Forged in Blood II

Chapter 16

“Get Yara and Amaranthe into the cab,” Sicarius barked, stepping into the center of the tunnel. He crouched, his black dagger out and ready.

Before Amaranthe could decide if she wanted to object, no less than three sets of hands grabbed her. She was hoisted into the air like a sack of rice, ported into the tight aisle between machine and earthen wall, and stuffed into the cab. She landed on her rump between the back of the steering chair and the furnace. A dead man’s half-severed arm hung over the back of the chair. Amaranthe gulped.

“Let go of-ouch-you oaf!” Yara was deposited next to her.

“Stay,” Maldynado said, his eyes serious, all the lazy humor gone from his tone.

Assuming the order was for Yara, Amaranthe shifted to her feet. Maldynado pointed a finger at her chest, his hard gaze promising punishment if either of them went anywhere. Basilard, Sespian, Books, and Akstyr had already left the side of the cab to join Sicarius in the center of the tunnel.

The familiar musky scent of the makarovi rolled toward them, hanging so thickly in the air now that it stung Amaranthe’s eyes. Someone fired, and two more shots followed, the bangs thunderous in the confined passage.

“We can’t sit in here and do nothing.” Yara scrambled to her feet. She glanced at the door, then at the body in the chair, and decided against jumping out. Yes, she knew what these beasts could do and who their preferred targets were.

“I don’t disagree.” Amaranthe turned around, considering the furnace and coal box. Plenty of fuel remained. If the boiler were cold, it’d take a long time start up, but if Heroncrest’s men had been using the vehicle recently…

More shots fired out front.

“Look out,” came Sespian’s voice.

“Into the hollow,” Sicarius said. “It’ll have a harder time-”

He leaped out of sight, his black knife raised overhead.

“We have to do something,” Yara repeated. “They can be killed, yes, but not without a ton of firepower. More than they have.”

Amaranthe opened the furnace door. The flames had died down, but the embers glowed red and heat bathed her face. “Help me shovel coal.”

A makarovi shriek pierced her eardrums, ricocheting down her spine. It made her want to cringe and crawl under the dead man’s chair. Or maybe crawl into the furnace and shut the door. If not for the burning embers, she might have been tempted.

“I hope that means Maldynado shot its balls off,” Yara growled. There wasn’t a second shovel, but she hurled coal in with her hands.

Amaranthe had to stop her lest they smother the fire with their vigor. She grabbed a bellows and blew fresh oxygen onto the embers. Flames burst to life.

“Take over.” Amaranthe thrust the bellows at Yara and turned to the controls. One of them would have to figure out how to work the machine.

Forward and reverse were easy enough-the lever was labeled-but how did one operate the drill? And where were the gauges to signal the boiler’s readiness? And-she grimaced-why did that man’s horribly mauled body have to be right there in the middle of the workspace?

Sicarius would have pushed it out of the cab, but she couldn’t bring herself to be so callous. She tried not to look as she studied the controls.

“Look out, Amaranthe!” came Books’s bellow from outside.

She lifted her head at the same time as a hulking figure leaped around the razored cone and toward her, a mass of shaggy black fur and fangs. It landed on top of the drill head, inches from the windshield. Claws like knives gleamed as it lifted a paw.

Amaranthe ducked behind the seat. “Down, Yara,” she almost had time to shout. In the middle of her words that paw smashed through the glass.

Claws slashed, tearing through the air, groping for Amaranthe. She was aware of bullets firing, but more aware that they weren’t effective. The paw tore off the head of the dead man and the back of the chair as well. Both items flew out the door, slamming into the wall of the hollow.

Yara cursed and yanked out her pistol. Amaranthe, flat on her back now, trying to avoid that swiping claw, did the same, though she feared the weapons would be useless. She fired anyway, trying to hit the beast in the eye. The top of the cab blocked the target, though, and her round disappeared into the fur of its shoulder. If it hurt the creature at all, she couldn’t tell.

Then it grunted, moist saliva flying from its mouth, as its head was thrown forward. It cracked against the roof of the cab, and hot droplets of spittle flew through the broken window, spattering Amaranthe and Yara.

A black knife snaked around the creature’s neck, and she realized the reason for its grunt. Sicarius had climbed onto his back. His blade plunged into fur, seeking a vital vein.

Amaranthe thought that might be the end, but the makarovi reared up, gyrating in the air, and did a clumsy but effective somersault. It landed beside the drill head and charged back into the tunnel, batting aside rifles shooting in its direction. The wild move had flung Sicarius free, but he dropped feet-first to the earth and raced back into the fray.

