Deadly Games

CHAPTER 4

“Top floor, eh?” Amaranthe followed Sicariusto one of only two doors in a short hallway. The one they stoppedin front of was made of stout oak and featured a hand-carved imageof a spear-toting man hunting a bear alongside a tree-linedriver.

“Yes,” Sicarius said.

Since Mancrest was warrior caste, it madesense that he would have the resources to own a flat that took uphalf of the floor. What surprised her was that he lived in aneighborhood full of university students and modest-incomefamilies, in a building that lacked a doorman in the lobby to keepout riffraff. Maybe as a journalist, he favored being in the heartof the city.

Amaranthe took the grocery bags fromSicarius. “Thank you. Do you want to wait outside while I-”

“No.”

“No?”

“He may have a limp, but he’s a formerofficer. He’ll be a dangerous opponent.”

“No doubt,” Amaranthe said, “but I’m notplanning to fight him. Also, I find it difficult to…sway peopleto my way of thinking when you’re holding knives to their throats.That tends to render one unwilling to believe my entreaties offriendship.”

Sicarius’s only response was to knock on thedoor.

“You have an amazing knack for being almostpersonable one moment and, er, yourself the next.”

He said nothing.

Uneven footsteps and the rhythmic thump of acane on a hard floor sounded on the other side of the door.Sicarius took up a position against the wall. She wanted to tellhim not to jump out and put a knife to Mancrest’s throat, but thedoor opened too soon.

Amaranthe had a glimpse of short, wavy brownhair, a strong jaw, and spectacles before Mancrest realized who shewas and reacted.

He jumped back, whipping his cane up. A clicksounded, and the wood flew away from the handle. Amaranthe droppedthe groceries and flung an arm up to block the projectile, butSicarius blurred past her.

He caught the flying cane and tackledMancrest. Something-steel? — clattered to the floor.

In the half a second it took Amaranthe torealize she could lower her arms, the skirmish was over. Mancrestlay sprawled face-first on the floor with Sicarius on top, pinninghim. She cringed. At least knives were not involved. Yet.

“Good evening, Lord Mancrest.” Amaranthepicked up her bags and the hollow husk of the cane. She spotted thehandle attached to a rapier on the floor inside the threshold.Sword stick. “I thought we had a dinner date. Was my invitationreceived in error?”

Having his face pressed into the floormuffled his response.

“Pardon?” Amaranthe stepped inside, closingthe door behind her. “Sicarius, would you mind letting him up,please?”

Sicarius yanked him to his feet, keepingMancrest’s arms pinned behind his back. A pained grimace twistedMancrest’s face, and his spectacles dangled from one ear.

Amaranthe waved for Sicarius to loosen thehold. He did not.

“I apologize for being tardy at your proposedmeeting place,” Amaranthe said, “but there appeared to be a squadof soldiers lurking inside. What do you suppose they were doingthere?”

Mancrest glowered and said nothing.

“Maldynado seems to think you’re an honorablefellow,” Amaranthe said, “and even knowing that you arranged tohave me captured, or killed I suppose, he still thinks I shouldtalk to you.” Actually, according to Maldynado’s candle selection,he thought they should do more than talk.

“I am honorable,” Mancrest said, voicestrained as he fought to stifle grimaces of pain that flashedacross his face. “That’s why I tried to arrange your capture.”

Sicarius stood a couple of inches shorterthan Mancrest, but Amaranthe had no trouble meeting his eyes overthe bigger man’s shoulder. “Let go,” she mouthed.

At first he did not, but she held his gazefor a long moment, and he finally searched Mancrest for otherweapons and released him. Mancrest took a couple of careful stepsaway from them, trying to hide his limp, but the stiffness of hismovements gave it away. He positioned himself so his back was nolonger to Sicarius.

Amaranthe assembled his sword stick andextended it toward him. Mancrest considered it-and her-for severallong seconds before accepting it. He rested the tip on the floor,though he did not lean on it.

Despite what must be a permanent injury, heappeared fit. The rolled-up sleeves of his creamy shirt revealedmuscular forearms. As Maldynado had promised, Mancrest had ahandsome face, though what might have been pain lines creased hiseyes and the corners of his mouth, making him appear a few yearsolder than he probably was.

