The Emperor's Edge, no. 1

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Am I work?”

  The sideways look he gave her was the closest thing to humor she had seen from him. “You’re a lot of work.”

  “I meant, uhm, never mind.”

  His eyes glinted, and he held out the notepad, already open to a specific page.

  “Right.” Amaranthe accepted it this time and gawked when she read it. “Larocka’s address!”

  “If his notes are correct, yes.”

  “This is all we need, then. We can—wait.” She tapped the notepad on her knee a couple times. “He was here looking for more information on Larocka for Hollowcrest. I assume that means Hollow wants the Forge leader assassinated—he wouldn’t want someone killing the emperor he’s drugging into submission, now would he? But the home address wasn’t enough for some reason. Why wouldn’t an assassin be able to get in and kill her at home?”

  “Wards?”

  “What?”

  “Barriers or alarms made using the mental sciences,” Sicarius said.

  “A Turgonian businesswoman who knows magic?” she asked skeptically.

  Sicarius held up the thick rolls of paper. “These are the plat maps for the industrial and business sections. If you have the name of her business—”

  “Businesses. She owns more than a dozen in her name, and there are numerous partnerships as well.”

  “Let’s find all her properties then,” Sicarius said.

  Amaranthe nodded. “I bet that’s what Hollowcrest’s assassin was looking for. If you can’t kill them at home, kill ‘em at work.”

  “A valid strategy.”

  12

  Fever flushed Sespian’s face, tremors coursed through his body, and nausea writhed in his stomach. At least he could think straight—when he wasn’t hunched over in the water closet. Fortunately, the doctor had declared his illness the flu, rather than guessing drug withdrawal, and that was the diagnosis Sespian gave to the parade of faces passing through to check on him, each offering condolences, sincerity levels varying. Not sure who he could trust, he viewed everyone with suspicion.

  As night darkened the windows, the most suspicious of them all strolled in with a tray. Hollowcrest held a single cup of apple herb tea.

  Fear replaced the nausea in Sespian’s belly, even as saliva filled his mouth. Steam wafted from the cup, carrying the scent of cloves and cinnamon. Feeling betrayed that his body should want the drugged tea, he struggled to mask his expression.

  Had Hollowcrest simply come to ensure Sespian received his nightly dose? Or did the old curmudgeon suspect what was really behind this “flu?”

  Hollowcrest pulled a chair to the bedside and perched his lean frame on the edge. Hawk eyes peered from behind those glasses.

  “How are you feeling, Sire?” He held out the cup.

  “Horrible.” Sespian accepted it and set it on the table next to the bed.

  “It’s a good idea to drink your liquids when you’re ill.”

  “I know. I will.”

  Hollowcrest’s eyes narrowed. Yes, that was suspicion. Sespian picked the cup up with a weak smile. He drew his knees up and held it in his lap. Hollowcrest watched him intently. Sespian pretended to take a sip.

  Hollowcrest relaxed an iota, but he made no move to leave. Worse, he settled back in the chair. “You’ve missed a couple days of meetings. Let me apprise you of the latest imperial news.”

  As he launched into a monotonous spiel, Sespian slumped against the pillows. He’s going to stay until I’ve finished the cup.

  What could Sespian do? If he drank it and his symptoms suddenly disappeared, Hollowcrest would know Sespian knew about the drug. If he did not drink it, Hollowcrest would also know.

  Minutes ticked past. Hollowcrest droned on. Sespian pretended to take another sip.

  He drew his knees up further, blocking the view of his lap from Hollowcrest. With one hand, he edged the blankets up. Careful to hide his movements, he slid the cup under the sheets and poured it onto the mattress. Moisture dampened his pajamas, but he kept his face blank. The staff would think him incontinent, but as long as it fooled Hollowcrest....

  He feigned several more sips, then set the empty cup on the table. Hollowcrest’s eyes tracked the motion. His update of imperial affairs soon ended.

  Hollowcrest stood and leaned over the cup. Once he saw it was empty, he plucked it up and smiled. “Good night, Sire.”