“Even these fancy new Forge cartridges don’t do a cursed thing,” Yara snarled, checking the rounds, as if they’d betrayed her somehow.

“No, we need a bigger weapon.” Amaranthe found the control she’d been looking for and shouted, “Watch out for the drill,” over the chaos.

“Don’t skewer our own people.”

“No, it’ll have to be just right…” But Amaranthe couldn’t see much of what was in front of her with the massive cone in the way. This vehicle must typically employ ground guides to drill. She leaned out of the cab. “Trap it in the tunnel, right in front of us!”

Only gunshots answered her.

“Yara, would you risk…?” Amaranthe jerked her chin toward the space between the machine and the wall.

“Oh, sure, I’d love to. Never mind that there’s a dead man’s head right down there.” Her voice had grown squeaky and loud, but she clamped down on her terror and gave a quick enforcer’s salute before jumping to the ground.

“Get it,” Sespian cried. “Yes, the eye, the eye!”

Amaranthe couldn’t tell if they were working to follow her order or not. Maybe they hadn’t heard her over the screeches of the beast and their own gunshots. She was about to lean out of the cab and see for herself, but Yara shouted at her.

“Now, Amaranthe, now!”

Trusting her, Amaranthe shoved the accelerator to maximum. The vehicle lurched forward with a surge of power. She gritted her teeth, tenser than a bowstring. If one of the men got in the way…

With an even greater lurch, the borer slammed to a halt. For a second, she could hear the sheering of flesh and the grinding of bone as the drill spun, but a high-pitched squeal drowned it out.

“Hold,” Sicarius shouted. “I’ll finish it.”

The gunshots Amaranthe had been aware of halted. Unwilling to remain blind, she jumped out of the cab on the opposite side from Yara so she could see. She wished she hadn’t. The drill was still going-worried more about ramming the creature, she’d forgotten about it-and blood and fur spattered the walls and continued to fly through the air. Sicarius, his dagger sunken hilt-deep in that rubbery sheath of flesh, finally found the jugular. More blood spurted, and Amaranthe shrank back from the macabre sight.

“Uh, I think you can turn it off now,” Akstyr said.

Glad for the excuse to climb back into the cab, where she couldn’t see the pulverized beast, Amaranthe cut off the drill and backed the vehicle into the hollow again.

“Yup,” Akstyr said a moment later. “It’s dead. Real dead.”

Someone vomited.

Amaranthe supposed she couldn’t escape the tunnel without walking past that mess again. She wondered how long she could delay the unpleasantness. No, she needed to check and see if anyone was wounded.

Before she summoned the fortitude to walk back into the carnage, Sicarius hopped up beside her.

“You’ll note,” Amaranthe said, “that I did obey your order to stay in the cabin.” Actually, Maldynado had barked that blunt, “Stay,” but she was certain Sicarius would have agreed with it.

“So you did.” He gripped her arm gently. “Good work.”

“Thank you.”

He was contemplating her with… admiration? Satisfaction? As usual, he was hard to read, but enough warmth seeped through the expression to please her.

“Just so you know,” Amaranthe said, “I’d be happy to kiss you at a moment like this, but you have makarovi guts in your hair and a tuft of fur stuck to your jaw.”

“This is a problem for you?”

“I prefer my lovers to be clean and gore-free. It puts one in the proper mood to express physical endearments.”

“I shall remember your preferences.” Sicarius lifted a finger and scraped ichor off her jaw. Right, she must look as bad as he. And he didn’t care. He sounded… disappointed.

You almost died, girl, she thought, again. And the night was young. They could both end up dead. So why was she making jokes? Idiot.

“I changed my mind.” Amaranthe placed a hand on either of his shoulders, rose on tiptoes, and pressed her mouth to his. She had a sense that an I’m-glad-we-didn’t-die-and-there’s-still-work-to-do kiss shouldn’t be overly passionate or involved, but she found herself breathless when someone spoke in the tunnel, and they drew apart. Sicarius’s hand, she noted, had found its way to her back, and she fancied she felt the warmth of his flesh even through her jacket.

“One down, eleven to go,” Maldynado was saying.

It didn’t sound like anyone had noticed their leaders smooching in the cabin. A good thing, most likely.

Sicarius drew back, though he let his hand linger on the small of her back. Yes, she preferred that faintly pleased expression on his face to the disappointed one, even if, she was certain, nobody else could tell the difference.

He hopped out of the vehicle and offered her a hand, as if they were disembarking from a steam carriage or trolley and heading in for a night of fine dining. Amused, she accepted the help down.

