Amaranthe pressed her whole hand through the barrier this time and held her palm open toward the sky. Rain drops struck it.
For an uncertain moment, she stood poised there, with only her hand sticking through the doorway. She was naked with no food or gear for surviving in the wilderness, and she was already weak from the days of torment. In her condition, Retta’s “two days” to the nearest town might take four. With the canopy blotting out the sky, she couldn’t even guess which direction might be north.
“City girl,” Amaranthe sighed. She was on the verge of heading back into the corridors to hunt for supplies—and a map—when voices reached her ears.
“… went this way?”
Ugh, no time for supply hunting.
Amaranthe pushed the top half of her body through the barrier. Only when she was leaning out over the swamp did she realize that the door, if one could call it that, was twenty feet above the water. The dome-shape of the Behemoth meant the hull sloped outward instead of offering a vertical drop, but the murky water below might have been six inches deep or six feet.
Footfalls—a lot of footfalls—sounded in the corridor behind her.
Amaranthe thrust herself the rest of the way through the doorway and angled herself to fall feet first. Bare butt scraping down the side of the craft, she picked up speed and landed with a splash, a splash that sounded thunderous to her ears. She plunged into chest-deep water. Mud ensnared her feet and squished between her toes.
Careful not to make more noise, Amaranthe half-waded and half-paddled toward the nearest shoreline. Underwater roots and tendrils of vegetation grasped at her shins, denying her efforts to move quickly and get out of view. When she made it to a muddy bank, she rushed for the closest hiding spot, a crooked tree leaning over the water with a snarl of vines dangling from its branches.
A few feet above her, a bird the size of her head flapped its wings and departed. A snake, its body wrapped several times around the trunk, hissed. It must have been making its way toward the bird, hoping for a snack. The snake’s head swung down toward Amaranthe, yellow eyes with black slits fixing on her.
She considered the size of the reptile and thought about hunting for a new hiding spot, but two figures appeared at the ship’s exit. Pike and a man in army fatigues. Both held rifles, and Amaranthe had a feeling they’d have no trouble shooting through that doorway. Other armed people strode in and out of view behind them.
The two men spoke to each other. Amaranthe couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it didn’t matter. The quick, choppy gestures told the story. They knew she’d escaped, and they were coming after her.
The snake’s head had inched closer, giving Amaranthe another reason to abandon the spot. Using the trees for cover, she hustled into the undergrowth, shunting aside the pain of running on raw feet. She doubted she had more than a few minutes before Pike’s men would be after her.
For her first steps, Amaranthe simply ran through the mud and puddles, attempting to put space between herself and the ship. Then she forced herself to slow down and think. Running blindly into the wilderness would only get her lost, especially if Worgavic had chosen this area because it was an uninhabited morass where no one would stumble across the Behemoth.
Amaranthe picked a new path, this time circling the ship, hoping she’d come across the footprints of those who had headed off for the meeting. They must know which way they were going.
The idea paid off. She came across tracks in the mud and recently cut foliage. Whoever was blazing the path must have used a machete. Even with her limited wilderness-navigation skills, she ought to be able to follow that. Of course, following a path would make it easy for Pike and his men to follow her, and her bare feet would slow her down. She had little choice.
Before she’d gone more than a hundred meters, the sounds of voices rose over the chirps of birds and the drone of insects. One clear cry of, “This way!” trailed her.
Amaranthe forced her stiff body into a jog and mulled over her limited options.
• • •
Maldynado stared at the door’s rich dark whorls, evidence that some exotic, tropical, and expensive wood had been used on the suite. The inside would be luxurious, full of furs and stuffed heads from dangerous predators hunted in distant locales. He expected a full bar and entertaining area in addition to a bedroom and a lavatory complete with flushing washout. No chamber pots behind this door, no, my lord. He didn’t think he’d ever been less enthused about going into a room.
“You’re sure this is it?” Maldynado asked.
