Akstyr jumped and caught the lip of the trapdoor. He pulled his head through the opening and braced his elbows on the roof. Dawn was creeping into the sky, revealing the outskirts of Stumps. The greenhouse supplies in their car and everything else on the train—except the secret weapons—had been delivered at a stop in Ag District Number Seven. Apparently the last stop would be in the capital.
Akstyr looked forward to returning to town so he could put his plans into motion. He had some ideas on who he wanted to contact first and had ruled out gang members. Some of them had money, but they couldn’t be trusted not to backstab him. There were a few mercenaries and bounty hunters he’d heard of with reasonably honorable reputations. They charged enough for their services that they might be able to afford Akstyr’s finder’s fee, and they might be ambitious enough to want a chance at taking down Sicarius.
Maldynado popped up beside Akstyr and propped his elbows on the roof of the car. “Finally. We should be able to find out where those weapons are being delivered and get back to regular life for a couple days. And women.”
“Is that all you ever think about?”
The train was rumbling through the rolling hills north of Stumps where some of the oldest aristocratic families maintained orchards, farms, and ranches. Akstyr had heard that most of them didn’t even pay helpers, because it was supposed to be an honor to work for the warrior caste.
“After a week stuck with you, yes,” Maldynado said. “And don’t tell me you don’t think about girls. You’re too young not to. If you could actually talk to them, you might be able to get one without having to pull out your purse.”
“I can talk to girls just fine,” Akstyr said.
“Oh, yes, that stammering you do in front of them is endearing. I’ve been waiting to see if you’d grow out of that, but I think I’ll have to intervene. We need the young women of Stumps to find out that you’re the type of bloke who can hurl a cutlass across a moving train car to vanquish an enemy wizard. Girls love that stuff.”
The train crested a ridge, offering a view of the city core with its miles and miles of brick and stone houses, buildings, and factories. The black smoke of the industrial district smudged the horizon and hid the lake from sight. This time of year, thousands of other chimneys added to the pall, and it all settled in the old part of town where the gangs squabbled for territory. Akstyr hadn’t been sad to leave the cesspit, though it was true he wasn’t sure how to talk to girls from better parts of the city.
“Just because you failed to set Am’ranthe up with that journalist doesn’t mean you should start working on me,” Akstyr grumbled, though he wouldn’t object more vehemently than that. If Maldynado could find him someone who didn’t look at him like he was some mentally damaged gang thug... that might be all right.
“Someone has to,” Maldynado said. “You’re always holed up with those dusty magic tomes. That’s not entirely horrific for someone old and curmudgeonly like Books, but you’re a young fellow. Your snake will wither up and die if you don’t get it greased once in a...” Maldynado frowned at the tracks ahead. “Nobody’s out operating the switch.”
“Huh?”
Maldynado pointed toward a section of the railway where several tracks converged and split off, heading in different directions. “If the train’s going to turn south and into the city, someone needs to pull the switch.”
“Maybe we’re not going to the city.”
“Where else would we go?”
Akstyr shrugged. “A different city?”
“Obervosk?” Maldynado asked, naming the next closest population center to the east. “Why? There’s nothing going on there except pit mining and orchards. Besides that’s not on the official itinerary.”
“Neither was stopping to pick up secret weapons.”
Basilard squeezed in beside Akstyr and Maldynado to poke his head through the trapdoor opening. He yawned, rubbed an eye, and peered about. They had passed the switch and were barreling through the training grounds around Fort Urgot. Rows of trees edged the fields, dropping their red and orange leaves onto mud marked by vehicle tires and thousands of boots.
Basilard signed, We go to the army fort?
“Nah,” Maldynado said. “I’m sure we’re just passing through.”
Passing through to where?
While Maldynado pondered an answer, the rumble of the train grew less pronounced. The wheels were slowing.
The walls of Fort Urgot came into view. Running east to west, the railway passed north of the water tower and the army installation itself, but a depot station waited ahead. A pair of black lorries, their stacks sending plumes of smoke into the crisp morning air, idled before a warehouse with a loading dock.
Though Akstyr didn’t see any companies out for morning exercises yet, he decided it was light enough that some bright-eyed sentry might be able to see heads poking out of the top of the train, so he sank back down, out of view. The other two men joined him. Maldynado sat down hard, a stunned expression on his face.
“Did we thump up the wrong men?” he asked. “Are the blokes we threw from the train working for the army?”
“If we did, we might be in trouble once they wander back to civilization,” Akstyr said. “Especially if they’ve got broken bones and stuff. They’ll be madder than a Caymay fiend who got his sniff stolen.”
“Emperor’s warts.” Maldynado rubbed his face. “If Amaranthe and the others tracked the weapons to their source, I hope they didn’t do anything they’ll regret.”
“I don’t think Sicarius regrets anything, ever,” Akstyr said.
