Dark Currents

CHAPTER 6

A maranthe leaned against the side of a headless statue, one of thousands in the capital that gave it the dubious nickname of “Stumps.” She wore the hood of her parka pulled low over her eyes while she watched the busy street.

Though evening had fallen hours earlier, people clogged the sidewalks. Numerous drunk men meandered onto the cobblestones where they provided ambulatory obstacles for bicyclists and the occasional steam carriage. Gambling houses, sport venues, and drinking and eating houses packed the neighborhood. Many of the male passersby wore the lush, vibrant clothing-and gold-gilded swords-of the warrior caste, but just as many had the miens of off-duty soldiers. More than one black-clad figure wearing weapons strode past, and Amaranthe did a few double glances, thinking one might be Sicarius. But, despite his disinterest in disguises, he had a knack for invisibility, and he would likely find her first.

Disguises were on her mind as the sea of people moved about her, any one of whom would turn her in, either for the reward, or simply because she was a wanted felon. She touched the hilt of her short sword, reassured by its presence. She wondered what Maldynado would find for her to wear. She probably should have gone shopping with him, though more than once he had pointed out he had an easier time getting bargains from the predominantly female merchants in the city if they thought him unattached.

A familiar man ambled past, hand on the ruby-crusted pommel of one of his own swords, obviously selected to offset crimson embroidery on his black vest. Maldynado. He had no shopping bags tucked under his arms. So much for her disguise.

Figuring he would not spot her with the hood, Amaranthe lifted a hand and stepped away from the statue.

“We have a problem,” came a voice from behind.

Amaranthe jumped before recognition caught up to reflexes. Sicarius.

“Your ability to find me despite the fact I’m hiding incognito in the shadows?” she asked.

He drew her into an alcove behind an overflowing bicycle rack. Maldynado stopped on the street corner to chat with a group of ladies. He must have come with Sicarius.

“What’s going on?” Amaranthe asked.

Perhaps as a concession to the number of weapons dangling on nearby hips, Sicarius, too, wore a jacket with a hood. Black, of course. “The area where Books was researching was attacked,” he said. “There was a woman with him. He may or may not have been the target, but someone sent six men to do the job. I took care of them while he fumbled through rescuing the unconscious woman.”

“Is he all right?” she asked, more concerned by that than whether Books had pulled his own weight in a fight.

“He’s injured but not mortally so. I found Basilard, and he assisted Books back to the pumping house.”

She wrestled with the temptation to forgo the gambling house visit and check on Books. Sicarius’s idea of “injured but not mortally so” could involve missing limbs and eyes. But if he had Basilard to watch over him, Books ought to survive without her for a few hours. It was not as if she had vast medical expertise.

“Thanks for making sure he got back. Shall we head into Ergot’s Chance?” Amaranthe pointed to a dead-end street across the way. “Akstyr went in ahead to scout for magic. Or so he said. He might be putting all his pocket change on the lucky Wolf Star Tile.”

She took a step, but Sicarius caught her arm.

“There’s more,” he said. “The woman Books was with, she’s from the warrior caste, someone who used to do work for Hollowcrest during the Western Sea Conflict.”

“Oh? What use did Hollowcrest have for a woman? Er, assuming it wasn’t for the usual male-female after-sunset activities.” From what Amaranthe remembered of Hollowcrest, he had not respected women overmuch, especially not those with any sort of ambition.

“Her name is Vonsha Spearcrest,” Sicarius said. “She taught cryptography at the University, and Hollowcrest brought her in to build unbreakable keys during the war.”

“Didn’t some brilliant Kyattese linguist break all our keys?”

“Yes. Spearcrest disappeared shortly after that.”

“You’re certain it’s the same woman? It’s been nearly twenty years.” Amaranthe had been a toddler during that war, and since most of the fighting had been at sea, over a thousand miles away, she remembered little of the details. Sicarius probably would have been in his teens, but he had been trained from birth, so she would not be surprised if he had already been killing people for Hollowcrest by then.

“I’m certain. She was injured in the explosion, but the enforcers took her for treatment.”

“I wonder if Books was the target or if she was.” Amaranthe tapped her leg. “You didn’t hear their conversation?”

“I stayed out of sight, so she wouldn’t recognize me.”

“She knows you? Er, knew you?”

“Not well, but I was there at a couple of their meetings.”