“Yes, Lady Marblecrest is in Suite Number One.” Books rattled the passenger manifesto, a multi-page document that Basilard had acquired from the first officer’s cabin without waking the man. “We’d best handle this quickly,” Books added, glancing down the deck. Numerous other suite doors marked the polished wood wall, with gold-gilded lanterns burning all too brightly at intervals between them. At least a nice fog was creeping higher as the night progressed, oozing between the metal railings and obscuring the polished wood deck. “If someone wanders out here and sees armed strangers, we’ll have more than Mari’s people with whom to deal.”
Basilard nodded his agreement. He and Books were Maldynado’s “backup” for facing Mari and however many guards she had left. Akstyr had been left on coal-shoveling duty again, much to his vocal chagrin. Sespian had taken Yara to accompany him to coerce the captain into helping. Maybe he thought a woman’s presence would keep a fight from breaking out. The plan was to gain the captain’s assistance, and control over the steamboat, without any of the passengers knowing about it.
The latter might prove difficult. Maldynado eyed the flintlock pistols he and the others carried, the new weapons also courtesy of Basilard’s stealthy search of the officers’ quarters. The plan was not to use them, but if Mari’s people put up a fight…
Too bad Sicarius wasn’t there to slip inside the suite with his trusty knife. Of course, that trusty knife had caused all sorts of trouble of late.
Maybe we could just push a wardrobe in front of the door and lock her in for the duration of the voyage, Basilard signed, probably wondering if Maldynado was having doubts about apprehending Mari.
“Nah. There’ll be another door on the private balcony around the corner.” Suite One lay on the starboard side, overlooking the bow of the boat.
Basilard peeked over the railing and around the corner. Two private balconies.
“Naturally. Marblecrests prefer to travel in style.” Maldynado squared his shoulders. “All right, let’s do this quietly.”
He lifted a hand but paused, debating whether to knock or barge in and catch them by surprise. They’d be awake and alert, he believed, wondering what was taking their men so long to return with news of the emperor’s death. Sespian had left the knife in engineering so that Brynia, if she had the tracking device, wouldn’t know that the blade’s owner was on the move.
Maldynado tried the knob and found it locked. The sturdy brass hinges, coupled with the stoutness of the wood, suggested it’d be a hard door to bash down. He stood to the side, in case guards flung it open and leaped out, and he knocked.
“It’s the captain,” Maldynado called, lowering his voice to a gruff octave on the guess that the captain would be an older man. “I’m told you boarded without displaying your ticket. I’ll need to see that.”
Basilard’s eyebrows rose. Books shook his head with the condemnation of a man certain a ruse would not work.
Maldynado shrugged. Given that Mari and company had been fleeing the castle, it seemed plausible.
He knocked again. “Lady Marblecrest?”
A gunshot fired from within. Wood splintered, and a new, bullet-sized hole appeared in the center of the door. Though Books and Basilard hadn’t been standing in front of the entrance, they dropped to their bellies on the deck.
Relieved he’d been standing to the side of the door, Maldynado had to gulp before he could offer an unconcerned smile to his c
omrades. “It’s possible she didn’t believe I was the captain.”
“Or she doesn’t like the captain,” Books said.
Two more shots fired, and bullets burst through the door. One clanged off the metal railing behind the team. So much for “quietly.”
“That’s either one repeating weapon,” Maldynado said, “or she has multiple armed people in there.”
Balcony? Basilard signed. There will be windows.
“You volunteering?” Maldynado asked.
Basilard twitched a shoulder. If you provide the diversion.
Maldynado knocked again, careful not to stand in front of the door. He hoped the walls proved thicker and more bullet-repellent. “Lady Marblecrest,” he called, still disguising his voice, “this is unacceptable behavior, especially from a woman of your stature.”
Basilard hopped to his feet, climbed into the rail, and disappeared around the corner.
“If you don’t surrender your firearms, step out of your cabin, and show me your ticket,” Maldynado continued, “I’ll be forced to throw you in the brig.”
