Blood and Betrayal

Chapter 8

They don’t make statues of people who walk behind others. You have to walk out in front.

The words floated through Maldynado’s head, though he wasn’t sure where they came from. An indignant snort came to mind-he’d tried to lead the way, to walk out front, and what had happened? He’d gotten himself and his comrades captured. Maybe killed. Nothing but darkness surrounded him. Was this death?

Something prodded Maldynado in the ribs. Hard.

In the distance, a woman said, “Now, now, no need for that. Don’t leave him with any more scars. He already looks battered for my tastes.”

Mari? Maldynado couldn’t tell. His ears seemed to have water in them.

“Not mine,” said a second woman, practically purring as she spoke. “Kill the others if you wish, but let’s bring him along. We’ll be on the river for several days, and I wouldn’t mind a cabin boy to entertain me.”

Maldynado managed to get his eyelids working. Not that the view was exciting. The corner of something stone filled his vision. The bench, he realized. He lay flat on his stomach, apparently where he’d fallen. He tried to roll over, to get a look at the speakers, but ropes bound his hands behind his back. When he attempted to move a leg, he found his lower limbs also immobilized with his ankles crossed, pulled up into the air, and tied to the ropes constraining his wrists. Thick moist cotton filled his mouth. A gag. How fun. A quick glance down his body assured him that they’d taken his rapier and knife.

“That is tempting. Ravido needn’t know whether he died here or at the end of our trip downriver. The boy’s not very bright, so I doubt if we’d have to worry about him masterminding any escapes.” The woman cackled.

Yes, it was definitely a cackle, a high-pitched one that ended with a snort. Maldynado remembered it well. Mari. The other voice didn’t nudge his memory with a sense of familiarity.

“We can keep him tied up to make sure,” the second woman said. “Though I’ve heard he’s skilled in the bedroom, so it’d be a shame not to give him free use of his hands.”

Yes, it would, Maldynado thought. He remained still while the women spoke, since they seemed to be working themselves up to the idea of taking him with them on the Glacial Empress. He’d be happy to play along as lover-slave until an opportunity to escape arose. Yes, escape. He dearly wanted to tell them to slag off and that he was bright enough to plan such a thing, though it was hard to boast of one’s intelligence when one was trussed up like a hog on a spit.

Mari’s high-pitched laugh sounded again. “I’ll let you try the hands-free option, Brynia. You’re young and sexy, so you’ll have no trouble seducing him. He’s alas not been quick to acquiesce to my advances in the past.”

“You wish him stowed in your cabin, my lady?” a man asked. It sounded like that butler. He was tending to Maldynado’s accommodations after all. How thoughtful.

“Yes, but I want to question him first,” Mari said.

“Do you need assistance?” another man, this one with a deep, rumbly voice, asked.

“I doubt it. The boy has never been one to put a clamp on his lips.”

“Yes, my lady. What do you want us to do with the other two?”

“They’re nothing to me. Feed them to the alligators, so there’s no evidence that they were here.”

At that statement, Maldynado made a more vigorous attempt to turn over. The lover-slave ruse would only be acceptable if Yara and Basilard were safe, or at least not dead.

“Ah, he’s awake,” the second lady, Brynia, said. “Roll him over, will you, Dorff?”

At first, that sounded like a good idea-Maldynado wanted to see more than the bench-but as soon as meaty hands flipped him onto his side, he regretted it. With his arms and legs locked behind him, the new position threatened to rip the bottom shoulder out of its socket.

A woman’s face lowered to regard him, and Maldynado stopped squirming. He’d expected Mari, but this was a stranger, a sexy stranger. Clear blue eyes framed by long dark lashes gazed down at him. Shoulder-length blonde hair fell in a curtain about a striking face with a small mole placed artfully on the chin.

“Hello, darling,” she said. “Care to answer a few questions?”

The only thing that came to mind was, “Uhm.” The gag muffled it, but Maldynado feared they got the gist.

“I told you he’s not the swiftest,” Mari said.

She had changed little since Maldynado had last seen her. She sat on a nearby bench, legs crossed, hands braced behind her in a way that thrust her chest outward. A pair of onyx clips kept her brown hair pulled away from her face, but couldn’t hide its unruly frizziness. Her face itself wasn’t entirely unpleasant to look upon, but her dark eyes never failed to have a calculating, predatory gleam that would make any sane man uneasy. Maldynado had been a boy when she and Ravido had married, but he’d always suspected that family connections, and perhaps some manipulation on her part, had been behind the pairing.

“That’s all right.” Brynia offered Maldynado a sympathetic smile, though he knew it couldn’t be sincere. “Not everybody’s ancestors favor them in all matters.”

Maldynado craned his neck until he located Yara and Basilard. They were also tied and lay where they’d fallen, Yara by a fountain in the middle of the room, and Basilard by the wall on the other side of the bench. Neither had their eyes open, and Maldynado worried that they’d already been killed. No, they wouldn’t be tied if they were dead. He just had to figure out a way to keep them from a trip to the moat. As skilled a fighter as Basilard was, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself with his arms and legs bound behind his back.

Several burly men loomed about the room, sabers and pistols hanging at their waists. The firearms had revolving chambers to hold multiple bullets. Some carried rifles as well.

Brynia knelt beside Maldynado and untied his gag, her crimson fingernails flashing. As she removed it, she stroked those fingernails along his jaw.

“Where is the assassin, Maldynado?” Mari asked.

“The who?” Maldynado asked.

“Sicarius. My comrades very much want his life to end. The family knows you’ve been working with him. For the longest time, your father hoped he’d grow weary of your wit and kill you so that your criminal exploits-and the embarrassment to the family-would end, but my business colleagues say that the woman leads the group. We know she’s no longer an issue-”

Maldynado’s heart almost stopped. Amaranthe was no longer an issue?