“You’re older now.” Amaranthe smiled, wondering if she could draw any indignation out of him. “Grayer.”

“I don’t have any gray.”

He said it in his monotone, and she could not tell if it was an indignant denial or a simple statement of fact. In truth, he appeared no older than thirty, and it was only that Sespian was close to twenty that told her otherwise, though Sicarius still must have been very young when Sespian was conceived. That was a story she wanted to wheedle out of him someday.

“Ah, forgive me. I guess it’s your perennial stodginess that leaves me with the impression you’re old.” There, that had to get a response out of him.

He studied her, as if she were some exotic specimen of fish he’d pulled up from the lake depths and he was deciding whether to keep her or throw her back. “I’m not old,” he finally said.

“But no argument on stodgy, eh?”

“Akstyr is waiting, is he not?”

Amaranthe grinned and patted his arm. She shouldn’t have fun teasing him, but considering his reputation, she found it encouraging that he let her. Of course, if she were a more mature person she would tell him she cared for him instead of poking fun, but the latter seemed…safer.

“Yes, he is.” She lifted her hand and gestured toward the dead-end street.

When they drew even with Maldynado, Sicarius grabbed him and propelled him alongside.

“Hullo, boss,” Maldynado said. “Didn’t see you under that jacket. It’s bulky. You almost look like a boy.”

“That’s one method of disguise, I suppose,” Amaranthe said. “Though I thought you’d have a costume for me.”

“Oh, I bought one.” He smiled. “It’s having a few custom alterations done, but I can pick it up later.”

She would have to hope nobody who memorized wanted posters was gambling tonight.

Drum beats and guitar strums floated from a cider house on the corner where a female singer extolled the virtues of battle engaged in the spring. Several gambling houses and entertainment venues lined the wide avenue, all with fresh, new brick or stone facades. People crowded the sidewalks, though they all seemed to be jostling toward the building at the end of the street. Indeed, the venues on either side were sparsely populated. Outside an eating house, a red-haired woman’s shouts alternated between announcing the meal specials and advising a worker scraping graffiti off the wall.

A freckled man on the opposite side of the street tried to foist samples of a dark liquid on passersby. Two soldiers spat at his feet and shoved him aside.

“Filthy foreign slug,” one snarled.

It seemed Amaranthe’s team had turned down a street overtaken by aspiring entrepreneurs from beyond the borders. And only one of the businesses was doing well.

“That’s the place.” Maldynado nudged a couple of smaller men aside and pointed at the brick wall stretched across the end of the street. Gold-gilded doors stood open, and people flowed in and out of the building. A pulsing sign read Ergot’s Chance. Two giant glowing orbs perched upon spinning poles.

“That’s blatant,” Amaranthe said. “You’d think a place daring to use magic in a city where it’s forbidden would be more subtle. Especially since the sentiment around here is anti-foreigner, and most of these businesses seem to be struggling.”

“It’s possible the effects are mundanely created,” Sicarius said.

She stepped around a puddle and drew her men to the side. “Sicarius and I will try to find the manager or owner and see what these key fobs are about. Maldynado, link up with Akstyr if you see him. I’d like you to go around to the tilers and table masters and ask questions. See if anyone recognizes the fellow who had the fob in his pocket.”

“You want me to describe a bloke I’ve only seen after he’s been horribly mauled and dead in frigid water for days?” Maldynado’s head swiveled to track a pretty lady strolling past.

Amaranthe turned his face back toward her with a finger on his chin. “Do your best, please.”

“Books is the one who should be doing the describing. He spent more time developing a personal relationship with those corpses.” Maldynado snickered, then surprised her by turning glum. “Too bad he nearly got himself blown up.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Amaranthe said, though she wanted to check on Books as soon as they finished here. She gripped Maldynado’s arm, then nodded to Sicarius. “Ready?”

They went first, leaving Maldynado to follow a few minutes later.

Inside, people meandered through a vast, high-ceilinged room and gathered in clumps around gaming tables. A hundred chandeliers and sconces burned. Steam whistled from coal-powered contraptions that offered moving puzzles and mechanized games of chance. The stuffy heat emanating from the people, lights, and machines reminded Amaranthe of a muggy summer day before a storm.

She let Sicarius lead since he had that knack for getting people to move out of his way without doing anything. Amaranthe, on the other hand, received elbows in the ribs or suggestive jostles from drunken men. Maybe she should try wearing all black and glaring more often.

