Sicarius glared.
“Yes, that’s the one I expected. I’ll let him know.”
As she waved and walked away, Sicarius reminded himself that searching the room and finding the assassin were priorities. He trusted Amaranthe and trusted that she could handle Deret Mancrest if he tried anything untoward—which, he admitted, was unlikely these days—so there was absolutely no reason to follow Amaranthe and spy on her conversation with the newspaper man. To even contemplate it was illogical.
While removing his lock-picking kit again, Sicarius wondered why it irked him that he couldn’t justify that spying.
Chapter 18
Sespian tried to ignore the hacking and sawing—and the occasional blasting—that came from beyond the grimy windows of the old warehouse. It was hard with the green stalks wavering in the breeze outside those windows. Further, the floorboards creaked constantly, and tendrils sometimes burst up through seams or knotholes. It wasn’t a great place to design a generator. It wasn’t even a great place to ensure the continuation of one’s life. Judging from the strained shouts of the soldiers outside, they would be pleased to leave at any moment.
But the sleek black form of President Starcrest’s submarine lay in the center of the warehouse where the tugboat had delivered it. An engineering team under the command of a Major Rydoth was swarming inside and out, cleaning and repairing the damage from the blasting stick as well as the underwater immersion. The craft was too large to put on the back of a lorry for transport, so they had to work on it where it rested. At the time of delivery, the plant hadn’t stretched this far south, but it was expanding its reach with every hour. Sespian couldn’t help but think of Starcrest’s comments on exponential growth.
A few clangs from a corner of the warehouse reminded everyone of the presence of the president. Starcrest walked over to the submarine to make comments to his engineers now and then, but his main focus was the table full of copper wires, magnets, batteries, and other bits of metal Sespian couldn’t identify. Some of the things he could identify mystified him, such as the tub of tallow and the distilling equipment. And he had no idea why Mahliki was over there pulping severed bits of the plant in that grinder. Father and daughter had been working non-stop since setting up in the warehouse, each going about their tasks with nothing more than the occasional grunt to the other, and each ignoring the rest of the world. Sespian was glad his only job was to make the finished generator fit into the submarine, though even that seemed daunting, given the size of furnaces and boilers, not to mention that room would be required for carrying sufficient fuel. Sespian hated to bother the president, but he would need dimensions before he could plan further.
Leaving the drafting table someone had brought for him, he headed toward the cluttered table with a pen and pad of paper. One of his aides jogged through the door, passed Sespian, and veered for Starcrest first.
“Lord President?” the man said. “The vice president sent me to inform you that there’s been a report of an incursion along the Kendorian border. It seems someone has heard of our distraction here in the capital and is attacking outposts.”
Starcrest didn’t put down his tools or do more than glance at the aide. “Give me the details.”
“Can I help you, Sespian?” Mahliki asked, her voice strained.
She was still grinding away at the severed pieces of plants, turning them into a mushy green liquid inside a glass container. Judging by the way she had to throw her body weight into turning the crank, it wasn’t an easy task.
“I came to get some dimensions,” Sespian said quietly, not wanting to interrupt the president’s conversation. He pointed his pen toward her straining arms—her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and green splatters smudged her tan skin. “Can I help you? Do you want a break?”
Mahliki paused, shook out her arms, and eyed the contents of the jar. “Maybe for a bit. Not surprisingly, this is a lot harder than it would be for any other plant. Those blades came from a store that makes saws. The proprietor promised me I could stick a tree in this thing and grind it down.” She shoved a few more cut vines into the feeder channel.
“Why are you grinding down the plant?” Sespian grasped the lever with both hands and promptly saw what she meant. It moved, but not without significant effort. “And is it... safe to do so?” He nodded at her spattered arms. “Those little bits won’t grow into new plants, will they?”
Mahliki frowned at her skin. “I certainly hope not. I’ll wash off if I feel anything trying to take root.”