“-but he’s still on the loose,” Mari said. “We thought a trap set for you might ensnare him at the same time.” She waved around the room. “We wouldn’t have gone to such elaborate lengths if we’d known it’d just be you, a thug, and a girl.”

Worried about Amaranthe, Maldynado barely heard the part about a trap.

“Who is she, anyway?” Mari sniffed in Yara’s direction. “A woman with muscles and knives isn’t quite to your tastes. You prefer those vapid, buxom girls who haven’t a thought in their heads beyond rubbing against you and rousing your interest.”

“Now, now, Mari,” Maldynado said, having a notion that he should stand up for himself so they wouldn’t know how deflated his foolish choices had left him, “there’s no need to be bitter just because I’ve rejected you. Often.”

Mari clenched her jaw.

“Ah, the pretty man has teeth.” Brynia, still kneeling beside Maldynado, patted him on the arm and smiled. “Good.”

“But,” Maldynado said, keeping his eyes toward Mari, “the past needn’t set the pattern of the future. If you let my friends walk away from here, I’ll go along with you on your trip and perform for you in whatever capacity you desire.”

“You’ll do that anyway,” Mari said. “If you perform well, your death at the end can be painless. If not… ” Her gaze shifted toward the burly thugs.

Please. After what Maldynado had been through in the last year, threats of pummeling weren’t that terrifying. And she was probably bluffing about the death part anyway. Or maybe not. They’d been discussing that before they knew he was conscious, hadn’t they? When they’d had no idea he was listening? Or maybe they’d known he was listening and had been playing a part.

“You’re not going to kill me,” Maldynado said. “You’re not a murderer, Mari. You’re a warrior-caste woman, bound by law and honor.”

“Don’t be naive. Even if I had a reason to feel honor-bound to you-which I don’t, because you’re a criminal as far as the empire is concerned-your father wants you dead, and I wouldn’t be foolish enough to defy him.”

“My father wants…?” Maldynado bit his lip. He shouldn’t show them that he believed her.

“He was satisfied with disowning you at first, but then you horrified him by turning from dandy to whore, pleasuring old women for coin. And then this outlaw thing. Running around with an assassin who kills honest businesswomen on a whim. Your whole life is an embarrassment to the family.”

“Father can’t possibly care about Forge.” It was the only thing Maldynado could latch onto, because the rest was true. And, with the truth pointed out, he didn’t have much trouble imagining his father’s displeasure. “He’s old-blood warrior caste, through and through.”

Mara laughed, the shrill cackle grating on Maldynado almost as much as the discomfort of his position. “You are naive. While other warrior-caste families have grown weak over the last century, seeing their lands usurped by the changing times, the Marblecrests have thrived. Your family has done what’s needed to maintain its power, and it will continue to do so.”

“Mother can’t want me dead,” Maldynado said, worried that it sounded like a last attempt at defense.

“Your mother never forgave you for Tia’s death. Her youngest, her only daughter, gone because of your neglect. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard her say it should have been you instead. From what I’ve gathered, your siblings will also be satisfied to learn of your demise. A death for a death. There’s a universal fairness to it, don’t you think?”

Maldynado closed his eyes. It should have been you. Yes, he’d heard his mother say that often enough to know Mari’s words were a direct quote. He couldn’t summon the will to argue further on the topic. It didn’t matter anymore anyway. What mattered was making sure Yara and Basilard didn’t end up in the moat. But how, by his dead grandmother’s biggest, ugliest wart, was he going to do that?

A knock came at the door nearest to the foyer. Mari and Brynia walked over to open it.

While the women were distracted, Maldynado opened his eyes for another scan of the room. Basilard and Yara hadn’t moved, though Basilard’s eyes were open. When he saw Maldynado looking his way, he widened them with significance. He flexed his arm slightly, and Maldynado tried to guess what message the movement was meant to relay. Basilard seemed to have shifted a few inches when nobody was paying attention, so he lay on his side with his back to a corner of the granite bench. Maybe he was using the sharp edge to saw at his bonds? As if he could guess Maldynado’s thoughts, Basilard nodded slightly.

Maldynado wished he’d been working at his own bonds while the women were talking to him. If Basilard freed himself, he’d have to handle six men with repeating firearms, along with whoever had come to the door.

A potted tree blocked Maldynado’s view of the entrance. He squirmed to the side, trying to see the door. A guard standing a few feet away patted the stock of his rifle. Maldynado gave him an I’m-harmless-and-not-doing-anything-besides-being-curious look. The man snorted. Maldynado decided not to push things with further movement. Besides, he could see enough.

Mari had opened the door, and a tattooed man wearing buckskins had come in. Brynia watched from a few steps back as Mari questioned the newcomer-a shaman, Maldynado assumed. He tried to eavesdrop, though the gurgling fountains made it difficult.

“… get him?” Mari asked.

A pang of unease struck Maldynado’s gut. Him? Him, who?

Maldynado didn’t hear the shaman’s response, but a nod accompanied it.

“You’re certain?” Mari asked. “For a bookish boy who mastered the art of escaping weapons practice as a child, he’s proven surprisingly adept at eluding us in the field.”

The unease in Maldynado’s gut turned to dread. The emperor.

The shaman’s chin came up. “Thanks to my abilities-” he lifted his hand and flexed his fingers, “-their boat was incontrovertibly destroyed. Three bodies floated away from the wreckage, and the men you sent with me shot them full of holes. Your emperor is fish food on the bottom of the river now.”

No. Books was too smart to let some brute blow him up. And Akstyr would have sensed a shaman coming. It had to be a ruse. Because if it wasn’t… their deaths would be Maldynado’s fault. Everything that had happened tonight was his fault. He closed his eyes and wished he could melt into the floor, never to be seen again. But that wasn’t going to happen. And he wasn’t going to give up on Books and the others until he’d seen the dead bodies himself. He gritted his teeth and, while most people were focused on the conversation at the door, wriggled back to the bench. If Basilard could scrape his ropes off, maybe Maldynado could too.

