Deadly Games

CHAPTER 15

Awareness returned to Basilard slowly.Memories of dreams wafted away like smoke in the wind. A dimblurriness met his eyes, and he blinked, struggling to focus. Aface came into view.

Sicarius.

His features held no warmth or friendliness.Basilard tried to lift a hand, but bindings secured him to thetable. Sicarius was free, though still nude. He wore his brace ofthrowing knives on his forearm and held two daggers, one the blackblade he favored and the other one of Basilard’s fighting weapons.Basilard’s gaze lingered on the sharp steel, and he remembered hislast thoughts; before he had succumbed to the drugs, he had beensure Sicarius knew of Basilard’s plan for killing him.

Basilard turned his head from side to side.Other prisoners lay on the tables, some horizontal and otherstipped vertical against the wall. None appeared to be awake. Howmuch time had passed? Deep shadows shrouded the corners of thelaboratory, and the lights were dimmer than he remembered. It mustbe nighttime, though one might never know the difference downhere.

Sicarius lifted his hands and signed, Youare alert?

That he signed instead of speaking meant hehad escaped, not been released, and being quiet was important.

Had Basilard’s hands been free, he would haveresponded with “vaguely,” but, strapped down, he had fewer options,so he only nodded.

Sicarius slipped a key into the first lock,the one that bound Basilard’s wrists to the table.

As soon as his hands were free, he asked,How’d you escape?

The woman. Sicarius’s signs were asterse as his spoken words.

She released you? Because she wantedto… Basilard stopped. He had no interest in the details; hejust wanted to know if Sicarius had won her over-or forced herover-and if she could take them to the surface.

She was unable to craft the sphere.

Was? Basilard asked. She’sdead?

Yes. We have to find another way off. Onlythe other twin and a male telekineticist can make the protectivebubbles. The woman is incapacitated from your attack, and the maleisn’t on board right now. We may be too deep to swim out.Regardless, a kraken guards this place. Our blades would be uselessagainst it.

No, even firearms would be uselessunderwater. The woman told you all this? Basilard asked.

Yes. Sicarius’s cool gaze told him todrop it.

Basilard swallowed, imagining Sicariusletting that woman think they had some connection, and then turningaround, interrogating her, and killing her. True, Basilard himselfhad killed, but only in combat and only men. Not women. His eyesnarrowed in remembrance. Or children.

Sicarius unfastened the bindings aboutBasilard’s ankles, then continued with those tying his torso andthighs to the table.

Basilard tilted his head. Why come forme?

Sicarius flicked him a glance that could havemeant anything and continued to unlock the bindings.

When the drugs were overtaking Basilard, hehad not expected Sicarius’s help, indeed had thought Sicarius mighthave set him up to die. Was it possible he had imaginedeverything?

Sicarius released the final straps andstepped back.

Do you know I know… Basilard stoppedhimself. If Sicarius had not figured it out, it would be foolish toalert him.

I know, Sicarius signed.

Basilard waited for him to continue, to offersome ultimatum or say something like, “If you make a move againstme, I’ll kill you.” He still held all the knives. Sicarius did notadd anything to his comment though. Maybe he figured it was allassumed.

You could get rid of me down here with noone on the team wise to it. And maybe Basilard should not bepointing things out. What if Sicarius was only releasing himbecause he needed help escaping? And what if he planned to killBasilard on the way out? Or maybe… Do you not see me as athreat?

You are capable.

As scant an admission as that was, Basilardfound it heartening. Then why free me? Basilard askedagain.

Because Amaranthe would wish it.Sicarius flipped Basilard’s knife and extended it, hilt first.

The answer, or perhaps the honesty of theanswer, surprised Basilard. So, I’m safe around you as long asshe’s alive? He smiled, though he knew Sicarius would notreturn the gesture.

If you force me to defend myself, Iwill. Sicarius shook the knife, emphasizing Basilard shouldtake it. Right, they had to escape before anyone noticed Sicariusmissing and the woman dead.

Basilard took the knife and stepped into theaisle. He paused as one more thought occurred to him. IsAmaranthe the reason you were captured?

He thought of the way she had talked him intothe Clank Race. Her intentions had been good-maybe that was whatmade her requests appealing-but he would not be at the bottom of alake, stripped naked, and the latest specimen in some scientist’sresearch experiment if not for her.

I got closer than I should have,Sicarius signed. I sensed the Science being used, but…I did not want to return without answers to herquestions.

Huh, he had been right. Basilard was going tosign one of his grandfather’s sayings, that many a male duck hadbeen lured to its demise by the call of a female, but Sicariusturned away, as if to say, “Enough chit chat. Time for work.”