Sespian shuddered at the image of plants growing out of human flesh.
“As for the rest, we’re making vegetable oil. Or alien plant oil. I haven’t come up with a fancy name yet. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to grind down enough to be useful, but Father grinned at the idea of using the plant against itself, and preliminary studies were extremely promising, so I’m trying. There’s tallow for whatever else we need. We’re not planning any long voyages here—oxygen would be a problem for anything other than a short trip underwater—so we shouldn’t need much.”
Sespian kept nodding as she was talking, because he didn’t want her to think him dull, but he felt more mystified than before she had begun. “The vegetable oil is going to... fuel the submarine?”
“The methyl esters are. We have to separate the glycerin out, though I won’t be in a hurry to get rid of that, not after I saw how effective slime can be for escaping a graspy plant—” Mahliki wriggled her eyebrows. “Father said this would be a lot easier with petroleum, but nobody’s locating and refining it in any serious manner yet, and given our time situation, we had to use what was easily available. Finding a Maker in the city would have made this all much easier, but even then, it would have taken someone days to create a power source like the one we had. Besides, my studies suggest this plant is going to create a fuel with a higher energy potential than wood or even coal.”
Sespian had a vague notion that glycerin could be used to make soap, but the rest went over his head. He ought to take some science courses at the university, assuming the university was still around once this plant was done mauling the city.
“Good,” he said, reluctant to ask more questions and make his ignorance obvious. He would ask Starcrest later. Odd, but it seemed more acceptable to appear young and ignorant in front of the president than in front of his daughter. Maybe because she was younger than Sespian. Shouldn’t he know more, not less? “Do you know how big the finished generator will be? And, uhm, will steam still be involved in powering it or is this—” he tilted his head toward the green goop, “—going to eliminate that step?”
“Steam will still power the generator. Everything will simply be more compact because we won’t need—”
A crack came from the floor, and boards beneath Sespian’s feet bulged. He scrambled back. He had seen the plant grow up in other spots, only to be driven back by swords and small explosives, but it hadn’t thrust up with such force, not since he had been there.
Nails shrieked and burst from their wooden homes as the first green tendril shot up through a seam, spilling dirt around it. While his instinct was to back away from the bulge, Mahliki ran forward. She knelt, a dagger in hand, and cut at the intruding vine.
“That’s not going to do—” Sespian stopped himself. That was a very familiar dagger.
The black blade sliced through the emerging tendril, cutting it off at the base. The plant continued to grow though, shoving upward as if its life depended on it.
“Stay down, you stupid thing,” Mahliki growled, cutting it off at the base again. The two severed tendrils bucked and writhed like living beasts.
Sespian grabbed them and stuffed them into the top of the grinding machine. Even in the short seconds he was in contact with them, one tried to curl around his wrist. He tore it free before it could firm up that grip and grabbed a crowbar—the closest thing on the table. Using it, he jammed the tendrils down into the chute, then dropped the tool and leaned into the gr
inding lever.
Mahliki had already cut another length of vine, and two more cracks sounded on the other side of the table.
“They seem to be coordinating an attack,” Sespian said, grinding faster. “Does anyone else find that disconcerting?”
“Yes.” President Starcrest stepped into view, holding something that reminded Sespian of a branding iron with two prongs on the end. Wires stuck out of it, running up his arm to a bulky metal contraption hefted over his shoulder. He walked behind the table and flicked a switch on the big device. Arcs of blue sparked in the air between the iron tips of the forked end.
“They can’t know what we’re doing up here, can they?” Mahliki was alternating between hacking at the plant and hunting around for something to block the hole.
Sespian left the grinding station—halting the incursion was more important than cutting up the pieces—and jogged toward a heavy crate against a wall. He didn’t know if it would do anything to stop something that could push up through nailed floorboards, but he dragged it over, nonetheless.
