Beneath the Surface

by Lindsay Buroker

  Sicarius did not amend his statement.

  “We’re searching for contraband,” Amaranthe said. “Do you want to join us? We checked your cabin earlier, but you weren’t there.”

  “Is that what Akstyr’s doing?” Sespian asked. “He went by a moment ago. He was peering into every vent and grate he passed.”

  Amaranthe nodded, pleased that, whatever thoughts had been going through Sespian’s head, he’d remained observant. Sicarius would notice that too, she knew.

  “Yes, we suspect magical weapons or something of the sort are being smuggled to the capital by the circus troupe.”

  “For Ravido?” Sespian asked.

  “Forge, we imagine, but Ravido will surely benefit.”

  “So it’d behoove us to find them and destroy them.” Sespian took a deep breath and blew it out, like a man bracing himself. Or perhaps acknowledging that whatever he’d been thinking about was less important than this new mission.

  “Or acquire them for ourselves.” Amaranthe smiled.

  For the first time since identifying Sespian, Sicarius looked at her. A rather sharp look that implied the thought lacked prudence.

  “Let’s find them before worrying about what to do with them.” Amaranthe waved toward the nearby engineering room hatch. Faint light escaped from a porthole beside it. “Think you can find those schematics without being seen by the night shift?” she asked Sicarius.

  “Yes.”

  A long moment passed, with Sicarius eyeing Sespian and Amaranthe in turn, before he walked away. He disappeared into the shadows long before he reached the hatch. She waited, expecting to see it open, but it didn’t. Perhaps he intended to go in another way.

  “Are you all right?” Amaranthe asked.

  “I’m fine,” Sespian said.

  “You’re sure? I didn’t share that particular tidbit in the most judicious manner this evening.” Maybe she shouldn’t be bothering him. She’d aligned herself with the enemy, more so than ever, as far as he was concerned. Maybe she was the last person he wanted to confide in or even talk to. If not for the limitations of the boat, he might have walked much farther away to think. “I apologize for that. And for continuing to bug you. I’m not good at simply letting sleeping grimbals stay in their dens. Just ask...” She was going to say ask Sicarius, but bringing him up might not be wise. “Ask anyone who’s known me for more than a month.”

  “A month?” Sespian smiled faintly. “It didn’t take me that long to realize you have a nosy streak.”

  “Well, you’re more perceptive than most people.”

  She’d meant it as a joke, but Sespian’s smile faded and his eyes grew sad. “When you and your team barged into the train for me, and I learned how much you’d done in the last year, in the name of helping the emperor, I thought... Well, that’s what made me think you might also have... feelings for me.” Amaranthe opened her mouth to say that she did care for him, but he lifted a hand to stop her. “I thought you wouldn’t have done all that, risked your life and those of your men if you weren’t guided by more than indoctrinated imperial loyalty to the throne. But it was for him, wasn’t it?”

  Amaranthe didn’t know what to say. She wanted to deny the accusation, but couldn’t, not when Sespian seemed to finally understand that Sicarius cared for him. That mattered more than what Sespian thought of her. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to simply nod, because it wasn’t the full truth. “Partially for you, partially for the good of the empire—I’ve always thought you were a better option than Ravido or any of those old-fashioned war-war-war men—and partially, no, a lot, for him, yes.”

  Sespian exhaled slowly and nodded to himself. “I’ll survive my dashed dreams. Don’t feel bad. I just need some time. All of this—you, Forge, my shattered identity—is difficult, but the hard part is that it’s him. A brutal murderer who I’ve seen...” He shook his head. “It would have been more palatable if it’d been someone else. Anyone else.”

  “Come now, you wouldn’t want Maldynado for a father, would you?”

  Sespian lowered his head and chuckled softly. “Perhaps not. His advice on winning women wasn’t particularly apt.”

  Amaranthe didn’t want to bring the conversation back around to that topic again, so all she said was, “That’s one subject I’m fairly certain you’ll never have to worry about Sicarius advising you on. He thinks it’s appropriate to wear a dozen knives while leading a girl into the Imperial Gardens for a, uhm, chat.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  Sicarius reappeared at Amaranthe’s side. For once, she didn’t twitch with surprise, but she did grimace, fearing he’d heard her comment.