“The captain says the steamboat is ready for departure if you wish to leave tonight,” the shaman said. “He is concerned tonight’s activities will draw enforcer interest to the island.”

“This is a private island,” Mari said. “Enforcers have little power here. We’re not leaving until I know who’s dead at the bottom of the river. Did you retrieve the bodies and verify their identities?”

Maldynado didn’t hear the answer, but he sure hoped it was no.

“Brynia,” Mari said, “can you tell where the knife is?”

Maldynado had been rubbing his ropes against the bench edge, but the question made him pause. The knife? Sicarius’s knife? It was the only one he could imagine being referred to as the knife. Maldynado assumed Sespian still had it. Rust-for-luck, had Forge figured some way to track the weird metal?

“Give me a moment.” Brynia withdrew a black oval from her pocket.

Maldynado couldn’t make out the details, but it appeared to be made from the foreign material he’d been seeing far too much of lately.

He rubbed his ropes harder. If he managed to free himself, he’d want a weapon. His were missing, so he’d have to borrow one. He eyed the guards, seeking one with the attentiveness of a sock. Nobody quite that likely presented himself, but one thick fellow with more fat than muscle might make a good shield while Maldynado wrestled his rifle and sword away.

After a long moment spent staring at the black egg, Brynia lifted her head. “It hasn’t moved much. It’s still near the docks.”

She was tracking the knife. How long had she been in town? Since the attack in the park? That would explain how those thugs had known where to find the emperor. Maybe she’d been the one to send Cousin Lita to that antique shop. Brynia was probably roaming around the satrapy, collecting all sorts of handy heirlooms with secret powers. Ah, maybe that was how they’d found themselves the monstrous aircraft as well. Though, where, he wondered, had they found the tracking artifact to start with?

“Near the docks?” Mari asked. “Is it in a boat or at the bottom of the river?”

“I can’t determine location with that kind of accuracy,” Brynia said. “Retta was busy learning how to fly the Ortarh Ortak and couldn’t spare much time to explain how to use this.”

Mari pointed to the shaman. “Take some men and dredge the river. I want to know for certain that Sespian is gone.”

The shaman stood straighter and flicked a long braid of auburn hair over his shoulder. “I am not your lackey. When I agreed to work with you, it was because you said she’d lead me to the assassin.” He pointed at Brynia, more specifically the oval device she still held. “The boy emperor has never wronged my people. Sicarius has.”

“I don’t care about your revenge dreams,” Mari said, not backing down from the shaman’s glower. You’re being paid for your assistance, and you’ll continue to give it. Besides, we thought the knife belonged to Sicarius and that he’d be with the emperor.” She tilted her head, as if some new thought had popped into it. “Perhaps this signifies that Sicarius died in the crash and that the emperor grabbed the knife, simply because he did not want to leave a valuable tool behind.” As she spoke those last words, she faced Maldynado. “What happened to the assassin?”

Maldynado ceased his manipulations of the rope. “No idea. He was too busy hunting down Forge people to come along with us.”

Brynia waved the oval device. “His knife was on that train and then on the dirigible.”

Mari tapped her chin. “Perhaps he is dead, and we’ve been worrying for nothing.”

“Think whatever you like,” Maldynado said. “Just know that your actions have condemned the Marblecrests as well as Forge. Sicarius never stopped working for the Savarsin family, and he’ll kill anyone who opposes Sespian.” Probably not, but it sounded like a good threat.

With a quick wave, Mari dismissed the shaman. She and Brynia started toward Maldynado. He grimaced. So far all his scraping at the bench had done nothing more than rub his skin raw. He needed more time. He needed-

Basilard sprang to his feet. He sprinted ten feet and bowled into an armed man before anyone reacted. The startled stillness from the guards didn’t last. A shot rang out from someone stationed by the window. Two guards by the door pushed the women behind potted trees for protection.

Maldynado flexed his arms, trying to muscle his bonds apart, but he hadn’t made enough headway on the cutting.

The guard closest to Maldynado raised his rifle, but by then his comrade was on the floor, entangled with Basilard. Instead of shooting, the man yanked a knife from his belt and sprinted toward the fray.

Maldynado judged his path, then hurled himself into a clumsy sideways roll. The guard saw him and tried to adjust, but it was too late. His foot caught on Maldynado’s hip, and he tumbled. The guard turned the fall into the roll of a practiced warrior, but his shoulder clipped one of the big, heavy pots, and his knife flew out of his grasp.

The blade clattered to the floor and skidded toward the bench. Before it stopped moving, Maldynado was rolling back toward it. He managed to grasp it, but, with his hands still behind his back, maneuvering it proved more awkward than sex in a closet. Nearly dislocating his shoulder, he slashed the rope securing his ankles to his wrists, but his limbs were still bound to each other, and cutting his hands free proved a tougher task. At least most of the guards were busy with Basilard who’d freed Yara as well.

Gunshots rang out, and Maldynado didn’t have time to feel indignant that he’d helped her first. He started to go for his ankles, but the guard who’d inadvertently provided the blade leaped to his feet. Though he’d lost his rifle in the fall, too, it only took him a split second to spot it. Maldynado saw it too. He hurled himself into another clumsy roll, angling toward the weapon. The knife blade sliced into his forearm, but he couldn’t slow down or worry about it. The guard sprang for the rifle. Maldynado reached it first and smothered it with his body. The guard pounced, landing on top of him.

With his wrists and ankles still bound, Maldynado couldn’t kick or punch. He did manage to get his knees up defensively. More by luck than design, he caught the fellow in the groin. Shock and pain contorted the guard’s face. Before he recovered, Maldynado whipped his head off the ground, smashing it into his assailant’s nose. With a buck that would have impressed an irate mule, Maldynado heaved the man off him.