“You wouldn’t think so,” Starcrest said, “but I wouldn’t rule anything out, not with this plant’s origins.” He stopped in front of a second tendril that had pushed up through a knothole and snaked up to waist height in a matter of seconds.
This was the fastest yet that Sespian had seen the plant grow. He shoved the crate on top of the portion vexing Mahliki. One corner immediately started rising.
“That was helpful,” Sespian grumbled to himself. The air tingled, and the hairs on his neck rose, as if someone were using magic nearby. “What the—”
Tzzzt-zipt.
“Hah,” Starcrest said in the aftermath of the strange noise.
“Did it work?” Mahliki lunged to her feet. “Did you burn it?”
“Yes, though it takes a prolonged application at this voltage. It’s not as effective as a bolt of lightning.”
Sespian leaned across the table for a look. The tendril that had burst through the knothole had collapsed into a blackened strand. Smoke wafted from the shriveled carcass.
“It works,” Sespian said. “That’s brilliant.”
“It works on a small scale,” Starcrest said grimly, not showing any signs of the exuberance Sespian felt. He simply walked to the next vine, which had thrust a floorboard aside to enter the warehouse.
“But that’s a start, isn’t it?” Sespian asked. “It can be scaled up, or we can make packs like that to give to the enforcers, right?”
Starcrest prodded the vine with the forked tip of his tool and flicked the switch again. The streaks of blue electricity vibrated between the metal prongs. He touched them to the plant, and it jerked away, almost like an animal feeling pain. He pinned it to the floor, and the tiny streaks of lightning seared its flesh, blackening it as it had the first.
“It’s a start,” Starcrest agreed. “But to make enough of these to slay the plant faster than it can grow in the time we have—”
Glass shattered, cutting off his words. A dark shape burst through the window nearest to him. Starcrest leaped back, but not fast enough. A tendril the thickness of a man’s thigh darted through the broken window like a tiger leaping after its prey. It wrapped around Starcrest’s waist, lifting him off his feet.
“Father!” Mahliki screamed.
Sespian grabbed the dagger from her hand and leaped over the table. Somehow Starcrest had kept his grip on the electricity generator and, even as he was being dragged to the window, his feet dangling in the air, jabbed the prod against the huge green limb. Sespian landed by the window, slashing downward with the dagger. The weapon cut into the plant’s fibrous flesh, but even the alien blade couldn’t fully slice through, not in one blow. The thick vine pulled away before he could cut into it for a second time, hauling Starcrest past Sespian and to the window.
The stench of burning vegetation filled the air, but the plant continued to pull on its prey. Starcrest managed to brace his legs on either side of the window frame. Sespian ran to the wall and cut down again, trying to find room to saw through the impossibly thick vine. Noxious smoke filled his nostrils and stung his eyes. He kept cutting. Starcrest kept the prod pressed against the plant flesh.
“Over there,” Mahliki barked to soldiers who had heard the fray and run inside. “Not everybody. Just people who can—you with the blasting stick. Light it and throw it through the window. Kill that plant at its base.”
Sespian was too busy sawing at the vine—it would be easier to saw down a redwood tree—to check to see if the soldiers were obeying her. At the least, nobody dared push Starcrest’s daughter to the side.
“Almost got it,” Sespian yelled, hoping to keep anyone from doing anything drastic.
Starcrest was holding his position, one boot on either side of the window frame, though wood creaked and his thighs were quivering. More green shoots came into sight beyond the window.
“Don’t tell me those slagging things are coming to help,” Sespian growled.
The vine quivered, its flesh blackening. Sespian was halfway through. So long as no reinforcements reached through the window.
A uniformed figure darted beneath Starcrest’s arm. Sespian glimpsed a burning fuse before the soldier threw a blasting stick.
Starcrest spat something in Kyattese, then switched to Turgonian for, “Cut faster, boy. I’m exposed here.”
Sespian bore down, sawing with all his strength, but the vine snapped higher up, where Starcrest had been applying the electricity. He dropped to the ground, managing to twist and get his feet beneath him. He grabbed Sespian’s arm and lunged backward, taking them both to the floor.