He strode to the next table and cut thetubing leading to a young man’s veins. He unlocked the bindingsthere as well, though he did not wait for the person to wake beforemoving to the next table.

Why free them? Basilard asked, notbecause he objected, but because Sicarius would not do it foraltruistic purposes.

Distraction, Sicarius signed.

While we do what?

Take this-Sicarius twitched a hand toencompass the structure-to the surface so we can getoff.

Take over the…tiller? Basilard hadno idea if something like this had a tiller-probably not-butSicarius would know he meant the navigation system.

Yes.

You know where that is?

But Sicarius had already turned back to thecaptives. Basilard helped with his own knife. Most of the otherprisoners were young, in their teens and twenties. He hoped theywould be able to escape themselves without being harmed. Moreharmed, he corrected himself, when he noticed freshly stitchedscars gouging the abdomen and groin areas of more than one.Basilard glanced down at himself and was relieved to see noincisions. Sicarius must have found him before they got startedwith…whatever it was they were doing exactly. He shuddered.

Sicarius bumped him on the shoulder andjerked his head toward the exit.

The first captive was stirring.

Wouldn’t it be better to work withthem? Basilard asked. A combined force to confront ouradversaries?

Athletes would be useless againstpractitioners.

Basilard was not certain what value he mighthave against a shaman or wizard either. He recalled the humiliationof his old owner, Arbitan Losk, plucking him from hiding andflattening him to the floor with a force he had been unable toelude.

A noise started up, a throbbing whine thatvibrated from the walls loudly enough to wake any slumberingguards.

“Alarm.” Sicarius jogged toward the exit.

Basilard remembered the invisible barrier andwondered if Sicarius had disabled it. He must have if he had comein from the woman’s quarters or somewhere that direction, but itwas up now, evinced by a strange sheen with yellow tendrilsshimmering in the air.

Sicarius plucked a thin knife off a consolenear the hatchway. A bloody ball was skewered on the tip.

Though Basilard noted the gory thing, he didnot realize what it was until Sicarius held it up to the eyeballreader. The recognition did not quite make Basilard flinch, but hedid curl a disgusted lip. Given his background, he ought not besqueamish about such things, but he could not help but find itdiscomfiting. Maybe because his putative ally was the one who hadremoved it, and it might very well have belonged to that woman.

The shield wavered and disappeared.

Sicarius and Basilard passed into the longcorridor outside, ducking their heads to dodge intermittent pipesalong the ceiling. The glow of the orbs on the wall waxed and wanedwith each pulse of the alarm. The corridor curved in angledsegments like some mechanical snake stretched along the lake floor.They passed closed hatches, but Sicarius did not pause to check anyof them.

Rhythmic thumps sounded above them.Footfalls? Was there a second floor? Basilard had not noticedladders on his previous trip, but that had been a short journey.They had already passed the cabin he had started out in.

Sicarius ran through a four-way intersection,then rounded a bend. A few feet before a dead end, a ladder rose toa closed hatch in the ceiling.

Instead of starting up, Sicarius smashed hisblack dagger into an orb on the wall. Shadows thickened in thecorridor. He darted behind the ladder and crouched, his back to thewall. Basilard joined him.

Above, the footfalls started and stopped acouple of times, and Basilard had the impression of guards pausingto collect reinforcements.

Plan? Basilard asked.

If a manageable number of men come down,we jump them. Sicarius retained the eyeball-on-a-knife, and itmade a grisly accent to his hand signs.

Would you have done that if Amaranthe werehere? Basilard caught himself asking.

He thought Sicarius might give him a frostylook or tell him to pay attention to what they were doing. Insteada faint ruefulness softened his stony expression.

Doubt I would have needed to. She would havesubverted one of the guards.

You can’t subvert one? Basilard joked,not expecting a reaction beyond a glare.

Apparently, I lack charisma.

Basilard gaped at him, not certain if thathad been a joke or not. Overhead, the footfalls clomped to a stopat the hatch, and he focused on the matter at hand. Sicarius, too,turned his attention upward.

The hatch creaked open. A pistol descendedfirst, then a guard eased his head through. Basilard held hisbreath. Attacking the guards on the ladder would be the best spotfor catching them by surprise.

Wariness stamped the man’s face, though, andhe checked both ways, aiming the pistol without stepping onto therungs. His eyes turned in Basilard’s direction and paused. Maybethe shadows weren’t deep enough.

“Hobarth.” The guard squinted and shifted thepistol toward the shadows.

The only warning Basilard had of movement wasSicarius’s arm brushing his. A throwing knife zipped between theladder rungs and thudded into the guard’s eye.