A familiar key fob dangled from someone’s belt. Several patrons had them. So, not a special token, but items produced in quantities and given out, perhaps as prizes. But why, in this superstitious core of the empire, would someone risk creating dozens, or hundreds, of magical trinkets with the establishment’s name on them? Amaranthe was surprised the glowing orbs outside had not resulted in someone torching the building.

Sicarius surprised her by pausing to watch a complicated version of the shell game. Three table masters sat cross-legged on cushions, sliding containers around with tokens hiding beneath. One had to watch six blurring hands at the same time and point to all the correct spots to win.

“Want to play?” she asked. They had more important things to do, but it did seem like something made for him to win. Perhaps the earnings could pay for some supplies.

“Not challenging,” he said and moved on.

“Cocky, aren’t we?”

“Self-aware.”

“Cockily self-aware?”

He gave her a cool look. She smiled sweetly.

Before they reached the back of the room, a commotion drew a crowd that blocked the way.

“I’m not a cheater!” a familiar voice cried.

Amaranthe groaned. Akstyr.

The meaty sound of a fist striking flesh followed.

“I didn’t-ommph!”

She hustled forward even as the crowd parted. Two bouncers appeared, dragging Akstyr between them. Blood streamed from his split lip and spattered his shirt. Amaranthe stepped forward, lifting a hand, intending to rescue him from the manhandling. But when he spotted her, he widened his eyes and gave a minute head shake.

“Let go of me, you mother-forsaken street eaters!” Akstyr roared and flung his arms wide.

He escaped his escort and stumbled forward, crashing into Amaranthe and Sicarius, seemingly by accident. The bouncers were not thrown for long. One lunged, wrapping an arm around his waist. Akstyr pressed something into Amaranthe’s hand before the thug tore him away. The bouncer threw Akstyr over his shoulder and stomped toward the front door.

Patrons moved out of the way. Amaranthe closed her fist, hiding whatever Akstyr had given her. Cool and metallic, it felt like a key.

Sicarius continued onward without comment. Amaranthe kept herself from looking back to check on Akstyr. He obviously thought they should pretend not to know each other, and that she should investigate…whatever the key led to.

The crowd thinned in the back where two bouncers framed the entrance to a hallway. Amaranthe hustled to slip in front of Sicarius. No doubt he could get past them with force, but she wanted to try honey first.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, feeling short as she craned her neck back to look each man in the eye. They even towered over Sicarius, though his six feet did not make him tall by imperial standards.

“Employees only,” came the response.

“Yes, I guessed that from your forbidding presence here.” She smiled. “How would we make arrangements to see the boss?”

“Come during the day, and look important.”

“Do I not look important?” Amaranthe asked Sicarius.

“Moderately,” he said without taking his gaze from the bouncers.

“I’ll have to work on increasing my importance aura.” She considered the men again. “What’d that young fellow who was just dragged out of here do?”

“Lady, we’re not here to chat with you.”

“No, but it’s got to be more interesting than standing here like mute statues.”

One grunted in what may have been agreement. The other frowned at Sicarius. Gears whirred behind his eyes, and his face screwed up in concentration. Trying to place Sicarius’s face, Amaranthe guessed.

“He cheated, that’s what they said,” she said. “Is that common?”

“People try it all the time,” the more amenable bouncer said.

“Do you have to inform your employer when it happens?”

“Our employer trusts us to handle such situations ourselves.”

“Yes, I suppose your boss is only interested in fiscal issues that aren’t so easily resolved,” Amaranthe said, an idea percolating through her mind.

Sicarius was watching her, probably wondering if this chat had a purpose.

“Yes, and we’re not paid to talk to girls,” the surlier of the two bouncers said.

“Unfortunately,” the other muttered.

“Of course,” Amaranthe said. “I understand. Thank you for speaking to me.”

As she moved away, the quieter man leaned close to his comrade, whispering something and pointing at Sicarius. Apparently the hooded jacket was not enough of a disguise.

“Looks like you might get some practice defending your head tonight,” Amaranthe told him, veering toward the shell-game table.

“They are not the first here to recognize me,” Sicarius said. “What now? It would be a simple matter to force our way past those men.”

“There are a lot of bouncers on the floor. If those two were knocked out, it wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. I’d like to have a nice conversation with the owner, and given what happened to the fellow we tried to question at that factory, I’d prefer not to do it at knife point.”