The blasting stick exploded outside the window. Wood pummeled Sespian, and all he had time to do was turn his face from the force before something hammered his back. The blow hurled him into the table, and it skidded away. Something would have crashed down on his head, but hands darted in and caught it. The crowbar. Shards of wood continued to rain down, though the big pieces stopped striking them. When Sespian dared glance over his shoulder, he found not only the window frame gone but a huge chunk of the wall missing as well. On the ground outside, vines smoked and writhed, retreating toward the nearby shoreline. Only the fat vine that had grabbed Starcrest, the one he had burned with electricity, lay unmoving.
“Dear daughter,” Starcrest rumbled. “I appreciate your willingness to order soldiers into the fray to protect my life, but in the future, please consider the consequences of throwing a blasting stick between a man’s legs. Nature put things down there that are intended to remain intact.”
Mahliki tossed the crowbar on the table. “You’ve got three children. I didn’t think you needed anything down there all that much anymore.” Though she clearly meant the words to be light, her voice cracked. She flung her arms around her father for a hug.
Sespian, having landed in a pile with Starcrest, tried to extricate himself from the family embrace, though, between the upended table and the soldiers who had gathered around, it was hard to stand up. No less than six hands descended, trying to help Starcrest to his feet. Sespian decided not to be jealous that only one hand lowered for him, as he wouldn’t want Starcrest’s job for anything in the world. The more days that were between him and being in charge, the better he liked it.
Starcrest waved away the hands and climbed to his feet of his own accord. “Please return your attention to the plant, gentlemen. We’ve learned how to hurt it, but an injured beast fights harder than an uninjured one, and we must consider this more beast than plant.”
Major Rydoth, a gray-haired man of fifty or so, gripped Rias’s arm and guided him back to the workstation, saying, “Are you sure you need to stay down here, My Lord? I can finish the work on the submarine—we’ve already got most of your new weapons loaded onboard, don’t we?”
“Yes, but I’m not leaving while there’s work to be done.”
“So long as I don’t have to be the one to explain to your wife how a plant burst through a window and
ate you.”
When Sespian had stood, blackness had danced at the edges of his vision, and the effect was slow to fade. He groped about and braced himself on the table.
“Are you all right?” Mahliki asked, stepping past broken glass and rubble to take his other arm.
He thought about being manly and self-sufficient and waving away her concern, but it was rather nice having her at his side, supporting him. “I think I will be. Something hit me in the back. I need a moment.”
She slipped an arm around his lower back. “Come over here and sit down.”
That was nice, too—having soft, curvy parts pressed against his side. As he let her guide him around the table and past heaps of broken wood, he mused that it would have been nicer to be entangled on the floor with her than with her father. That thought gave him a guilty start, and he glanced around to find Starcrest, suddenly afraid that he might be watching. What would he think of catching Sespian gazing at his daughter with thoughts of tangled limbs dancing in his head?
But Starcrest was busy picking up his generator and dusting off debris. He clutched it to his chest and headed back to his impromptu laboratory, pausing only to give Sespian and Mahliki pats on their shoulders as he passed.
“Sorry about the blasting stick,” Mahliki said, releasing Sespian long enough to pick a stool up off the floor for him. She dusted off the surface and gestured for him to sit. “I wasn’t sure whether the dagger or the electricity would be enough, and... it seemed like a reasonable option at the time.”
One of her braids had fallen over her shoulder, and she fiddled with the end. Shyly, he thought, though maybe that was his imagination. When she was around others, even strangers, she always appeared confident, especially given her age. She might be a couple of years younger than he, but she had been having world-spanning adventures since she was a toddler, whereas Sespian had been ensconced in the Imperial Barracks for much of his life, watching the world through the windows. It would be nice to find private time with her to ask her about some of the adventures that she and her parents had only hinted at.
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