“I guess it’s good I didn’t dress up for youthen.” She hefted the bags. “Hungry? Mind if I find someplates?”

“Depends.” Mancrest was spending more timewatching Sicarius than her. “Will three be dining or just two?”

“Ah, I believe my provisions were gatheredwith a pair in mind.” She gave an apologetic shrug to Sicarius.“Maldynado did the shopping.”

Sicarius wore his usualguess-my-thoughts-if-you-can mask, though she sensed he did notapprove. Of dinner or the entire situation? She did not know.

“Where shall I set up?” she askedMancrest.

Masculine leather chairs and sofas, a desk,and a gaming table occupied the main room, but nothing looked likea dining area. A half a dozen doors marked the brick and woodwalls, none of them with any enlightening ornamentation thatproclaimed, “Kitchen this way.”

Mancrest jerked his head toward one in theback. “In there.”

At least he was cooperating. That was a goodstart, right?

Amaranthe headed for the door. As she passedthrough, she noticed she had picked up a shadow.

“I don’t think he’s going to try anythingright now,” she whispered to Sicarius who was already taking up apost against the wall beside a long dining table made from a singlethick slab of wood. “He must be curious about what I have to say.He’s a journalist, after all.”

Mancrest stepped through the door, veeringthe opposite direction from Sicarius.

“May I get you a drink?” he asked, pointedlynot looking at Sicarius or including him in the offer.

Amaranthe pulled out the wine bottle. “Just acorkscrew.”

Mancrest examined the bottle. Checking thelabel to see if it met with his refined warrior-caste palette? No,she realized. He was seeing if the seal had been broken.

“Nothing’s poisoned. If we wanted you dead,that would have happened by now.” She did not nod toward Sicarius;she didn’t figure she had to.

“Oh, yes, I’m sure your assassin could havearranged that,” Mancrest said, “but I figured you might have alesser punishment in mind and have arranged for some gut-wrenchingvomiting or emergency movements from the other end.”

“You must have courted some vindictivewomen,” Amaranthe said.

Mancrest grunted, set the wine bottle down,and headed for a door that presumably led to a kitchen.

“Plates, too,” Amaranthe suggested.

Sicarius detached himself from the wall tofollow.

Mancrest paused and stared at him. “Unlessyou know where I left my corkscrew, I don’t need your help.”

Sicarius followed him into the kitchenanyway, probably thinking Mancrest might have a pistol or two onthe premises. If she ever did go out with a man fornon-work-related reasons, she would have to figure out a way toleave Sicarius home. Of course, if he’d ever deign to take her outfor non-work-related reasons, that would suffice as well.

Amaranthe laid out Maldynado’s food choices,trying to arrange the bread and pastries in such a way that onemight not immediately notice their battered state. Given what thesegroceries had gone through to arrive here, she was happy nothingwas poisoned with varnish.

She had forgotten Maldynado stashed anewspaper in a bag, too, and she glanced over it. Mancrest did havean article on the front page. Apparently the winners of each of theevents in the Imperial Games would be invited to dinner with theemperor.

“Wish I could enter,” she muttered. With allthe training the team did, she was more fit than she had ever been.Though she had never been tall enough to have a chance at thesprints, where the long-legged women excelled, she had won medalsfor the middle- and long-distance races as a junior. Unfortunately,any race she ran these days would end with enforcers taking herinto custody-or worse.

A crash sounded in the other room-a bigone.

Amaranthe lunged around the table, a visionof Sicarius mashing Mancrest with a meat cleaver stampeding intoher head. She shoved the swinging door open. A drawer lay on thefloor beside a butcher-block island; cutlery and silverwarescattered the travertine tiles. One wicked serrated knife hadsomehow struck a cabinet door with such force that it protrudedfrom the wood, handle still quivering.

Sicarius had Mancrest bent over the island,his cheek smashed into the butcher block, his arm chicken-wingedbehind his back, fingers jerked up so high he could have braidedhis own hair, were it long enough. Maldynado would have had aninnuendo-laden comment about the men’s positioning. Amaranthe onlypropped her hands on her hips and said, “Problem?”

“No,” Sicarius said.

“Yes!” Mancrest cried. “I was just trying toget silverware out.”

“Is it possible you’re being a touch jumpy?”Amaranthe asked Sicarius.