Frustrated at being tied, and determined to get his hands in front of him where he could use the knife more effectively, Maldynado flung his bound wrists over his head. Something popped in his shoulder, and a wave of agony coursed down his arm. Too bad. Forcing the numb arm to move, he hacked at the rope tying his ankles together. Before he could flip the knife to cut his hands free, the guard leaped onto Maldynado from behind. An arm snaked around his neck. Maldynado ducked his chin, partially thwarting the lock before it started. A punch jabbed at his kidneys. Flexing his core to tighten his muscles and protect his insides, he doggedly kept at his ropes. The guard gave up on punches and used his free hand to try and gouge Maldynado in the eye.

“Go down, you fat-headed lizard,” the guard snarled.

Maldynado buried his chin deeper and squinted his eyes shut against the probing fingers. Finally, the last strand of rope snapped beneath the knife and his bonds fell free, leaving him the use of his hands. He dipped his shoulder and went down on one knee to throw the guard off his back. The man tried to stay on, but the weight shift tipped him to the side. It was enough. Maldynado had dropped the knife during the throw, but it didn’t matter. He grabbed his opponent with both hands and, with a roar of rage and pain, hurled him toward the wall. The guard smashed. Hard.

Maldynado snatched the knife and rifle from the ground, ready to shoot the eye-clawing bastard if he came back for more, but he didn’t move.

Gunfire boomed near the door. Maldynado darted around a large fountain, crouching behind its holding pool while he surveyed the situation.

Basilard had disarmed and downed the first man, but Maldynado didn’t see him amongst the proliferation of plants, trees, and water features. The sounds of a scuffle drifted from behind a potted hedge near the window though. Yara was kneeling behind a square planter hosting a lemon tree. She’d acquired a rifle and had it balanced on the pot’s lip, her finger on the trigger. Even as Maldynado watched, she fired at someone near the door.

A cry of pain rose over the sounds of running water and scuffling men.

“Retreat?” someone asked.

“Get the women out of here!”

Maldynado started to stand, thinking his comrades had the enemy on the run, but he spotted a guard creeping toward Yara, a pistol in his hand. Using the planters for cover, the man slipped from one to the next, creeping toward her. He stopped behind a pedestal sporting a bust of Emperor Raumesys and aimed the pistol at Yara’s back.

Maldynado fired his own purloined rifle without hesitation. He’d never shot one of the new weapons, but he couldn’t fault its accuracy. The bullet took the man in the side of the head, its force flinging him to the floor beside a fountain several feet away.

Yara’s head swiveled, and she gaped at the fallen man. When she met Maldynado’s eyes, he gave her a nod that was meant to imply that making the shot had been simple for someone as adept and capable as he. Unfortunately, he’d never advanced the rounds in one of the multi-cartridge guns before, and he fumbled the effort, dropping two bullets on the floor. So much for adept and capable. Yara had gone back to covering the door, so maybe she hadn’t noticed.

When Maldynado didn’t see any other guards near them, he darted from his fountain to her pot, sliding in beside her. She crouched barefoot, her brass-tipped slippers stuffed under the mulch of the lemon tree. Really! Maldynado was tempted to lecture her on the appropriate treatment of footwear, but she spoke first.

“Thanks for the help,” Yara said.

Pleased with the rare display of gratitude, Maldynado snuffed out his shoe concerns.

“You’re welcome, my lady.” From his new spot, Maldynado could see the door. One of the uniformed guards ran outside. A quick body count suggested he might have been the last enemy in the room. “We better get over there-”

“-before someone locks us in again, right.”

Yara led the way, rifle in hand as she stayed low and used the planters for cover. Maldynado took a second to smile, appreciating not only that she was finishing his sentences, but that she appeared quite competent as she advanced.

“Not now,” he told himself and crept after her.

Before they reached the doorway, Basilard stepped into view, a knife in each hand and two pistols jammed into his belt. Two unmoving men lay alongside the wall behind him.

“Good job, Bas,” Maldynado said and jogged through the doorway, ensuring he couldn’t be trapped in the Un-Relaxation Grotto again. He anticipated another round of opposition in the foyer, but the oak doors leading out of the castle stood open, letting a nippy breeze flow inside. “Did everyone flee?” Maldynado wondered.

Slaps sounded on the stone floor of an inner courtyard that opened up beyond the foyer. Since Maldynado hadn’t had a chance to see any of that area, he didn’t know what to expect, and he kept his rifle ready.

A white-haired, pot-bellied man with a towel wrapped around his waist padded into view, his wet sandals slapping against the floor as he walked. He spotted Maldynado, squealed, and dropped the towel. As naked as a newborn babe, he gaped at the group. Almost as surprised, Maldynado gaped back. For a startled moment, the man stood there, his arms and hands in the strange tableau of someone torn between grabbing a towel to cover himself up and simply running away from view. He chose the latter, and sprinted up a set of stairs faster than someone that age typically ran.

“I should have given him a card,” Maldynado muttered, touching a breast pocket and finding the business cards still tucked within. Apparently the guards hadn’t deemed them as dangerous as his rapier-or his hat, which was also missing.

“It looks like nobody bothered to inform the guests that there was a kidnapping going on,” Maldynado said when Basilard and Yara joined him.

“You’d think the gunfire would have implied something was amiss,” Yara said.

Perhaps the grotto is soundproof, Basilard signed.

“So nobody will hear the screaming of the innocent outlaws the establishment is luring to their deaths?”

“Innocent?” Yara asked. “You’re about as innocent as a cat with cream smeared all over its whiskers.”

“Say, Basilard.” Maldynado gave him a thump. “Why’d you rescue her first and leave me tied up? Don’t tell me her insults have endeared her to you.” Or that you think she’s a more able fighter than I, Maldynado thought. That would sting.

