* * * * *
“Where’s Akstyr?” Amaranthe asked when she and Sicarius returned to the cannery.
She wanted to know if Akstyr knew anything about soul constructs, such as how to kill them. She peered past counters and drying bills but did not see him.
“Dunno.” Maldynado dropped the handle of the paper cutter to slice a new counterfeit twenty into existence.
“Nor do I.” Books was applying ink to the press. “I thought he was on watch.”
“No one’s on watch.” Amaranthe looked at Sicarius. “Can you check outside and see if there was a scuffle?”
Sicarius inclined his head and left.
“It’s not my fault,” Maldynado said.
Amaranthe joined them. “I didn’t say it was.”
“No, but women like to blame things on me, so I figured I’d announce my innocence preemptively.”
“What type of things?” Books asked. “Their unwanted pregnancies?”
“Of course not. To bear my offspring would be an honor. They know that.”
After trading eye rolls with Books, Amaranthe grabbed a pen and several sheets of paper. With stacks of counterfeit bills ready, it was time to see if her bluff would work.
She sat at a counter and penned a note:
Have a compromise that will benefit both our interests. Imperative we meet before the emperor’s birthday. Midnight three days prior in the scrapyard outside the Oak Iron Smelter.
Sicarius entered the cannery, and Amaranthe waved him over.
“Akstyr walked away of his own volition,” he said.
“Thank you for checking.” She pushed the note across the counter to him. “I’m in need of your artistic abilities.”
Silently, he sat across from her and read the note.
Amaranthe spread the crumpled reject she had removed from Larocka’s waste bin. “Could you make a copy of my note in her handwriting? And I need an identical note in Hollowcrest’s handwriting.”
She folded her hands on the counter and watched his face, half expecting Sicarius to deny knowing what Hollowcrest’s handwriting looked like, half expecting him to say nothing and simply stare at her.
He did give her a bland gaze, but picked up the pen and started writing. Both notes.
“The Oak Iron Smelter isn’t one of Larocka’s, correct?” His work complete, he set down the pen.
“No,” Amaranthe said. “A warrior caste family has owned it for generations; it should be neutral territory for all parties.”
Sicarius stood, but seemed to recall something. He withdrew a folded piece of paper and handed it to Amaranthe. Remembering her wanted poster, she winced. What now?
She stared at the drawing and wasn’t sure whether to be amused or chagrined by the familiar image. “Maldynado, this one’s for you.”
“Eh?” Maldynado left the paper cutter and ambled over. “What do you—ho, I recognize that gorgeous fellow.”
“I imagine so,” Amaranthe said.
The wanted poster featured the picture the woman in the ink shop had sketched of him. This version came with a few words at the bottom: Maldynado Monticzhelo, Wanted Dead or Alive: 250 ranmyas.
“Two hundred fifty ranmyas? That can’t be right.” Maldynado raked his fingers through his soft brown curls. “My last hair cut cost more than that!”
“I see you’re regarding this with the utmost seriousness,” Amaranthe said.
“It must be a misprint. Don’t you think it’s a misprint?” Maldynado gave Sicarius a pleading look.
Sicarius stared back without comment.
“Two-fifty.” Maldynado’s gaze shifted to Amaranthe. “Yours is for ten thousand! And Sicarius, they’re offering a million for him.”
“Surely you don’t put yourself in Sicarius’s league,” Amaranthe said, amused at Maldynado’s whining, despite regrets that she had somehow gotten him noticed by the law.
“No,” Maldynado admitted, “but you’re just a girl. How can yours be for...” He stuck out his fingers and started figuring under his breath.
“Forty times more, you dolt,” Books said, eyes glinting with apparent appreciation for the poster.
“Forty times?” Maldynado clasped his forehead. “That’s insulting. I’m much more, er... I’m... Look!” He stood sideways, thrust out his chest, and flexed his biceps.
“Indeed,” Amaranthe said, struggling not to laugh.
“Two-fifty.” His head dropped, and his hair flopped about his angular cheekbones as he slunk back to the paper cutter. “Bounty hunters won’t even bother to get up from the table when they see me in an eating house. Why risk a muscle pull drawing a sword for such a measly reward? I’ll be lucky if they throw a fork.”
A moment later, Akstyr sauntered through the doorway. Amaranthe stared at a frosting-drenched pastry hanging from his mouth. He clutched a greasy sack that read Curi’s Bakery.
Apparently forgetting his disgruntlement, Maldynado sidled up and smiled at the sack. Akstyr graciously offered him a pastry, which Maldynado stuffed in his mouth.
“I thought you didn’t have any money,” Maldynado said.
“Don’t.” Akstyr grinned at Amaranthe. “Your fake money works real good.”
She almost fell off her stool. “You used the counterfeits?”
“Uh huh.”
“How could you? You’ve put us all in danger. That merchant is going to realize it’s not genuine eventually, if she hasn’t already. If it gets traced back to us...” Amaranthe resisted the urge to run to the front of the building and peer through the boarded windows facing the street. It was probably too soon for a squad of enforcers to tramp down the dock to their door.
“Imbecile,” Books said to Akstyr. “How could you be so thoughtless? To jeopardize everything for a sweet.”
“I didn’t know it’d be a problem.”
“How could you not know? What you mean is you didn’t think.”
Akstyr threw the sack on the table. “This chews rat balls.”
“What a colorful colloquialism,” Books said. “Clearly your gang years educated you well.”
Akstyr’s hands clenched into fists. “I’ve been working night and day, and I’m getting nothing out of this. If you’re going to treat me like an idiot, I’m leaving.”
Amaranthe frowned, tempted to let him go. If he was going to be more of a liability than a help, why keep him? But, no, she needed all the man power possible to finish printing bills and stage the meeting with Forge and Hollowcrest.
“It’ll be fine,” she soothed. “Just don’t spend anymore. And you make a good point. We’ve all been working hard. From now on, we’ll only have two people working the press and one standing watch. The other two can relax.” She opened her hand, palm up to Akstyr. “Or study.”
“Whatever.” Akstyr grabbed his sack and headed for a corner.
Maybe involving him more in the plotting and planning would engage his interest, or at least keep him focused and loyal.
“Akstyr,” she said, “can you arrange a meeting between me and your old gang boss?”
“Whatever.”
“Is that a yes?” she asked.
A silent glare answered her. Lovely. A Sicarius in training.
Amaranthe joined Books at the press. Eyes wide with concern, he shook his head. She shared the feeling.
“Let’s start packing the dry bills in Maldynado’s chicken crate,” she said. “Just in case we have to leave in a hurry.”
The Emperor's Edge (a high fantasy mystery in an era of steam) Page 36