Basilard waved for their attention. Why would civilians be making weapons for the army?
“Somebody’s gotta make them,” Maldynado said. “The army has contracts with all sorts of civilian companies for everything from tins of food to blankets to steam vehicles. But if everything is legitimate, I don’t know why the manufacturing facility would be out in the hills or why there’d be all that secrecy during the loading.”
Perhaps the army doesn’t wish enemy spies to learn of their new weapons, Basilard signed.
“Can’t be that secret if the train is stopping at the depot beside the fort,” Akstyr said.
Maldynado stuck his head outside again briefly. “It’s in plain sight of the fort, but there’s not anyone around to watch the train.”
“That’s because it’s early.”
We have often jogged past the fort at this time of the morning, Basilard signed. Soldiers are usually out early doing exercises.
“Is it a holiday?” Akstyr couldn’t remember. Though Amaranthe was open to giving the men time off, Sicarius usually made them train in the mornings anyway, so Akstyr didn’t pay much attention to imperial holidays.
The train’s steam brakes squealed. Akstyr poked his head outside, though he kept his shoulders low. Voices sounded by the loading dock, but he couldn’t make them out over the rumble of the engine. A couple of cars down, a wooden L-shaped arm hung over the train for transferring mailbags, but nothing dangled from it now. This was a delivery run, not a pickup.
Maldynado crawled past Akstyr, keeping his head down as he eased onto the roof. “Let’s see who’s picking these weapons up.”
Akstyr shrugged and wriggled onto the roof beside him.
As the train came to a stop, two men stepped out of the closest lorry. One wore black fatigue trousers and jacket, typical workday wear for a soldier, though a brass emblem on his matching gray cap meant he was an officer, a high-ranking one if the amount of brass was any indication. Gray mixed with the brown in his hair, but he had the sort of chiseled jaw and rugged looks that women liked, and Akstyr promptly hated him for that. The man had an arrogant tilt to his chin too. In fact, he looked like an older, stuffier version of Maldynado.
The man at the officer’s side might have been a soldier too—his white hair was cut short in the military style—but he wore plain black clothing without a hint of insignia or ornament. While he waited for the train, he pulled out a wicked trench knife with brass knuckles incorporated into the handle and the sort of three-edged blade that tore a man up so much that surgeons couldn’t easily fix him. A crescent-moon-shaped scar cupped the bottom of his right eye.
The officer said something to him, then headed to the front of the train where the engineer was climbing down. Akstyr flattened himself to the roof to stay out of sight. Maldynado was already flat, his eyes rounder than cannon balls.
“That bastard looks like an older version of Sicarius,” Akstyr whispered, figuring Maldynado had made the connection too.
“That bastard is my brother.”
“Uh, are we talking about the same bastard?” Akstyr asked before realizing Maldynado must be referring to the officer, not the man in black.
Maldynado shook his head as much as he could with his cheek plastered to the roof of the rail car. “I don’t know the other one, but the officer is Ravido, my eldest brother. He made general last year, and, last I heard, was the fort commander at Averkorke down south.”
“What’s he doing up here?”
“I don’t know. My kin haven’t seen a need to keep me abreast of the latest familial developments.”
“Because you’re disowned?” Akstyr asked.
“No, because I forgot to leave a forwarding address for my mail.”
Tension tightened Maldynado’s eyes, a stark contrast to his usual insouciant mien. Akstyr didn’t know anything about Maldynado’s family or even what his surname was. Maybe he had a whole passel of older brothers who used to beat him up when he was a boy. Akstyr did not find that notion unpleasant.
Metal scraped, and a door rolled open a few cars away—the men checking on the weapons.
“Where’s the delivery team?” someone with a resonant baritone asked. That had to be Ravido. He even sounded like Maldynado.
Akstyr lifted his head again so he could see. The two men had disappeared into the rail car. Akstyr chewed on his lip and tried to remember if he, Basilard, and Maldynado had lifted up the crates next to the bodies to clean up blood that might have seeped under them. They hadn’t anticipated a military inspection.
Someone tapped on Akstyr’s shoulder. Basilard. He lay on his belly and signed, Anything suspicious?
“Maldynado’s brother is accepting delivery of the weapons,” Akstyr whispered.
I meant, have they found anything suspicious in the car? Basilard glanced at Maldynado who had his head down, buried beneath his hands. Though that information is surprising too.
Before Akstyr could respond, Ravido hollered, “Corporal Mitts!”
A man hustled out of the second lorry and ran up to peer into the rail car. “Yes, sir?”
“Get your team in here and take inventory. I want a complete report on my desk. If anything’s missing, Jovak better be prepared to replace it, or Wolf Company’s next training exercise is going to be headhunting the thieving, bottom-rung workers that hopped out of this train.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Looks like we’re not going to get in trouble,” Akstyr whispered.
