“We’ve defeated it before.”
“We guessed the combination lock on one of their security systems. That’s not exactly the same as defeating the technology.”
“I was thinking more of the ship you blew up, love.”
“That wasn’t defeat, either,” Tikaya said. “That ship had a self-destruction program built in. I simply turned it on.”
“Maybe the plant has a self-destruct command programmed into its cellular punch cards.”
Tikaya shook her head. “If it’s there, I wasn’t able to find it. While Mahliki was experimenting with the physical body, I tried everything I could think of with the sphere. I wouldn’t know how to... transmit any orders if there were some.”
“Then we’ll have to do it this way.” Rias patted the submarine hull.
Tikaya stepped in closer, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Is it horrible of me to wish Sicarius had never sent that message to you?”
“Abysmally horrible, yes.” He wrapped his arms around her. “But I love you anyway.”
They held each other for a couple of long moments, then, when Rias pulled away, Tikaya let him go.
“We don’t have a lot of room for a big team,” Rias said, returning to the waiting men. “I could use an engineer and a couple of people who have experience with the diving suits, in case we’re not able to get close enough to the roots with the submarine.”
Tikaya lifted her fingers to her lips, horrified anew at the idea of someone walking out in that man-eating jungle with nothing but a canvas suit for protection. Though Mahliki had downplayed the danger of being captured by the plant, Tikaya could guess how close her daughter had been to dying, based on Dak’s report, and the way he had avoided her eyes when answering her questions.
“I’ll only take volunteers,” Rias said.
Every single engineer’s arm shot up. Several of the soldiers said, “I haven’t been in a suit, but I’m sure I could learn it,” or something to that effect.
“Rydoth.” Rias pointed to a graying engineer with major’s rank pins. Unlike the more eager men who were waving their hands and proclaiming their fitness for the job, he had merely raised a finger, his face grave.
A throat cleared behind Tikaya.
“Uhm,” Maldynado said, a tentative finger poking in the air. “I’ve spent time in the suits. And fought a battle underwater.”
Tikaya thought Rias would dismiss him instantly, since he wasn’t military, and twenty minutes ago, he had been whining like a rusty wheel about the likelihood of his toenails falling off.
But Rias considered him thoughtfully. When Maldynado wasn’t opening his mouth and offending people or talking about sexual conquests, he did appear a formidable warrior, and if he had trained and fought with Amaranthe and Sicarius for a year, he was probably as battle-hardened as most soldiers.
“Are you simply volunteering that information, or are you volunteering to go?” Rias asked.
“I could go,” Maldynado said. “I owe that plant a lick or two. Besides, I’d like another chance to protect necessary people.” He nodded toward Mahliki.
“She is not going,” Rias said.
“What?” Mahliki propped a fist on her hip. “Nobody knows more about that plant than I do. You’ll need an expert along.”
Tikaya’s heart sank at the argument. When Mahliki hadn’t raised her hand, she had thought maybe her daughter had enough of a self-preservation instinct to wait out this fight, but she must have assumed she was on the team to start with.
“Your mother is already put out with me for volunteering,” Rias said. “I doubt she would speak to me—or my spirit—again if I took us both on a journey from whence we didn’t return.”
Fancy way of saying, “If I got us both killed,” Tikaya thought bleakly. Maybe Rias had been destined to be a politician after all.
“So whether or not I go is Mother’s decision?” Mahliki asked.
“No,” Rias said. “I want you back here, safe.”
You implied this wasn’t a suicide mission, dear...
A floorboard popped up in a corner, and a thin tendril rose through the crack. Sespian ran over to deal with it, the black dagger in hand.
“It’s not exactly safe here, either,” Mahliki said.
“Safer,” Rias said. “Dak will take everyone to our backup headquarters, three miles from the waterfront. I’ll bring up the submarine somewhere less strangled with vegetation—the Fort Urgot dock if it’s still free—so there’s no point in waiting here.”
