Deadly Games

CHAPTER 3

“What are all these slagging enforcers doinghere?” Akstyr slouched against a tree and glowered at the groundswhere athletes mingled, roaming from the barracks to the baths andto various eating and shopping tents.

Books stood beside the tree as well, thoughhe was scribbling something in a notebook and paying littleattention to the scene before them. As far as Basilard could tell,serious training had ended for the day, but the evening was youngenough that few of the athletes were heading for the barracks. Moreenforcers than one would expect patrolled the grounds.

“We’re not going to be able to investigate acigar butt without getting spotted,” Akstyr went on.

In the fading light, Basilard exaggerated hissigns so Books and Akstyr could read them. We’re only supposedto see if magic is being used. We don’t need to get close or talkto anyone.

“Cursed enforcers will bug me just because ofmy brand.” Akstyr lifted a fist to display the arrow mark scoredinto the skin on the back of his hand. That seemed less likely toget him harassed than the greased ridge of spiky hair bisecting hishead and the baggy mismatched clothing any enforcer would assume hestole-probably correctly.

“Then keep your hands in your pockets,” Bookssaid.

Where should we start? Basilardasked.

“I believe I’ll observe from here,” Bookssaid. “You two lads are young enough to pass as athletes, but withmy gray hairs, nobody will believe I’m in the competition.”

Basilard lifted his eyebrows, amused at beingcalled a lad. He was close to thirty-five and had a bald spot itwould take a beaver pelt to cover. All the scars made the hair onthe sides grow in patchy, so he simply kept his whole headshaven.

“That and the fact you can’t walk more thanten steps without tripping over something,” Akstyr said.

“I’m not that clumsy.” Books tuckedhis notebook into a pocket.

A gaggle of young women Akstyr’s age walkedpast, their sleeveless togs displaying enough flesh to stir one’simagination. Akstyr straightened and touched his hair, as if toensure it was still suitably spiky.

Basilard signed a comment for Books, I’msurprised your empire lets girls compete. Larocka and Arbitan didnot have women fight.

“They’re permitted to enter the runningevents and the Clank Race,” Books said. “Not wrestling or boxing.Women have never been allowed to fight in the empire. As to therest, the historical precedent is interesting. In the old days,warrior caste men would come to the Imperial Games to hunt forbrides. The women who won the events were presumed to be mostlikely to birth sons who would become superior warriors. Theoriginal awards ceremony involved interested men coming out tocompete for the winners. Bloodshed was often involved. Sometimesdeath. I understand there are some warrior-caste men who still comewith the intent of shopping for brides, but the women are lesslikely to be interested these days. They want to start shops orwide-ranging businesses, using the status and honor they gain fromtheir victories to assist in their endeavors. We live in afascinating time, I must say.”

“Look at the chest on that one.” Akstyrpointed at a woman trotting to catch up with comrades. “I’d watchher run a race anytime.”

“Fascinating for some of us anyway,” Booksmuttered. “Akstyr, why don’t you go look for magic. That’s whywe’re here, right?”

Akstyr shrugged and ambled off.

Basilard had wanted to talk to the youngerman alone and saw his chance. I’ll go, too, and see if all theseenforcers are here about the missing people or Sicarius.Amaranthe had briefed Basilard, Books, and Akstyr on the morning’sevents.

He jogged to catch up with Akstyr, and theytook the path that meandered around the grounds. A nervous flutterteased his gut, and he did not start a conversation immediately. Ifhe guessed incorrectly, and Akstyr tattled on him, he would be adead man.

They avoided the crowded areas as theywalked. Basilard could not tell if Akstyr was checking for signs ofmagic use or simply ogling female athletes. They veered into theshadows to avoid a pair of enforcers marching in theirdirection.

“They’ll all over the place,” Akstyr saidwhen the men had passed, “and as annoying as flies on dung.”

Perhaps it’s because Sicarius wassupposedly spotted this morning, Basilard signed, seeing achance to bring up the topic he wanted to discuss.

“I guess,” Akstyr said. Unless one wastalking about the mental sciences, he was a hard man to draw into aconversation.

Basilard tried again. I wonder why thatman impersonated Sicarius. Especially when it only got himkilled.

“Because he was stupid,” Akstyr said.

Someone paid him perhaps.