He gave her a sharp look. “You think that incident is tied in with this place?”

“I don’t know.” She pointed at a key fob dangling from a man’s pocket watch chain. “But there’s suddenly a lot of magic use popping up in the city.”

“More foreigners.”

“More foreigners who should all be smart enough not to use magic in a city where it’s forbidden.” Amaranthe waved a hand. “We’ll talk to the owner about it.”

“How?”

“I have a hunch we’ll be invited in to chat soon.”

“You have a plan. Should it concern me?”

“Only if your cockiness is unfounded.”

They approached the table.

Sicarius stopped her with a hand on her arm. “You want me to play?”

“I want you to play and win. A lot.”

Seconds ticked past before he released her arm. “Very well, but it’ll take concentration. I’ll need you to watch my back.”

Sicarius had never asked that of her before. Though he watched her back all the time, he had never needed the favor returned, and she did not miss the admission of trust in the request. It meant he was willing to put himself at risk for one of her crazy schemes. The bouncers knew he was here, and who knew who else might have noted his passing and started scheming to collect the bounty?

Amaranthe nodded once. “I understand.”

Sicarius stepped up to the table, cutting in front of a man who had been in line.

“I’m next.” The fellow puffed out his chest and curled a lip.

Sicarius responded with silence and an icy stare. The man stared back, but was the first to lower his eyes.

He licked his lips and backed from the table. “Never mind. I’m still sorting my money.”

Sicarius placed a coin on the table. “Begin.”

The three table masters smiled and nodded to each other.

Amaranthe leaned her back against the edge. As much as she wanted to watch Sicarius play, she meant to take her task seriously. Still, she could not help but glance at the action from time to time.

The shell men were spaced far enough apart that one could not observe each directly. Sicarius studied the middle table master and presumably watched the other two with his peripheral vision. As soon as the shuffling ended, he promptly pointed to each of the shells holding the tokens. The first time, the table masters shrugged and congratulated him. As he continued to win, the congratulatory comments grew less frequent. He never said a word, simply pointing to the correct shells. His one coin turned into a stack, and then several stacks of coins and ranmya bills, both of which he kept tidy and even.

A buzz grew amongst the onlookers. More people drifted over, blocking Amaranthe’s view of the surrounding area. She wished she were taller. With so many bodies pressing close, it would be hard to pick out onlookers with malignant intent.

Maldynado ambled by with a woman on his arm. He asked the lady if she might be inclined to fetch a couple of drinks, then strolled close enough to speak to Amaranthe.

“How come I’m working and he’s playing games?” Maldynado tilted his chin toward Sicarius, who remained focused on the table.

“Is that what you were doing with that woman?” Amaranthe asked, continuing to watch the crowd. “Working?”

“Of course. She’s my cover. It’d be unnatural for such a fine looking fellow as myself to be here without a woman.”

“Uh huh. Find anyone who recognizes that man yet?”

“Nope, but those fobs are everywhere,” he said.

“I noticed. Keep asking about the man, please.”

Maldynado shrugged and ambled off to accept a drink from his lady. They disappeared into the crowd.

A gorgeous woman in a low-cut dress slithered up to Sicarius’s other side. “You’re doing well, aren’t you?” she purred, leaning against him.

“Oh, please,” Amaranthe muttered.

Sicarius, eyes focused on the game, did not acknowledge the woman. Amaranthe wondered if she worked for the house. A pretty lady to distract male customers earning too much money?

“How would you like to take your winnings and go off to have some fun?” The woman started to reach an arm around Sicarius’s waist, not daunted by the number of weapons sheathed there.

Without looking at her, he caught her wrist. “Leave.”

In the next breath, he pointed at the appropriate shells. The table masters revealed his correct choices and shared sighs with each other.

Sicarius pushed the woman away. She was smart enough to go.

Someone two rows back grunted and tipped forward, as if bumped hard from behind.

Amaranthe smacked Sicarius’s arm. “Might be-”

A pair of swordsmen shoved people aside and launched themselves at Sicarius’s back. Amaranthe had no time to draw a weapon. She threw herself into a roll at the men’s legs, hoping to distract them long enough for Sicarius to take action.

A boot slammed into her ribs. One of the men toppled, landing on her. She grunted and managed to jab her elbow into his jaw as she squirmed away. He dropped his sword, and, ignoring her, jumped to his feet and lunged toward Sicarius…in time to receive a dagger in the chest.