He kicked something on the floor behind theisland. An ivory-handled pistol skidded across the tiles and bumpedagainst the fallen drawer.

Amaranthe picked it up. The hammer wascocked. She lifted the frizzen, and powder poured out of thepan.

“I forgot it was there,” Mancrest said, voicemuffled by the fact his cheek was still mashed against the butcherblock.

“Really?” Amaranthe asked, prepared to givehim the benefit of the doubt.

Mancrest hesitated. “No.”

Given the situation, his honesty surprisedher, however belated.

“Care to tell us where the rest of the loadedfirearms in your flat are?” she asked.

“Not really,” Mancrest said.

“Then I guess Sicarius will have to followyou around all night, hovering over your shoulder while you eat.Breathing down your neck. Sharing your salad. Hogging yourcroutons.”

That might have drawn a snort from Sicariushad they been alone, but with someone else present, he gave nohints of emotion, and she could not guess what he was thinking.Probably that he did not want to be there. Perhaps that he wouldlike to finish grinding Mancrest’s face into the island.

“Do you actually think I’m going to sit downand dine with you?” Mancrest asked.

“Standing is an option, if you wish,”Amaranthe said. “Where are the other firearms? I’ll be morecomfortable eating and chatting with you, knowing it’s unlikelyyou’ll be able to shoot me between courses.”

“Parlor room desk drawer,” Mancrest said,“and in the latrine above the washout.”

“Thank you. I’ll…did you say latrine?”

“A man feels particularly vulnerable with histrousers around his ankles.” Mancrest tried to pull his arm free-afutile attempt. “Would you mind calling off your attack dog? Ican’t feel the blood in my fingers.”

Amaranthe nodded at Sicarius. “Want to gocheck on those firearms?”

He did not move.

“Or I could check,” she said. “Let himwriggle his fingers, will you?”

Amaranthe trotted through the rooms, wantingto find the weapons and come back to rescue Mancrest before lack ofcirculation lost him any digits. She found the pistols and returnedto the dining room. Mancrest sat in a seat-not the head of thetable-with Sicarius at his back, arms crossed over chest in one ofhis typical poses. Amaranthe handed Sicarius the pistols, which heunloaded, then tossed into a corner.

She slipped into an upholstered seat at thehead of the table, a throne of a chair that made her feel slight.The hand-carved feet resembled cougar paws and the rest of thedetailing also evoked a predatory feline feel. None of this man’sfurnishings had been produced in a factory or by anyone other thana master woodworker.

Mancrest, arms also crossed over his chest,glowered at her, and Amaranthe wondered how much force had beeninvolved in seating him.

A gold-and-silver corkscrew rested on thetable by the wine. She opened the bottle and poured twoglasses.

“Your dog isn’t drinking?” Mancrestasked.

Amaranthe fought to keep a scowl off herface. While she could understand Mancrest being irked withSicarius, her instinct was to come to his defense. She doubted thebarbs would bother him, but they bothered her. “Sicarius is mypartner in our endeavors. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t belittle,dehumanize, or otherwise deride him. Given the stories you’veprinted about him, I believe he’s showing admirable restraint innot killing you.”

“He’s a cowar-assassin, and I’ve done nothingbut print the truth.”

Hm, maybe that correction was a sign ofprogress. Or maybe he was gentlemanly enough not to purposelyirritate a woman.

“At least one of the stories you’ve printedis an untruth,” Amaranthe said. “We did not kidnap the emperor lastwinter. In fact, we saved his life.”

Mancrest snorted. “I interviewed witnessesthat say you were there and that Sicarius had an axe over theemperor’s head when the guards stormed in.”

“He was lifting the axe to cut the chainsbinding Emperor Sespian to a dispensary of molten ore, a situationset up by Larocka Myll and Arbitan Losk, the former heads of theForge organization. You’ve heard of them, I trust?”

Mancrest’s face grew as hard to read asSicarius’s. Since he was not scoffing, she decided to press on.

“Arbitan was a Nurian masquerading as aTurgonian businessman, and he was the creator of the monster thatwas killing people all over town last winter. That was little morethan a distraction, though, so he could plot against the emperor.And he almost succeeded. Sicarius saved Sespian’s life.”

Mancrest snorted. “Oh, please.”

Ah, there was the scoff.