Dak propped his arms over his chest, frowning at this assignment. Surely he hadn’t been expecting to be invited on the team as well? What was wrong with these Turgonians? Were they all so eager to die? No, she realized, they were just so eager to help Rias. This was what she got for marrying a national hero and returning to his homeland.
“Mother?” Mahliki asked, the age-old trick of asking another parent when the first said no. Strange to see it played here, especially with Rias looking on.
Naturally, Tikaya’s instinct was to squash the request and keep her daughter safe, but Mahliki was the foremost expert on the plant here. Her knowledge might be crucial in defeating it. More than that, Rias might sacrifice himself for some noble cause, but he would move mountains to make sure his daughter survived. And if they were on the same vessel together, they’d both have to survive, now wouldn’t they?
“I had assumed you would be a necessary member of the team,” Tikaya said.
Mahliki had her finger raised and her mouth open, an argument on her lips, so she sputtered a couple of times before managing, “You did? So I can go?”
“No.” Rias scowled at Tikaya.
He had probably followed her train of thought as easily as if she had spelled it out on a page.
“You promised me it isn’t a suicide mission, love,” Tikaya said. “Why wouldn’t you take one of your greatest assets?”
Mahliki beamed at this designation, or maybe the fact that Tikaya was arguing on her behalf. Inside, Tikaya wanted to wail against the idea of letting either of them go and cry out that it wasn’t fair that her loved ones had to take these risks. Outside... she smiled calmly at Rias.
“It’ll still be dangerous,” he grumbled, though he couldn’t fight much harder, not without invalidating the very argument he had used to talk her into letting him go.
“Fine,” Rias said, his tone clipped. “We have our team.”
“I, ah...” Sespian raised a hand. “I have that fifteen minutes of experience with the suits. Maybe I can come too?”
“Very well. There’s no time to spare. Let’s get going.” Rias headed for the submarine.
A number of the engineers and soldiers glowered at Sespian and Maldynado, clearly disgruntled that a couple of civilians had been chosen over them. Rias ordered a few men to help prepare the submarine to launch and told Dak to take everyone else to the backup headquarters. Dak issued a few orders of his own but didn’t hurry to the lorries. Like Tikaya, he seemed to want to see Rias off before leaving. The soldiers had to fight off a few more attacks from the plant as well. Tikaya could only imagine—with nightmare-like vividness—what sort of battle it would offer once the submarine was in the water.
When the suits and men—and Mahliki—were in the craft, Rias came to her for one last hug. “I saw that the Kyattese communication device is still in our cabin. Did you by chance pack the complementary half before you left the hotel?”
“Did you also see that there was a message on it for you?” Tikaya arched her brows.
“A recent one?”
“Yes.”
Rias shook his head. “I haven’t looked in the cabin since my original walkthrough this morning.”
“Never mind then.” Technology, only helpful when used... “I do have the other one,” she said. “It’s in the lorry.”
“Good. I can send Dak reports.”
“You better send me reports.” Tikaya stood on tiptoe to kiss him, but paused. His skin was od
dly warm. She squinted at his forehead. Small beads of perspiration filmed his skin. The poison. Dear Akahe, what if it hadn’t been a bluff after all?
He started to turn away from her, but she gripped his arm.
“Rias?”
He sighed softly. He knew. “Yes?”
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired. It’s been a long night.”
Her grip tightened. “You know what I mean.”
Another sigh. “I’ve had a fever and some other symptoms for the last few hours.”
“The poison?” she whispered.
“It might simply be a virus.”
He had grown blurry. No, that was her vision. Tikaya blinked rapidly. “I’ll find Amaranthe and Sicarius. I asked them to locate the head priest, to look for an antidote.”
Rias nodded. “Good. I have to take care of this.”
“I know.”
The blinking didn’t help. Hot tears ran down Tikaya’s cheeks as he returned to the submarine.