  “Did you get the schematics?” she asked. Best to stick to business.

  The hatch to engineering remained shut, the light glowing within. That didn’t mean much—Sicarius could have left a pile of dead bodies without her and Sespian ever having heard a thing.

  “They were on the wall,” Sicarius said. “I memorized them. To retrieve them would have involved revealing myself.”

  “Is there a secret cargo area?”

  “Inside and below the deck, yes.”

  “Lead the way then.” Amaranthe extended a hand toward engineering, though she had no idea where one might find an entrance to the storage area. “Let’s see if we can collect Akstyr on the way.”

  They jogged around the deck to the opposite side of the steamboat, pausing only when they spotted Akstyr. He lay on his belly, face pressed to a grate near the boiler room.

  “This way,” Amaranthe told him.

  They caught up with Sicarius at the door to the dining hall.

  “We already looked all around in there,” Akstyr whispered.

  Sicarius didn’t respond. He found the door unlocked and disappeared into the dark interior. Amaranthe groped about until she found an unlit lantern mounted on the inside wall.

  “He’s heading for the stage,” Akstyr whispered.

  “How can you tell?” Sespian stood near the door, holding it open to allow in the faint lamplight from outside. It didn’t penetrate far.

  “I can see him,” Akstyr said.

  “Magically?”

  “With the Science.”

  A moment passed before Sespian said, “How does he see?”

  “I haven’t noticed that he particularly needs to. I think he senses his way around.” Amaranthe took her lantern outside to light it from one of the burning ones. “You didn’t inherit that skill?”

  “Apparently not,” Sespian said.

  Amaranthe stepped inside, shut the door behind them, and turned up her lantern. The flame illuminated tables with chairs turned upside down on top of them, along with Sicarius striding out of the shadows near the front of the room.

  “Training,” he said.

  “Is that an explanation for something?” Amaranthe asked. “Or a random statement of enthusiasm for the practice?”

  “Blindfolded training.” Sicarius took the lantern. “Get another light.”

  “Talkative, isn’t he?” Sespian asked.

  “Terribly so.” Amaranthe lit a second lantern, then weaved between the tables toward the stage.

  “So women wouldn’t be the only thing we’d not discuss if we spent time together?”

  “You’d probably not discuss a lot of things.”

  Amaranthe smiled over her shoulder at Sespian, then focused on Sicarius. He’d knelt and unscrewed a panel at one end of the stage, revealing a trapdoor. Utter darkness waited through the hole. Amaranthe couldn’t tell if the space went back a few feet or extended the width of the stage. Akstyr stared intently into the dark space but didn’t say whether he sensed the artifacts more strongly there or not.

  For a long, quiet moment, Sicarius gazed at the floor, his ear tilted toward the opening. Amaranthe was about to ask if he’d heard something or otherwise expected trouble when his head swiveled toward her.

  “Akstyr and I can go alone,” he said.

  Akstyr frowned.


  “What’s in there?” Amaranthe whispered.

  “I smell something.”

  “What?”

  “Death,” Sicarius said.

  “Bloody bears,” Sespian murmured.

  “Death?” Akstyr eyed the hole. “As in dead rats and stuff? Or people?”

  “Humans,” Sicarius said.

  Amaranthe spread a hand. While she couldn’t claim to enjoy stumbling across corpses, it wasn’t anything new for her team. But maybe Sicarius wanted to protect her. Or Sespian. If people were dead down there, something had to have killed them.

  “We’ll all go,” she said.

  “Akstyr.” Sicarius jerked his chin. “Enter.”

  Akstyr drew back. “What? I don’t want to go first if there are bodies.”

  “There may be booby traps,” Sicarius said. “Science-crafted ones.”

  “But...”

  “I will also lead. To check for mundane traps.”

  Whether due to this addendum, or the unwavering stare that accompanied it, Akstyr’s shoulders drooped and he didn’t utter a further protest. “Fine, but I want a light.”

  As Sicarius ducked into the darkness beneath the stage, Amaranthe handed Akstyr one of the lanterns. “Be careful.”

  Her words were for both men, but only Akstyr responded, voicing a sullen, “Whatever.”