“We also thwarted Forge’s attempt to pollutethe city water a couple of months ago,” Amaranthe said. “Thatepidemic you wrote about as well.”

“You’re claiming that, too?” Mancrestlaughed. “The entire army went up there. They handledthat.”

“They cleaned up after we did all the work,including killing a half a dozen makarovi that had butcheredeveryone in the dam.”

Amaranthe stood before Mancrest could voiceanother statement of disbelief. She untucked her blouse anddisplayed the scars on her abdomen. Showing unfamiliar men-orany men-her midsection was not something she did often, andthe wounds were not exactly unquestionable evidence that her storywas true, but she figured it might prove worth it. His eyebrowsflew up and his mouth sagged open. The reaction did not leave herwith the triumphant feeling she had expected; rather it remindedher that she would have ugly scars for life. Though she might befocused on her goals and was not usually one to worry about vanity,no woman wanted a man to be horrified when she showed some skin.She tucked her blouse back in.

“Of course, if my plan had been betterthought-out, I might not have been mauled, but fortunately I hadtalented people to dig me out of trouble.” She smiled at Sicariusand caught him staring at her abdomen.

He lifted his gaze to meet her eyes, and foronce she was glad she could not read his face. She could notimagine the long look being for anything other than pity or perhapsguilt over not having kept her from that fate, and she did not wanteither from him. Ancestors knew that whole debacle had been aresult of her questionable-at-best scheme, one he had tried to talkher out of, and she had nobody to blame but herself.

“Naturally, I don’t expect you to take myword as truth,” Amaranthe said, “for any of these events, but I’dlike to think The Gazette, should it be proved to be inerror, would print a retraction.” She gestured to the forgottenmeal and wine. “Shall we dine?”

“Huh?” Mancrest glanced back at Sicarius,then stared at her.

“Problem?” Amaranthe asked.

“I… When you started talking about thosestories, I assumed you were here to threaten me and force me toprint something more to your liking.” He checked on Sicarius again,who was doing a good imitation of furniture at the moment. “Or isthat activity still forthcoming?”

“No, I’d rather eat now if you don’t mind.I’ve had a busy night.” She tore a chunk of bread, admiring theflaky crust and soft interior-a tasty change from the rice-basedflatbread more common in the empire. A small tin held freshlysmashed peanut butter. It never warmed enough in their satrapy forpeanuts, so the import was a rare treat. She smeared some on thebread, and her mouth watered in anticipation. Though Maldynado hadnearly walked her into a trap, she could forgive him since hisshopping had proved so thoughtful. She lifted the piece of breadand offered the traditional before-meal salute, “A warrior’shealth.”

Mancrest had been watching her, and, aftershe took a few bites, he prepared a plate for himself.

Amaranthe lifted her bread toward Sicarius.Though she knew he would not accept the invitation, she would havefelt awkward eating without offering him something. He gave asingle minute head shake.

“You’re not what I expected,” Mancrestsaid.

“What’d you expect?”

“Given you’re a rogue enforcer and who youwork with now-” Mancrest jerked a thumb over his shoulder atSicarius, “-someone draconian and pugilistic.”

“You think Maldynado would spend time withsomeone like that?”

“If that someone had nice breasts, yes.”

Amaranthe chuckled. “Perhaps so. By the way,did Maldynado tell you who he wanted you to meet, or did youguess?

“Is he going to be in trouble if you find outhe did tell me?” Mancrest sipped from his glass of wine-he hadapparently decided it was safe to drink-and watched her over therim of the glass.

She had a feeling she was being tested. “Thatmight earn him an extra stair-running session.”

Two vertical lines formed between Mancrest’seyebrows. “Stair-running? Like exercise?”

“Yes.”

“If it’ll get him extra work, then maybe Ishould say yes.” Mancrest smiled for the first time that night.“But, no, he just said he knew a nice girl I should meet, someonewho was working too hard and needed to have more fun.” He raisedhis eyebrows. “I figured out the rest on my own. People havenoticed who he’s running with these days. His family is vocal inexpressing their disappointment and quick to point out that thisdemonstrates why he deserved to be disowned.”

So, they had earned enough notoriety thateveryone who knew Maldynado knew he was a potential avenue to herand Sicarius. She would have to remember that.