“I’d pay to see a warrior-caste woman locked behind bars.” Books rose to a crouch and, after a couple of glances from the door to the corner Basilard had disappeared around, finally decided, with a deep sigh, to follow Basilard.
Another bang came from within. Maldynado wondered how many armed people awaited.
“Make sure to let me in when you get inside,” he whispered after Books, then raised his voice for Mari’s sake. “Lady Marblecrest, you’re going to force me to get the master key and send armed security personnel into your rooms. If you don’t want that, I—”
The next door down creaked open, and a man peeked a couple inches of his head out. It wasn’t the only door open either. Emperor’s warts, everyone on the deck must have heard the gunfire.
“Go back inside.” Maldynado waved his pistol to encourage compliance. He knew the lighting wasn’t poor enough to convince anyone he was the captain, but maybe if he pretended to be some security guard, the passengers wouldn’t feel the need to defend the boat the way the kitchen staff had rallied to protect their castle. “We have the situation controlled.”
A shot fired inside the suite. This time glass cracked. A window on the balcony?
“Er, we’ll have it controlled soon,” Maldynado corrected. Blast, he hoped that wasn’t Basilard and Books being shot at.
“… is that man?” a woman asked, her voice floating out from the nearest cabin. “… doesn’t look like any of the young officers.”
Crashes and thumps sounded within the suite, and Maldynado couldn’t spare the other passengers any more thoughts. He pounded on the door. Only gunshots answered him, a lot of gunshots. Either Mari had an entire army in there, or Books and Basilard were shooting too. Maldynado hoped Mari had the sense to keep her head down.
A woman screamed. The shooting stopped.
Pounding on the door wasn’t getting Maldynado anywhere. He vaulted onto the railing, following Basilard and Books’s route. Using the wood trim on the boat’s hull for handholds, he crawled around the corner and along the outside of the suite to the balcony several feet away. Fog hid the water churning three decks below him, but he had no trouble hearing the waves slapping at the hull.
By the time Maldynado jumped onto the balcony, a deathly quiet had dropped over the suite.
A hole gaped in the closest window, a spider web of cracks branching out from it. Maldynado grabbed the knob on the door next to it, hoping this one wasn’t locked too. It turned. Flattening his back to the wall beside the door, Maldynado pulled it open without exposing himself.
No shots rang out.
Pistol in hand, he peeked around the jamb. A few lamps burned, revealing the carnage within. Blood spattered white curtains as well as a creamy sofa that had been knocked over and used as a barricade—bullet holes dotted the back side. Ivory Strat Tiles, some also spattered with blood, scattered the floor about a table, upturned chairs, and the bodies of three men in private security uniforms. Maldynado recognized at least one fellow from the resort. Nobody was moving.
“Books?” Maldynado whispered, not seeing him or Basilard.
An interior door stood ajar. After making sure nobody lurked, ready to leap out at him, Maldynado picked his way around the sofa and headed for the room.
Low voices came from within. One was a woman’s. Maldynado’s gut clenched. Mari and Brynia… They couldn’t have taken down Books and Basilard. He shook his head. No chance.
Yet there was a tremor to his hand when he raised the pistol and stepped around the doorjamb.
Relief washed over him at the sight of Books and Basilard standing at the foot of a large bed. A blonde-haired woman—Brynia—knelt in the corner, her back against the wall, her hands up. A second woman’s body was sprawled on the carpet in front of Books.
Maldynado must have made some noise, for Books turned toward him. Maldynado got the full view then, one of frizzy brown hair, vacant eyes, and a blood-saturated dress.
“Mari?” A dumb question—of course, it was Mari—but it was all Maldynado’s stunned mouth could get out.
“We didn’t do it,” Books said, eyes stark with concern as Maldynado drew closer. “We walked in and—”
“You might not have shot her,” Brynia said, “but her death was your fault. You crashed in here—our men were defending us, that’s what they’re paid to do, but in the confusion… ” She blinked rapidly and dropped her head, gazing down at Mari. “They were just trying to defend us.”