“Not enough.”

Yes, even if the enforcers did not kill him,Sicarius himself might have…for having the audacity toimpersonate him.

“Probably.”

Basilard gritted his teeth. With theconversation going nowhere, he decided to drop it, but then Akstyrgave him a lead-in.

“I hate him sometimes.”

Sicarius?

They stepped into the shadows behind a foodtent to avoid more enforcers.

“Sometimes he kind of seems all right,”Akstyr said. “Like he stood up for me once when we went to see myold boss, but I think that was on account of Am’ranthe and notbecause he cares if I live or die.”

Likely, Basilard signed, but he didnot know if Akstyr could see his hand codes in the gloaminglight.

“But I hate when he climbs all over our backsjust because we aren’t good enough at his dumb exercises. I want tobe-” Akstyr caught himself and lowered his voice. “Well, you knowwhat I want to be. I don’t care about running and swords andobstacle courses. You can’t object though or he threatens you. He’ssuch as cold bastard.”

Basilard drew Akstyr around the side of thetent where there was more light. Raised fire pits illuminatedtables and benches where men and women chatted over tea andcider.

He lifted his hands to sign the nextquestion. A bead of sweat dribbled down his spine. Do you everthink of…collecting his bounty?

“Oh, dead deranged ancestors, yes.” Akstyrlaughed. “Don’t you?”

The blatant admission surprised Basilard, andhis fingers hung still for a moment before he could sign aresponse. Maybe.

“Bas, you don’t know how bad I want to getout of this balls-sucking sinkhole of an empire. I’m tired ofhaving to hide all my…interests, and I can’t find anyone to teachme, and people here would shoot you just for-” Akstyr’s voicetightened, and he cleared his throat.

Basilard had not realized how passionate theboy was about learning the mental sciences.

“If I had a million ranmyas,” Akstyr said,naming the price on Sicarius’s head, “I could get out of here. Icould go to Kendor or the Kyatt Islands and hire a teacher, andnobody would care ‘cause it’s normal there.”

Basilard nodded. Though money would donothing for his predicament, it made sense to encourage Akstyr’sfantasy if he wanted him for an ally.

“But it’d be a dumb move,” Akstyr said. “He’dkill you in a heartbeat if he thought you were serious about it.And how would you get him anyway? He never sleeps, and he won’t eatanything we cook unless he’s seen everyone else eat it first.”

Yes, Basilard had already considered the factthat he prepared more meals for the group than anyone else. He knewof numerous herbs that could incapacitate or even kill. ButSicarius never ate his stews or soups, nor did he drink anythingbesides water. Basilard was not sure if it represented paranoia orsimply dietary preferences. He’d never seen Sicarius eat anythingexcept fruits, vegetables, nuts, and plainly prepared fish or meat.Basilard thought he might try something Amaranthe offered,but his stomach turned at the idea of using her to get to him. Itwould devastate her to be the instrument of his death, and Basilarddid not want to hurt her.

One would have to be extremelycareful, Basilard signed. Perhaps there’ssome…magic?

Akstyr’s forehead furrowed. He glancedaround-three times-then lowered his voice. “Are you actuallythinking of doing this?”

Maybe.

“What’d he do to you? I thought you got alongwith him better than anyone except Am’ranthe.”

Basilard debated whether or not to share hisreason. Akstyr would care nothing about the deaths of theMangdorian royal family-he probably wouldn’t even be outraged atthe idea that Sicarius had killed children-but he might understandwhy Basilard would be committed and trust him not to back out orcross him.

Remember that note in the Mangdorian shaman’shideout?

“Yes,” Akstyr said.

I recently learned that fifteen years ago,Sicarius was the one responsible for the assassination of myrulers.

“Oh. Huh.” Akstyr stuffed his hands into hisdeep pockets and prodded a tuft of grass with his boot. “If I founda way to make him sleep, would you do the deed?”

Yes.

“And I’d get half the money?”

You can have it all.

Akstyr’s eyes bulged. “Really?”

Yes.

“Well, maybe we could look into things alittle. You gotta swear not to say anything to anyone though.Maldynado and Books wouldn’t get on this locomotive.”

Agreed. You make same promise?

“Oh, I’m not saying a word.”

