Republic

by Lindsay Buroker

  A pair of fierce-looking guards with repeating rifles stood on either side of the door, next to a sign telling travelers that the hotel had been requisitioned for presidential use and that they might find rooms at the Palisade. Maldynado slowed as he and Sespian climbed the stairs. He hadn’t attempted to see the president yet and didn’t know if these men would present his first obstacle. Were random people allowed in, or were appointments required to enter the foyer?

  “Evening, Tems, Ruvolk,” Sespian said and headed straight for the door.

  “Si—Sespian,” one greeted. Both nodded. Some of the president’s guards must have once been assigned to Sespian in the Imperial Barracks.

  The speaker gave Maldynado a curious look and lifted a finger. “Aren’t you one of the people who—”

  “Stopped the dastardly Forge coalition, keeping them from slaying then-Emperor Sespian, and laying the groundwork for this new governmental regime?” Maldynado asked. “Yes, I am.”

  The two guards exchanged glances.

  “I was going to say one of the people who was harassing President Starcrest at that funeral.”

  The other guard snapped his fingers. “Yes, he was the one going on and on about wanting a plaque or something, wasn’t he?”

  “It was a statue,” Maldynado said, “and no. That wasn’t me.”

  “He’s fine,” Sespian said. “He’s with me. Someone who might have been a Nurian shot an arrow at my head tonight.” Sespian held up the projectile for perusal. “We need to see the president.”

  “Er, yes, sir.” One guard held the door open for him and for Maldynado as well, though a suspicious squint accompanied the polite gesture.

  The hotel lobby appeared much the same as it had when Maldynado had visited some years before, meeting a lady acquaintance for drinks and... other activities. It featured more columns, more gold-gilded marble, and a spacious foyer that rose several stories with landings and balconies from various floors overlooking the entry area. In spite of the late hour, several men and women staffed the reception desk, or whatever it was called now. The turn-away-the-riff-raff-who-show-up-without-an-appointment desk.

  Maldynado stopped in his survey of the place to gape at two unexpected figures waiting in front of one of the receptionists, one facing the desk, one facing the door with his arms crossed and daggers sheathed at his waist—and other places. Both had bedraggled hair—though that short blond hair was always scruffy—and the dust and debris of the road adorned their clothing. Or... was that seaweed on the sleeve of the black shirt?

  “Amaranthe?” Sespian asked at the same time as Maldynado blurted, “Boss? Sicarius?”

  Sicarius had obviously seen them come in, but Amaranthe must not have heard the door. She spun around, and a broad smile sprawled across her tanned face. “Maldynado, Sespian.”

  She raced across the room and threw her arms around Maldynado first. He might have lifted his chin and beamed with pleasure at this choice, but he was too busy returning the hug. That smile warmed his heart—it had even reached her eyes; it had been a while since he had seen one like that from her. The vacation must have helped her recover from all the tragedy of the autumn. Perplexing that being in Sicarius’s company could help one relax, but... perhaps she’d had some time alone, reading on a beach, while Sicarius had wandered off into the jungle to do pull-ups from branches and one-handed climbs up vines.

  “Boss, it’s good to see you,” Maldynado said, “though you do smell a tad... like a wet dog. What have you been doing?”

  Amaranthe snorted and released him, her smile having gone lopsided. “It’s been an eventful evening.” She gave her next hug to Sespian. “Have you two been well? It’s nice to see you spending time together.”

  She was still hugging Sespian so probably didn’t see his mouth twist in an odd expression.

  “Yes, we’re good buddies now.” Maldynado slapped Sespian on the shoulder. “We’ve been carousing the city together, hunting for girls, drinking the finest applejack, getting shot at by changing-room assassins...”

  Amaranthe stepped back. “Really?”

  “Possibly only the last thing is true,” Maldynado said.

  Sicarius had been standing back and, other than a solemn nod toward his son, ignoring these hearty welcome-home acknowledgments, but his eyes sharpened at these last words. “You were attacked? When?”

  “Tonight.” Sespian held up the arrow he had deftly avoiding pronging Amaranthe with during their hug. “Less than an hour ago.”