In less than a heartbeat, Sicarius darted outof the shadows and up the ladder. He grabbed the dying man by theshirt, hurling him to the floor below, then disappeared through thehatchway.

Basilard leaped out and grabbed the fallenguard’s pistol. He clenched it between his teeth, tugged thethrowing knife from the eye socket, and climbed the ladder withSicarius’s blade and his own balanced in his hands.

He pulled himself onto the next floor,landing in a fighting stance, ready to help.

Two guards were sprawled on the deck, theirthroats cut. Sicarius was patting one down for keys or weapons or,for all Basilard knew, something to eat.

Feeling useless, he took the pistol out ofhis mouth and checked the charge. With his hands full, he had tojuggle the weapons to sign a question, Should we take theirclothes?

The guards were all bigger than Basilard, buthe felt vulnerable running around nude.

To what end? Sicarius took histhrowing knife from Basilard and sheathed it.

Pockets?

Sicarius flicked an indifferent finger,picked up the eyeball knife, and headed down the corridor. Basilardstripped the fatigue jacket off the smallest guard and put it on,grimacing at the sensation of cloth sticky with blood pressedagainst his skin. He hustled to catch up.

Sicarius stopped at a barrier before anintersection to fiddle with the reader. He glanced at Basilard’snew attire but said nothing. Clothes or not, he probablynever felt vulnerable. Between the eyeball in his hand and thestreaks of someone else’s blood smeared across his forearm andchest, he looked like nobody one would want to tangle with.

You better stick with Amaranthe,Basilard signed. She humanizes you.

The barrier dropped. Sicarius looked himselfover and considered the gory eyeball before stepping through.

Agreed, he signed.

There was no time to mull over the response.More footfalls and numerous voices rang throughout the structure.The alarm continued pulsing. If all they met were soldiers,Basilard and Sicarius might be able to handle them, but Basilardexpected practitioners at some point, and who knew whatotherworldly obstacles.

The corridor sloped upward. Closed hatchesmarked the walls to either side, each with a reader set nearby ateye level. Sicarius did not slow to try any of these. He obviouslyhad a destination in mind. Or maybe their eyeball only openedcommunal doors, not private laboratories.

They passed another ladder leading down, andBasilard tried to imagine a map of the place in his mind. Theycould no longer be above the tunnel they had run through on thefirst floor, because there had been no ladders leading up beforethe one they had taken. How much of a maze might this place be? Hehoped Sicarius knew where he was going.

After the ladder, the corridor continued onin a straight line. Its riveted, gray walls offered no alcoves orniches for hiding in, should someone come out shooting at them.

The narrow passage ended at another barrier.In a chamber on the other side, the back of a large black chair wasvisible before a control panel and a horizontal, oblong porthole.Dark water pressed against the glass. It could be night or day atthe lake surface and no one would ever know down here. Around thechamber, lever- and gauge-filled panels ran from floor to ceiling.Many held multi-hued glowing protuberances, all amorphous, morelike fungi that had grown there naturally than mechanical devices.Was this the navigation area? Basilard struggled to imagine thisunwieldy ship-if one could call it that-floating up a river, but ithad to have arrived somehow. Perhaps it could become compact fortravel.

Sicarius waved the eyeball before the readeron the wall, but this shimmering field did not fade away. Heplucked a piece of lint from the floor and tossed it at thebarrier. It burst into flame and disappeared.

Basilard stepped back, far back.

The owner of the eyeball didn’t haveaccess to that room? he asked.

Apparently not. Sicarius wiggled theeyeball about in front of the reader again. He must have expectedit to win him entry.

The chair rotated, and Basilard jumped. Hehad not realized anyone was sitting in it. A tall, gray-haired manin a white coat scowled at them. The navigator, perhaps, and maybea practitioner as well. Though he bore no weapons openly, he showedno fear at the prospect of intruders on his threshold.

Back? Basilard signed, aware of thealarm still throbbing, of shouts in the distance. It sounded likesomeone had discovered the dead guards.

Sicarius decided it was the time to engage ina staring contest. Maybe he thought the practitioner would witherunder an unrelenting gaze-or at least come over and open thedoor.

The gray-haired man lifted a hand. Acrackling yellow ball formed in the air before his fingertips.

Basilard backed further. That could only be aweapon, and if it could go through the barrier…

Sicarius crouched, ready to spring. He mustbelieve the barrier had to drop for the man to launch theweapon.

Boots pounded in the corridor behind them.Basilard gripped his knife and nodded to let Sicarius know he wouldprovide time for him-if he could. He did not know how he woulddodge pistols in the tight corridor.

He ran down the passage anyway.