As they left the side of the tent and thetables full of happily chattering people, Basilard wondered if hehad taken the first step down a path that would result in hisdeath. The idea of death terrified him, especially since thatpriestess had confirmed he had no chance of avoiding eternity inEthor, but shouldn’t he at least go out striking a blow of justicefor his people?

Amaranthe nibbled on a fingernail. She hid inthe shadows behind a street vendor’s cart while she waited forMaldynado. Almost a half an hour had passed since he disappearedinto the busy market. She needed to get back before the Mancrestsleft the Gazette building.

Though twilight had settled in, the throng ofshoppers had yet to wane. Gas lamps shone light onto the vegetablestands, smoked meat carts, and tables displaying candles, soaps,and flower bundles. Across the street from Amaranthe, a man andwoman were selling freshly roasted walnuts and almonds doused incinnamon and sugar. Her mouth watered, reminding her it had been along time since breakfast.

Maldynado ambled into view with bulgingcanvas bags draped over both arms.

Amaranthe stared at the sizable haul. “Youwere just supposed to get flatbread and cheese,” she said when hejoined her. “Maybe a cheap jug of applejack.”

“You do not know how to prepare aromantic dinner.” He poked through his bags. “I got you red wine,Anduvian rolls, quiche, fresh herbs and greens, carrots, parsnips,cider vinegar, and walnut oil-you can make a lovely salad. Oh, andcedar-wood scented candles. Those promote stamina.” He wiggled hisbrows.

“First off, I’m not romancing the man. Hetried to turn me over to the army tonight. Second, how did you getall that? I only gave you five ranmyas.”

“That’s right, you did.” Maldynado rearrangedthe bags, fished in a pocket, and pulled out a five-ranmya bill.“Here’s your change. I got it all for free. Samples, you see, onaccount of the lavish spread my mother is planning. If she likeswhat she tries, she’ll put in a huge order for her annual summertea party.”

“This is the mother who hasn’t spoken to youin a year?” Amaranthe asked.

“Closer to two.” Maldynado winked and startedloading bags onto her arms, but paused midway through. “Maybe Ishould go with you and help set things up. You’re a capable womanin general, but I’m not convinced you have the necessary experienceto seduce a man.”

“I’m not seducing anyone.” She tookthe remaining bags from him. “I’m just trying to talk him intolistening to my story and publishing the truth about ouradventures.”

“I got you today’s copy of TheGazette, too. You might want to see if he’s got an article init. Then you can talk to him about it. Men love it when you’reinterested in their work. And sports. Do you know anything aboutthe athletes entering the wrestling? You could-”

“Thank you, Maldynado.” Amaranthe didnot quite manage to keep the exasperation out of her voice. “I’vegot to get back before he leaves the office.”

“You’re certain you don’t want me tocome?”

“I’m certain.”

“At the least, I feel I should go along andpunch him in the nose a couple of times for betraying me and tryingto ensnare you. That’s not a gentlemanly thing to do.”

“No need. Go check on the others. Books willbe bored without you.” Amaranthe strode away at a brisk pace beforehe could burble more.

“That is true,” was the last thing sheheard him say.

With the bags in hand, she headed toward thecanal where she had left Sicarius watching the Gazettebuilding. Though she appreciated Maldynado’s enthusiasm forplanning her evening-sort of-his shopping trip had taken her awayfor longer than expected. If Lord Mancrest left before shereturned, Sicarius was supposed to follow him and find out where helived, but Amaranthe worried that sending Sicarius off after a manhe loathed might not be wise.

Deepening twilight made it easier to travelwithout worry of being recognized, and she was almost jogging bythe time she reached the canal. Lamps brightened the streetparalleling the waterway, but shadows obscured the alcoves andalleys. She headed for the niche where she had left Sicarius, but afigure stepped out of a doorway before she reached it.

Two figures. One threw back the hood of alantern with a clank, and light flared.

Amaranthe squinted and stepped back.

Two enforcers stood before her, one asergeant holding a sword and the lantern, and the other a youngprivate aiming a repeating crossbow at her chest.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” she asked, hopingthey had not identified her for certain yet. Across the canal, thewindows of the Gazette building were dark. If the Mancrestshad left, Sicarius would be gone, too, following Deret home. Nochance for help.

“Former Corporal Amaranthe Lokdon,” thesergeant said.