As long as they don’t search the train, Basilard signed.
“And as long as Amaranthe and the others didn’t do anything to tear up things on the other end,” Maldynado said. “The last thing we want is to pick a fight with the army.” He slithered back through the open trapdoor and disappeared inside the car.
More soldiers were moving about below, going from the lorries to the rail car and moving weapons out. Akstyr lay flat on his back to stay out of sight.
“Looks like this whole side trip was a waste of time,” Akstyr whispered. “This is all legitimate. Weapons for the army.”
Basilard was still watching the scene. He’d produced a collapsible spyglass. Perhaps, he signed with one hand.
“You think there’s something going on?”
Basilard lowered the spyglass. Would a general normally oversee something so simple as a weapons shipment being delivered?
“I don’t know.”
Akstyr didn’t know much about the army, except that the only job open for ex-gang members was infantry. He’d heard they put anyone with a branded hand up front, where he could take the fire and shrapnel from the enemy’s artillery weapons. Some people thought that was better than being on the streets, but Akstyr couldn’t imagine it, and, sure as dogs pissed on lampposts, he couldn’t have studied the mental sciences in a barracks full of soldiers.
Who is this man in black? Basilard further wondered. He seems important. The general is speaking to him as if he were an equal.
“Dunno that either,” Akstyr said.
Marblecrest, Basilard signed.
“Huh?”
Officer’s name. Basilard must have used the spyglass to read it off the man’s jacket. Do you recognize the family? Is it notable in your history?
“How should I know?” Akstyr said. “Nobody cared a whole lot about warrior-caste dung-sticks where I grew up. You should ask Maldynado. It’d have to be his name, too, wouldn’t it?”
He and Basilard peered into the darkness below, but Maldynado had disappeared into the shadows.
* * * * *
Before dawn worked up any enthusiasm for the day, Amaranthe, Sicarius, and Books pulled away from the enforcer headquarters building in a tiny town in Ag District Number Three. Amaranthe clutched a piece of paper with an address in her hand.
Out here in the country, the enforcers didn’t maintain a jail, and nobody worked a night shift. A sign on the door informed those with an emergency to report to a lieutenant who lived a few doors down. It had been a simple matter of picking a lock to get inside and search through a file drawer for employee addresses.
“Left at the fountain,” Amaranthe said.
Sicarius was still driving, while Books sat with the newspaper in his lap, making contented grunts as he read by lantern light.
According to the purloined address, Sergeant Evrial Yara resided at the edge of town with her father, grandfather, and an older brother. Her personal record said she had three other married brothers who lived on the same street. Amaranthe hoped she could manage a meeting with Yara without having to subdue a whole clan of protective male family members.
The lorry rolled past a two-story building with a smithy on the first level and the windows of a residence on the second. A light burned behind shutters in a room upstairs. The light of an enforcer who had to rise early to be at work?
A wooden plaque near the double-door smith entrance held a name as well as a picture of an anvil, but darkness obscured the lettering. This little town did not have gas lamps along the streets, and the sparsely hung kerosene lanterns had long since burned out.
Amaranthe leaned across Books and squinted at the plaque. Fortunately the name was painted white on the dark wood, and she made it out. YARA.
“Park down the street, please,” she told Sicarius. “I’m guessing privately owned vehicles aren’t that common here.” Bicycles leaned beside most doors, and railway tracks ran through town, providing transportation for anyone who needed to go farther.
Sicarius parked with the vehicle facing down the main road out of town, and Amaranthe wondered if he anticipated having to leave in a hurry.
He grabbed a shovel and checked the coal box. “Empty. I’ll see if there’s more in the back.” He hopped out of the cab.
Amaranthe waved for Books to open the door so she could get out, too, but he was frowning down at the newspaper and didn’t seem to notice that they had stopped. “Books?” she asked. “Are you coming?”
“Yes, of course,” he murmured, eyes still focused on the paper. “I never met Sergeant Yara, but I owe her a thank you for arranging to have the bounty on my head removed. I should like to take this opportunity to offer it.” Despite his words, he did not move.
“Something scintillating?” Amaranthe noticed he was looking at a tintype of Sespian that dominated the front page. The emperor stood before a stone wall, perhaps in front of some military outpost, his face inscrutable as he gazed toward the camera. The headline read, “Emperor Sespian Soon to Return to the Capital. Festival Plans Underway.” Imperial citizens liked to work and train hard, but they were quick to find an excuse for a holiday too. “Everything still going according to schedule?” she asked.
“Hm?” Books said. “Oh, yes. I’m simply concerned over...” He touched the tintype.
“What?”
“Perhaps it’s simply the poor quality of the tintype, but do you notice something odd here? On the emperor’s neck?”