The other man was already dead on the floor, a throwing knife protruding from his eye.

The crowd fell silent, staring at Sicarius.

Hand pressed to her side, Amaranthe climbed to her feet. Sicarius raised his eyebrows slightly. She nodded. Her ribs would hurt tomorrow, but she would be fine.

He collected his weapons and cleaned them with unhurried precision. A couple of his coin stacks had toppled. He fixed them, straightened the bills, and told the table masters, “Begin.”

Bouncers came to collect the bodies. A new buzz started up in the crowd, though the people continuing to watch Sicarius play stood farther back. Good. More space made it easier to see attackers coming up.

One of the table masters flagged a bouncer down and whispered something in his ear. Also good. That ought to be the message to the boss. In the meantime, Sicarius’s stacks continued to grow.

“Why have you been assassinating people all your life,” Amaranthe whispered, “when you can earn this kind of money in a single night?”

Sicarius pointed out another series of winners. “Gambling houses exist to profit; they quickly get rid of people who win too much. But your plan implies you already know that.”

Amaranthe smiled and put her back to the table again, wincing as she bumped her ribs. She hoped the blood staining the rug would deter further bounty hunters.

“Next time just warn me,” Sicarius added. “I can handle two men without you emulating a footstool.”

Heat flushed her cheeks. It had been a thoughtless move. She had martial arts and swordsmanship training; she ought not end up in a tangled jumble on the floor.

She groped for a face-saving comment. “So, I should wait until there are six men before trying to help you?”

She must have sounded stung, because he looked away from the game to meet her eyes. She thought he might say something apologetic, or at least conciliatory, but a table master called for bets-others were cashing in on his success now too-and he returned his attention to play. Amaranthe went back to standing watch.

Soon more bouncers showed up, the two from the hallway and two new ones. The one who had been most talkative gave her a why-am-I-not-surprised-this-is-about-you head shake.

“Will you come with us, sir?” he asked Sicarius, his tone far more placating than earlier.

Sicarius removed his winnings from the table. He lacked space for it all and handed half to Amaranthe. She ogled the stack of ranmyas before stuffing them into pockets and her shirt. If the house let them walk out the door with it all, she could think of a lot of gear and supplies she could purchase for the team. Sicarius might even get his steam carriage.

The bouncers led them into the rear hallway, and Amaranthe forced her thoughts back to the present. The owner would be scheming to keep Sicarius from escaping with his earnings.

The hall spawned several other halls, and they turned and turned again. Closed doors lined the walls, all with locks. She fingered the key in her pocket. Maybe she should have taken the time to go outside and talk with Akstyr.

A shirtless young man walked out of the door at the end of the hallway, his hair tousled and bite marks on his neck. He ducked his head as he passed the bouncers and hastened through a doorway.

“Guess we know why the owner is too busy to talk to folks without an appointment,” Amaranthe muttered.

The talkative bouncer grunted in what might have been agreement. He knocked at the door.

“Send him in,” a woman said.

Him. Guess that meant Amaranthe was going to be reduced to furniture in the conversation again.

A pair of bouncers strode in ahead of Sicarius and Amaranthe, and the two others crowded after. The office inside was spacious, but not that spacious. Elbows bumped her, and someone trod on her foot. The scent of musk oil thickened the air.

Responding to some gesture Amaranthe could not see, the four bouncers lined up against the wall, two on either side of the door. Sicarius stood so he could watch them and the woman behind the desk without putting his back to anyone. Amaranthe stepped onto a rug in the center of the office.

The woman sat in a chair, posture perfect, graying hair in a bun, and not a wrinkle marring her khaki dress. She had plucked her eyebrows out and drawn precise thin lines in their place. She was…not what Amaranthe expected, and she glanced about, wondering if someone else-someone younger-might be in the room. Maybe her assumptions about what the shirtless man had been doing in here were incorrect.

The woman smiled, and, despite her prim appearance, it did have a predatory edge. Her gaze settled on Sicarius. Her green eyes and the paleness of her skin suggested she was not a native Turgonian, but no hint of an accent clung to her words when she spoke.

“Imagine my surprise,” she said, “at having the empire’s most wanted assassin stroll into my humble establishment tonight.” She surveyed Amaranthe, though no recognition sparked in those eyes, and she focused on Sicarius again. “I wouldn’t think you’d frequent such busy venues.”