So much for not being identified.

“We were told you might be in the areatonight.”

Idiot, she cursed herself. She should haveassumed Mancrest would tip off the enforcers as well as his brotherin the army.

“Who?” Amaranthe asked innocently. “You musthave the wrong person.” It was worth a try. She hefted the shoppingbags. “I’m heading home to prepare a dinner for the young man who’scourting me.”

Footsteps sounded behind her. Steel rasped-asword being drawn-followed by the thunk of a crossbow lever beingset. She peeked behind her, verifying that two more enforcers stoodless than ten paces away. One she recognized, Corporal Riek, a manshe had worked with before. Not good.

The sergeant snorted. “Who’s courting you?Sicarius?”

“We know who you are Lokdon,” the crossbowmanin front of her said. “You worked with us until you turnedtraitor.”

Right, no chance of convincing them they hadthe wrong person.

“Do it,” the sergeant told thecrossbowman.

The weapon came up, quarrel aiming atAmaranthe’s chest, and the meaning of “do it” became clear.

“Sicarius,” Amaranthe blurted.

“What?” The crossbowman and the sergeantlooked around.

Amaranthe might have taken the moment to runand fling herself into the canal, but it was a dozen paces away,and the two men behind her surely had her targeted.

“Sicarius is in the neighborhood,” shesaid. “And he’s more of a reward than I am, isn’t he?”

The sergeant scowled at her. “We’re not inthis for a reward. Taking down criminals is our job, a jobyou once shared.”

“I know you wouldn’t be granted a monetaryreward,” Amaranthe said, glad she had him talking. Talking to herwas far superior to shooting her. “But surely promotions have beenoffered.” She remembered how much the promise of a promotion hadmeant to her once-it was the reward Hollowcrest had dangled to gether to go after Sicarius all those months ago.

The men exchanged glances. Soft murmurs camefrom the enforcers behind her.

“Out of curiosity, has a promotion beenoffered for me?” Amaranthe said.

“Killing you, or bringing you in, is worth apositive commendation,” the sergeant said.

“And Sicarius?”

“A promotion to captain.”

If not for the bags in Amaranthe’s hands shewould have propped her fists on her hips. “I’m only worth apositive mark in your record, and getting him can leapfrogyou straight to captain?”

The crossbowman laughed. “Jealous?”

The sergeant glared at him, and he forced hisfeatures into a more professional expression. That’s right,Amaranthe thought, chat with me, laugh at me, and think I’m afriend and not someone you want to kill….

“Look,” she said, “I don’t want to dietonight. I know you gentlemen have no reason to believe it, but Iwasn’t the one who kidnapped the emperor. I helped free him infact. You should be looking up an outfit called Forge.”

The sergeant was shaking his head, and helifted a hand, as if to give an order. Yes, that tactic wasworthless.

“But regardless,” Amaranthe blurted, rushingto out-speak the man, “I can take you to Sicarius. In exchange formy life. I’ll show you his latest hideout.”

“You wouldn’t betray an ally.”

“Come, now, if you believe I betrayed theempire and the enforcers, why would you think I wouldn’t turn in anassassin? It’s not like he’s a friendly, cuddly fellow who I sharea deep, meaningful relationship with.”

Though it was her intent, it saddened her ina wry way that the argument seemed to sway the men. At the least,they nodded in agreement. Who could have a meaningful relationshipwith a callous assassin?

“We can’t let you go, Lokdon,” the sergeantsaid.

“And we don’t have enough men to take downSicarius,” the crossbowman said with a shudder.

The sergeant glared at him again.

“You don’t have to let me go,” Amaranthesaid. “Just don’t shoot me. Take me to the magistrate, and I’llplead my case to him. I’m sure you’ll still get your commendation.And then there’s the potential of that captaincy….” She met thesergeant’s eyes. He would be the one who would make thedecision-and who stood to earn the reward. “Big pay increase, huh?And an honor as well. It’s true Sicarius is a dangerous man, but hewon’t likely be there right now. It’s night…the time when he doeshis work. I can show you his hideout, and you can come backtomorrow with more men. Attack him while he’s sleeping.”

“I don’t know….” The sergeant scratched hisjaw.

She had him. She sensed it. A little more,and she could sway him.