Amaranthe leaned in and squinted. “A smudge of ink? Or—no, it looks like a little bump. What—” Her mouth froze, and she couldn’t get another word out. A bump on his neck. She lifted a hand to rub her face, her mind jumping to her encounters the previous spring with two people who’d been afflicted with bumps in the flesh of their necks, bumps that disappeared, burrowing deeper beneath the skin, when investigated. One of those people had died in front of her eyes, overtaken by a violent seizure. The other had been dead when she walked into his cabin, dead in a room with no one else around.
“Maybe it’s nothing,” Amaranthe whispered, taking the lantern from Books. She held it close to the newspaper so she could get a better look. Her heart thumped in her chest.
If Sespian had been implanted with whatever device killed those other people, was he even now Forge’s puppet? Completely under their control? Worse, did the device’s presence mean that they could kill him remotely if Amaranthe and the others succeeded in kidnapping him? Her throat tightened at the thought of Sicarius pulling Sespian out of the enemy’s clutches only to have the emperor—his son—die in his arms.
“It does not appear to be a flaw of the tintype process,” Books observed.
“No.”
Amaranthe glanced toward the door Sicarius had left open. He hadn’t returned. A thump came from the cargo area behind the cab. The boiler hissed softly, and machinery rumbled and clanked even with the lorry idling. Back there, Sicarius wouldn’t have heard Books’s comment. Should she call him up and tell him? Or wait? He was already irritated by this side trip, and the knowledge that the emperor was in even greater danger than they’d thought might anger him further. Amaranthe remembered the one time she had seen him lose his temper. He’d smashed his fist into a cabinet—at times, she wondered if he’d been anywhere close to smashing that fist into her face—and stalked off to handle things on his own. She didn’t want to see that again. But he had a right to know. Sespian mattered more to him than anyone else. But what could he do with the knowledge? Right then, nothing.
Amaranthe gazed toward the Yara house, remembering that the enforcer sergeant had been part of the team that had first discovered Shaman Tarok’s secret workshop. Tarok had made numerous magical tools for Forge along with the artifact used to sabotage the city water supply. Might he have made these miniature control devices as well? If he had crafted them, maybe there were a few prototypes in that workshop, prototypes that Akstyr and Books could analyze. If so, maybe those two could figure out a way to get the device out of Sespian’s neck without harming him. Too bad Books had set the mines up to flood. Maybe Tarok’s workshop had survived—it had been on a higher level of the mine.
A lot of mights and maybes, Amaranthe admitted, but it was worth checking out. Yes. If her idea proved fruitful, then, when she told Sicarius about the implant, she could also offer him a solution. That’d be the more humane choice. He wouldn’t worry as much then. And—she admitted there was a selfish component to her considerations—he wouldn’t be tempted to abandon her and go off on his own. Now she had even more reason to question Yara, though she’d have to make sure and do it without Sicarius around.
“Are you coming?” Sicarius asked from outside the cab door.
Amaranthe flinched, nearly falling off the seat. “Er, yes.” She barely kept herself from snatching the newspaper and hurling it into the furnace, where it’d burn before Sicarius could see it. Feigning calm, she told Books, “Better put that away so we can complete this errand and return to the road.”
“Hm, yes.” Books folded the paper and tucked it away with his journal. He didn’t seem to notice the desperate don’t-say-a-word-about-this-to-anyone look Amaranthe implored him with. She’d have to remember to pull him aside later and make sure he knew.
Amaranthe led the men down a side street and up a stairway to the residential entrance of the smithy. The lamp was burning behind the shutters near the door, so Amaranthe paused on the landing to listen. Footsteps sounded, someone walking into the room. She couldn’t tell if the treads were male or female.
Amaranthe knocked softly. Without hesitation, the footsteps approached the door. It swung open. A man stood there, tall, burly, and wearing enforcer grays. His uniform tag read YARA, though he bore the rank of a corporal instead of a sergeant. He had a strong, square jaw and angular face similar to that of his sister, and he regarded Amaranthe and the men with narrow suspicious eyes also reminiscent of Sergeant Yara.
“Good morning,” Amaranthe said, “sorry to disturb you so early, but we were passing through and wondered if—”
The door slammed shut in her face.
“Am I losing my knack for chatting with people?” Amaranthe wondered.
The door whipped open again. This time the corporal had a repeating crossbow pressed to his shoulder, the quarrel targeting Sicarius. Or at least it was in the process of targeting him. Between one eye blink and the next, Sicarius stepped inside and tore the crossbow from the man’s hands. The burly corporal had fifty pounds on Sicarius, but was the one to stumble back. When he launched a fist, Sicarius caught it in his hand and twisted the corporal’s wrist while spinning him to face the wall by the door.
The corporal opened his mouth to yell something, but Sicarius stopped him with a palm smashed over his lips. Amaranthe stepped through the doorway and checked to see if anyone else occupied the room, but only a worn sofa and chairs on a forest-green rug greeted her. One wall held a fireplace with a sword and a number of antique smithy tools mounted above it.