Convincing tears, Basilard signed.
“What?” Maldynado asked, not certain he’d interpreted the gestures correctly.
She had this. Basilard held up the most feminine pistol Maldynado had ever seen, one with meandering vines etched in the steel and an ivory inlay carved with roses. And there weren’t any guards in the room when we came in.
Maldynado switched to signs to respond. You think she shot my sister-in-law?
“Ma’am, or is it my lady?” Books offered her a hand. “You’ll have to come with us. The emperor will want to see you.”
Brynia dropped her face into her hands, and her shoulders shook with sobs.
Maldynado waved to Books and Basilard. “Do you want to take her out and see if the emperor is done chatting with the captain? I’ll search the room, then check on Akstyr. Left to his own devices he might decide napping is more important than shoveling coal.”
“He’ll be working, I assure you,” Books said.
Maldynado couldn’t fathom why Books felt that certainty about Akstyr, but only shrugged as Books and Basilard led Brynia out.
He searched the suite and found the egg-shaped artifact in a bedside table drawer. At least it hadn’t gone into the river with the shaman, though as Maldynado gazed at it, with his sister-in-law’s dead body on the floor nearby, he could only wonder if their troubles would abate… or if they had simply taken on a pile of new ones.
• • •
Amaranthe jogged along the muddy path at a speed she’d usually be able to maintain for hours. Now, after ten minutes, the pace was taxing her sorely, thanks to the days of sleepless nights and little food. The torture probably hadn’t helped her constitution either. Fronds whipped at her unprotected body, roots snatched at her bare feet, and she found herself wishing for a way to keep certain appendages from bouncing. She wondered if men had as much trouble running nude.
“That’s right, girl,” Amaranthe huffed to herself. “Concentrate on the important things.”
Branches snapped and rattled behind her. Only the copses of cypress trees and the denseness of the undergrowth had kept her pursuers from spotting her thus far. At least, Amaranthe assumed they hadn’t spotted her, as no bullets had whizzed through the humid air in her direction. The men didn’t seem to be having any trouble following her though. And why would they? Her bare toes left distinct marks in the mud, and there was nothing she could do about it, not if she wanted to keep the path in
sight. In the dense, tree-filled marsh, with water forcing numerous turns in the route, she might never find the trail again if she left it.
She longed for night, and the possibilities it offered for hiding, but the sky had grown brighter since she left the Behemoth. The start of a new day was upon her. Great.
A crack thundered through the air, silencing birds and insects.
Instinctively, Amaranthe ducked, though the bullet had already pounded into a tree a few steps to her right. Another shot rang out as she sprinted around a bend, hoping the trail ahead would offer copious options for cover. Instead, a pond stretched to the left, and the trees gave way to a field of low vegetation to her right. If she’d possessed the breath for it, she would have cursed. She’d never make it into cover on the far side of the clearing, not with this straight stretch where she’d be in the open.
The pond was about fifty meters across with lilies lining the shallows and thick vegetation crowding the opposite shore. When Amaranthe was in her best shape, she could swim fifty meters under water without coming up for air. She was a long way from her best shape, but she had no other options.
Without breaking stride, she leaped into the shallows. She pointed her toes to slip into the water as quietly as she could and waded out, trying not to make a splash. But, knowing her pursuers would round the bend in seconds, she could only be so careful. Fighting mud that sucked at her feet, she pushed through the shallows until the water kissed her thighs, then took a deep breath and dove.
Cloudy brown water closed in from all sides, leaving little visibility. Before she’d swum more than a few meters, Amaranthe ran into an underwater log. Slick, algae-smeared branches thrust out at her, thwarting her attempts to maneuver around the obstacle. Careful to keep her back from breaching the surface, she finally bypassed it, but painful seconds—and stored air—had passed.
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