Mancrest sipped his wine. “How do you getMaldynado to climb stairs? We used to fence together, and he wasalways too unambitious to put any serious effort into histraining.”

“We aim to be a fit group. It helps withdefeating the evil doers of the world. At the least, it helps ifyou’re fast enough to outrun them. We’re all up well before dawnfor distance work or obstacle courses, and there’s usually weaponstraining in the afternoon or evening.”

Mancrest sputtered and almost spilled hiswine. “You can convince Maldynado to get up before dawn?”

Behind him, Sicarius stirred. He pinnedAmaranthe with a hard stare. Not enthused about her sharinginformation on when and where they trained? She raised her fingersand nodded once. He was right. Mancrest was not someone to betrusted yet.

“I didn’t think even breasts could convincehim to get out of bed before nine,” Mancrest continued, notnoticing her exchange with Sicarius. He did glance at her chest, asif wondering if something special might be going on down there. Uhhuh. Right.

“That’s not how I motivate the men,”Amaranthe said dryly. “And I’m sure it would take someone prettierthan I to finagle them into doing things by that method.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Mancrest smiled for thefirst time. “You’re pretty enough. I’d like to see you with yourhair down. It looks like you have a few waves that don’t want to beconfined.”

“Uhm. Maybe another time when I’m sureescaping soldiers and enforcers won’t be a part of the eveningactivities.”

Mancrest’s smile widened. “Is that a requestfor a second date?”

“Er.” She was rescued from having to avoidSicarius’s gaze by the fact that his eyes were boring into the backof Mancrest’s head. “We’ll see. Why don’t you tell me more aboutyour recent story?” She laid the newspaper on the table betweenthem. “The emperor is going to dine with the winners of all theevents?”

Yes, that was good. Talking about work.Sicarius wouldn’t glare disapprovingly then, right? And maybe shecould even get some useful information out of her new contact.

With that in mind, she spent the rest of thedinner chatting with Mancrest about the Imperial Games and avoidingsuch fraught topics as hair. He had not heard of the kidnappings,so she managed to pique his interest with those tidbits. Though hemade no promises in regard to Forge or retracting stories, by theend of the evening, she had hope that she might make an ally out ofhim one day.

After almost an hour of wandering thegrounds, Basilard and Akstyr found something. Rather Akstyr foundsomething, and Basilard waited while the younger man knelt in thegrass behind the bathhouse examining it.

What is it? Basilard signed.

Head bent low, Akstyr did not see thequestion.

Basilard nudged Akstyr’s arm, drawing theyounger man’s gaze, and repeated himself.

“It’s too dark back here,” Akstyr whispered.“I can’t see your fingers.”

Basilard waved toward a glass globe lanternhanging from a post and took a couple of steps that direction, butAkstyr did not follow. His head was down again, his eyes focused onsome tiny object in his hand. Something magical? That was the onlything Basilard could think of that would explain Akstyr’sfascination-especially since it was too dark to examine much witheyes alone.

He headed to the lantern, figuring Akstyrwould come show him his find sooner or later.

The number of people enjoying the summerevening had dwindled, but people still ambled along the trails.Voices drifted from the men’s and women’s bathhouses every timesomeone opened a door. Athletes strolled back to the barracks inpairs and groups, all friends now, but that would likely changeonce the events started.

The faint scent of blackberries lingered inthe evening air. Basilard patted himself down, found one of hiscollection bags, and followed his nose toward a bramble patch inthe shadows.

Frenzied grunts coming from nearby bushesmade him pause, thinking someone might be embroiled in a battle andneed help. His cheeks warmed when he realized it wasn’t the sort ofbattle from which one wanted to be extricated. He supposed heshould move farther up the path and give the enthusiastic grunterstheir privacy, but a post-coital chuckle made him freeze. Thatlaugh sounded familiar.

Basilard plucked the lantern from its wroughtiron perch and returned to the bushes. He parted the branches,lifted the light, and revealed…

“Oh, hullo, Basilard.” A nude Maldynadopropped himself up on an elbow.

A young woman squealed, snatched agrass-stained towel off the ground, covered herself, and sprintedtoward the women’s barracks. Judging by the speed her long barelegs managed, she was one of the athletes, a rather embarrassedone.

You have the night off? Basilardsigned, an eyebrow raised.