Before he reached the ladder, two guardsstomped into view, one behind the other. In the narrow space,Basilard almost missed spotting a gray-haired woman in ablood-spattered white coat striding after them. She toted atwo-foot-long cone, and, judging by the way she held it over theguards’ shoulders, trying to target Basilard, it was a weapon. Hehad to focus on the first problem: the two guards and the pistolsin their hands.

The first man dropped to one knee, pointinghis firearm at Basilard, while the second remained standing andaimed over the first’s head. The distance between Basilard and themwas too far to charge before they could fire.

He focused on their fingers, trying to watchand anticipate when they would pull the triggers. One tensed.Basilard hurled his knife and threw himself into a forwardroll.

Pistols fired.

One shot clanged off the metal floor, butanother hammered into the back of Basilard’s shoulder. Pain searedthrough him, as if someone had thrust a hot iron into his flesh. Hegasped, eyes clenched shut, but managed to finish the roll and comeup running. He had to, or they would have him.

The closest guard was on his knees, hunchedagainst the wall, trying to work Basilard’s knife free of his upperarm. The man in back dropped his pistol and drew a serrated daggerwith a ten-inch blade.

“Move, Fiks,” the woman barked in accentedTurgonian. “Let me-”

Basilard charged. The second guard had onefoot in the air to step past his comrade, and one ear toward thewoman. It was Basilard’s best chance, to attack before the men hadtime to plan something.

The guard wasn’t as distracted as heappeared. He slashed at Basilard to keep him at bay, then yanked asmaller pistol out of his belt behind his back.

Caught off guard, Basilard was the one whohad no time to do anything but react. He lunged in and grabbed thedowned man, yanking him to his feet. The injured guard roared insurprise and pain. Basilard punched him in the face, hoping to stunhim and keep him as an obstacle. The movements stirred fresh agonyin his shoulder, and he nearly dropped from the pain. He forced itaside and yanked his knife free from the man’s arm, elicitinganother howl.

The rearmost guard thrust his pistol over hiscomrade’s shoulder. Basilard ducked and hurled his knife around theinjured man’s ribs. The awkward position gave the throw littlepower, but it was enough to slice into his target’s thigh. The manbellowed and dropped the pistol.

Further up the corridor, Sicarius shouted,“Down!” in Mangdorian.

Basilard hesitated. To drop to the floorwould be to put himself at a disadvantage.

Light flared down the corridor, as brilliantas a sunburst. Basilard dropped to the floor, dragging the closestguard with him for cover. Heat roiled down the passage, andbrightness burned his eyes, even through the lids. The man abovehim screamed. The scent of burning hair and singed flesh floodedBasilard’s nostrils.

He expected screams from the woman and theother guard but heard nothing. Had they been quick enough to hurlthemselves to the floor?

The light blazing against his lids lessened,and he pried an eye open, hoping to find his opponents vanquished.The woman had not moved, except to fiddle with something at herbelt. A transparent barrier, the same streaky yellow as those usedin the corridors, hovered around her and the guard. Heat shimmeringin the air parted around the defensive shield like water flowingpast a boulder in a stream.

Safe behind the barrier, the guard clenchedhis knife and glowered at Basilard. Blood dripped from his thighand splashed onto the floor.

Further up the corridor, Sicarius droppedfrom the ceiling where he had hung like a spider to avoid theblast.

Basilard scrambled out from beneath thesinged-and now quite dead-man. Every movement brought fire from thepistol wound; he could feel that ball in his flesh, grindingagainst the bone of his shoulder blade, but he gritted his teethand told himself he could deal with it later.

The remaining guard charged out of theprotective barrier and slashed at Basilard’s neck with the serratedknife.

Basilard had lost his own blade when he threwit, but he skittered back from the attack without trouble. He hadfaced many knife wielders without the benefit of a weapon. Hewatched the man’s collarbone-not the eyes; the eyes could lie-andkept the blade and free hand in his peripheral vision.

The man stabbed at Basilard’s chest. He sawthe feint for what it was. The man’s body wasn’t behind it; hewasn’t committed. Three more feints came, and Basilard began towonder if the man would attack in earnest. Then he committed, legscrouched to spring and dart in close behind a swipe.

Basilard crouched low and blocked thestriking arm, knocking it upward. He grabbed the man’s wrist,pulling it toward him as he stepped closer. His other elbow swungup, pounding the underside of the guard’s jaw. The man’s headwhipped backward with a crunch.

Basilard could have finished him on his own,but Sicarius slashed the man’s throat and shoved him to the floorso he could leap over him and spring toward the woman.

