A shadow appeared behind Books, and Amaranthe twitched in surprise.
“You did not get into trouble,” Sicarius said.
Books fell off the root he was sitting on and his journal tipped into the mud.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Amaranthe told Sicarius while giving Books a hand up, “but the best I could manage was to have a cranky woman threaten to sic her dog after us.”
Books picked up his journal and brushed off the mud-spattered pages, pointedly not looking at Sicarius.
Sicarius noticed the open pages, or perhaps the list they contained. “What is that?”
“This?” Books held up the journal. “Though your training regimen leaves me little time for academic pursuits, Amaranthe has further burdened me with the task of-”
“You like the research,” Amaranthe said.
Books smiled. “Perhaps. Amaranthe has had me researching Forge as relentlessly as possible the last couple of months, and I’ve put together an extensive list of key members and sympathizers.”
“I talked to Deret Mancrest a while back,” Amaranthe said, “and he said, should the situation become desperate, he’d be willing to risk himself to print everything we have on the organization. Names, businesses, and the fact that they were behind the poisoning of the water last spring. If we can get proof of other misdeeds, he’ll include those too.” Amaranthe had actually asked Deret to print up the information if she and her team were killed, but she decided mentioning that might not be good for morale. It bolstered her though. If she left no other legacy, she could leave that, a warning to the public and information for anyone who might care enough to use it.
“I see.” As was so often the case, Sicarius’s tone was difficult to read. He tended to grow extra flinty when Amaranthe mentioned the journalist’s name. “Come,” he said, “I’ve located the secret entrance. The workers have gone to the bunkhouse for the night.”
“Any guards to worry about?” Amaranthe brushed dirt off Books’s jacket and trousers.
Sicarius hesitated-or perhaps he was simply watching her fastidious streak in action-before saying, “No.”
“Anything else to worry about?”
“Likely.”
Sicarius headed into the gloom without bothering to share details.
“I believe we’ll have some trouble yet.” Books straightened his jacket. “Thank you for the help. I think I’m clean enough until we return to the city.”
“If you change your mind, I have a lint brush.”
“You brought a lint brush on a training mission into the rural hinterlands?”
Amaranthe cleared her throat. “Doesn’t everybody?”
“I don’t believe so, no.”
“How odd.”
Amaranthe waved for Books to follow her in the direction Sicarius had gone. This time, she made sure they kept up. The three of them steered wide of the bunkhouse and main house, where more lanterns burned inside windows, circling instead to the carriage house. It was dark.
Without a word, Sicarius jogged inside. Amaranthe followed more slowly, sliding her fingers along the wall for guidance. The darkness lay thick inside. While night had some lovely benefits when it came to sneaking around, it also increased one’s odds of tripping over a pile of tins and alerting the entire farm to one’s presence. She heard Books crunch on something behind her and made an effort to slide her feet along, toes probing before she committed to each step.
From what Amaranthe had seen of the building from outside, the two lorries and a couple of other pieces of large machinery occupied much of the space, so she continued to hug the wall. Her boots stirred sawdust, and she crinkled her nose at the scent of spilled engine oil.
A soft thump came from somewhere ahead. Amaranthe tensed. Had Sicarius been wrong? Was there a guard on duty in there?
She reached for her sword, all the while thinking it’d be a pitiful weapon if someone had one of those new rifles pointed in her direction.
The sawdust swished. Amaranthe lowered into a crouch and pressed her back against the wall. Something whispered past. She squinted into the gloom but saw nothing.
Books patted her arm and waved toward the door. Amaranthe looked in time to see a cat trot outside.
“Ah,” she said, trying not to feel silly.
“Here,” Sicarius whispered from the middle of the room.
Using his voice as a guide, Amaranthe left the wall. She patted her way around one of the lorries and held out a hand until she bumped into him. Books came up from behind, finding her in a similar manner. Clouds had come in that afternoon, so neither moon nor stars helped to brighten the night outside.
A soft creak stirred the silence, and something about the noise made Amaranthe’s neck hairs sit up and take notice. Just a trapdoor opening, she told herself.
“There’s a ladder down,” Sicarius said.
“Shouldn’t we stop to light lamps?” Books asked. “Climbing down into a pitch-black secret weapons bunker sounds potentially damaging to one’s health. We do have lamps, don’t we?”
“I do.” As if Amaranthe would remember a lint brush and not a lantern. She slung her pack off her shoulder. “I thought you had one too.”
Books hesitated. “I can’t remember where I packed it. I don’t think it’s on top.”
“Ah, perhaps we can impose an organizational system on your rucksack later.”
“Should it worry me that you seem to find that notion exciting?”
“Probably.”
Amaranthe withdrew a tin of matches and a compact, nearly indestructible lantern. She lit the wick, and a soft bubble of light came to life, throwing Books’s shadow against the canvas covered cargo bed of the closest lorry. Sicarius had already disappeared into a rough square hole that descended… Amaranthe frowned and lowered the light. She couldn’t see him or the bottom.
“How far down is it?” she whispered into the hole.
“No more than fifteen feet,” came Sicarius’s voice in return, echoing softly in the narrow space.
“Ah, not so bad then.”
“So long as there aren’t booby traps, monsters, and nefarious men with guns down below,” Books said, a curl to his lip as he regarded the drop.
“Why don’t you stay here and stand guard?” Amaranthe suggested.
“Excellent idea.”
“Better not light the other lantern,” Amaranthe said as she swung onto the ladder. They didn’t need anyone noticing a flame in the carriage house and investigating.
“Understood,” Books said.
As Amaranthe descended, the dark, narrow hole invited a feeling of claustrophobia. If she hadn’t left her rucksack up top, she might have gotten stuck in the tight passage. If this was indeed an underground manufacturing facility, the owners must have another, larger exit they used for toting out the big weapons.
Before her boots hit the ground, Amaranthe bumped into an obstruction. She reached out and found a head of short soft hair that was, as usual, sticking out in myriad directions.
“Problem?” Amaranthe asked.
“I haven’t been able to determine how to open the door,” Sicarius said without commenting on her groping hand.
“What? With me and Books up there blathering for so long, I thought you’d have picked the lock and vanquished whatever guard might lie within.”
“There is no lock.” Sicarius responded in his usual monotone, with no hint that he appreciated her teasing or knew it for what it was.
Business, right. Amaranthe squeezed past Sicarius to find the bottom. They could stand shoulder-to- shoulder, looking at the door opposite of the ladder, but not without pressing against the walls and each other.
“Not quite as cozy as the Imperial Gardens, eh?” Amaranthe murmured, not wanting Books to hear.
Sicarius ignored her and probed around the door with his fingers.