I thought you could free yourself, Basilard signed. You’ve spoken often of exploits involving being tied up.

“There’s a difference between being tied to a bedpost by a hundred-pound woman and having one of those two-hundred-pound brutes trussing you up like the chicken going in the oven,” Maldynado said, waving at one of the fallen guards in view in the Grotto.

“I’m not sure what he said-” Yara pointed a thumb at Basilard, “-but, from your half of the conversation, it sounds like you’re whining again.”

Maldynado started to sigh-was this woman never going to recognize any of his finer qualities? — but he caught a slight smile on her lips. Hm. That was promising.

Basilard pointed at the doors leading outside. We must go after the others.

Maldynado hadn’t seen his rapier, or his hat, anywhere and was tempted to run around the resort to find it, but Books and the others might need reinforcements sooner rather than later. He started for the castle exit, but halted a few feet from the threshold, one foot in the air. Four gleaming metal creatures had slithered out of the moat and shambled onto the other end of the bridge. The alligators they’d seen before.

“That could be a problem.” Maldynado put his foot down.

“We’ll see.” Yara raised her rifle to her shoulder.

“I don’t know if bullets will work.” Maldynado waved toward the bronze-and-iron hides. He’d seen real alligators on a trip to the Gulf, and they had been green and distinctly non-metallic.

Two of the creatures moseyed across the bridge, their red eyes locked onto Maldynado. He glimpsed an engraving on the top of one of the heads. Tar-Mech. He groaned. That cursed shaman was dead. When were they going to stop running into his creations?

“You see that, Basilard?” Maldynado eased backward a few steps. “Those are like the things we fought in that mine. The things that took explosives to kill.”

Basilard nodded grimly. He fired at the lead alligator as it stepped off the bridge. As suspected, the bullet bounced uselessly off the metal hide. The mechanical creatures didn’t move quickly, but the two in front would be in the foyer in a few more steps, regardless. Maldynado wouldn’t count on those jaws being plagued with the same slowness as the legs.

“All right,” Maldynado said, backing farther. “Explosives. Any idea where we can find explosives in a warrior-caste resort?” Books would probably be able to mix something up in the kitchen, but he wasn’t-”What are you doing?” Maldynado barked, his thoughts interrupted by Yara running toward the alligators.

She stopped at the threshold and grabbed one of the heavy oak doors.

“Oh, good idea.” Maldynado darted for the other door.

He expected it to be heavy, but not so heavy it wouldn’t move when he pulled. The shoulder he’d nearly dislocated earlier stabbed him with pain, and he gasped. He gritted his teeth and tugged harder. The door inched away from the wall. Too slow.

Maldynado was about to suggest running into the castle and letting the nude bathers deal with the alligators when the door gave way. Both doors did, snapping shut so quickly Maldynado almost lost his nose. Yara tumbled onto her backside. The doors slammed closed with a thump as one smashed into the lead alligator’s snout.

Basilard waved to a spot on the wall and signed, Switch.

“Steam-powered doors, right,” Maldynado said.

Thuds nearly drowned out his voice. The alligators ramming against the oak. At first, Maldynado didn’t think they’d have a chance at breaking in, but the wood planks shuddered under the assault. It sounded like all four constructs had started banging away.

“Who’s up for finding a back door?” Maldynado asked. “Maybe we’ll stumble across our gear on the way.”

“I just hope you don’t find that hat with the ludicrous feather.” Yara jogged into the courtyard before Maldynado could respond.

Bare feet slapping on the stone floor, Yara veered around benches and potted plants only slightly less densely placed than in the Grotto. Maldynado and Basilard raced after her. She headed for a back wall where a hallway, sets of stairs, and closed doors offered numerous options. She chose the hall, something that might lead to the kitchen perhaps. Kitchens had back doors, didn’t they? For throwing scraps out to dogs or man-eating mechanical alligators?

They found a swinging door at the end. Maldynado peeked inside. A trio of chefs and bakers gaped back at him.

“How do you get out?” Maldynado figured it couldn’t hurt to ask. Meanwhile his comrades checked other doors, only to find them locked.

“You don’t,” a man in a flour-dusted apron said. “You use the garbage chute. Otherwise the gators will-”

An older man shushed him and gave Maldynado a suspicious squint. “Who are you? You don’t look like guests.” He grabbed a butcher knife.

“Just visitors.” Maldynado smiled and shut the door. He looked at the others, hoping they’d found a way out, but Yara and Basilard merely shrugged. “We’ll try another way. I don’t want a fight with the kitchen staff.”

Someone thrust the door open behind him. A glimpse of that butcher knife convinced Maldynado to thrust the door back with enough force to send the chef staggering.

“This way,” Maldynado barked and ran back toward the courtyard. Those stairs ought to take them up to the parapets. If nothing else they could climb down an outside wall.

He lunged out of the hallway, ready to race for stairs to the right, but a man stood there, a forty-year-old flintlock musket pointed at Maldynado’s chest. It was the old fellow they’d seen in the towel. He was wearing clothes now, and an officer’s saber hung from his waist.

“Watch out,” Maldynado said, throwing an arm out to stop the others, even as he skittered back, intending to duck into the hallway.

Someone grabbed Maldynado’s shoulder. The musket fired, but he was too busy being pulled to the floor to worry about it. Basilard leaped over him and barreled into the old man. Maldynado rolled over and jumped to his feet. Basilard had already knocked the fellow down and taken his musket. He stopped at that. Good. They didn’t need to leave a pile of dead resort-goers behind.

“Thanks for the help,” Maldynado said, realizing Basilard had been the one to yank him down before the musket ball found his chest.

Basilard nodded once. What do we do with him?