“Wasn’t he seen on the Imperial Gamesgrounds?” Amaranthe asked.

The sergeant’s chin came up. “This morning,yes. What was he doing there? Do you know?”

“I’m not privy to all his whims,” Amaranthesaid, “but if he did have some mischief planned…” Sheshrugged. “I’m sure you’d feel bad if he hurt someone there, andyou knew you’d had the chance to take him down before it allhappened.”

The sergeant glowered. He had to know she wastrying to manipulate him, but her argument was persuasive-shehoped.

“If I agree to take you to the magistrate,”the sergeant said, “and to have you show us this hideout, will yougive me your word you aren’t walking us into a trap?”

“A trap?” How could she be walking them intoa trap, when they’d been the ones to ensnare her? She almostblurted, ‘Of course,’ but stopped herself. If Sicarius saw herbeing escorted by these men, he would attack them without thinkingtwice, and he might kill somebody. She frowned at her thoughts?Might? Sicarius would kill somebody.

“I’m aware of what happened to Corporal Wholtand his team when he tried to arrest you,” the sergeant saidcoolly.

The crossbowman scowled, finger tightening onthe trigger of his weapon. She wished nobody had mentioned thatincident. They would be more wary while escorting her now.

“They tried to kill me,” Amaranthe said.“That whole night was…unfortunate.”

“I’ll say,” the sergeant said. More murmurscame from the men behind her. “Your word. You’re not walking usinto a trap?”

Strange that her word meant something to him.She lifted her chin and announced loudly-loudly enough Sicariuswould hear if he was nearby, “You have my word I’m not walking youinto a trap.”

She hoped that was true. Fortunately, he hadnot made her swear she would not try to escape. That was more onher mind, and she had better do it before Sicarius showed up.Having more enforcer blood on her hands would be intolerable. Shecould not pretend she was some noble hero working for the good ofthe empire if her actions resulted in dead citizens.

“Check her bags,” the sergeant said.

“Want to carry them for me?” Amaranthe askedthe young private who came forward to rifle through them. She hopedhe would be less likely to confiscate them if she made it soundlike it would be a favor. “They’re getting heavy.”

“Carry them yourself, outlaw,” the privatesaid.

Good.

“Just food and wine, sergeant,” the privateannounced.

“Wine?” came a speculative inquiry from thecrossbowman. “Maybe we should confiscate that.”

“Focus on your duty,” the sergeant told himin a clipped tone. “Get going,” he said to Amaranthe.

With two enforcers marching behind her,crossbows trained on her back, and one man on either side,Amaranthe led the way down the street. She doubted she couldmeander through the city for long before they grew suspicious abouther ability to take them to this fictitious hideout.

She considered her surroundings, searchingfor inspiration. Couples walked past, hand in hand, enjoying thepleasant evening. Now and then, crowds of university students oroff-duty soldiers sauntered down the street, their voicesboisterous with drink. Everyone turned curious eyes toward theenforcer procession as it passed, but nobody gave Amarantheanything to work with.

She decided to stay on the street parallelingthe canal. If no better option presented itself, she might be ableto distract her captors long enough to sprint to the side and jumpin. Of course, she might also get her back peppered with quarrelsif she tried that tactic. Even if she made it in, the gas lampsfrom the street shone onto the water, creating yellow pools thatprovided enough light for a crossbowman to see a head pop up and toshoot at it.

Ahead lay the bridge her team had crossedunder earlier. She thought of the grate Sicarius had unlocked. Hehad closed it, she remembered, but nobody had bothered to re-lockit. If she could get to it, maybe she could sprint through thattunnel and out the other side, then lose the enforcers in the city.How, though? Jump into the canal, swim to the grate, open it, climbin, and run? That seemed like an eternity where she would be atarget to the crossbowmen-if she could get past them long enough tojump over the railing to start with.

Most of the boat traffic had dwindled withtwilight’s arrival, though a keelboat floated past now and then.Lanterns lit up one heading upriver, with six pole-bearers stridingalong the sides in sync, pushing the vessel with their long staves.It would float under the bridge before long. If Amaranthe slowedher pace, she might be able to time a trip over the canal at thesame time as the keelboat passed below.

“Hold up, please.” Without waiting forpermission, she lowered the bags to the ground and made a show ofshaking out her hands. “These are heavy.” She moved a couple ofitems from one bag to the other.