“An admirable collection,” Books remarked from behind Amaranthe’s shoulder. “That hammer on the lower left is made from copper, so it predates iron as a—”
Yara’s brother growled.
“A discussion for another time,” Amaranthe suggested.
Footsteps sounded in a nearby room. Sergeant Yara came out, also dressed in her enforcer uniform, though she had not yet buttoned her jacket over the black undershirt. She held a brush to her head and was in the process of taming her short tousled hair when she saw the scene. She dropped the brush and tore the sword from its perch above the fireplace.
“This isn’t precisely how I imagined my ‘thank you’ going,” Books said.
Before Sicarius could decide he wanted to incapacitate Sergeant Yara as well as her brother, Amaranthe stepped forward, hands spread. “Good morning. Your brother is fine. He just decided to greet my comrade with a crossbow in the face.”
“Your comrade deserves much worse than that,” Sergeant Yara said.
In their last conversation—Yara might consider it a confrontation—Amaranthe had learned the woman lost some of her vitriol if one didn’t engage in arguments with her. “Do you have a moment before work?” Amaranthe asked, keeping her voice pleasant despite Yara’s hostile scowl. “We found something going on in your district and thought you should know about it.”
“Mevlar, are you hurt?” Yara asked.
Sicarius lowered his hand, though Mevlar’s face was still smashed against the wall.
“Do you know who these people are?” Mevlar demanded, ignoring her question. “There’s a wanted poster out for them, especially him.”
“I know,” Yara said, her eyes locked onto Amaranthe. “Why are you here?”
Amaranthe waved to Sicarius, hoping he would rearrange Mevlar so the man wouldn’t feel quite so uncomfortable. Though he gave her a long look first, Sicarius turned his captive around so they both faced the room. He kept his grip on the enforcer’s arm and pulled his black dagger out, holding it so the young man could see it. Though Sicarius’s head only came to the young enforcer’s chin, Mevlar stood quietly, an eye toward that inky blade.
Amaranthe reached into a pocket for one of the cartridges from the weapons manufacturing facility and tossed it. Yara plucked it from the air with her left hand; the sword in her right never wavered.
“Were you the enforcer investigating the farm at the end of Four Pond Lane?” Amaranthe asked.
Yara glanced at her brother.
“You went back out to the farms?” Mevlar frowned at his sister. “I thought the captain told you to let that—” Mevlar seemed to remember they had company and clamped his mouth shut.
“I haven’t been back out there since last month,” Yara said, her tone snappish, and Amaranthe guessed the two had argued over the matter before.
Yara opened her fist to examine the bullet, then sucked in a quick breath.
“What is it, Evy?” Mevlar asked.
Yara held up the cartridge so her brother could see, but she addressed Amaranthe. “I chanced across some of these and a broken rifle of a strange design two months ago. I’ve been trying to locate the source and find out if there are more or if they were prototypes.”
“There are more,” Amaranthe said. “A lot more.”
“Evy.” Mevlar shifted his weight, but Sicarius’s grip tightened on his arm, holding him in place. “These are criminals. The only discussion you should be having with them is to tell them their rights and how we’re going to escort them down to headquarters.”
Before Amaranthe could point out the unlikelihood of the enforcer leading them anywhere, given his current position, Books stepped forward and lifted a finger.
“I’m not a criminal. Thanks to your sister’s kindness, the indictment that was wrongly placed upon my head has been lifted. Would you object if I spoke to her?”
“I object to this whole situation!” Mevlar barked, his face growing red.
Yara was staring at the bullet in her hand, and Amaranthe didn’t know if she had noticed Books.
“If you go out to that farm today,” Amaranthe said, “you might be able to see some of the weapons and the remains of the manufacturing facility. I don’t know how quickly they’ll be able to clean up and hide everything again, considering...” She met Sicarius’s eyes for a moment. “Well, I think they’ll be delayed.”
“I’ll bet.” Yara’s jaw tightened and she gave Sicarius a hard stare, one utterly devoid of fear. “What’s your stake in all of this?”
Amaranthe smiled. “We’re simply concerned citizens.”
Yara snorted.
“We can leave now if you wish,” Amaranthe said, “but I believe you have a piece of knowledge that I need. Perhaps we could trade information for information? I could tell you what I know about the weapons and who might be behind them, and you could better decide if they represent a threat to your district.” Appealing to Yara’s sense of duty would be more likely to interest her than anything else. Such an offer would have swayed Amaranthe once.
“What knowledge are you looking for?” Nothing in Yara’s tone suggested she was in the mood to share information, but at least she was asking. That might represent a door being cracked open.