Up front, Akstyr was kneeling by the creature’s head. He lifted a tuft of fur, revealing a silver chain around its neck.

Amaranthe groaned. “Sometimes I hate it when I’m right; I’m guessing those are similar to the ones the makarovi at the dam were wearing?”

“Not similar, the same,” Akstyr said. “If not the same pieces, they were made by the same Maker.”

“These aren’t the same makarovi, are they?” Books asked. “Could someone have found them wandering around the mountains at some point this last year and recaptured them?”

“I know a way to tell,” Maldynado said. “Lift up his leg and see if he has a big old scar in his nether regions. That’s how we hooked them and slung them off the dam.”

Books eyed the mangled, fur-coated groin area, considered his hands, then clasped them behind his back. “No, thank you.”

“It’s not important,” Amaranthe said. “They’re here. We have to deal with them.”

“Anyone else think we should take the monster-grinder with us?” Maldynado tapped the gore-slick drill bit.

Amaranthe grimaced. So much for the earlier cleaning of the blades. It’d take a lot more than her kerchief to duplicate the feat now. At least her team had survived the fight without any serious injuries. Blood streamed from a gash on Basilard’s arm and a cut on Books’s jaw, but both men were still standing, swords and rifles at the ready.

“It would take time to drill a new tunnel at an angle sufficiently slight enough for the borer to climb into the courtyard,” Sicarius said.

A boom sounded somewhere above them-a cannon.

“I don’t know if those people up there have time,” Amaranthe said. Not to mention that another makarovi might catch her scent and hop into the tunnel. It might be more than one next time.

“This way,” Sicarius said, taking the lead again.

“Leave the canister,” Amaranthe told the men. “We’ll come back for it once we see how things are going up there.”

They didn’t need to walk far before the blackness ahead faded, and the caved-in hole in the ceiling came into view. Enough lamps burned in the courtyard that some of the light seeped below.

Sicarius made everyone wait while he hopped up, catching tufts of grass near the ragged edge, and checked the courtyard. When he dropped down, he waved them forward.

“Only one makarovi is in sight now, and it’s up on the parapet. Continue to the root cellar.” He waited for the others to pass, clearly intending to guard their backs.

A lantern in hand, Amaranthe hustled forward. The stench of the makarovi grew thicker, and she chose not to breathe through her nose. “If anyone invited me to a dinner at the Imperial Barracks right now, I’d have to pass, if the potatoes came from this cellar anyway.”

“Agreed,” Books said, his voice altered, as if he, too, was trying not to breathe through his nose. “What a dreadful place to house a cage.”

You wouldn’t think so from their strong smell, but with the proper seasoning, Makarovi steaks are quite edible, Basilard signed. Or so they say. The rarity of the beasts means I’ve never partaken personally, only heard from old warriors.

“They’re not nearly as rare as I’d like for them to be,” Amaranthe said.

“Agreed,” Books repeated. He’d given up on his earlier method of avoiding the scent and had pinched his nostrils shut.

There wasn’t a source of illumination in the root cellar, and Amaranthe almost missed where the tunnel ended and it began until her light played across steel bars. Her first thought was that they wouldn’t be able to get out this way, having entered into the cage itself, but she realized she could turn sideways and slip through the widely spaced bars. They might hold a makarovi in, but most people could squeeze through.

Maldynado cleared his throat. “Anyone have a key?”

He’d slipped an arm and his head through, but the chest proved a sticking point.

Footsteps thundered past overhead, the echo changing as they passed from earth to the wooden cellar door back to earth again. A shout of terror followed after them.

“Look for the key,” Amaranthe told the others, already moving toward the door, hoping a hook might hold a ring. Though she didn’t know yet how she might help those in the courtyard, their obvious distress filled her with urgency.

“We could simply pull him through,” Books gripped Maldynado’s arm. “If he can suck in that belly.”

“My belly isn’t the problem. It’s my well-developed pectoral area.”

“Oh, please,” Yara said.

“At least he didn’t say it was his third leg that was too big to pass through.” Akstyr snickered.

Just when Amaranthe thought the boy was growing up…

“Ouch-oomph!” A thud followed this unmanly cry.

Amaranthe abandoned her key search. Books and Basilard had succeeded in pulling Maldynado through.

Sicarius jogged out of the tunnel and slid through the bars with much less trouble.

“No belly on him,” Books said.

“It wasn’t my belly,” Maldynado growled.

“The doors and the shutters remain secured,” Sicarius said. “There aren’t many men fighting from the walls. A few snipers are on the roof, but it looks like everyone else has retreated inside, leaving the others to deal with the makarovi.”