Before he reached her, an invisible blastslammed him in the chest. The edge of it caught Basilard as well, astiff blast of air so rigid it had the force of a battering ram,and it sent him stumbling against the wall. It hurled Sicarius adozen feet. Despite the power of the blow, he twisted and landed onhis feet, light as a cat.

Basilard crept close to the woman and tappedthe shield with the tip of his dagger. It buzzed and hissed at him.Hadn’t Akstyr once said a practitioner could not attack and defendat the same time? The dual task certainly wasn’t bothering thiswoman. Maybe because she was using a tool to attack instead of herown mind?

Sicarius sprinted back toward Basilard andthe woman. “Go by her,” he barked in Mangdorian. “Down the nextladder.”

The woman flipped a lever on her cone.Sicarius saw the attack coming and dove to his belly this time.That had to hurt without clothes on, but it worked. He skiddedunder the cone’s field of influence, and the wave did no more thanruffle his hair.

He jumped up, inches from the shield andjerked his arms up as if to attack, but he exaggerated themovements. Trying to startle her? To break her concentration so theshield would drop?

She watched him without flinching, thenominously reached for the lever on her weapon again. He tapped thebarrier with his knife. It buzzed at him. He stalked about theshield, like a prowling tiger checking his cage for a weakness.

Basilard picked up his knife and tried topass the woman in the corridor. The edges of the barrier extendedto the walls, so he had to slither on his belly to find anunblocked spot.

A string of words came down the hall.Basilard did not understand the language, but it sounded like aquestion. Without taking her eyes from Sicarius, the gray-hairedwoman answered in the same tongue.

Basilard thumped the wall to get Sicarius’sattention, We should go.

Where to he did not know. If the navigationarea was out, what else could they try?

The woman lifted the weapon at Sicarius’schest again. Her finger tightened on the trigger, but heanticipated the attack. He leaped over the woman, barrier and all,and avoided the blast.

Sicarius joined Basilard and they ran downthe corridor.

Before they reached the ladder, twobronze-skinned men with long, thin braids of black hair came intoview. They wore white coats and toted small canvas bags that bulgedwith balls. Each carried one of the balls in his free hand, palegreen globes with the icy dark depths of a glacier.

The men were on the other side of the ladder,and Basilard thought he could reach it before they did. Heincreased his speed, running ahead of Sicarius. Had they beenguards, Basilard would have challenged them, but he wanted nothingto do with practitioners.

When he reached the ladder, he dropped down,landing in a crouch, knife ready. A pair of guards running towardthe ladder almost crashed into him.

One started to lift a pistol. Basilardknocked the arm up, and the weapon went off, the noise deafening inthe metal corridor. The pistol ball ricocheted off the walls, andthe guard flinched. Basilard feinted toward the man’s face with hisknife, drawing a block, then lowered his blade and thrust towardthe unprotected gut.

The guard had fast reflexes and almostrecovered quickly enough to block the attack, but Basilard wasfaster still. The blade plunged through flesh and organs before hepulled it free again.

He shoved the injured man at his comrade,eliciting a new blast of pain from his shoulder. He need not havebothered. As Sicarius dropped down, he hammered his black bladeinto the top of the man’s skull. Bone crunched, and utter shockstamped the guard’s face-his last expression ever.

“Run!” Sicarius sprinted up the corridor.

As Basilard turned to follow him, two of thepale green balls dropped down from above. Busy running, he did notsee them hit the floor, but he heard cracks like breakingglass.

He hunched his shoulders, expecting anexplosion. But it was a stench that assaulted him. He snorted,trying to expel any intrusive gas from his nostrils. After that, heheld his breath as he raced after Sicarius. He might be fast on theClank Race, but he had the shorter legs, and he fell a few pacesbehind.

The long, twisting corridor seemed to go onforever. Ahead, someone leaned out of a hatchway, a compactcrossbow poised to fire. The attacker probably thought he was safe,that he could duck back behind a barrier as soon as he made theshot, but Sicarius dodged the quarrel and surged forward withstartling speed. He grasped the crossbow wielder’s wrist and yankedhim out before he could duck back. Sicarius spun the man about, ahand going to his head, and broke his neck before he could so muchas shout for help.

Basilard’s lungs burned from holding hisbreath. Sicarius stopped to grab the crossbow and pat the man downfor ammunition. It must be safe to breathe.

Basilard opened his mouth to suck in a gaspof air, but couldn’t. His lungs were frozen. He tried again. Andagain. Nothing. It was as if he had taken a blow to the solarplexus and his system was stunned. He thumped on his chest, notsure what else to try. Panic encroached upon him. Would he die forlack of the air all about him?

Before he reached the dead body, Sicariusrose and headed down the corridor again. Basilard thumped on thewall.