“Not exactly.” Maldynado stood, brushed grassoff himself, and started retrieving clothing. A shoe from under thebush, a belt from the grass, and-how did that shirt get ten feet upin that tree? “The boss sent me to find you fellows and let youknow she’d be late. I hunted all over and didn’t see you. I did seethat exquisite young lady coming out of the baths all by herself,though, and she appeared lonesome so I struck up a conversation,asking if she knew how in the old days women used to compete at theImperial Games to win the eye of eligible warrior-caste bachelors,and did she know I was warrior caste-I left out the part aboutbeing disowned naturally-and would she like to…”

There were times Basilard dearly missedhaving undamaged vocal cords. He would have liked to bark an,“Enough,” to cut Maldynado off. It was bad enough few peopleoutside of his team could understand his sign language, but hisscars and lack of height ensured no Turgonian women looked upon himwith kind-or lascivious-eyes.

Akstyr trotted over, which fortunatelyresulted in Maldynado bringing his story to an end.

“Look.” Akstyr held his hand out, obliviousto the fact Maldynado had yet to find his trousers.

Basilard lifted the lantern, wanting to seewhat had occupied the younger man’s attention so thoroughly. Itlooked like…

“A cork?” Maldynado asked. “You’ve been herefor two hours and that’s all you’ve found?”

“A cork with the residue of something Made,”Akstyr said. “A powder or maybe it was a liquid in a vial. I needto do some research.” He snapped his fingers. “That Nurian book Ihave has a section on potions, powders, and airborne inhalants. Oh,but I’ll need Books to help me translate it. Where is he?” Akstyrlooked around and blinked in surprise when he noticed Maldynado’sstate of undress. “Why are your crabapples hanging out?”

“Crabapples? More like MountainGenerals.” Maldynado made gestures with his hands to denote thesize of the largest local apple.

“Uh, whatever.” Akstyr nodded at Basilard.“Books?”

Back that way, last I saw. Basilardpointed toward the other side of the grounds.

“All right, tell Am’ranthe we may havesomething.” Akstyr waved the cork and jogged off. “I’ll grab himand go back to the boneyard,” he said over his shoulder.

Excited about his find, he sprinted awayalmost as quickly as Maldynado’s conquest had. A nervous threadwove through Basilard’s belly. Akstyr had promised he would sharenothing of their discussion with anyone, but losing track of theyoung man made him uneasy. Also, this left Basilard alonewith…

“So, Bas.” Maldynado slung an arm over hisshoulder. Thankfully, he had located his pants and put them on.“Looks like we found what we needed to find tonight. We ought to beable to head off and have a few drinks now, eh?”

Is Amaranthe still coming?

“Later, I think. She got held up.” Hiseasy-going smile faded. “Deret tried to set up a trap to captureher. He used me to get to her.”

Alarm coursed through Basilard. Is she allright?

“She’s fine, or was when I left. Sicariusfigured it for a trap before we went in. She’s going to visit Deretfor dinner and still might get in trouble that way. You know howshe likes to take risks.” Maldynado lowered his arm and swatted atree branch brushing his hair. “I helped buy her groceries, but I’mirked at Deret. I always thought him a decent fellow. Sure, I couldsee him feeling compelled to set the enforcers on Sicarius’s tail,but the boss doesn’t deserve that bounty.”

Agreed, Basilard signed. Weshouldn’t drink if she’s coming here. She might expect us to beworking.

Maldynado shrugged. “We can’t find magicstuff.”

Let’s check the stadium for anythingsuspicious. We haven’t yet, and the athletes should have stoppedtraining for the day.

His prediction proved true, and nobodyoccupied the arena or the tiers of seating surrounding it. Lanternsburned at periodic intervals, providing enough light for walking.He and Maldynado did a lap of the track, though Basilard did notknow what to look for. Without Akstyr’s nose for magic, they wouldhave to search for mundane clues.

It took Maldynado only a few minutes to growbored of investigating. He wandered into the middle of the arenawhere the furnace powering the Clank Race still burned. Someonemust have been out training recently.