“I thought Marblecrest had troops in there with him,” Sespian said. “What are those cowards doing? Why’re they sacrificing my men? I mean men who used to be mine, curse him.”

“If Ravido is the one who brought the makarovi,” Amaranthe said, “he may not want them killed. He may still believe they’ll do their job, if they can escape the Barracks.”

“Some of them have already done so.” Sicarius waved toward the tunnel, indicting the prints they’d first seen. “I saw one more dead in the courtyard, and one living, but no others were in sight, nor were there sounds of a fight coming from the other side of the building.”

“I’m going to flatten Ravido if I see him.” Maldynado clenched a fist. “Even if the collars lead those monsters to Forge people, they’re going to kill tons of other people on their way through the city. And women will get… gar, those things are horrible.”

“There aren’t even that many Forge people left, are there?” Books avoided looking at Sicarius.

“No,” Sicarius said.

“What a mess.” Amaranthe pushed a chunk of loose hair behind her ear and frowned-it was crunchy with dried gore. “In all possible ways.”

“I want Marblecrest out of the Barracks more than ever.” Sespian regarded first Amaranthe, then Sicarius, as if he wondered if he could make it an order and anyone would listen to him.

Amaranthe had never planned to give up, not when Starcrest had explicitly given her this mission, but she was glad to see the others nodding their heads in agreement with Sespian. Sicarius, too, gave a single nod when she glanced his way, though that surprised her least of all. He wouldn’t give up on a Starcrest-assigned mission either.

“I concur,” Books said. “Maldynado, why don’t we go back and fetch that canister? I imagine some stealthy assassin can find a route into the basement furnace room from here.”

“You’ll have to lift that barrel up through the hole in the roof back there,” Amaranthe said. “We haven’t found keys for this gate.”

“We’ll have to go through the courtyard to reach the door anyway,” Sicarius said. “There are shadows. And the soldiers are busy.”

“Maldynado.” Books slipped back through the bars, heading for the tunnel.

“Perhaps Sespian would like to go with you. He’s a slighter fellow with less substantially developed pectoral muscles.”

“Yes,” Books called back, “no belly either.”

Sespian lifted a hand in acknowledgment, then jogged after Books.

Maldynado propped his fists on his hips. “Yara, you’ve seen me naked. Do I have a belly?”

“Not at all,” Yara said. Before Maldynado could appear too mollified, she added, “I assumed it was your fat head that got stuck between the bars.”

Books was the one to smile.

Sicarius and Basilard, too professional to be drawn into the debate, had scouted the root cellar and, apparently finding nothing more insidious on this side of the bars than potatoes with eyes, headed up the stairs for the door in the ceiling. Crouching, Sicarius lifted it a few inches.

After a moment’s observation, he said, “It’s relatively quiet now. The makarovi who came up in the courtyard have either escaped or been killed. We’ll still want to use caution, as we have to cross two dozen meters to reach the basement and dungeon entrance.”

Amaranthe didn’t want to think about the dungeon entrance. Her time spent there had been only slightly less unpleasant than her days with Pike on the Behemoth. Maybe there was some justice in using insects again, or an insect-derived product, on her return visit.

“We’re ready,” came Sespian’s soft call from the tunnel.

Sicarius led the way into the courtyard.

Blood spattered the churned snow beneath their feet. Not for the first time, Amaranthe wondered how Maldynado could be related to Ravido. What a monster, to think up such a plan. Though she’d been guessing as to his intentions so far; they didn’t have proof that he was behind the makarovi.

Sicarius pointed most of the team toward the basement entrance around the back of the building, while he and Basilard jogged to the gaping hole a few meters away. Amaranthe went with them, keeping an eye on the walls and the courtyard as they bent to pull up the heavy canister from below. Shadows, Sicarius had said, but the courtyard was too well lit for her tastes. The guards would have to be wounded and unconscious not to notice a knot of strange men pulling up a-

“You there,” someone called from the auto-cannon station on the nearest wall-the gun was pointed into the courtyard instead of away. “What are you men doing?”

Basilard and Sicarius had already lifted the canister out of the hole. Books jumped, caught the lip, and pulled himself up at the same time as he knocked a small avalanche of dirt and snow inside. Ignoring the guard for the moment, Amaranthe grabbed his arm and helped him over the side.

Though he was having trouble-more earth crumbled away as he rolled toward her-Books was the one to respond to the soldier. “We got the makarovi poison the captain asked for.”

