe waved toward the hatchway. “I’m fine. Go direct me to that cove, please.”
Sicarius inclined his head, but paused before heading up the ladder. “For my edifica
tion, when you chance across bodies or body parts, is that a time for physical contact of an emotionally bracing nature?”
A faint smile crept across her face. “You mean, should you have hugged me?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve seen enough bodies at this point to get over it on my own, though if you’re inclined, you could put a hand on my shoulder or stand close or something. When you’re looking into the eyes of death, it’s nice to be reminded that you’re not alone.”
“Hm.” Sicarius could not recall ever experiencing that need, but much of his boyhood training had revolved around desensitizing him to death and human emotions. His mentors had considered that training a success; Amaranthe, he suspected, would have another opinion on the matter.
Sicarius climbed up, again crouching on the hull with the hatch at his back. They hadn’t reached the other ships yet, and he doubted anyone out there on the water would be hurling an attack at him, but old habits dictated current actions. He scanned the dark shoreline to the south of the city, its trees, rocky shores, and cliffs. By night, it would be easy to miss that cove, but he had jogged around the lake so many times that he knew the location of every feature along its shore. He guided Amaranthe with confidence.
A hint of orange light appeared through the trees. A lantern? It was part way up a promontory, one that thrust into the lake, its tip a good quarter mile from the trail that circled the body of water. Someone caught out late and walking on the popular route shouldn’t have a reason to deter up that steep, rocky slope, though he did recall that a path led up to the top. Had someone seen the submarine? And been curious enough to climb out for a look? Given the black non-reflective paint Starcrest had used on the hull, it seemed unlikely, but Sicarius had been riding with the hatch open. Faint light from inside might be visible on the shore. The fact that this lantern was waiting at the north end of the cove he was directing them toward... he found it unlikely that it was a coincidence.
“More strange seaweed,” Amaranthe announced from inside.
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