“We came specifically to talk to you,” Amaranthe said. “Ms…?”

“Ellaya,” the woman said.

“Makes Sunshine?” Sicarius asked.

Amaranthe crinkled her brow at his response.

The woman smiled, showing teeth this time. “Yes, that is the name my mother gave me. How rare to find someone here who understands Mangdorian. But then… I shouldn’t be surprised. They must have taught you some before they sent you to my country.”

Amaranthe watched Sicarius for a reaction, though she should have known he would give nothing away. Did he know what the woman was talking about?

“You didn’t expect me to know about that, did you?” Ellaya asked, though she must have been guessing, since Sicarius’s face never changed. “The canaries have been chirping in this dreary coal mine of a city. It seems you were the one to wrong my people years ago, and now you’re here, attempting to alleviate my coffers of hard-won coin.”

“We simply wished to gain a meeting with you,” Amaranthe said, putting aside the mystery of Sicarius’s past in Mangdoria in favor of the current mission. “It seemed a more expedient way than others.”

“Then you’re willing to leave the coin you’ve won?”

Amaranthe hesitated. They could use that money. Ellaya had been polite thus far-she must respect Sicarius’s reputation enough not to make careless threats-but that might not hold out if she realized they meant to leave with the money.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to discuss the purpose of this?” Amaranthe dangled the key fob and thumbed it so it glowed.

“No. Do you intend to walk out with the coin, or not?”

“I won it abiding by the rules of the game,” Sicarius said.

The bouncers shifted and eyed each other uneasily.

“Perhaps we could reach an arrangement,” Amaranthe said. “We could use that money, but you’re reluctant to let a winner walk out with so much. That’s understandable. You need something equally valuable in exchange. Perhaps Sicarius could spend the evening going over the games with you, suggesting improvements so even people with his sharp eyes would have difficulty winning often.”

And while Sicarius was wandering around, advising Ellaya and the bouncers, perhaps nobody would pay attention to Amaranthe, and she could explore the premises.

Ellaya tilted her head, considering Sicarius. “Did you cheat or did you actually win all those games?”

“There was no need to cheat,” he said.

“Hm.”

Amaranthe nodded. Hm was promising. “Surely, the best way to improve your games to a level where you can ensure the house always comes out on top would be to employ someone who can beat them.”

“Possibly.”

“And,” Amaranthe went on, “as you can guess from his reputation, Sicarius is a master of entering establishments undetected. Perhaps if you’re willing to let him walk out with his winnings, he could survey your security and advise you on improvements.”

Sicarius’s gaze settled on Amaranthe. Yes, she was volunteering him for a lot of stuff, especially considering he had won the money without violating any rules, but she figured he knew her well enough to guess her motives.

“Interesting.” Ellaya pushed her chair away from the desk, stood, clasped her hands behind her back, and strolled to a bookcase. She picked up a feather duster and ran it over a spotless shelf. Moments ticked past before she turned to face them again. “Interesting, but I don’t want a one-time consultation. Advisement on the games would be helpful, but I could use you for ongoing security, protection, and…other tasks.” Her eyes bored into Sicarius. “I want you full time.”

“Uhm.” Amaranthe raised a finger. “That’s not the offer.”

“How much is she paying you?” Ellaya pointed her nose in Amaranthe’s direction and sniffed haughtily. “I can double it.”

Amaranthe dismissed her initial objection and lowered her finger. Playing along should not hurt.

“Perhaps…” She scuffed the carpet with her boot and pretended to mull. “Perhaps you should consider the offer.”

Sicarius turned an unfriendly stare Amaranthe’s direction, letting her know he did not care to play along. Dead ancestors knew he was not, for all his skills, a good actor. She had found that out before, but if he could buy her even a half hour, the ploy could prove beneficial. She ignored his glare and focused on Ellaya.

The woman arched her eyebrows. “You’d let him go so easily?”

“I haven’t been able to afford to pay him much, and Sicarius is too good to be working with our scruffy group anyway.” She did nothing so obvious as tap the pocket where the key rested, but she hoped he gathered that she wanted him to keep Ellaya busy so she could snoop.

“Make your offer,” Sicarius told Ellaya.

“Happy to.” The woman opened a file and withdrew a pen and paper. “Let’s go over the expected duties first.” She flicked a dismissive hand toward Amaranthe. “You’re no longer needed, child.”