  Sespian glared after the old man, waiting until the door snicked shut to move to the dry side of the bed. He slipped a folder out from under the pillows, ensuring it had not been damaged. He flipped open the roster of men working downstairs in Imperial Intelligence. It was time to find some allies and get rid of Hollowcrest.

  The final rasp of the paper cutter sent a nervous quiver through Amaranthe’s stomach. She and Books stared down at the culmination of their work. Elsewhere in the cannery, Akstyr was hanging paper on lines. Outside, Maldynado stood watch. Newly nailed boards across the broken windows shut out the night’s chill and, more importantly, denied prying eyes.

  Amaranthe pushed a kerosene lamp closer, and Books inspected both sides of their first completed twenty ranmya bill. A legitimate bill rested beside it for comparison.

  “It looks real,” she breathed.

  “An accurate facsimile.” Books held the fake bill up to the light. “The image is perfect. The paper is...well, we can wash the bills and crinkle them up. I think they’ll pass all but a thorough inspection.”

  Though this had been Amaranthe’s plan all along, and their success should have elated her, misgivings tangled her mind. Even if she meant her scheme to save the emperor, counterfeiting was high treason—punishable by death—whether she intended to circulate the bills or not. Nobody had been hurt yet, but how long could her luck hold? Did she have the right to risk these men’s lives? Even if their sacrifices might save Sespian? And if luck favored her, and the counterfeiting succeeded, could she actually bluff Hollowcrest and Larocka Myll into succumbing to her demands with these bills?

  Yes, the answer had to be yes, or she might as well give up now. But she could not do that. Sespian deserved a chance to rule as he envisioned, and after seven hundred years of war and conquering, the empire needed someone who’d rather wield a pen than a blade. And, philosophical factors aside, she needed her name cleared. Sicarius might be able to walk the streets with a million ranmya bounty on his head, but she wasn’t the fighter he was, and she wouldn’t live long with people hunting her.

  “I am uncomfortable with this.” Books set down the counterfeit and reached for a pungent bottle of apple brandy.

  “As am I, but what choice do we have?”

  “The choice to do nothing and let events unfold as they will.”

  “That’s unacceptable,” Amaranthe said.

  Books considered the two inches of liquid left, removed and replaced the cork a couple times, but ultimately set the bottle back down without taking a swig.

  “Saving the rest for later?” she asked.

  “I haven’t had a drink today. I was thinking of quitting.”

  “Oh?” Normally, Amaranthe would applaud the resolution, but having one of her few resources incapacitated for days with the shakes would not be convenient. Still, she could hardly encourage him to drink. “An admirable goal.”

  Books shrugged and looked away. “How do you know your boy emperor will be any better than Hollowcrest or whatever lackey Forge would put forth?”

  “He’s better. I’ve met him. He’s a good man.” She tried to forget she was basing her beliefs on a couple of three minute conversations.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Akstyr sauntered over. Paperclips hung from his ear lobes, his nostrils, and the hem of a threadbare shirt several sizes too big for him. “Is that a finished one?”

  “Indeed,” Books said.

  “Let me see.” Akstyr reached for it.

  Books jerked the bill away. “Careful, you’ll damage it.”

  “I’m not a three year old
.”

  “No, you only dress like one.”

  “Gentlemen.” Amaranthe plucked the bill from Books’s grip and handed it to Akstyr. “I’m sure there will be no damage done, but if there were, we do have plenty more.”

  After a quick sneer at Books, Akstyr surveyed both sides. “Want me to try spending it?”

  “No,” Amaranthe said and Books shouted.

  If not for the gust of cold air blowing snow through the back door, Amaranthe would not have noticed Sicarius’s entrance. He glided to their counter, white flakes dusting his hair and shoulders. They had finished researching Larocka’s long list of properties that morning. She did not know where he had been since then.

  Books returned to the press to prepare the next batch.

  Wordlessly, Amaranthe gestured for Akstyr to let Sicarius see the bill.

  Sicarius studied it briefly. “Sufficient.”

  “Ready for a mission?” Amaranthe asked him. “You too, Akstyr.”