Maldynado threw a couple of levers. Gearsturned, pistons clanked, and a moan of releasing steam sounded asthe massive machine powering the obstacle course started up. Whilethe wood and metal structure remained stationary, the moving partscreated a strange sight in the darkness. Arms and spindles rotatedand turned, propelling sharpened axes and battering rams out tothwart someone crossing spinning logs and tiny moving platforms. Inmore than one spot, bloodstains spattered the sand beneath thecontraption.

Anyone ever die at your Games?Basilard signed.

“Oh, sure,” Maldynado said, “but I thinkthere are more injuries in the wrestling. Most of the people crazyenough to do this thing are agile as foxes. But, yes, someone diesmost every year, and others lose arms and legs. People get carelesswhen they’re trying to earn the best time.” Maldynado tapped apaper stuck to the side of a support post. “Looks like some cockyathletes have posted their times already. Hm.” He eyed the machinespeculatively.

What?

“Want to try it?”

What? Basilard signed. After youjust told me it’s killed people?

“Come on. Odds are good Sicarius is going tomake us try it at some point anyway.” Maldynado mimicked Sicarius’sstony face and monotone to say, “Good training.” The serious facadelasted almost a second, before he grinned and said, “Doesn’t itlook fun?”

Basilard eyed the swinging blades, clankingmachinery, and the puffs of steam escaping into the darkness withsoft hisses. The long lost boy in him admitted it might beenjoyable. They were not competing with anyone, so they did nothave to sprint through recklessly.

“Ah, you’re tempted, aren’t you?” Maldynadogrinned and trotted over to a giant clock, its hands visible evenin the dim lighting. “Let’s see, how do we time ourselves…. Herewe go. Loser buys the winner drinks tonight. Ready? Go!”

Maldynado threw a lever on a giant time clockand darted up a ramp leading into the course.

What? Basilard had not agreed to the terms,but he sprinted after Maldynado anyway. They did not get paidenough for him to buy drinks for that bottomless gullet.

He raced up the ramp to a wooden platformseesawing up and down. Two spinning logs stretched ahead. Maldynadohad taken the left, so Basilard ran right. He darted across as fastas he could, staying light-footed on the rotating wood, knowingthat going slow or with tense muscles would be more likely to causea misstep.

He caught up with Maldynado at the nextplatform.

“Look out,” Maldynado barked.

Half expecting the warning to be a trickdesigned to slow him down, Basilard almost missed the man-sizeddummy swinging down at him on a series of ropes. Spikes protrudedfrom all of its wooden sides.

Basilard flung himself to his belly. Thedummy swung past, the draft stirring the hairs on the back of hisneck.

When he rose, Maldynado was already jumpingonto a rope that dangled from a beam. Something-spikes? — protrudedfrom the ground beneath.

Basilard growled and chased after Maldynado.After the rope climb, they had to traverse along pegs sticking outof the beam, thirty feet above the ground. A net took them to thenext obstacle. Tiny circular platforms, some only a few incheswide, rotated about while axe blades and battering rams swung outof the darkness. Basilard jumped and darted, relying on instinctsmore than thought. By luck more than design, he reached the nextseesawing platform before Maldynado. He clambered up a mesh wall,over a beam, through a rope swing course, and finally hurledhimself into a net where he scrambled to the bottom and toward aten-foot wall.

He burst over that last obstacle and sprintedto a finish line, beating Maldynado by several seconds. Hestaggered a couple of weary steps and collapsed in the sand torest.

Stars had come out overhead, though they werenot as bright as those he had once known in his mountain home. Heinhaled deeply; here, surrounded by grass and trees, the air wascleaner than in the city core, but it still smelled of burning woodand coal. A homesick twinge ran through him, an aching for a lifeto which he could never return.

“Great time, Bas.” Maldynado stood by thegiant clock. “You were as fast as some of these athletes. Prettyimpressive considering this is your first time doing it. Of course,I would have beaten you, but I was a touch weary from my earliervigorous exertions.”

Basilard was about to sit up when a darkfigure loomed over him. Sicarius.

The flickering illumination from a lanternhanging on the obstacle course frame cast his face half in shadow,half in light, enhancing his hard, angular features. When he stareddown, Basilard struggled not to cringe or show any nervousreaction. Sicarius could not know what he and Akstyr had beendiscussing earlier. He had just arrived.

“What’s going on, gentlemen?” Amaranthe’svoice came from a few paces away. “Finding anythinginteresting?”