  “An hour ago.” Amaranthe gave Sicarius a long look. “When was our incident? About two hours ago?”

  “Yes,” Sicarius said.

  “Your incident?” Maldynado eyed their bedraggled appearances again.

  “Someone threw explosives at the submarine as we were anchoring it to come ashore,” Amaranthe said. “The hatch was unfortunately still open and a blasting stick that might have otherwise bounced off bounced in. We escaped, but the sub...”

  Maldynado gaped. “You got Admir—I mean, President Starcrest’s prize vessel blown up? The one he loaned to you for your vacation? Free of charge? Out of pure kindness?”

  “That... surprises you?” Sespian asked, smiling gently to take any sting out of the question.

  “Well, now that you ask, I suppose it doesn’t. I’m just glad I can’t possibly be blamed for that one.” Maldynado lifted his eyebrows toward Sicarius, wondering if he would be the one to receive the blame. Amaranthe certainly never did in these situations. Sicarius gazed back at him blandly, which made Maldynado doubt the certainty of his statement. He whispered to Sespian, “I can’t be blamed, right?”

  “You were with me.” Sespian waved the arrow.

  “It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Amaranthe said, “except for the person hurling the blasting sticks. Given the way he or she leapt off that cliff to escape from you, I’m guessing he or she won’t be stepping forward to offer financial reparations.” Though her tone remained light, her smile had disappeared.

  Sicarius walked up to Sespian. For a moment, Maldynado thought his cold assassinly heart might melt enough to give the kid a hug, but he took the arrow instead, rotating it to examine from all sides.

  “I guessed Nurian, but wasn’t positive,” Sespian said, going straight to business. He must not mind not getting hugs from pa. Maybe he was relieved. Maldynado would be. “There was a note attached to the arrow as well.” He fished in his pocket and produced the message.

  Sicarius examined it while Amaranthe leaned against him to read over his arm.

  “Interesting,” she said.

  “Arrogant was more the word that came to my mind,” Sespian said. “Since I missed when I shot at you, you owe me a favor? I think not.”

  Amaranthe pointed at the bottom line. “What language is that? Nurian?”

  “It seems similar to Nurian,” Sespian said, “but I didn’t recognize any of the words, and I am fairly familiar with the language.”

  Amaranthe lifted her gaze to Sicarius’s face; he had been silent as he studied the arrow and note.

  “Not Nurian?” she asked.

  “It’s Nurian,” Sicarius said. “A rare dialect.”

  Sespian tilted his head. “From what region?”

  “If I’m correct, it doesn’t belong to a specific region, but to a group of people.”

  “What people?”

  Sicarius returned the arrow and note. “My memory may be faulty. I have not seen it for a long time. Professor Komitopis will be a better resource.”

  Amaranthe was giving Sicarius one of those shrewd I-can-tell-you’re-withholding-information looks, but Maldynado barely registered it. The man he had come to see was walking down the stairs, along with his daughter and someone wearing the uniform and insignia of a colonel from the intelligence branch of the army, though his jacket lacked the usual identification nametag.

  Mahliki spotted the group—or spotted Sespian—and trotted ahead, arriving in the foyer with her braids bouncing on her ba
ck. “Sespian, we can go tomorrow morning if you’re ready,” she blurted. Belatedly, she noticed the rest of the people in the foyer. “Oh, welcome back, Ms. Lokdon. And Mister Sicarius.”

  Mister Sicarius. Maldynado almost giggled. But he reminded himself that he needed a job, a respectable job, and men employed in respectable jobs didn’t giggle. Although now that the boss was back, maybe she would conjure up some mission that would require the skills of a handsome pugilist. Of course, working for Amaranthe wouldn’t impress Yara’s family—or keep her in the capital. Maybe he could work for Starcrest day to day and have some adventures with the old team on the weekends. These attacks ought to need investigating, at the least.

  “Good evening, My Lord President,” Maldynado greeted as Starcrest stepped off the stairs. The man looked tired and older than he had three months ago. No, he definitely wouldn’t appreciate giggling or other shenanigans. Maldynado had to be serious in speaking with him.