Chapter 26
Sicarius stood with his back to a thick oak, the cool breeze whispering across his bare chest. Amaranthe leaned against his arm, smelling of brandy. He thought about teasing her that her new perfume was much worse than his earlier sewer scent—especially since he had washed before going to the construction site with Maldynado and Basilard—but she was shivering, so they ought to get on with the mission.
He eyed the wrought iron fence surrounding the large masonry house, razor-edged spikes protruding toward the night sky. Bypassing them would not be difficult, but doghouses leaned against one of the gray stone walls, and he had heard a few wuffs and snuffles during his initial scouting of the compound.
“Who would have thought a house in an apple orchard would need such security measures?” Amaranthe mused.
“Judging by the rust accumulation and weathering, the fence is approximately ten years old.”
Amaranthe looked up at him, though the shadows hid her face. “You were dating the fence while I was drowning in a vat of cider?”
Sicarius had only meant to relay information on the age of the security apparatuses and could not tell if she was truly irked with him. “I was unaware of your location at the time.”
“I’m going to forgive you since you were kind enough to lend me your shirt.”
“You may consider it a permanent exchange.” Sicarius could not imagine what degree of washing would be required to remove the brandy vapors.
“Very generous.”
“If you wish to enter, I recommend going over the fence there, downwind of the dogs, and climbing up the roof to that attic entrance. The house has been quiet since I arrived, so the residents may be sleeping. The bunkhouse over there contains more than twenty beds. I believe most are occupied.”
“There’s still a light on there.” Amaranthe nodded to a window.
“Yes, it has not been long since the men left the mill. Some went in the bunkhouse and others took a lorry and left the premises. Someone will likely come out to check on the missing man before long,” Sicarius added to remind her that they had better do their infiltration quickly. “I can go in on my own while you wait here if you wish.”
“Would you remember to get Deret’s swordstick?”
“I would not consider a swordstick a priority.” The only thing Sicarius wanted that he thought might be in the house was information identifying the key members of this religious organization. If a poison had indeed been used on the president, one of them would know which one.
“That’s what I thought.” Amaranthe waved to the back of the house. “Lead the way.”
Sicarius did so, making a circuitous route to avoid the dogs. He hopped onto the side of the fence, catching the bars near the top, his nose less than a foot from the barbs. A faint odor wafted to his nostrils and he froze, his legs dangling three feet above the ground. The barbs smelled like a mix of juniper berries and the laddakal plant, a combination he recognized, for the compounds were mixed to create a deadly poison.
“Interesting,” he murmured.
“What?” Amaranthe whispered up to him. “And you know that’s a rather strange position to be experiencing introspection from, right?”
“The tips of the fence are poisoned. Proceed with extreme caution.” Sicarius had lost his momentum when he paused, but he still pulled himself up and over while giving the barbs a wide berth. He landed and waited for Amaranthe. Though he believed she could avoid the trap, he would offer assistance if needed.
She grumbled to herself but climbed to the top and over without brushing the tips. In her eagerness to avoid them, she dropped to the ground more heavily than normal, and her landing was audible.
A shift and a canine yawn came from one of the doghouses around the corner. Sicarius held up a hand, and they waited in silence for the canine to return to slumber. From behind the building, he couldn’t see the bunkhouse or the mill, so he listened for steps or creaking doors that would mean someone was going to check on the missing man. Nothing yet.
Sicarius pointed toward the attic, then climbed atop a rain-catchment barrel and pulled himself onto the roof. He and Amaranthe padded across the ceramic tiles and up to the vents on the top story. He withdrew a hook from his lock-picking kit and unfastened an inner latch. Inside, Sicarius stretched out his senses, his fingers to the dusty floor, listening for people awake in the halls below. The attic smelled of cloves and cinnamon, the scent strong enough to blunt any lesser odors in the area.
“A question,” Amaranthe whispered before he could start searching for a trapdoor down. “If the fence is poisoned, is it likely these people have an extensive collection of concoctions and might have used them elsewhere?”