The white-haired man wasn’t done doing things himself. After a moment of lying quiescent, he tried to hook one of his own legs around Basilard’s to throw him off. In his younger days, he might have managed the move, but Basilard reacted quickly. He used the man’s momentum against him, flipping the old officer over and pinning him to the floor.

Maldynado pointed for Yara to lead the way up the stairs. “Let’s just-”

A bevy of footfalls pounded the hallway floor behind him. The chef with the butcher knife burst around the corner. He’d added a heavy copper skillet to his arsenal. The rest of the kitchen staff-no less than six men-crowded after him.

“There they are!” the chef cried.

“Run,” Maldynado blurted, finishing his sentence.

He used his rifle like a staff to block a surprisingly adroit skillet-knife combination attack. Maldynado stood his ground for a moment, giving Yara and Basilard time to race up the stairs without anyone throwing sharp kitchen utensils at their backs.

After blocking another attack, Maldynado teased out an opening and jammed his rifle butt into the chef’s stomach. As the man doubled over, Maldynado kicked a young dish boy trying to get at his side. Both attackers stumbled back, hindering the rest of the staff.

Maldynado wheeled about and sprinted up the stairs.

“Duck!” Yara yelled when he was halfway up.

No sooner had he obeyed than the butcher knife cracked against flagstones a few steps above him. Basilard fired from up top. Not to kill, Maldynado hoped, but he dared not pause to check. As soon as he burst onto the top, he, Basilard, and Yara took off, racing down a long landing that was-unfortunately-open to the courtyard below. More knives and sharp utensils clanged off the railing and the walls all about them.

“Unbelievable,” Maldynado muttered, pausing to try a door, one of many along the landing. “Only in the empire would the kitchen staff rally to chase off intruders instead of hiding in the pantry.”

Basilard ducked a hurled pan and gave Maldynado a quick nod as he tried another door. Both were locked.

“Here!” Yara flung open the last door.

Maldynado and Basilard ran to join her. The kitchen staff had taken to the stairs and the fastest were surging onto the landing.

Just as Maldynado reached the door and grabbed the jamb, intending to propel himself around the edge, something with the heft of a wrecking ball slammed into his back. He staggered forward, and his face smashed against the doorjamb.

“Cursed ancestors,” he growled.

A marble rolling pin clunked to the floor at his feet.

“Unbelievable,” Maldynado repeated as he darted through the doorway. “Why me? Nobody would throw rolling pins at Sicarius.” He was starting to rethink his decision not to shoot anyone on the kitchen staff.

The door lacked a security bar or a nearby armoire he could shove in front of it, but it did have a lock, albeit the flimsy type made only to keep an honest man honest, not deter a serious intruder. Or determined chefs. Maldynado thunked it into place, hoping it would slow the mob.

“Move! I see security coming!” someone yelled from the direction of the stairs. “They’ll have guns.”

Erg, repeating firearms would make short work of that lock. Maldynado spun, hoping Yara hadn’t led them into a walk-in closet.

A short hallway led away from the door. At first, all Maldynado could see was a chest of drawers against a wall, but a few steps took him into a bedroom brightened by candles. A man and woman were entangled amongst sheets. The candlelight was bright enough to give Maldynado a view of bare breasts; under normal circumstances, he would have stopped to gaze in admiration. As it was, he only noted that the naked couple had no weapons nearby, though with the night he’d had thus far, he wouldn’t be surprised if one of them yanked a dagger out from beneath a pillow. Or a rolling pin. At the moment, they were too busy staring at Basilard and Yara who had burst across the room to a window. Yara’s frustrated grunts and pulling motions suggested the wrought iron vines and leaves snaking across the panes were more than decorations.

Bangs sounded at the door.

“How do you unlock this slagging thing?” Yara thumped a fist against the window, sounding like a woman with her patience balanced on the edge of a precipice. She mustn’t have expected quite so much adventure when Amaranthe had recruited her to join them in Forkingrust.

“Easy, Yara, we’ll get out, and we’ll do it in time to help… people.” Maldynado glanced at the pair on the bed. The woman had yanked the sheet over her chest, and the man was eyeing a sword belt dangling on a chair near Basilard.

Yara glowered over her shoulder at Maldynado. “How can you be optimistic? Your plan has been a disaster.”

The thumps at the door intensified.

“That’s true,” Maldynado said. “When I imagined spending the night on Rabbit Island with my fiancee-” he winked at her, drawing a fresh lip curl, “-I was picturing us in something similar to that position.”

“You were?” Yara’s lip curl vanished, replaced by a gawk.

“Naturally,” Maldynado said, surprised by her surprise.

Focus, Basilard signed. We must open the window or find another way out.

A boom roared in the hallway. The door shuddered, though the thumps that followed didn’t hurl it open. Someone had bad aim, or the lock was stronger than it looked.

Maldynado stepped further into the room, wondering if there might be a secret passage-this was a castle after all. The pair in the bed were probably only guests, but maybe they’d know.

Maldynado smiled, pretended to remove a hat and press it to his chest, and bowed deeply toward the woman. “Pardon our intrusion, but are there any other exits from this room?”

The woman pointed toward a tapestry featuring a pair of randy elk. “There’s a-”

“Ssh, don’t help them.” Her partner covered her mouth with his hand and glanced toward his weapons belt again. “Who are you people?”

“Innocent guests who couldn’t quite cover the bill.” Maldynado jogged to the tapestry and lifted the edge, revealing a door. Excellent. “The prices are a little higher than listed in the brochure.”

Maldynado unlatched the door and waved for his comrades to join him. A dark, narrow stairwell led upward to another door. The last words he heard, as he headed up, came from the man. “Brochure? There’s no brochure for this place, is there? I thought it was exclusive.”

Someone shut the door, pitching the stairway into blackness. Maldynado fumbled his way to the top.

“That door better not be locked too,” Yara said.