  “Huh?” Akstyr glanced at Sicarius. “With him?”

  “You wanted someone who could watch your back while you worked your science, didn’t you?” She smiled, willing Akstyr to forget that Sicarius had threatened to break his neck a couple days earlier. “There isn’t anyone better.”

  “Uhm.” Akstyr didn’t look sold.

  “What mission?” Sicarius asked.

  “I would like a chance to observe Larocka Myll. We’ve got a long list of businesses and properties she owns, but if we have to visit each personally, hoping to catch her there...it’ll be fool’s luck if we run into her before the emperor’s birthday. Someone with as many apple tarts in the oven as she has won’t be personally overseeing any of her businesses. Our best bet will be to catch her at home.”

  “Which is likely warded,” Sicarius said.

  Akstyr’s eyes twitched; he recognized the term. Good. While she doubted someone so young would have much of a magic arsenal, if he could identify it being used, that alone would be worth a lot.

  “Maybe,” Amaranthe said. “That’s what we need to verify. We can’t assume that just because Hollowcrest’s assassin had trouble getting in means there isn’t a way. That fellow didn’t have Akstyr’s help investigating. And he was an unprofessional lout.”

  “So, we scout the house.” Sicarius nodded.

  “And if there is a way in—”

  “I’ll kill her tonight,” Sicarius said bluntly.

  “Er, yes, that would preclude the need for me to observe her.” Amaranthe would have preferred a solution that did not include killing people, but she doubted Sicarius would agree and did not want to argue with him in front of the others. “Just make sure she doesn’t have accomplices with orders to carry her work on. Forge could be a large coalition.”

  “I know how to question someone,” Sicarius said.

  “Of course.” She lifted an apologetic hand.

  Though his expressionless facade remained in place, he seemed testier than usual tonight. Did he simply taste the chance to rid the emperor of his biggest threat? Or was something else going on? Where did he go when he wasn’t with them at the cannery?

  “Boy, come.” Sicarius gestured for Akstyr to lead the way out the door.

  Akstyr gulped and glanced at Amaranthe before scurrying for the exit. Remembering Sicarius’s earlier admission that all these men were disposable, she hoped she wasn’t endangering Akstyr’s life. But surely Sicarius would recognize the advantage of keeping a fledgling wizard around in a city where magic was believed the stuff of myth.

  “You look concerned.” Books turned the wheel to screw down the press.

  “It’s my new normative state,” Amaranthe said. “Are you up to helping me with some research tomorrow? If they don’t succeed in killing anyone tonight?”

  “What do you need?”

  “I want more information on Larocka and her businesses. I have names for all of them, but some aren’t illuminating. Right now, we know where she lives and where her properties are located. That’s a good start, but it’d be useful to know more about her history and her connections. Maybe they could lead us to other members of the Forge group. Also, if her home is magically protected, how did that come to be? Has she traveled out of the country? Does she bring back wizards like others bring back souvenirs?”

  “You suggest a trip to the library?” Books said. “Some time spent perusing the newspapers and industry publications?”

  “I think it’d be an enlightening experience.”

  “Enlightening enough to keep me from having to stand outside tonight, pretending I know how to pull watch duty?”

  Amaranthe smiled. “Perhaps.”

  When Amaranthe stepped outside after midnight, she caught Maldynado peeing his name in the snow. The bright, starry sky revealed a little too much and she cleared her throat as she approached.

  “So much for keeping our hideout inconspicuous,” she said.

  “Standing out here is about as exciting as watching cherries ripen.” Without a glimmer of embarrassment, Maldynado buttoned his pants. “I’ve got to keep myself amused and awake somehow.”

  “Anything happen while you were out here?”

  “Not really. A grizzled old veteran using a musket for a cane took up residence in the warehouse on the next dock, but I think he’s just squatting for the night. He built a fire and went to sleep.”

  “All right, thanks,” she said. “You can go to sleep now.”

  He started past her, but paused and frowned down. “Have you had any? That press was in there creaking longer and louder than...my bed most nights.”