A boot thumped against her backside. “Getgoing.”

She picked up the bags one at a time,watching the approach of the vessel. That should do it.

“This way.” Amaranthe headed for the bridge.“He’s in the attic of a factory over on Sankel Street.”

The enforcers followed without comment. Herheart lurched into double time as she considered the escape. Shemight very well get herself shot. Or she might break a leg jumpingoff the bridge. Or they might simply follow her and capture her.This was foolish. She should wait for a better opportunity. Butthere might not be one.

They started up the bridge as the keelboatapproached.

A harsh smell wafted through the air. Shesniffed, trying to identify it. Varnish.

She eyed the houseboats tied on either sideof the canal. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but she spottedsomething that may have been brushes, drop cloths, and a tin ofvarnish on the deck of a floating home.

Between one step and the next her planchanged.

Amaranthe slipped a hand into one of thebags, hoping Maldynado had been complete with his shopping. Whatgood were stamina-promoting candles without matches to lightthem?

As they reached the apex of the bridge, thesergeant moved a step closer, a shrewd gaze upon her. He must havenoticed the keelboat and guessed at her plan.

Well, she had a new plan now. Down at thebottom of the bag, past the vegetables, wine bottles, and candles,she found what she sought-a couple of sturdy wooden matches. Whilethanking Maldynado for overly thorough shopping, she slid themout.

When they passed the apex without Amarantheattempting to leap onto the keelboat, the sergeant’s attentionshifted forward again.

She found a round tin can in the bag. Somefancy spread? It didn’t matter. As they neared the bottom of thebridge, and the floating home in the process of being refinished,Amaranthe tossed the item down the slope.

“Oops,” she said, “dropped something.”

She bent, as if to try to catch it before itcould roll away, and launched a backward kick into the enforcer whohad been walking on her right. At the same time, she jabbed anelbow into the sergeant’s gut. Without waiting for them to gathertheir thoughts, she vaulted over the railing.

Though she anticipated the drop, it stole herbreath. With the water low this time of year, she fell twelve orfifteen feet before hitting the roof. She rolled to keep frombreaking an ankle, but got tangled up with the shopping bags, andan ill-placed stove vent made the landing even more painful.

Shouts sounded above. A crossbow quarrelthudded into the roof.

Amaranthe scrambled over the side, landing onthe deck near the finishing equipment. She found the varnish andunscrewed the tin.

Thumps came from the roof-the enforcersfollowing her down.

“Over here!” one shouted.

She dumped the varnish all about and struck amatch. She dropped it in the liquid and darted around the corner ofthe house. Flames flared to life behind her.

“Wait, don’t go down!”

“She started a cursed fire!”

Amaranthe hurled a deck chair into the waterunder the bridge, hoping the enforcers would think the splashresulted from her diving in. As she eased around another corner,she silently apologized to the poor homeowner whose house she wasvandalizing. Maybe she could send money later.

“Did she go overboard?”

“I heard a splash. There!”

“Somebody get a bucket! This fire is-” Theorder broke off in a round of coughing.

Hoping they were all peering into the waterunder the bridge, Amaranthe slipped up a ladder leading to theledge along the canal. She skimmed through the shadows to thegrate. It remained unlocked. She eased over the side and alightedin the tunnel.

When she leaned out to pull the grate shut,she glimpsed the fire she had started, and she gaped. The flameshad spread to the wall and roof of the home. The intensity of thelight illuminated the canal and turned the water a burnishedorange. People on the street were gathering. If the enforcers didnot give up their search and send someone to alert the ImperialFire Brigade, the owners of that house would lose everything.

She pulled the grate shut, pausing to leanher head against the cold bars. “Dumb move,” she whispered. Yes,she had escaped, but at what cost? She didn’t have the kind ofmoney it would take to reimburse the homeowners.

Amaranthe straightened, and a wine bottle inthe bag clunked against the iron bars. How she had managed to keepthe silly groceries with her she did not know.

She turned her back on the canal, and thedevastation she had wrought, and ran up the tunnel.

In the alley behind the newspaper building,she checked both directions before crawling out of the passage.Careful to do it quietly, she eased the manhole cover back intoplace. She stood, then jumped with surprise when she found a shadowlooming next to her.