Amaranthe snorted. She didn’t know if that would work, but it wasn’t any worse than anything she would have come up with.

Sespian scrambled out of the hole with less trouble. He and Sicarius lugged the canister toward the basement door.

“Poison?” the guard responded. “What poison? And which captain?”

“Intelligence,” Books called back. Not a bad try. Most of the regular soldiers kept a wary eye on the supposedly sly officers who worked in that department.

“If you’ve got poison,” someone else from the wall called, “bring it up here. We need it.”

“Gotta report in first,” Books called. He and Amaranthe were jogging after Sespian and Sicarius. A few more meters and they’d round the corner of the building and be out of sight, at least to those on that particular wall.

“How come you’re not in uniform?” the first man called.

The second jogged over and nudged him.

“Hurry,” Amaranthe urged, though the men couldn’t go any faster while carrying that heavy load.

The auto cannon shifted, away from melee in one corner of the courtyard and toward her team.

“Get close to the building,” Sespian said. “They won’t risk shooting a hole in the first floor.”

When makarovi were involved, Amaranthe wasn’t so certain.

“Wait, that’s a woman!” Someone pointed at her. “Girl, you need to get out of there. As soon as those ugly bears catch a sniff of you-”

Amaranthe ducked around the corner. The canister gripped between them, Sicarius and Sespian were already jogging down the icy steps leading to the basement, as if they’d been carrying heavy loads together all of their lives. The metal barrel, almost too large for the walled in stairwell, scraped and clunked against the cement foundation. Fortunately the rest of the team held the door open at the bottom. It’d either been unlocked, or they’d found a way through that lock.

“You next,” Books said, a hand on Amaranthe’s back, guiding her toward the stairs.

Behind them, footfalls approached, crunching on the snow. Amaranthe hurried, expecting troops with guns.

But one of the makarovi leaped around the corner behind them. It roared, the bellow powerful enough to send the stench of its breath rolling over them. Books’s heel slipped off the top step. He would have gone down, but Amaranthe caught his arm.

“Don’t worry about me,” he yelled. “Go, go!”

The makarovi bounded toward them. Amaranthe pulled Books down the stairs. Halfway down, they both slipped on ice. Gravity threw them together, and they thumped and rolled to the bottom.

At the top of the stairwell, the makarovi reared onto its hind legs, its forelegs rising into the air, dark claws promising death.

A thunderous boom split the air in the same moment that someone grabbed Amaranthe’s shirt and yanked her through the basement doorway. Before she lost sight of the stairs, she saw the makarovi get clipped in the shoulder by a cannon ball. The creature spun into the air above the stairwell, a mass of black fur and legs flailing. Then Amaranthe was inside, the door slammed shut, and she didn’t see the rest. Though she did hear thumps on the stairs.

She tried to sit up, but she and Books were entangled, with someone standing over them.

A heavy bar thudded into place to secure the door. Sicarius, legs spread, was the one standing above them, and he gazed down, one eyebrow twitching ever so slightly.

“So,” Amaranthe said, “they’re not all gone from the courtyard.”

“I may have been mistaken,” Sicarius said, stepping aside.

“I’ve longed to hear those words for months.” Books groaned and rolled to a sitting position. “Though it was always in response to my claims that you chose obstacle courses entirely too long and difficult for our team’s collective abilities. Especially mine.”

Sicarius did not answer, though he bent to offer Amaranthe a hand up.

“Thank you,” she said.

“No, I’m fine.” Books lifted his own hand. “I can get up on my own.”

Several feet farther inside, Maldynado nudged Yara. “I’m not the only one who whines.”

“No, it’s a common trait amongst-”

Something slammed into the door, and Amaranthe didn’t hear the rest. She considered the thick metal hinges and the solid oak boards. “Makarovi aren’t as strong as soul constructs, right? It shouldn’t be able to break in here, should it?”

“Unlikely,” Sicarius said, “but we should act swiftly regardless.”

Another thump rattled the door.

“Oh, I agree, in every possible way.”

Akstyr and Basilard were in the lead, and Amaranthe and the others followed them through a short hall and down more steps. Before they reached the whitewashed walls of the dungeon, they stopped on a small landing and turned into a less inimical space: the basement. It smelled of wood and coal, scents she decided were pleasant when compared to the musk of the makarovi.

They found the furnace room-not much of a challenge since Sicarius, Akstyr, Books, and Sespian had been there before, albeit entering via a different route-and set the canister on the ground.

Maldynado, who’d been among the last to carry it, rubbed his back. “Let’s tell Admiral Starcrest that his next poison delivery mechanism should be lighter weight. Pocket-sized would be ideal.”