  He clunked his head as he scrambled through the trapdoor, inspiring a string of curses involving street licking and donkey balls.

  Amaranthe lifted her eyebrows, silently asking if Sespian wanted to go next or take up the rear. He gripped the edge of the square opening and stared into the gloom. Akstyr’s light played across crates, mesh bags of ice skates, and disassembled acrobatic apparatuses.

  “Sensing dead people isn’t a skill I inherited either,” Sespian said. “Are you sure about this paternity link?”

  Amaranthe smiled. “I can see it even if you can’t.”

  “Well, at least he never hit me. That’s more than I can say for my—Raumesys.” Sespian slipped through the low opening with more alacrity—and less head bumping—than Akstyr had demonstrated.

  “I can see it even if you can’t,” Amaranthe repeated in a whisper to herself as she reached for the panel. She doubted anyone would wander into the dining hall in the middle of the night, but it wouldn’t hurt to camouflage their route. She propped the panel against the wall, hiding the under-stage entrance, and scooped four screws into her hand. Sicarius had left them in a tidy row by the molding after he’d removed them, but, on the off chance that someone did discover the panel ajar, she didn’t want anyone to have the idea of screwing it back into place. Especially not if there were bodies down there.

  Holding the second of the group’s lanterns, Amaranthe hustled after the others, half-crawling, half-crouching in the three-foot-high space. Though most of the gear appeared to belong to the circus troupe, and would have had to have been recently loaded, the air smelled of dust. And mold. And... Erg. She crinkled her nose, catching the meaty odor Sicarius must have noticed. Well, he’d warned her.

  “Yup, that’s a body all right,” came Akstyr’s voice from ahead. “One of those enforcers. Not stinking much yet anyway.”

  Sespian peered back at Amaranthe, and she had no trouble reading his your-people-are-ghouls expression. She twitched a shoulder and scooted closer.

  “He triggered a trap,” Sicarius said. “Hold while I check for others.”

  Amaranthe held her lantern up, hoping for a better view of the storage area, though she regretted it when her light illuminated suspicious dark stains on the ceiling. Mold, mildew, and... was that dried blood? Maybe on a previous voyage, the stage had hosted duels or gladiator matches for the diners. What she didn’t see anywhere was anything otherworldly.

  “We haven’t gone beneath the deck yet, have we?” Amaranthe asked.

  “No,” Sicarius said. “There’s an entrance over here.”

  With Sespian and Akstyr in between her and Sicarius, Amaranthe couldn’t see where he pointed. “Any traps?” she asked.

  “They’ve been disarmed by people bumbling into them,” Sicarius said. “Akstyr. Science?”

  “We’re definitely close to something,” Akstyr said. “Several somethings. I can’t tell if anything is a trap, but... I think they’re all lower than we are.”

  “Understood,” Sicarius said. “Proceeding.”

  Amaranthe paused when she drew even with the dead enforcer. He didn’t have any obvious wounds. “What killed him?”

  “Poison.” Sicarius had disappeared into a crooked aisle of crates, and his voice came back muffled. “Look at his palm.”

  Amaranthe gingerly maneuvered the arm to reveal the enforcer’s palm. Rigor mortis had come and gone, so the man had been dead a couple of days. Since before Akstyr, Maldynado, and Yara had come searching, and since before any enforcers had known her team was on board. Amaranthe examined the hand. A cut marred one finger. Such a small mistake to lose one’s life over. Surely, she’d committed numerous larger errors.

  Sespian touched her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, thanks. Let’s just... be careful and get out of here.”

  “Yeah,” Akstyr said. “It’ll stink down here in a few days.”

  Sespian glared in his direction. “Do you ever want to smack him?” he whispered.

  “Daily,” Amaranthe said.

  She maneuvered past the dead enforcer, careful not to step on him, and picked her way over a pile of cleated shoes and into the crate aisle to join Sicarius. He knelt before an iron grate set into the floor. A shiny steel lock unblemished by rust or corrosion appeared to be a recent addition. A yellow glow emanated from somewhere below. Amaranthe wriggled closer, but whatever accounted for the light wasn’t directly beneath the grate. The only thing in view was a tiny mirror and a sliver of brass lying against the darker metal of the ship’s hull. A key, she realized. For the grate lock? If so, a lot of good it did down there. Maybe the enforcer had stolen the key, dropped it down there by accident, and tried to get a look by lowering a mirror. She’d never know for certain; whatever curiosity—or orders from superiors—had driven him here had killed him.