  “Good evening, Maldynado.” Starcrest gave him a nod before moving to the others. “Ms. Lokdon, Sicarius.” He clasped both of their hands. “Your vacation went well, I hope.” He looked them up and down, his gaze lingering on the seaweed on the back of Sicarius’s arm. “You’re... damp.”

  Sicarius craned his neck, spotted the seaweed, and plucked it off his sleeve. His expression never changed, so it was only in Maldynado’s head that he came across as mortified. Doubtlessly only the darkness of the night outside had kept the fastidious Amaranthe from noticing it and removing it for him.

  “We’ve had... an incident, My Lord,” Amaranthe said.

  Maldynado nudged her and whispered, “Did your blasting stick come with a note wrapped around it?”

  “I wouldn’t know. Whatever remains of it is in the submarine. Which is... uhm.” She met Sicarius’s eyes.

  Maldynado tried to decide if she sought moral support or was hoping he would step forward and take the blame. “Don’t do it,” Maldynado mouthed, but he doubted Sicarius was paying attention to him.

  “The submarine was attacked upon our arrival, My Lord,” Sicarius said. “It has been damaged and sunken. I apologize for my error of judgment that allowed this to happen.”

  He apologized? Maldynado gaped. He’d never heard Sicarius apologize. Words like please and sorry weren’t in his vocabulary. Even Amaranthe looked a little stunned at Sicarius’s last sentence.

  Starcrest grimaced. “My fault. I should have been more explicit in my message and warned you about the plant. I had thought the submarine would be a match for it, though it’s admittedly grown much larger in this last two weeks.”

  “Er,” Amaranthe said, glancing at Sicarius yet again. They had seen the plant, hadn’t they? They must have on their way into the city. It was getting impossible to miss. “We didn’t try to dock in the harbor, My Lord. In fact, we saw the plant in the distance and were determinedly avoiding the waterfront. In reflection, we should have... docked in front of the Fort Urgot grounds.” She winced. “We chose another route, deciding to anchor at a little cove a few miles south of the city and to swim to shore.”

  “Swim?” Starcrest asked. “Didn’t you find the collapsible boat for shore excursions?”

  “Oh, we found it. The pirates we ran into around the Cape of Fensgroot also found it. That’s... another story.”

  Starcrest’s mouth quirked into a half smile. Either he was blasé at the loss of his sub, or he’d had memorable run-ins with pirates too.

  Amaranthe didn’t seem to notice the smile, for she was kneading the hem of her jacket and staring at his collarbone instead of at his face. Interesting how someone who hadn’t been intimidated by a single villain all year could grow nervous in the presence of a cordial old admiral. “How our arrival was anticipated, I don’t know, but someone was waiting for us in that cove. With blasting sticks.”

  “I also have an incident to report.” Sespian lifted his arrow and went over the details of the bathhouse sniper.

  “All this happened tonight?” Starcrest asked.

  “Less than an hour ago,” Sespian said.

  “Two hours for us,” Amaranthe said. “Miles apart. I don’t know if it could be the same person or not.”

  Starcrest turned to the thus-far silent colonel leaning against the railing at the base of the broad spiral stairs. He hadn’t been watching the gathering, but Maldynado had a feeling he hadn’t missed anything, either. “How many Nurian assassins did you say had been spotted in the city?” Starcrest asked.

  “One,” the colonel said. “So far.”

  “This doesn’t change anything, right, Father?” Mahliki asked. “The mission is still on for tomorrow? The plant must be dealt with. And now—” she smiled at Sespian, “—my backup is here.”

  Maldynado shook his head. How could Sespian not see that this girl was aching to spend time with him in non-platonic ways?

  Starcrest looked at the colonel again. “How many suits do we have?”

  “Ten. I got the whole complement off the Sawtooth. In anticipation of trouble.”

  “Imagine that,” Starcrest murmured.