“Evrial.” Again, Mevlar tried to take a step forward, but Sicarius restrained him easily. That did not keep the enforcer from talking. “You can not spend time with these felons. I’ll be duty-bound to tell the captain that Sicarius was here in town and you did nothing to—”
“What do you want me to do?” Yara snapped at him. “He’s got you by the balls, and he could kill us both in half a second.”
“It might take a whole second,” Amaranthe said lightly, trying to alleviate the tension crackling between the two of them. She had a feeling she had walked into a brother-sister argument that had been simmering for some time. Had something about Yara’s investigations bothered her higher-ups? Maybe they had distracted her from her regular duties.
The only one who paid attention to her comment was Sicarius. He gave her the barest hint of an eyebrow twitch. Maybe he disagreed with the one-second estimation.
“Remember our adventures last spring?” Amaranthe said, drawing Yara’s eyes back to her. “With the makarovi and those magical machines? I need to know what happened to the shaman’s workshop in that mine.” She avoided looking at Sicarius, though she could feel his eyes upon her. He must be wondering at her opening topic choice.
Yara scowled. “Looking to acquire some of his toys for your own use?”
“No, but there’s still at least one of his creations out there, threatening people.” Amaranthe kept it vague and hoped Sicarius would think she was talking about the sentries in the weapons manufacturing facility.
Yara’s brow furrowed. Apparently, the vagueness wasn’t convincing her of much. Maybe Amaranthe should share a few details about the threat to the emperor. Not the bump under his skin, but the Forge group’s behind-the-throne machinations. If Yara knew the emperor was threatened, she might be more willing to assist the team.
“More than your district may be in jeopardy,” Amaranthe said. “A huge pile of weapons and ammunition is on its way to the capital, possibly to be used as part of a plot against the emperor.”
Yara lifted her hand and fingered the sergeant’s rank pin affixed to her collar. “Let’s go outside. I will speak with you.”
“Evy... don’t do this,” Mevlar said. “Being with them... this could destroy your career.”
“Not if nobody finds out.” Yara fisted her free hand and propped it on her hip. At six feet tall, with shoulders almost as broad as those of her brother, she was an imposing woman, but Mevlar glared right back at her.
“I can’t look the other way,” he said. “Going against your superior’s wishes to snoop was bad enough. What you do now could bring dishonor to the entire family. If you go with them, however briefly, I’ll have to tell the captain, lest he find out from someone else and—”
“Think you’re involved too? By all means then, tell him. Maybe tattling on your little sister will earn you the promotion you’ve coveted for so long.”
Mevlar clenched his jaw.
Ah, Amaranthe thought, Corporal Yara and Sergeant Yara. Yes, it must have rankled Mevlar to have his younger sister promoted over him.
Yara grabbed a gray enforcer parka from the back of a chair and stalked toward the door. Amaranthe stepped aside to let her lead. The woman brushed past Sicarius and her brother without sparing a glance for either.
“You coming, Lokdon?” she growled, stomping down the stairs.
“I hadn’t realized what a charismatic young lady she is,” Books said.
Before stepping outside, Amaranthe told Sicarius, “Make sure he doesn’t run off to tattle on his sister right away, please. In a manner that doesn’t leave him permanently damaged.” And, Amaranthe thought, in a manner that keeps you busy for the next ten minutes.
Sicarius gave her a curt return nod.
Outside, dawn was brightening the gray clouds spanning the sky, and Amaranthe resolved not to take too long with Yara. In a town this size, some early riser would note the oddity of a steam vehicle parked in the street, and she didn’t need enforcers being sent to investigate. Amaranthe had no wish to incriminate Yara, and already regretted that she hadn’t found a way to contact the woman without involving the brother.
Yara stopped at the last corner on the side street before it dwindled to a trail and headed out into a field. An old barn towered to one side, and she stepped into its shadow. A rooster crowed nearby.
“The soldiers blew up the mine,” Yara said.
At first Amaranthe was tickled that Yara was talking so readily, but it seemed less of a victory when she realized the information wouldn’t prove helpful. “Blew up? With everything still inside?”
Yara nodded. “They wanted to ensure none of the shaman’s foul tools were used again by anyone else, so they collapsed the entire side of the mountain.”
“I... see. Do you know if they—”
“The back entrance through the vertical shaft too.”
“Oh.”
“Now,” Yara said, “your information.”
Though disappointed, Amaranthe briefed her on the details of the last couple of days. She couldn’t bring herself to mention the pile of bodies Sicarius had left on the lawn, but she spoke of everything else.
Yara didn’t seem to notice the omission. “I’ve been trying to locate that sort of evidence for weeks. After I found the bullet and the broken rifle, I knew something was going on, and it disturbed me that it was happening in my district.”
A small lump formed in Amaranthe’s throat at the way the sergeant spoke of her territory. It was the same way she had once felt about her own district, a mingle of pride and protectiveness.