  Sicarius was in the process of unstringing a trip wire so slender Amaranthe wouldn’t have noticed it in the dim lighting. He laid the small coil next to a couple of pins beside the grate.

  “The traps are disarmed.” Sicarius withdrew his compact lock-picking kit.

  “Wait,” Akstyr said. “There’s something about that lock. You’d almost miss it, compared with the power oozing off whatever’s down there, but it tingles a bit.”

  “With... magic?” Sespian had joined them around the grate.

  Akstyr nodded. “And I think... What is that down there? Beside the mirror. There’s an aura about it too. It’s Made.”

  “It’s a key,” Amaranthe said.

  “In all senses of the word,” Akstyr said. “I bet if you stick a pick in the lock, you’ll trigger a trap. That key’s probably the only thing that works. I wonder how the enforcer got his hands on it.”

  “Maybe they’ve been tracking this shipment for some time,” Amaranthe said. “Any chance you can nullify the trap, Akstyr?”

  “I don’t know. It seems intricate. Good, quality work. Why don’t we just get the key?”

  Amaranthe waved at the crisscrossing grate bars. “I’m the smallest one here, and my arm isn’t going to fit through any of those holes.”

  “Do you sense any other Science about the grate?” Sicarius asked.

  “No, just the lock. And the key.”

  Sespian poked the grate with one finger. When nothing happened, he tried to pull it open. It didn’t budge. He offered a sheepish shrug. “You never know.”

  “There were nets back there,” Sicarius said. “Someone make a length of rope.”

  “Fishing?” Amaranthe asked, though she didn’t know how they’d hook the key. It didn’t have a hole, and it lay flat on the hull.

&nbs
p; Sicarius didn’t respond. He’d drifted off farther down the aisle. He must have some idea.

  Amaranthe returned to the bags of ice skates, opened one, and removed a couple of laces. She tied them into a three-foot long string and returned to the grate. Sicarius had found a nail—or, judging by the splinters clinging to the head, pried it out of the stage framework. He pulled out a compass, laid it on the floor, and aligned the nail just so. He unsheathed his biggest knife, a singled-edged serrated blade that could cut firewood if needed, then hammered the blunt side against the nail several times.

  “Uh,” Akstyr said.

  Sespian also watched in puzzled silence.

  Amaranthe nodded and handed Sicarius the string. Thanks to having seen the trick done before in a drinking house, she caught on, but she kept her mouth shut. Sicarius tied the string around the head of the nail and lowered his fishing “hook” through the bars. When the nail hovered over it, the key wobbled. The nail brushed it, and the key attached itself.

  “Oh,” Sespian said, as Sicarius carefully pulled up the key. “The Inverse Magnetostrictive Effect.”

  “The... huh?” Akstyr asked.

  “Mechanical stress can cause a change of magnetization in a ferromagnetic material.”

  Akstyr’s face scrunched up in bewilderment.

  “He made a magnet,” Sespian said.

  “Why didn’t you say that to start with?” Akstyr squinted at Sespian. “You sure you aren’t Books’s kid?”

  “I’m not sure of anything any more.”

  “I’m sure you’d have more job opportunities than you think if you decide to get out of government.” Amaranthe grinned.

  Without commenting on the exchange, Sicarius pulled the key through the grate and slipped it into the lock. It clicked open. Everyone held his breath, but no booby traps sprang. Sicarius opened the grate and Akstyr, despite his earlier disinterest in leading, was the first to flatten to his belly and stick his head through.

  Amaranthe caught Sespian watching Sicarius with his mouth parted in surprise. Remembering his comments about Sicarius being nothing more than a brutal murderer, she hoped he’d rethink the assessment. She recalled her own early meetings with Sicarius and how she’d also been surprised to learn he’d been educated in far more areas than fighting and killing. She’d been intrigued. Maybe Sespian would share a modicum of that interest.