* * * * *
A security guard loomed at the entrance to the Mildawn Business School for Women, a clean, three-story brick building with rows of pristine glass windows. In the eight years since Amaranthe’s last class, she had forgotten about the guard. As she and Sicarius approached, she groped for ways to get him—and his knife collection—through the door without starting an incident. Of course, if the guard had browsed the wanted posters lately, Sicarius’s weapons might be the least of her problems.
“Hold.” The guard held his mittened hand out as they climbed the steps. “Only parents and students are allowed inside.”
“Yes, of course,” Amaranthe said. “We’re thinking of enrolling our daughter. Does Headmistress Dona still give tours to parents of prospective students?”
“On the last day of the month, which is not today.”
“I understand, but we’re heading to the gulf on a purchasing trip, and we’ll be gone for weeks. I so wanted to get an application in before we left, but my husband—” she patted Sicarius’s arm, not quite daring to check his face for a reaction, “—doesn’t think we should force little Jaeleka into business. I, of course, told him that an education at Mildawn would be excellent preparation for any career. I attended classes here myself, back when Oskar worked door security.”
“Oh! Oskar is my uncle.”
A fond expression accompanied the guard’s words, so she decided to focus on that instead of her hastily created cover story.
“Is he?” she asked. “He was a fabulous man, always said hello to everyone. Did he retire?”
“Yup, moved down south to escape the winters.”
“Understandable.” Amaranthe nodded to the inches of fresh snow balanced on the stair railing. “Did he get you this job?”
“Yes, I was a soldier before, and that’s a mite more glamorous, but I don’t miss those months in the field.”
“I’d imagine not. You know, Oskar occasionally broke the rules. He let us keep a stray cat in the basement one winter. He even helped us find fish to feed it.”
The guard chuckled. “That was your class? My uncle told me that story. Something about Ms. Maple stomping around the building all winter, wondering what was eating her ferns.”
“Little Raggles had a fondness for greens.”
Sicarius flicked a glance at Amaranthe, probably wondering why he had to endure story hour.
“Could you possibly make an exception for us?” she asked the guard, who was still smirking.
“I guess you can go up and talk to the headmistress.” He waved her through, then frowned at Sicarius. “You’re going to have to leave your weapons at my desk inside. When your daughter is enrolled, it’ll be different, but we can’t let strangers wander the halls armed. You can pick them up on your way out.”
For the first time, Amaranthe looked Sicarius in the eye, silently willing him to follow the school policy. After a long stare her direction, he unstrapped and unsheathed.
“Those are beauties.” The guard reached for one of the throwing knives.
Sicarius caught the man’s wrist. “Touch nothing.”
“No, sir, of course, not.”
“Now, now, dear. Let’s be cordial.” Amaranthe pulled Sicarius’s arm back. “We want to make a good impression. This is a prestigious institution, and we don’t want to ruin Jaeleka’s chances of acceptance.”
When Sicarius released his wrist, the guard gave her a relieved nod.
“Jaeleka?” Sicarius murmured, when they passed into the halls. His soft boots made not a whisper on the polished hardwood floors.
“You don’t approve?” she asked.
“It wouldn’t be my first choice.”
“Perhaps you could make a list of acceptable baby names for next time.”
Since classes were in session, the halls were still, except for an occasional student ambling to the water closet. Familiar names on doors and the sweet scent of freshly applied beeswax floor polish stirred nostalgic twinges. Was Lady Arranton still a bigger gossip than any of her students? Was Lord Colonel Maxcrest still the only male teacher—and still the hero in all the girls’ soldier fantasies? Were students still stealing Widow Tern’s hardboiled eggs and hiding them in various places around the school?
When they entered an empty staircase, Amaranthe asked, “How was my lying back there? Is it getting any better?” She was still wondering how Sicarius had seen through her prevarications the first time they met.
“I wasn’t watching your eyes.”
“My eyes?” she asked. “Is that how you can tell?”
“You look up and to the left when you’re getting creative.”
“Really? Does everyone?”
“It’s not a science,” he said, “but many right-handed people look right when they’re accessing actual memories and left for imagined.”