Basilard jumped to his feet and faced her,glad for the excuse to turn his shoulder toward Sicarius. He hadsensed Sicarius’s suspicions toward him since the incident in theshaman’s hideout, and now he knew why. He must suspect Basilardwould one day find out about his crimes in Mangdoria. That warinesswould make it all the more difficult to surprise him.

“We found out Basilard can run the Clank Raceas fast as some of these pampered athletes,” Maldynado said.

“Oh?” Amaranthe regarded him with moreinterest than Basilard thought the statement warranted. “That mightbe perfect,” she said, talking more to herself than him.

What? Basilard signed.

“It seems the winners of each event get tohave dinner with the emperor. That’ll be…thirty-six people, butmost of those youngsters won’t have anything to talk about.”

Maldynado smirked. “I like how you talk aboutyoungsters as if your twenty-six years make you venerable and wise,boss.”

Basilard smirked, remembering her memorablebirthday party at the Pirates’ Plunder.

Amaranthe, eyes bright, continued her visionwithout acknowledging Maldynado. “Those young athletes will likelybe cowed by Sespian’s royal presence. If you won, you could angleyour way in there and talk with him about your people, about theunderground slavery that still exists in the city.”

Basilard almost sank back down to the earth.Was that possible? For him to win an interview with the emperor? Inone night, could he truly bring awareness of the slave problem toSespian? Basilard glanced at Sicarius, abruptly regretting his vowto kill the man. That was a task he was not sure he could carry outwithout being killed himself. Maybe it could wait until after theImperial Games? But perhaps his mind was spinning too quickly. Whatwere the odds of him actually winning an event? Against agile youngathletes half his age?

“You could take Books to translate for you,”Amaranthe said.

“Most men would prefer to take a woman on adinner date with the emperor,” Maldynado said.

“Well, if Basilard could find one that couldtranslate for him, I suppose. I’m too notorious to show up at sucha venue these days. But anyway, Basilard are you interested inentering? Sicarius can help you train.”

I can train on my own, Basilard signedswiftly.

Amaranthe gave Sicarius a bemused smile. “Iguess nobody else appreciates your stair-climbing sessions the wayI do.”

Sicarius did not respond. Theirrelationship-if they could be said to have one-baffled Basilard.She treated him like a friend and confidant, and half the time hedid not even respond when she spoke to him.

“Where are Books and Akstyr?” Amarantheasked.

“They went back to the hideout,” Maldynadosaid. “Akstyr found…I don’t know. Bas, did we decide it was acork?”

Magic, Basilard signed.

“Oh?” Amaranthe asked. “Related to thekidnappings?”

“I’m not sure precisely,” Maldynado said. “Iwas looking for my pants at the time.”

Amaranthe opened her mouth, then shut it,probably deciding she was better off not knowing. “Have there beenany more kidnappings?” she asked. “Are the people who disappearedlast night still gone?”

Three total, Basilard signed. Twoforeigners and one Turgonian man from a different…place.Though he had added a lot of signs, giving his language versatilityamongst the group, saying “The Chevrok Satrapy” was beyond him fornow, but Amaranthe nodded understanding, and he went on, Theenforcers I overheard are starting to accept that something strangeis going on. They’re blaming Sicarius since he was sighted thismorning.

“Supposedly sighted,” Amaranth said.“I wonder if we can find out who sent that fellow and what hewanted to accomplish. Basilard, I apologize, but my reason forwanting someone from our team in the Imperial Games isn’t entirelyselfless. I’m hoping an insider might be more likely to hear aboutwhat’s going on. Maybe they’ll even target you for one of thekidnappings.” She bounced on her toes, then caught herself. “Sorry,that should probably not excite me.”

I’ll take solace knowing you’d be just ashappy if you could pose as an athlete and get kidnapped.

Maldynado snorted. “That’d make her evenhappier.”

“Basilard, you’ll need someone to play therole of trainer and translator,” Amaranthe said. “Akstyr and Booksmay be busy, so…”

Maldynado slung an arm over Basilard’sshoulder. “I’m always happy to spend time at the stadium and watchall the fine…events.”

Just keep your pants on, Basilardsigned.

Amaranthe opened her mouth again, shut itagain, and shook her head.

“No promises.” Maldynado winked.