“I’ll let you be the one to tell him that.” Amaranthe fished in her pockets for the instructions the admiral had given her on setting up the barrel. There were hasty notes about temperature requirements and dispersion rates, too, the latter penned by his daughter. “I’m sure he’s even more impressed with complaining than Yara is.”

“Maybe, but I’m not trying to ensure his good opinion so that he’ll keep sleeping with me.”

“Sicarius…” Amaranthe drew him aside as Yara made some retort about her good opinion having yet to be earned. “We need someone to make sure the vents and flues are adjusted so that our special smoke doesn’t flow out into the night.” She glanced at Books, and he nodded. “Also, we absolutely cannot put people to sleep up there if there’s a chance there’s a makarovi inside the building. If there’s a duct you can squirm through, would you mind taking care of this business?”

“Squirm,” he said in one of his flat tones.

“You’d prefer a different word?”

“I do not squirm.”

“Even in bed?”

“No.”

“Fine, is there a duct you can thrust yourself through in a manly manner? Thrust is an acceptable word, I hope.” She bit off an inquiry about whether he performed that verb in bed, deciding it was a tad crass.

That eyebrow was in danger of twitching again, but another bang sounded back at the exit door, and he must have decided the time for play was over. Sicarius jogged beneath a massive duct leading from the furnace and into the wall and unscrewed what she guessed was the vent to a maintenance shaft. He glanced at her before, yes, thrusting himself through the opening. If any squirming went on, he waited until he was out of sight to do it.

“Let’s see that paper, Amaranthe.” Books had tipped the canister upright beside the furnace and unfolded something similar to, but more complicated than, a hose and spigot. “We should have this ready as soon as he returns.”

Basilard was standing watch next to the exit leading to the stairs, and he closed the door firmly. I don’t believe that basement door will hold.

“What happened to our allies with the cannon?” Maldynado asked.

“It’s hard to shoot a cannon around a corner and down a stairwell,” Sespian said.

“Just when you think technology is helping civilization progress in a useful way.”

Amaranthe handed the sheet of paper to Books, happy to let him puzzle over the details, and joined Basilard at the door. She touched the wood. Though these boards were oak, too, they weren’t so stout as the ones upstairs.

It won’t have much trouble breaching this door, Basilard signed, echoing her thoughts, if it makes it through the one above.

One that wasn’t as substantial as the thick gold-gilded entrance doors to the main floor-Amaranthe remembered their stoutness from her first trip. They’d been opened by steam technology rather than by a butler with a burly arm. Though there’d be women inside the Barracks, the makarovi might find those in the basement a more attainable prize.

“Let me know if anything changes,” Amaranthe said.

Basilard, his ear already pressed to the door, nodded once. If nothing else, they could escape into the ducts the way Sicarius had gone. The makarovi would be too big to follow them. They’d have to leave their canister behind though.

“Ah, there’s a foldout handle too,” Books said. “What a clever little contraption. I’d love to take it apart and see how the inside works.”

“Perhaps after we’ve dispensed the anesthesia,” Amaranthe murmured.

“When did he have time to build this?” Sespian asked. “Has anybody seen Admiral Starcrest sleep since he got here?”

“Aw, he’s been retired for twenty years,” Maldynado said. “I’m sure he had plenty of time to rest then.”

Amaranthe thought of the submarine she’d seen and the hints Tikaya and their daughter had offered as to some of their adventures. “I’m not sure retired is quite what he’s been.”

A crack and a crash came from outside. Basilard met Amaranthe’s eyes.

“Akstyr, I don’t suppose you have any Science tricks for distracting makarovi?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I guess I can’t pull down its underwear.”

Books frowned at him. “Surely, your creativity can fathom other applications of similar skills.”

“You want me to pull its fur down?” Akstyr asked.

“Never mind.”

“Is that contraption working yet?” Amaranthe pointed at the canister, now with tubing in a coil at its base.

“Yes, but you want to wait for Sicarius’s return, right?”

“I want to-”

Loud snuffles crept through the door. A few meters away, claws clacked on a cement floor.

Amaranthe clamped her mouth shut, and everyone else stopped talking, as if sound were what had led the creature to the basement.

She grabbed the end of the hose, unraveling it as she returned to the door. She slipped the tip into the crack beneath the boards. The clacking claws halted, and the loud, moist sniffs filled the hallway outside the door.

The door is not much of a barrier for the passage of air, Books signed. The gas may affect us too.

We can escape into the ducts if we start to feel groggy. Amaranthe pointed at the handle on the canister.