Sicarius stopped and turned. For a moment, hesimply stood there. Trying to ascertain what was wrong? Or thinkingthat, despite his earlier words, he was being given a chance toleave Basilard to die and to end the possibility of a threat?

Blackness crept into the edges of Basilard’svision, and the weight of a thousand pounds of sand filled hislegs. He stumbled and pitched toward the floor.

Hands caught him. Air that Basilard wanted somuch to inhale breezed past as he was hoisted from the floor anddraped over Sicarius’s shoulder. The darkness swallowed more of hisvision, and his pulse throbbed in his ears. Vaguely, he was awareof the floor skimming past as Sicarius continued running down thecorridor. He turned at an intersection and halted.

Another barrier to pass? Did Sicarius stillhave the eye? Basilard could not see, nor could he feel his limbsor move his head.

Metal squealed and they moved again, but onlya few steps. Basilard felt himself being lowered to the floor. Itscool smoothness pressed against his cheek. He wondered if it wouldbe the last thing he ever felt.

Abruptly, a massive spasm coursed through hisbody. His lungs surprised him by coming to life, and he gulped airin so quickly he almost threw up. He was so relieved he did notcare. A temporary paralysis of the lungs, thank God.

Shots rang out nearby. Basilard rolled to hisstomach and tried to get his hands and knees beneath him so hecould help, but his body was too busy breathing to obey. He didmanage to lift his head.

Sicarius stood beside the hatch, reloading apistol. The crossbow leaned against his leg.

White-coated figures milled several metersdown the corridor. One started forward. Sicarius sensed it somehowand leaned out, firing the crossbow. The figures did not even duck.The quarrel bounced off a shield identical to the one thegray-haired woman had used.

Sicarius slammed the hatch shut and spun around wheel, causing a thick bolt to clang into place. Though itsounded sturdy, there was no way to lock it.

Basilard staggered to his feet. He andSicarius were in a chamber dominated by an engine, boiler, andfurnace. Giant pistons pumped, and a flywheel turned, and the placemight have looked purely Turgonian, but unfamiliar tubes andsinuous pipes swept and twisted about the chamber like vinesamongst trees. Domes of various sizes punctuated the dull metal atpoints, emitting orange and red pulses of light. Whatever burnedinside the furnace emitted crimson flames instead of yellowishorange.

Welcome to the engine room, Basilard toldhimself.

Sicarius strode toward the engine controls,lifted a hand, but stopped a few inches shy of touching a lever. Hegazed at it for a long moment, the way Akstyr focused when he wascalling upon his science. Then he shook his head once and backedaway. He grabbed a wrench out of a toolbox and tossed it at thecontrol panel. It bounced off an invisible field and zipped acrossthe cabin. Basilard ducked as it shot over his shoulder. It clangedinto the bulkhead and bounced halfway across the room again beforeclunking to the deck. Singe marks blackened the tip.

If Sicarius had meant to take over theengines, the possibility of succeeding was not looking good.

He tore a pipe from a wall, and steam burstforth. He shoved the pipe through the wheel on the door.

A pipe against three wizards? Basilardsigned.

“Six,” Sicarius said.

What?

“There are six practitioners out there now.At least.”

What’s the plan?

“The plan is to come up with one.”

Basilard searched his face, wondering if thatwas a joke, but no hint of humor softened Sicarius’s stonyexpression.

Amaranthe tugged at the thick water-repellentmaterial pooled around her boots, boots two inches too large. Ifthere were such things as diving suits for women, she had notencountered them yet. Maybe it would not matter. In the water, thematerial ought to float, right? Or it would cause her to becomehopelessly tangled in seaweed where she would be an easy-to-catchsnack for a kraken.

“Less pessimism, girl,” she muttered, thenraised her voice for Maldynado and Akstyr. “How are your suitsfitting?”

They were gearing up around the trapdoor inMs. Setjareth’s warehouse. Amaranthe had agreed to give the woman adiscount on future work in exchange for the use of her building fora couple of hours-a deal to which Setjareth had magnanimouslyagreed, possibly because no shipments had been due in that morning.Fortunately, she was not around to see the pile of harpoons andhand-held launchers sitting next to her trapdoor. The tub labeledSkelith Poison was probably not a typical warehouse store either.Books promised the tar-like substance, which they had smeared onthe harpoon tips, would survive the water, at least for a couple ofhours.

“This thing weighs a thousand pounds.” Akstyrtugged at the collar.