“Such as for poisoning a president?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“It’s possible,” Sicarius said.
“I don’t know if one of the Edgecrests is involved in the religion, but for whatever reason, this seems like a stronghold for the priests. If they do make poisons, they could be here. Along with antidotes.”
“Yes.”
“By the way, it seems the priests also have Serpitivich under their sway, or perhaps it’s the other way around. He’s probably been our snitch all along.”
“How did you come by that information?” Sicarius had never spoken to the vice president, indeed, had rarely seen him at all. He didn’t think Amaranthe had spent any more time with the man.
“Starcrest’s former wife is in bed with him. She’s here on the compound tonight. Or she was earlier.”
“Was she not just sharing a bed with Lord Mancrest?”
“Yes,” Amaranthe said, “she seems to visit a lot of beds.”
“A curious hobby.”
“I’m glad you think so. She and Serpitivich both want Starcrest out of the way. Permanently.”
“Is he here?” Sicarius hadn’t intended for his voice to sound hard and chill when he asked, but if the vice president was plotting against Starcrest, he would take care of it in a blunt manner.
“I haven’t seen him.”
“Retrieve the swordstick,” Sicarius said. “I will check the rest of the house.”
For a moment, Amaranthe didn’t answer. Sicarius waited to see if she would admonish him about assassinating people, but she either hadn’t understood his intent or couldn’t muster a defense for the man trying to kill Starcrest.
They hunted around and found a trapdoor. The hallway below lay in shadows, without any light seeping beneath bedroom doors. Sicarius dropped to the floor and started listening at doors, trusting Amaranthe could find the swordstick and her own weapons without his help.
He did advise, “Watch for more traps,” before she disappeared down the stairs to the first floor.
She waved a hand in acknowledgment.
Most of the doors weren’t locked. When Sicarius opened them, he found empty bedrooms, closets, and storage rooms stacked high with apple paraphernalia. Whatever else might lie within these w
alls, the orchard and mill appeared to be legitimate operations. A few bedrooms held sleeping figures, an older man and woman in one, and some younger single forms. Parents and adult children, he guessed. Those who ran the orchards? He didn’t smell the hints of the lemongrass incense that had lingered near the bunkhouse.
Sicarius came to a locked door near the end of the hall and heard breathing that bordered on snoring coming from within. It was feminine, he thought, but he couldn’t be certain. He started to pull out his picking kit, but hesitated, detecting a hint of kerosene in the air. He hadn’t caught the scent farther down the hall. Someone had been that way with a lantern recently. Heading to a bedroom? Or elsewhere?
The hallway dead-ended with a large framed painting occupying the wall. Sicarius drifted toward it, then felt around and under it for hidden passages. He found a switch between the creases in the wood paneling near the ceiling. The wall popped open. He expected another hallway or a stairwell, but cool metal met his fingers. He probed side to side and up and down, outlining the contours of a vault door, a sturdy vault door. In the darkness, he couldn’t tell if it was new or, like the fence, had been there for some years. He also couldn’t tell how to get in. Maybe someone in the house would have the combination.
He took out his picks and returned to the locked door. It was unlikely Starcrest’s first wife would be sleeping in the bunkhouse, and this was the last bedroom to check. While he worked, he debated what he would do if he found her within. If she was plotting against Starcrest, she might deserve a fate similar to Serpitivich, but would Starcrest wish death for her? If not, he might be displeased with Sicarius if he killed the woman. Sicarius nodded to himself. He would only question her.
He did not hear Amaranthe climbing up the stairs, but the scent of brandy preceded her return. Her silence pleased him, but he chose not to whisper more than, “Here,” in the quiet hallway.
Amaranthe joined him in front of the door while he finished picking the lock.
“I found the swordstick and my dagger,” she whispered, “as well as a rapier I didn’t recognize. Maybe Deret and I weren’t the only people kidnapped tonight.”
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