Amaranthe walked out. The bouncers stayed inside, no doubt viewing Sicarius as the prime threat to their boss. Perfect.

She slipped the key out of her pocket. Simple and bronze, it appeared little different from hundreds of others. The same logo that marked the key fobs was etched in one side. She rubbed it and it glowed softly. Ah.

Amaranthe padded down the hall. She eased a couple of doors open and found dark offices inside. Others were locked, but her key did not fit the holes. She wound deeper into the maze of hallways.

She tried a door near an intersection, pushing it open as retching sounds came from inside. She halted. A bouncer hunched over a washout, clutching his stomach. Fortunately, his heaving kept him from noticing her. She shut the door again and mulled as she continued forward. Checking every room might not be feasible, and her luck probably wouldn’t hold-sooner or later she would run into someone and her spying hour would be up.

A clank came from behind her-a trap door in the floor being thrown open.

Amaranthe jumped around the corner and slipped through an open door opposite the retching bouncer. The cluttered shelves of a storage room rose around her. She left the door cracked and peeped out.

“That deposit ought to even things out,” a woman’s voice said.

A man laughed. “Don’t worry. Mrs. Ell will get that blond bub’s money back.”

The pair turned into Amaranthe’s hallway and strode past.

“True, he went in the back not out the front. Probably already dead.”

“Or in her bed.”

The two shared laughter.

The conversation continued, but distance muffled the words. When the hallway grew silent, Amaranthe headed straight for the trap door. The pattern of the tiles hid the cracks, but knowing where to look made it discernible. She found a slight gap, enough to wedge her knife into, and pulled the door open.

A ladder stretched down into blackness.

She tapped one of the gas lamps on the hallway walls, but they were permanent fixtures. Aware of time passing, she ran back to the storage closet and dug around until she found kerosene and lanterns. A few moments later, she slipped down the ladder, pulling the door shut over her head.

A short hall stretched both directions at the bottom. Identical steel vault doors waited at each end. Amaranthe eyed the key in her hand, doubting it would open either. The existence of two doors piqued her interest, though, and she went to investigate. One would doubtlessly hold funds. What about the other?

The doors had wheels instead of knobs. She tried one on the chance the employees had left it open, but it did not budge. To her surprise, a sliver in the center looked like a keyhole.

Her key went in, and a pulse of red light flashed. Amaranthe nearly dropped the lantern in surprise. Despite the red glow, the key did not turn. She tried the wheel, but it did not move.

“Huh,” she muttered.

Amaranthe jogged to the other vault door. Her key slid into an identical hole. This time a pale blue light flashed. Red, fail, blue, pass? She applied pressure, and the key turned in the lock.

In the stillness of the subterranean hall, she felt her heart thumping against her ribs.

The wheel turned.

She hesitated before trying to open the door. If magic controlled the locking system, might not some otherworldly trap wait inside as well? Or was it presumed that someone with a key had a right to go in? Akstyr would not have handed it to her if he thought she would get herself killed. Probably.

Amaranthe pulled on the wheel. She had to bend her legs and lean away from the six-inch-wide door to get it to open, but it moved silently on oiled hinges. Soft clanks came from within.

Inside lay an eight-foot-by-eight-foot vault dominated by a contraption that reminded her vaguely of a steam loom with spinning belts and a large flywheel. No visible furnace or boiler powered the machinery, but a fist-sized red orb was bolted to the top where it glowed softly. A small pedestal up front held a round indention the size of one of the key fobs. Maybe this machine made them. That defied what little she knew about magic though. Only a trained Maker ought to be able to craft imbued objects.

She dug out the fob and snugged it into the indention. The orb pulsed.

“Adner Farr. Government employee, Waterton Dam.” It was Ellaya’s voice, her tone utterly bored. “Salary five-thousand ranmyas a year. Saved funds, meager. Return compulsion stored.”

Amaranthe had never heard of Waterton Dam. She waited for more, but the recitation was complete.

“Maybe that’s information stored in the key fob,” she guessed. “Maybe they’re individualized for each person, a quick way to look up how much money people can spend here.” Footsteps sounded overhead, someone walking down the hallway. “And maybe I should stop talking to myself and get out of here,” she finished.

A draft whispered against her cheek. The flame in her lantern wavered. She spun as the massive door thumped shut.

She cursed and lunged for it. Too late. It did not move.