“When I showed the captain my findings,” Yara went on, “he dismissed it as nothing. When I started investigating on my own time and he found out about it, he ordered me to stop.”
“Hm,” Amaranthe said, mulling over the possibilities. If Yara had been investigating on enforcer time and it interfered with her regular duties, then an order to stop would be understandable, but if she was snooping about when she was off-duty, why would it matter to her superiors one way or another? “Was your captain surprised when you first showed him the rifle and cartridge? Or was it as if...”
“He was already familiar with it?” Yara suggested.
Amaranthe nodded. Maybe the captain had been paid to look the other way. As discreet as the delivery team had been, and as well hidden as the manufacturing base was, it would be hard to keep such an outfit secret forever.
“He just grunted and waved for me to take the stuff away,” Yara said. “His disinterest might have been an act. I don’t know.”
“And there’s not much you could do,” Amaranthe said, giving her voice a sympathetic nuance. “It’s not as if enforcers are encouraged to question their superiors.” She smiled ruefully, remembering her own encounters with Chief Gunarth.
“No.” Bitterness crept into Yara’s tone. “They’re not.”
Amaranthe was searching for a way to switch to subtly probing for information about Yara’s last meeting with the emperor, when Yara spoke again.
“What were you doing on the train?”
Amaranthe should have been ready for the question, but it startled her. She hoped her pause to think of an answer wasn’t suspicious. “Practicing maneuvers in case we ever have a mission that takes place on a train.”
“That sounds like something you’d only do if you had a mission on a train.”
“Does it?” Amaranthe asked innocently.
The hardness had returned to Yara’s voice. Maybe she thought Amaranthe was up to something illegal. Technically Amaranthe was up to something illegal. Even if Sespian had requested they kidnap him, that didn’t make it an act enforcers would sanction.
Yara shifted, her broad shoulders tensing. “It’s convenient that your group happened across these men loading weapons in the middle of the night.”
“It was luck.” Amaranthe wasn’t going to call it good luck, not when she didn’t know what the ramifications would be. “You seem to follow what’s going on in the city. Have you seen the newspapers lately? We’ve been mentioned a few times as people working for the good of the empire. We’re not colluding with Forge. They’re the villains.”
“This Forge group is behind the creation of those weapons?” Yara asked.
“It’s too soon to be positive, but we aim to find out.”
“And your train mission has something to do with finding out?”
“Not exactly.”
A part of Amaranthe wanted to tell her about their scheme to kidnap the emperor, if only so someone somewhere could come forward as a witness to testify on her behalf should things go... badly. She was still carrying around the note Sespian had given to Basilard. Though it wasn’t signed, if she let Yara see it, she might believe it was authentic. But Amaranthe hadn’t even spoken of the mission or shown the note to her journalist acquaintance, Deret Mancrest, and he was far closer to qualifying as an ally. Yara had grudgingly admitted that Amaranthe might have helped the empire get rid of the makarovi in the dam, but that was it.
Amaranthe wasn’t sure why she cared whether this woman might become an ally or not. Because they had similar backgrounds? Because she seemed to be in trouble with her superiors and might be open to stretching the rules of the law? Because Yara had an extra reason to feel loyal to the emperor too? Amaranthe wondered how much Yara had spoken to Sespian and how much he had looked into her record before promoting her. Had he simply been moved to encourage the satrapy’s female enforcers, or had he found something intriguing about her? Amaranthe wished she knew more about how Yara had first come to his awareness.
She laughed inwardly. Why? It wasn’t as if she was going to set them up on a date.
Her breath caught. Between one second and the next, an idea formed in her head. What if she could set Yara up with Sespian? Sure, emperors were supposed to marry warrior-caste women of suitable lineages, but Amaranthe had a feeling Sespian wasn’t the sort to fall for refined and sophisticated. Besides, anyone could look at Yara and see she had all the attributes imperial men supposedly wanted in the mothers of their children. Nobody would call her a beauty, but she could be considered handsome—when she wasn’t glowering—and with that height and brawn, she was sure to have strong children. Of course, Sespian would care more about love, but maybe they could have that too.
And if Sespian fell in love with Yara, Amaranthe wouldn’t have to worry that maybe he still held a hint of his former interest in her. She doubted he did anyway, but this would put the whole notion to rest. For her, and for Sicarius as well, because he claimed his main reason for not wishing to pursue a relationship with Amaranthe was that he didn’t want to give Sespian another reason to hate him. But if Sespian was happily in love with someone else...
“Should I be concerned that you’re grinning?” Yara asked.
“Yes,” Books said. He stood at the corner of the shed, and he had been staying out of the conversation, but that question apparently tempted him too much.
Amaranthe dropped the smile. She hadn’t realized it had grown light enough to read expressions, but she ought to keep her scheming thoughts off her face anyway. Besides, the threat to the emperor was the paramount concern, not this relationship twaddle. “I was thinking that you might be the perfect person to help us.”