I hope it’s that simple. With obvious reluctance, Books turned the handle.

With the hose placed, Amaranthe backed away from the door.

She caught Maldynado signing, What if the gas seeps through and knocks us out without hurting that beast at all?

Books shrugged bleakly.

A smash rattled the door. It might have been a paw or a shoulder. It hardly mattered. Under that first exploratory blow, the hinges groaned.

Sespian, Books, Yara, and Maldynado drew their weapons, but they also eased closer to the maintenance shaft into which Sicarius had disappeared. Basilard waited beside Amaranthe, a pistol in one hand, a dagger in the other.

When another blow battered the door, she took Books’s place at the canister and turned the handle up farther. A soft gurgle came from the hose. Right, she reminded herself, it was a liquid, not a gas. Not yet. It needed to be heated first.

“Akstyr,” she whispered.

He had moved close to the shaft, too, though he had his eyes closed, his forehead furrowed in concentration. She started to wave for someone to bump him, but he opened his eyes of his own volition. He shook his head at her.

“That collar isn’t just controlling it; it’s protecting it.”

Uh oh. Would it protect the creature from their concoction too? Or only Science-based attacks? There was no time to ask and debate about it.

“There should be a bunch of liquid on the floor out there,” Amaranthe said, her words punctuated by another blow. One of the old boards cracked under the force. “I need you to heat it up. I know you can do heat.”

“Oh, yes.” Akstyr brightened. “Even if I can’t attack the makarovi directly, I can make that hallway hotter than the sun’s armpit.” He rubbed his hands.

“Just make sure the liquid is heated,” Amaranthe said.

He waved and closed his eyes again.

Another blow hammered the door. This time a hinge popped, and the top half tilted inward a couple of inches.

“Now would be a good time,” Maldynado said. “Yara, get in the duct.”

“I’m not turning coward and fleeing,” Yara growled, though her tone lost some of its fierceness when long claws slipped over the top of the door.

The beast was probing, but in a second, it’d attack in full force.

“Akstyr,” Amaranthe urged. At the same time, she waved the others toward the vent. “Yara, go. We can come back later, when it wanders off.” If it wandered off. The beasts had cursed singular minds where female prey was concerned. She turned off the handle on the canister. If the liquid hadn’t worked by now, it probably wouldn’t.

Yara hesitated, but Maldynado hoisted her from her feet and shoved her into the shaft. Grim-faced, he stalked toward Amaranthe.

“You’re next.”

“Wait,” Akstyr blurted. “It’s burning. That gunk is all over its feet. I think-”

The deafening roar of startled distress almost had the power to blow the door down on its own. The claws flexed on the boards. A snap sounded, the final hinge breaking free.

Amaranthe ran to join the others at the vent, though she knew there’d be no time for everyone to climb in, not before the creature rushed inside.

Flames danced in the hallway, surrounding the makarovi. It reared and roared, smashing its head and shoulders against the ceiling, but didn’t come in. The heat poured through the doorway, competing with the furnace. Amaranthe couldn’t tell if the creature was being burned, but it was surely alarmed.

“Inside you go.” Maldynado snatched her around the waist and thrust her through the vent opening with the same maneuver he’d used on Yara. “Books, you next.”

Shots fired. Amaranthe didn’t want to hide-she wanted to see if the gas worked-but someone was pushing against her-or being jammed against her-and she had to crawl deeper into the shaft. She found the first bend-and Yara’s feet. Yara seemed as reluctant as she, and wasn’t moving quickly.

“More coming,” Amaranthe said.

On her knees and elbows, her head brushing the low ceiling, she sped along as quickly as she could. Behind them, more shots fired, and she tried not to feel like a coward for fleeing while her men were fighting.

“Books?” she asked over her shoulder. “Who’s still out there? With the door down, there won’t be any barrier. If they fall unconscious and the makarovi doesn’t…”

“I’m aware of that problem,” he bit out from a ways back. He’d stopped before the bend.

Amaranthe stopped too. She sniffed the air, trying to detect… whatever it was the gas would smell like. Mahliki hadn’t mentioned that.

The gunshots had stopped. Nobody had cried out or screamed. She hoped that meant something. Something good. Because if the men were unconscious, they might not wake as the makarovi claws tore into their chests.

Bile rose in her throat as the image of the mauled driver of the boring machine jumped into her mind.

“Books…” She didn’t know what she wanted to ask. “We should go back and check.”

“I don’t know how long it takes for the gas to dissipate. We might fall asleep in the ducts and drown in our own drool.”