“Only one-eighty, including the helmet,”Amaranthe said, “or so Books tells me.” Saying his name prompted aglance toward the door. They were waiting on him to return withanother weapon to use against the kraken. He had rushed off beforesharing the details, and Amaranthe had a hard time not worrying.Six months later, she still had nightmares of that printing presscareening down the icy street with Maldynado riding it like acontestant in a log rolling competition. That had been one ofBooks’s ideas, too.

“My helmet is fabulous,” Maldynado said, “butthe suit binds across the chest. Whatever runty treasure huntercommissioned this piece lacked my substantial musculature.”

“And your ego, too, I’d imagine,” Amaranthesaid.

Wearing everything but the helmet, sheshuffled over to a high window facing the lake. She had to clamberatop a crate to push open the shutters and peer outside.

Early morning sun glittered on the calm lakewater. A few fishing boats meandered away from the docks, headingout for the day’s work. Given what was going on below, Amaranthethought the scene should be less idyllic.

She stuck her head out, twisting her neck forthe view she wanted. Dozens of docks away, the Saberfistfloated in its berth. Plumes of smoke rose from its twin stacks anda thrum of excitement ran through her. Had Mancrest done it?Convinced them to send divers down to investigate? Marines bustledabout on the deck, and the activity had doubled since the last timeshe took a look.

“Books is back,” Maldynado called. “And hedidn’t bring anything useful.”

Amaranthe hopped down in time to catch thescowl Books sent Maldynado’s direction. Books was carrying a woodenkeg labeled SALT into the building. Amaranthe’s earlier excitementfaded. Harpoon launchers might harm a kraken, but salt? There hadto be more to it than that.

“That’s your secret weapon?” she asked,joining the men. “Salt?”

“Actually, it’s empty,” Books said.

“So you brought a wooden keg?” Maldynadoasked. “Genius strategy, professor.”

Amaranthe frowned, aware that this might betheir only chance to retrieve Sicarius and Basilard. If theSaberfist was en route, and it found and attacked theunderwater structure, the kidnappers would flee. She couldn’timagine them sticking around once they knew they had beendiscovered. And who knew where they would go after that?

“Tell us,” she prompted Books, who wasscowling at Maldynado.

“As it turns out,” Books said, “krakens arequite difficult to kill. There are more stories of them sinkingships than there are of people slaying them.”

“How comforting,” Maldynado said.

“My idea is to fill this keg with poison,”Books said. “I tinkered with the design, so it’ll implode whensqueezed. There are also razor-sharp caltrops inside to cut thekraken’s flesh to ensure the poison enters its bloodstream.”

“How do we convince the creature to grab it?”Amaranthe asked. “And will a little poison injected at the end of atentacle really incapacitate it? It’s quite…large.”

“Ah, but we won’t target the tentacle.Squids, and presumably krakens, travel by sucking water into theirmantel cavity, then streaming it out behind them in a jet, muchlike a fireman’s hose. Perhaps if we could propel this keg towardits mantle, the creature would inhale it, so to speak, and it’d belike getting pepper up your nose.”

“Couldn’t we just use pepper?” Maldynadoasked.

“Do you want it to sneeze or to die?” Booksasked.

“Maybe if it sneezed hard enough, it’d goflying into the air, land on the Saberfist, and the marinescould hack it to pieces with their swords.”

Books threw Amaranthe an exasperated look.“Is it necessary to have these louts present during planning?”

“This mantle cavity,” she said, trying toimagine Books’s scenario, “is up under all the tentacles? I can’timagine anyone being able to get close without getting killed.”

“We could send in someone expendable,” Bookssaid, eyeing Maldynado.

“Oh, no,” Maldynado said. “When I get mystatue, I don’t want it to be an image of me going up a squid’sbutt.”

“All right, gentlemen.” Amaranthe lifted herhands, struggling not to snap at them for being silly. It must bethe lack of sleep stealing some of her patience. “We’ll go downwith the keg and harpoons. With luck, the marines will figure out away to kill the kraken through attrition, and we won’t need toimplement any of this.”

“When have we ever had that kind of luck?”Books asked.

“I don’t remember any,” Amaranthe said, “butwe ought to be due, eh?”

The men traded skeptical looks. She forced asmile. Someone had to be optimistic after all.

Basilard waited with a rag pressed to theback of his shoulder, watching as Sicarius shoved equipment againstthe hatch. Soon everything that could be moved, or torn free,blocked the only entrance. Like the pipe in the lock wheel, it didnot seem enough against wizards, but maybe they wouldn’t want torisk destroying their own engine room.

Basilard dropped his hands so he could sign,What now?

“Back up plan,” Sicarius said over thegrinding and chugging of the engine. “If we can’t steer to thesurface, we may be able to float there.”