“If it is, it’s not my fault,” Maldynado said. “You chose this room.”

“ You chose this situation. Besides, someone had to get us off that landing. You were seconds away from being pummeled to death by flying rolling pins.”

Maldynado groaned as he groped for a latch. Why’d she have to witness all his embarrassing moments? At least the door was unlocked. Freedom at last. He opened the door to the crisp, cold air of late autumn-and a very small, round tower top that on one side overlooked the courtyard, on the other the castle wall and the cliff on the back side of the island. Basilard and Yara joined him, crowding the tiny space. There wouldn’t be anywhere to hide if someone started firing at them from the looming towers at the castle corners.

“If the brochure promised this room came with a balcony, those folks better ask for their money back. You’d be hard-pressed to fit a single lounge chair up here.” Maldynado searched for a ladder or way off. There wasn’t one. The three-story drop on the wall side led straight into the moat. Or, if one were terribly athletic and could leap past enough rocks, to the river, some seventy or eighty feet below.

“I see I can count on you to think of the important things in dire situations,” Yara said.

Basilard pointed at the head of the island. From the elevated perch, the docks and the steamboat were visible. The dinghy they’d arrived on was gone, and there was no sign of Books, Akstyr, or the emperor. The steamboat was belching smoke out of its stack and maneuvering away from the docks, the giant rear paddle turning slowly. In a minute or two, the Glacial Empress would be heading downriver at full speed.

“We going after that boat?” Maldynado asked. “Or staying here to look for the emperor?”

“Neither if we get shot.” Yara pointed to the courtyard at the same time as someone yelled, “Up there!”

“Fire!” came another cry.

Basilard dropped to a crouch. Maldynado, having already been hit by projectiles that night, took it further and flattened himself to his belly. It was perhaps a bit rude to take up so much of the limited floor space, for Yara tripped over him when she tried to crouch herself. Maldynado caught her as she fell, using his body to keep her from slamming into the unyielding stones.

“So,” he said, “we end up entangled after all.”

Yara was too busy elbowing him for Maldynado to savor the moment. She climbed past him to peer over the edge on the moat side. Basilard hunkered there too.

The women must have fled to the boat, he signed. The emperor wanted to follow them. If he and the others avoided capture, they will be there.

“We’ll never climb down and reach the docks in time.” Maldynado eyed the rocks and the moat. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he spotted a pair of crimson eyes floating by below.

If we jump, we might be able to swim around the island fast enough to catch up. They’re still maneuvering out of the docks.

“What are we discussing?” Yara asked.

“The plan.”

“Which is?”

Basilard made a jumping motion and pointed at the river.

“ Jump? ” Yara stared at Basilard and then at the meters of moat and rock between the edge of their perch and the start of the water. And the depth of the drop, too, perhaps. “Did someone kick your ore cart over?”

“If the emperor is alive, he’ll likely be on that boat,” Maldynado said. “We can’t abandon him.” Not if there was any chance Sicarius would learn about it anyway.

Basilard nodded firmly. Doubt filled Yara’s eyes as she studied the drop.

“If you don’t think you can make it,” Maldynado said, pushing thoughts of Sicarius’s threats out of his head, “I’ll stay here with you and fight.”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t make it.”

A steam whistle blew, its pitch low and eerie as it floated up to the castle. They had to decide quickly if they hoped to catch the boat, but Maldynado didn’t want to say anything else that might cause Yara to put pride ahead of wisdom. He wasn’t entirely sure he could make that leap without landing on the rocks.

Yara cursed, not a choice succinct word or phrase, but an entire stream that impressed him for its ecumenical vulgarity. She hiked up her dress, backed up, and took a running leap, her bare feet launching her from the low wall around the balcony. Maldynado gawked as she arced out over the moat and the rocky drop beyond it. He held his breath, his hands clenched into fists. If she didn’t make it…

Yara splashed into the river with a few feet to spare. Maldynado waited for her head to pop up, but it didn’t. What if she’d reached the goal only to plunge into water too shallow?

Basilard slapped his arm and pointed. They had to go as well. Maldynado nodded, though he couldn’t tear his gaze from the spot where Yara had gone in.

On top of the nearest tower, a rifle cracked. The bullet skipped off the stones at Maldynado’s feet.

Basilard backed up for a running start and leaped. Knowing he’d be shot if he delayed further, Maldynado readied himself to do the same. He backed up to the far edge and bent his knees as if he were lining up for the start of a race at the Imperial Games.

His careful preparation was ruined when the door to the balcony flew open so hard it slammed against the wall. Guards surged out of the stairwell and onto the roof, their hands stretching toward him.

Maldynado smacked them away and sprinted for the edge. He jumped onto the low wall and pushed off with all of his strength.

Cold wind whipped hair into his eyes and railed at his clothing. Blood surged to his muscles, and Maldynado wanted to flail his arms, to try and hurl himself through the air by will, but he tucked into a ball instead, hoping it’d carry him farther. He peeped down, trying to judge his path and whether he’d jumped far enough-and trying to see Yara as well. He’d reach the water, but would it be deep enough? Had it been deep enough for her?

Maldynado landed with alarming momentum; the impact from striking the water sent a jaw-rattling jolt through him. As he plunged downward, the cold shocked his body, and he couldn’t move, but he was too worried about smashing into the bottom to pay attention to the fact. He must have plummeted twenty feet before slowing. Darkness smothered the depths, and he couldn’t see anything in the black water. Praise his dead ancestors, he didn’t strike anything. Grateful for the river’s depth, he tried to swim for the surface. Glacial numbness clutched his chest, and he couldn’t feel his arms or legs. A current tugged at him, and he envisioned himself being swept downstream, trapped beneath the surface by some undertow.