“We’re a grim lot tonight, aren’t we? Who’s behind you? Did anyone else make it in?”

“I thought… I thought Sespian did, but… No, nobody’s behind me.”

In the utter darkness ahead, Yara cursed. Amaranthe wiped sweat from her brow. There might be snow on the ground outside, but it was hot and stuffy in the vent.

“Let’s go back,” Amaranthe said. “We have to know what’s happening. What happened.”

“I don’t hear a thing,” Yara said.

“Neither do I.” Amaranthe backed up. Without any room to turn around, she had to squirm-yes, there was no way anyone could navigate this tight shaft without squirming-her way around the bend again, feet first this time.

She caught up with Books before he escaped the shaft. “Sorry,” she said after sticking her boot in his hair for the third time.

“Never thought you were the type to kick a man when he was in a horizontal…” Books sniffed a few times. “Do you smell… I’m trying to decide if I feel groggy.”

“I see the light from the furnace, just past you. You’re almost there.”

“I’m not sure if that should encourage me to continue on or not,” Books said.

“It depends on whether you want my boots in your face again. I’m going through to check one way or another.”

“Pushy woman.” Books sniffed again.

Amaranthe could smell the odor, too, though the stink of the makarovi was stronger. The gas reminded her, of all the unlikely things, of lilacs. Maybe Mahliki had given it a fake scent to override something less pleasant, something that might make people flee to escape it.

“If you’re that worried about it, stop inhaling, she said. “Pull your shirt up and hold your breath.”

Amaranthe couldn’t decipher the grumbles that followed, but she did hear the deep inhalation, then scuffles as he moved again. She continued scooting back. The light brightened. Books had crawled out.

She hurried to join him, lest he was even now passing out and being eaten at the same time. She was in such a hurry that she fell out in an ungainly tumble. When she tried to roll to her feet and spin toward the door, she tripped over a body on the floor. Her heart jumped into her throat. Dear ancestors, if they were all dead…

But the makarovi hadn’t moved past the threshold. Akstyr’s flames had burned out, and the furry mass lay across the threshold, its bulk taking up two-thirds of the doorway. Not two feet from it, Basilard was sprawled on his side, his dagger stretched out toward the creature. Akstyr, Sespian, and Maldynado all lay flat on the floor around the maintenance shaft, their weapons also in their hands.

With relief, Amaranthe noted the rises and falls of their chests. Everyone was breathing. Unfortunately-she ventured closer to check-the makarovi was too.

She hadn’t taken a breath since she entered the room. She had no idea whether it was safe or not. Either way, they had better kill the makarovi before it woke up. Since Basilard’s dagger had a long, sharp serrated blade, she chose it instead of her own. It took a few seconds to pry it out of his hand. She approached the beast grimly, not certain she’d be strong enough to kill it even in this state.

Let me, Books signed and waved for the knife. He’d pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth. You hold the fur away, so I can… He shrugged.

What a fun use for teamwork. Grimly, she obeyed, parting the thick fur and baring the black skin beneath it. Sawing a board wouldn’t have been any easier, but at least the anesthesia kept it asleep. Amaranthe watched tensely, expecting it to rise at any moment, to rise and leap at her, claws slashing.

As the moments passed and the blade sawed deeper, blood started to flow, then spurt.

“I think I got the jugular,” Books panted, “finally.” He blinked a few times and looked at Amaranthe in alarm. “Do you feel-I’m groggy. Tired. Sleepy.”

“I know, me too. Cut a little further, will you? Just to make sure.” She yawned, fighting off the effects of the lingering odor. Lilacs. Definitely lilacs.

“It’s dead,” came a new voice.

In her woozy state, it took a moment for Amaranthe to identify it and locate the source. Sicarius stood by the shaft entrance, gazing at her.

“Yes, good.” Amaranthe stood up. She had to brace herself on the wall. “We decided to test the concoction. Starcrest and his daughter do good work.”

“I see.”

“Anyone mind if I take a nap?” Books hadn’t bothered with standing; he’d simply flopped against the wall, his head lolling back.

“There are no makarovi in the building,” Sicarius said. “And I found Ravido’s location.”

“Good.” Amaranthe staggered toward him, having a notion that the air would be clearer farther from the hallway. She tripped on someone’s outstretched arm. Sicarius was thoughtful enough to catch her. She smiled up at him, fighting off another yawn.

“I heard a conversation that gave me information that one person in this party will deem important.” Sicarius studied Sespian’s inert form at his feet.

“What’s that?” Amaranthe asked.

“His cat is alive. And irritating Ravido.”