Float? Basilard stared at him. Hecould not imagine this sprawling maze of tunnels and chambersmoving at all, much less bobbing about at the surface of thelake.

“The air you’re breathing would typicallymake us buoyant,” Sicarius said, “so this craft must have ballasttanks.”

Basilard occasionally found Books too verbosefor his tastes, but he wouldn’t have minded more of an explanationjust then. Sicarius turned his back to study symbols onpanels-writing presumably, but not in Mangdorian or Turgonian, theonly two languages Basilard could read.

He walked about, in part to see if he couldfind some way to help and in part to distract himself from themetal ball grinding against his shoulder blade.

He found a storage locker holding a pair offlintlock muskets that appeared only a model or two up from the oldmatchlocks. More weapons that would prove useless againstpractitioners who could generate shields. There were a couple ofaxes, too, and he suspected this was a supply the engineer and hismate were supposed to use to defend their station.

Which raised a question: where was theengineer?

Had he fled the room at the sound of thealarm? It still throbbed in the corridors outside, along with a fewbangs and scrapes. The practitioners up to something, no doubt.

Basilard took one of the axes-they had asatisfying heft, and he imagined smashing some of the machinerywith it. If Sicarius could not find these ballast tanks, perhapsthey could convince the structure to rise to the surface bydestroying the engines. At the least, they could make sure thisvessel never navigated into imperial waters again to harass itscitizens.

That thought made him freeze mid-step. Whenhad he come to care about the empire and its citizens? This placehad done little enough for him, and the old emperor had beenresponsible for the ruthless assassination of Mangdoria’srulers.

But Amaranthe, Maldynado, and Books wereTurgonians and they were the first friends-the first family-he hadbeen allowed to have in years. He wished he could see his daughteragain someday, but, coward that he was, he feared her reaction. Shewould see his scars, know the violence he had been involved in, andwould condemn him. She had to. That was his people’s way. It painedhim to think that he might have more in common with thesewarmongering Turgonians these days than his own kin.

He flexed his fingers around the axe haft,bringing his attention back to the moment. This was no time fordaydreaming. He prowled around the flywheel to consider an angle ofattack and almost tripped over two bodies in Turgonian armyfatigues. Their throats were slashed. Basilard glanced at Sicarius.He supposed it had been a matter of defense, but if they werealive, they might have been coerced into helping with the engines.Basilard shrugged and stepped past them.

A glint of light near the ceiling caught hiseye. A small, transparent cylinder floated in the air beneath agrate-no, a vent. It was filled with something yellow. The samestuff that had incapacitated him in the stadium?

Basilard crept closer. It hung in the air foranother moment, then dropped, as if the invisible hand holding itlet go.

He dove for it, hitting the deck chest first.A fresh wave of pain erupted from his shoulder, but he flung hisarm out and caught the vial before it smashed to the floor. Heopened his fist, worried he might have cracked the glass. Itremained intact but now what was he supposed to do with it? For allhe knew, the practitioner who had levitated it in could snap theglass with his mind.

“What is it?” Sicarius asked.

Basilard showed him the vial, then pointed atthe furnace. Should we burn it?

“That’ll release the fumes, and the furnaceisn’t airtight.”

Sicarius found a flat sheet of metal, thenfished in the toolbox again and pulled out a screwdriver. He held ahand out for the vial. When Basilard gave it to him, Sicarius slidit back into the duct from whence it had come and screwed the metalsheet across the vent to block it.

They’ll try again, Basilardsigned.

“Yes. Continue to stand watch while Iread.”

You’re welcome, Basilard signed.

“What?”

For saving you-both of us-from a trip back tothe laboratory tables.

“At this juncture, it’s more likely they’dkill us.” Sicarius bent his head over a manual he had found.

Basilard remembered how he had not thought ofhim as one of the people he considered friends or family. Nomistake there.

You’re an ass, you know that? hesigned, sure Sicarius would not see with his head bent over thebook. I can’t believe I’m planning on not killing you when youare so deserving of being killed.

Basilard scowled at himself. That didn’t evenmake sense. Before he could stalk away in disgust, Sicariusspoke.

“What changed your mind?”

Basilard froze. Er. He lifted his hands, buthesitated. Trying to explain his emotions would be futile. Sicariushad saved his life in the corridor, and possibly on the laboratorytable as well, but Basilard did not want to admit to any feelingsof gratitude, not to someone who would brush them aside. He signed,Because Amaranthe would never forgive me if I wassuccessful.

“Huh.”

With that, Sicarius went back to reading.Basilard sighed and found a spot where he could watch the duct andthe door. He wished Amaranthe were there with them. If nothingelse, she would have convinced Sicarius to find clothes by now.