“It’s me,” Sicarius said before she couldthink of flinging a shopping bag at him.

“Thank the emperor,” she breathed. “We needto go.” She trotted to the nearest street.

“Yes.” He fell into step beside her, and theyheaded away from the canal. Shouts rang out behind them-peopleyelling at others to help or run for the fire brigade. “I saw theenforcers,” he said.

Great. Another witness to her arson, thoughhe would probably approve of such tactics. That didn’t make herfeel better.

They jogged past rows of factories, dormantfor the night, and crossed into a residential neighborhood. Severalblocks into it, on the edge of a park, Amaranthe dared to stop tocatch her breath and collect herself. She dropped the canvas bags,hardly caring if she damaged something. The bottle of wine rolledout and bumped to a stop against a tree root.

“What happened after I left?” she asked. “Didyou follow Mancrest?”

“Yes. An army lorry rolled into the alley andpicked up two squads of soldiers. The Mancrests left out the front.They parted ways, and I followed the journalist to his house.”Sicarius eyed the shopping bags. “You still wish to speak withhim?”

“Yes.” Amaranthe snorted. More than ever sheneeded to make friends with Mancrest. “I need someone to squash thefront-page headline I foresee hitting the papers tomorrow: Notorious Criminal Amaranthe Lokdon Commits Arson on the 17thStreet Canal.”

“That can be arranged,” Sicarius said, thoughhe hesitated before saying it, as if he was not certain they werethinking of the same way that deed could be done. Good guess.

“Not with threats of pain,” Amaranthe said.“Or actual pain.”

He said nothing.

She crouched, putting her back to an oak, andlooked up at him. Streetlights burned at both ends of the park, butfull night had fallen, and darkness hid Sicarius’s face. His blackclothing made it hard to pick him out, even a few feet away.

“Out of all the enforcers you’ve…killed…”She had a hard time saying that. Whatever happened, she had stillbeen an enforcer for nearly seven years, and it was painful tothink of harm coming to her old colleagues. “Out of all of them,did you ever start the fight? Or was it all just a matter of themtrying to kill you?”

“If I perceived them as a threat, Ieliminated them.”

“But you never saw a couple of patrollersstrolling down the street and decided, oh, yes, there need to befewer enforcers in the world, so I’m going to leave the shadows andstick a knife in their backs?”

“You know I did not,” Sicarius said, a hintof reproach in his normally emotionless voice.

“I know. Sorry. I’m just trying to figurethis out.” She dropped her head in her hands and dug her fingersinto her scalp. She liked to think she was bright, but maybe shewas just delusional. She ought to have been able to escape withoutwreaking havoc. If she truly were smart, she would not have beencaptured in the first place. But as long as they worked in thecity, and went out and about to pursue missions, it seemed unlikelyshe could successfully avoid the enforcers every minute of everyday. She needed them to look the other way, but her stomachclenched at the idea of blackmail or any strong-arming. “How can Imake them understand that I’m on their side and they don’t need totry to capture me, no matter what the bounty says? I feel like wemade some progress with that water scheme, but again so few peopleknow we were involved. And every time something like this happens-”she waved back toward the canal, “-it’s a step backward. I’m notsure they’ll ever forgive me for what happened to Wholt and thoseother enforcers.” She thought of her discussion with Basilard andwondered if she was delusional for believing she could find a placein the history books as a hero. “Maybe I should give up on heroicsand become a villain. The money’s better, I hear, and you’re a fineexample of how easy it is to become notorious. You’reprobably guaranteed a place in the history books.”

She sighed and dropped to her knees to grabthe wine bottle and shove it back in the bag. “All right, I’m donewhining. Thank you for listening.”

In the dim lighting, she did not at firstnotice when Sicarius grabbed one bag and extended a hand for thesecond. She gave it to him. She was cursed tired of carrying thethings anyway. Maybe he knew that. He surprised her by offering hishand again, this time to grip her arm and help her up.

“Hm,” she said. “If I’d known it would resultin you carrying things for me, I’d have moaned and complained toyou more often.”

“Easy?” he said as they headed off down thetree-lined street.

“What?”

“You think it’s easy to becomenotorious?”

“Well.” She managed a faint smile. “You makeit look easy.”

“Huh.”