  “My Lord President,” Maldynado said, seeing his chance—even if it meant crawling into one of those awful diving suits and tramping around on the bottom of the lake again. “I would be pleased to volunteer to assist Sespian and your daughter in this matter. Then if you find my work adequate, perhaps you would consider hiring me for more long-term employment.”

  Maldynado didn’t think he had said anything startling, but the entire group fell silent and stared at him.

  “You’re looking for a job?” Amaranthe finally asked. “An actual job?”

  “Is that so hard to believe?” Maldynado asked.

  “It’s just that you never have. When we first met...”

  Maldynado held up a hand. “Yes, I know, but a man can’t traipse around in a loincloth forever.”

  “Tell her what really happened to change your mind,” Sespian said, a smile teasing his lips.

  “Ah... it’s possible Evrial... Sergeant Yara’s father... visited and suggested I was a less than suitable suitor.”

  “Because...” Sespian promoted, his eyes twinkling.

  “I have no proof, mind you, as I was cooking her supper and am the model doting lover, but I believe it was my nudity that upset him. And perhaps the fact of my unemployment came up. Though the nudity seemed to distress him most. I don’t know why. I’m quite magnificent nude.”

  Amaranthe dropped her face into the palm of her hand. Mahliki rolled her eyes. Strange, women usually agreed with him. If not with words than with their appreciative gazes.

  “What sort of job did you have in mind?” Starcrest asked, unfazed by the women’s strange reactions.

  “I’m an able fighter, though I imagine you have many of those. I get along well with the ladies, though so long as Evrial and I recover from our last tiff, I couldn’t perform for the ladies, if you catch my meaning. Perhaps I could be some sort of spy. Infiltrating groups of women—or men, I get along well with some men, too—and playing the role of harmless and affable dandy whilst secretly obtaining information for the intelligence office.”

  The colonel made a sort of throat-strangling noise, which he covered with a cough. Odd man.

  “It’s a role?” Starcrest asked.

  “He is brighter than he lets on,” Amaranthe said.

  “Very well. Go along with Mahliki’s team and lend her your assistance,” Starcrest said. “I’d also like a salvage team to try and get the sub off the bottom of the lake, so I can see if it can be repaired. The sub would be much preferable to the diving suits for underwater operations.”

  Amaranthe grimaced. Even Sicarius’s emotionless face seemed to grow a touch paler.

  “Dak, will you see if you can get a wrecker out there for that?” Starcrest finished.

  The colonel pushed away from the railing. “I don’t know if that’s in my job description exactly—don’t you have presidential aides wandering around somewhere?—
but I’ll do it if you promise you won’t be out there tinkering with that sub when it gets pulled up. You have more important things to handle. Like the Nurians. And those diplomats. And don’t forget my report on all those zealots in robes that are crawling out of the cracks in the mortar, trying to found some new religion, now that it’s not expressly forbidden.”

  “My aides aren’t military men,” Starcrest said, “as we’re trying to incorporate more civilians into the government. You’re a better liaison for dealing with the marines.”

  “Lucky me.”

  Maldynado eyed the colonel more closely, wondering why he didn’t “My Lord” or “Mister President” Starcrest. Someone who had known him a long time? A relative? Even twenty years younger, he wasn’t as handsome a man as Starcrest, of course the missing eye put a maggot in the apple of his looks too. But Maldynado supposed there might be a resemblance in the jawline and build.

  Starcrest must have considered the matter settled, for he nodded at Sespian and asked, “May I see that arrow?”

  “Do you recognize the style?” Sicarius asked.

  Starcrest accepted the arrow. “A Nurian design, albeit not their typical military issue one. One of the smaller independent sects, perhaps?” He held it up for the colonel’s perusal. “You don’t know what part of the country the assassin your men spotted is from, do you?”

  “Not yet. I will.”

  “You’re not thinking of going hunting, are you?” Amaranthe murmured to Sicarius, who was listening intently to the talk of assassins.

  Sicarius looked into her eyes. “If Sespian is the target, I am.”

  “Ah, but it seems I’m not.” Sespian pointed to the note. “Remember?”

  “You may become a target if you choose not to redeem her favor.”