Books sent a wary look in her direction. Amaranthe was glad Sicarius hadn’t reappeared. Telling an enforcer that her team planned to kidnap the emperor might not be a good idea, but if Amaranthe could enlist Yara’s help, it could be worth the risk.
“How so?” Yara asked warily.
“You know the emperor has been out inspecting the various forts around Turgonia?”
“Yes... by train.”
“Indeed so. We believe kidnappers are going to strike at him during the last leg of his journey.”
Books made a choking sound. Amaranthe hoped the look she shot him said, “Sssshh,” sufficiently.
“Kidnappers?” Yara asked. “Who?”
“All we have is a note,” Amaranthe said, being careful not to lie outright. “But if he is in danger, we intend to help him. If you want, you could join us at Forkingrust Station. We intend to slip onto his train there and be ready in case something happens while he’s en route to Stumps. If you come, you could assist us if things get out of hand. Just to be honest with you, I wouldn’t mind having a third party along who, if things go wrong, knows our intent was to help the emperor. Perhaps we’re foolish to want to risk ourselves to help him, but, as I’ve told you, we’re trying to earn exoneration.”
Amaranthe had been speaking rather rapidly, probably because she was afraid Yara would stop her with curses for her dead, deranged ancestors. She paused to collect her breath and wait for a response.
“I have duties here,” Yara said.
Amaranthe had expected a protest or a snort of disbelief. This response startled her. It was as if Yara was actually considering coming.
“Surely you have some leave you could take?” Amaranthe figured she’d better press before the woman came to her senses. “One way or another, this will be wrapped up in a week.” Meaning her team would either be dead for their audacity to challenge a train full of soldiers, or they’d have the emperor with them and... well, she had little idea what would happen at that point. They would have to see what Sespian wanted from them. “You owe him your promotion, don’t you? And he’s your emperor. Can you stand back and let these Forge fiends threaten him?”
“You believe that entity will be behind the kidnapping?” Yara asked.
Careful, Amaranthe told herself. “I believe they’re the major threat to the emperor, and they may represent a threat to the entire empire with the changes they want.”
“What do they want?”
“From what we’ve gathered, power in the government, favorable economic laws for their businesses, and... possibly to get rid of Sespian and replace him with a more amenable figurehead.” Sometimes Amaranthe wondered why Forge hadn’t already made that last move, especially if they had people in the Imperial Barracks where they could strike at Sespian. Maybe they figured they had him sufficiently under control, or maybe they were biding time until they could raise a private army to ensure they could come out on top in the civil war that would likely rise should Sespian die without an heir.
Amaranthe swallowed. Maybe that was what the weapons were for. A private army.
“I see,” Yara said, her tone neutral. “I’ll consider what you’ve told me. I must go to work. My shift starts shortly.”
Her measured words drove a spike of worry into Amaranthe. Had she just made the biggest mistake of the year? What if Yara warned someone and arranged to have swarms of enforcers and soldiers at Forkingrust Station when Amaranthe and her team of outlaws arrived?
Yara pulled her parka tight about her and strode up the street. Thoughts gibbered in Amaranthe’s head. Mistake, mistake, was the foremost cry among them. For a ludicrous moment, she thought of chasing after Yara, cracking her over the head, and kidnapping her, if only to detain her until the team had left for Forkingrust, and it was too late for Yara to do anything.
A shadow stirred beside Amaranthe, and a hand clamped down on her elbow.
“What were you thinking?” Sicarius asked.
Amaranthe jumped. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d finished with the brother and joined them, but his appearance rattled her nonetheless. That she’d been thinking of setting his son up with a date was probably not the right thing to say.
“That we could use another ally,” she said. Yes, that sounded safer. At least he wasn’t asking about her sudden interest in the shaman’s workshop.
“We don’t need her. She hasn’t been training with the team. She’ll be like you were when we first met.”
“Gee, thanks.” Amaranthe clasped Sicarius’s hand and attempted to pry his fingers loose. He wasn’t hurting her, but it was definitely a firm, you’ve-irritated-me-with-your-unpredictable-antics grip. “I want an outside witness in case something goes wrong. I don’t want to lose everything we’ve fought for because the papers assume we’re the villains again.”
Sicarius released her with a swift motion. “It’s more likely that her reputation will be ruined because she associated with us. If she joins and doesn’t simply tell the authorities what you told her.”
True. Amaranthe hated to admit it, but he was probably right. That had been impulsive and foolish of her. She forced herself to smile and say, “We’ll see.”
Sicarius stalked away without a word. Amaranthe had learned nothing useful in regard to those under-skin devices, and her plan to win Sicarius for herself seemed less likely to work than ever. Right now, she’d be lucky if he didn’t strangle her on the way back to the city.