Spurred by panic, Maldynado got his legs working and kicked as if all his ancestors were lined up, watching and mocking his lack of manliness. His elbow banged against a rock. Startled, he let out his air. Water filled his mouth. He kicked harder, hoping he was going in the right direction.

Maldynado broke the surface and almost smashed face-first into an algae-slick boulder. His first instinct was to push away from it, but the current was tugging at him, and he didn’t want to end up miles downstream. He wrapped his arms around the boulder like an enthusiastic lover. He’d lost his rifle at some point during the fall, but he hardly cared. Shivers wracked his body, and he wanted nothing more than to scramble out and find a towel-or, in lieu of that, beat up some guard for his clothes-but concern over Basilard and Yara stayed him. He searched about, trying to find them in the gloom. The lights from the castle didn’t brighten the rocky bank, but he could see it above the treetops and used it to guess his position. He’d gone from the back side of the island to the southern tip. He couldn’t see the docks, but maybe if he craned his head about-yes, there was the steamboat.

A figure in the water between it and Maldynado waved. Basilard.

Maldynado hesitated before swimming out to him. Where was Yara? What if she needed help? What if she lay smashed on a boulder somewhere? Or what if she’d been swept into the current and had never been able to find the surface?

Basilard splashed the water and pointed at the steamboat. It was on its way to the center of the river, and it’d be cruising downstream, full steam ahead before long. Maldynado wanted to call out to Basilard, to ask if he’d seen Yara, but guards patrolled the boat’s deck and the docks would hear. Basilard couldn’t respond anyway.

He turned his back on Maldynado and swam toward the boat.

“Emperor’s hairy backside,” Maldynado growled.

Left with few options, he swam after Basilard. They paddled with the current while angling toward the Glacial Empress. At first, Maldynado worried only about being seen. But, as he failed to gain ground quickly, he worried that he wouldn’t be able to catch up. Hoping the darkness would hide his approach, and the splashes of the paddlewheel would camouflage his own splashes, Maldynado buried his face and stroked at top speed.

His body forgot the cold, and he caught up with Basilard a few meters from the steamboat. It had reached the channel. Water frothed and churned as the giant paddlewheel, as broad as the entire back end of the boat, increased the speed of its revolutions.

Legs weary, Maldynado used his last burst of energy to swim along the hull to a dark blob. The anchor. Though it was pulled up, its chain out of sight in a hole, the dangling T-shaped hook offered a handhold. Panting, Maldynado gripped it so he could rest. The deck was lower to the water than on an ocean-going vessel, and it wouldn’t take much effort to clamber over the railing, but it might be smart to wait and let security believe they’d escaped the island without unwanted passengers. The guards would be on high alert if Mari’s people had sprinted down the hill, shouting of prisoners on the loose.

“Psst,” came a whisper from the deck.

Maldynado’s heart lurched. He’d been so worried about catching up with the steamboat that he hadn’t checked above. For all he knew, three guards were sighting down the barrels of their rifles at him.

“Pssst!”

Maldynado tipped his head backward and made out a single dark figure, though he couldn’t identify features. Lights burned on the boat, but mostly on the second and third decks where passenger and crew cabins awaited. The lower deck of the sternwheeler housed the engine and boiler rooms.

“Yara?” Maldynado guessed after a moment of analyzing those pssts. They hadn’t sounded very masculine. It was hard for him to believe that she had reached the boat-and climbed onto the deck-before him.

“No, it’s the emperor’s dead grandmother. Get up here, you twit. Don’t they teach warrior-caste brats how to swim decently?”

By then, Basilard had maneuvered around the hull to grab onto the anchor alongside Maldynado. With his mangled throat, he couldn’t laugh out loud, but Maldynado had a suspicion the quakes that ran through his body were a result of chortles rather than trembles from the cold.

Maldynado climbed up to the metal railing encircling the deck and, after checking to make sure nobody besides Yara waited nearby, hopped over. He almost landed on an inert body.

“He objected to me coming aboard,” Yara explained.

“He’s not dead, is he?” Maldynado asked.

“Of course not. But I wasn’t sure what to do with him. If we throw him overboard, people might miss him.”

“Nah. In the chaos of everyone boarding early and dinghies being blown up in harbor, I’m sure it’ll be seen as natural for a few guards to get lost.” Maldynado grabbed the man by the back of the shirt, eliciting a sleepy groan-he’d wake up soon enough-and rolled him over the railing. “Like so. Lost.”

Basilard had climbed over and joined them. He watched the man splash into the water, then signed something.

“What was that?” Maldynado turned his back to the water, and tried to line Basilard’s hands up with a lantern burning near some stairs farther down the deck.

Basilard exaggerated his signs. Are we going to hide? Or take over the boat?

“Taking over the boat sounds… ambitious,” Maldynado said. Now that he’d stopped swimming and climbing, he noticed the cold wind sweeping down the river, battering at his sodden clothing. All he wanted was to warm up somewhere.

“Take it over?” Yara whispered. “There must be two dozen guards, not to mention the passengers and crew.”

“Let’s just find a place to hide.” Maldynado gave her a placating pat on the shoulder. “And get warm. Maybe we can convince the blokes in the boiler room to let us cozy up to their furnaces.”

“They probably have orders to throw intruders into the furnaces,” Yara said.

“If that’s the case, they can become just as lost as that first fellow.”

“If we keep throwing people overboard, the crew’s going to figure out that there are intruders.”

“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

The words sounded confident. Maldynado hoped they proved true. It’d likely take a lot of days traveling down the river to reach Mari’s destination, wherever that was. If Sespian and the others hadn’t found a way on board, it might not matter anyway. Only the emperor knew what he hoped to learn from the Forge meeting.

Maldynado gazed back at the lights of Rabbit Island, which were receding as the steamboat picked up speed. He hoped he hadn’t, in choosing the steamboat over searching the harbor for his comrades, made yet another poor decision.