  “I’m fine.” Amaranthe stretched and jumped to ward off the chill. When he hesitated, she added, “You’re welcome to stay out here and regale me with tales of your bedroom exploits, but I assume you want some sleep.”

  “Depends on whether Books is snoring again,” Maldynado muttered, but he lifted a gloved hand in parting and tramped indoors.

  Amaranthe paced the perimeter of the cannery to stay warm. She alternated between yawning and shivering. If not for her mittens, she would have added fingernail nibbling into the rotation. Hours passed, and Sicarius and Akstyr did not return.

  What if Sicarius had found a breach in Myll’s house defenses and gone inside? What if he had been caught? What if, even now, under the influence of some magical torture, Akstyr and Sicarius were spilling kegs full of information on the emperor’s drugged state and Amaranthe’s plans? What if—

  A screech tore through the air.

  Amaranthe jumped. Before her heels hit the ground, she ripped her knife out of its sheath. She knew that screech. And she knew it wasn’t far away either. A block, maybe two?

  The inhuman scream had caught her on the far side of her circuit, and the cannery blocked her view of the street. She could run inside and shimmy up one of those ropes. Or she could sneak out front for a look.

  “It was a couple blocks away,” she breathed. “I ought to be...” She didn’t say safe. To investigate could be stupid, and she knew it. And yet...

  The wind shifted, blowing from the north instead of in across the lake. A hint of something meaty tinged the air. Blood?

  You’re imagining things, girl. You’re not a scent hound....

  She had to look. Stepping toe first, as lightly as she could, she eased around the corner of the building and crept along the dock toward the street. Something crunched on the snow in front of the building. Amaranthe froze, knife ready, though she doubted her insignificant blade could do anything against that creature.

  Akstyr and Sicarius trotted around the corner.

  Before she could sag in relief, Sicarius said, “Inside.”

  “We just passed a big bloody body in the street,” Akstyr blurted. “It was still gushing!”

  “Inside is good.” Amaranthe meant to jog before them at a calm and confident pace. Nerves nipped at her heels though, and she sprinted down the side of the building and through the door.

  Sicarius and Akstyr
followed right behind. Sicarius shut the door.

  “Think we need to be in the rafters?” Amaranthe pointed at the ropes and wondered if she should yell to wake Maldynado and Books. If that creature was nearby, yelling might attract attention.

  “Perhaps not,” Sicarius said. “It’s near dawn.”

  “You think the creature is nocturnal?” she asked.

  “It’s been hunting at night thus far.”

  “Because that’s its natural time, or because it’s trying to remain unseen?” She eyed her two male companions, wondering if she was being silly for ascribing intelligence to this creature. “Either of you have any idea what we’re dealing with?”

  “I’d be guessing at this point,” Sicarius said.

  “That’s allowed,” she said.

  He did not extrapolate.

  The screech sounded again.

  “That’s it,” Amaranthe said. “Up to the beams.” She ran to the bunks and shook Maldynado and Books.

  Maldynado groaned and stuffed his head under his arm. “What time is it?”

  Books sat up, his beard sticking out in all directions.

  “Early,” Amaranthe said. “We need to make a short trip.”

  A scuffle sounded from above as a climbing Akstyr reached the top and threw himself over the beam. Books mumbled under his breath but grabbed his boots and headed for the swaying rope, apparently accepting the need to do so without a big explanation.

  “Up there?” Maldynado, less accepting, stared. “Is there a reason you’re encouraging pre-dawn climbing calisthenics?”

  “What’s that!” shouted a muffled male voice from the warehouse on the nearby dock.

  A musket fired, and for a moment all grew still. Then a scream of pain sent a chill hurtling down Amaranthe’s spine. The sound broke off with a crunch.

  “There’s a reason,” she answered Maldynado grimly.

  “Uh huh, got that.” He scrambled out of his bunk, shoved Books aside, and flew up one of the ropes.

  Amaranthe skimmed up after them, fear lending power to her arms and legs. In a couple heartbeats, she straddled the beam between Maldynado and Books.