“Huh. And the opposite for lefties?” Amaranthe led him into the third-floor hallway and headed for the administration offices at the end.
“Yes.”
She would have to conduct some experiments; that information might help her someday. They passed the headmistress’s domain and tapped on a door labeled Scholarship Office.
“Come!”
Inside, a gray-haired lady peered at them through spectacles with lenses the size of magnifying glasses. A closed door behind her read, “Files.” She sat at a simple desk adorned with a potted fern. Amaranthe stifled a delighted snort when she spotted a hardboiled egg nestled beneath the fronds.
“Amaranthe Lokdon!” Despite a diminutive stature, and a fondness for calling everyone “dear,” the woman had the assertiveness of a drill sergeant.
“Yes, Ms. Maple, I’m flattered you remember me.”
“Of course, dear. And who’s this?” When she stood up, she almost reached Sicarius’s chest.
“My husband,” Amaranthe said.
“Really! I would have guessed bodyguard.”
Yes, even without visible weapons, he had that aura.
“No, no, we’re going to launch a business together. I remember you talking to our class about grants for students needing startup funds.” She hoped Ms. Maple wouldn’t remember that Amaranthe hadn’t actually graduated.
“Yes, there are many, depending on the type of business you’re looking to start.”
Amaranthe took a breath. Time to make a guess she hoped proved right. “A lady I met at the library said an outfit named Forge offers nice grants.”
Ms. Maple frowned. “Nice, yes...but really dear, you’re not thinking of getting into gambling and gaming, are you?”
So relieved that her guess had been right, Amaranthe almost missed the rest of the question. “Er, no, well.” She needed whatever Forge information Maple had on file, so she thought fast, rearranging her story. “You see, your guess was actually correct. Hansor, here, isn’t my bodyguard, but he does have professional experience in the field, and we’re going to start a business training bouncers and bodyguards. It seems like gambling and gaming establishments would want to hire our students, so, ah...” She was botching it. Her eyes were probably shooting sideways in her head.
“That’s not exactly the type of business I imagined you starting, dear.” Ms. Maple glowered up at Sicarius, as if suspecting him of being a bad influence. She was the first person Amaranthe had met who showed him no fear.
“It’s not finalized,” Amaranthe said, assuring herself Sicarius would not maul an old schoolteacher just to prove how dangerous he was. “If we could see some of the Forge grant offerings, and any other ones you think might be applicable, we’d be grateful.”
“Very well, dear.”
Ms. Maple grabbed a lamp and disappeared into the file room behind her desk.
Sicarius leaned against the wall, positioned so he could see both doors, and folded his arms over his chest. “Hansor?”
“Not your first pick?” she asked.
“No.”
“You’re a tad finicky, aren’t you?”
A hint of eyebrow movement was his only response.
“At the least, we’ll get an address associated with Forge,” Amaranthe said. “The applications have to be turned in somewhere.”
“Indeed. How did you know about the grants?”
“It was a guess. If the Forge people are vying for more power in the government, then it makes sense for them to fund more startups. Then they can place people out there in the business world who will grow in power and wealth and later be loyal to the ones who granted them their opportunity.”
“Huh.”
Ms. Maple returned to the room. “Here are a few you can apply for, dear. Larocka brought that top one by personally just a couple weeks ago.”
Amaranthe accepted the small stack. “Larocka?”
“Larocka Myll, yes. The founder and chairwoman of Forge. I assumed you knew.”
Amaranthe couldn’t stop herself from throwing a wide-eyed significant look at Sicarius, who—standing statue still—looked right back at her with equal understanding.
“I only knew of the organization,” Amaranthe said, painting a neutral expression on her face before Ms. Maple could think her odd, “not the leader. I don’t imagine she handles the grant awards personally, though, so it probably doesn’t matter.”
“No, I understand she’s very busy.”
Threatening to kill the emperor, yes. Amaranthe barely kept the edge out of her smile as she thanked Ms. Maple for her help.
The Emperor's Edge (a high fantasy mystery in an era of steam) Page 23
