Amaranthe stepped toward Books, lifting a hand, afraid he would mention Sespian. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him she was keeping information about the implant from Sicarius.
Books didn’t see her. His sentence seemed to flow out as slowly as molasses, but at the same time Amaranthe couldn’t get to him to stop it in time. “It sounds like what we saw on Sespian’s throat in his photograph.”
“What?” Sicarius demanded.
Books looked up and blinked. “Oh, you didn’t see the other paper. That’s right.” He removed a torn-out page from the back of his journal and held it out.
Sicarius’s eyes were frozen, staring at Amaranthe, piercing her to the soul. She swallowed. Without breaking eye contact, Sicarius accepted the newspaper, though he continued to stare at Amaranthe. She wanted to tell him she’d only meant to keep him from worrying so much, but she didn’t know if she could say it when, in the back of her mind, she knew she’d also stayed silent to keep him from storming off and taking action on his own. Lying now could only make him resent her more. And she couldn’t explain herself, explain any of it, not with the whole team looking on. Even now, the men were shifting uneasily and sharing confused expressions over the icy silence in the attic.
Sicarius looked down at the paper. Amaranthe felt like she’d been released from the clutches of a glacier. She braced herself against the table while he scrutinized the picture.
“I have an idea,” Amaranthe said quietly. “We’ll get him first-there’s no time to alter our plans for the kidnapping-but then we’ll take him to-”
Sicarius crumpled the newspaper, dropped it, and stalked out the door.
Amaranthe groaned to herself. That was exactly what she’d been afraid would happen. There was no telling what he’d do now.
“What’s his problem?” Akstyr asked.
Books looked back and forth from Amaranthe to the door through which Sicarius had disappeared. His brown eyes were narrowed thoughtfully, and Amaranthe avoided them.
“The man obviously needs to find a woman,” Maldynado said. “Or a man. Whatever he prefers.”
“You offering?” Akstyr smirked.
“Oh, please.” Maldynado sniffed. “I can do far better than him.”
Basilard lifted his eyebrows.
“Speaking of the emperor and this device that may be in his neck,” Books said, pointedly ignoring the side conversation, “should this change our plans? What if we kidnap him, and Forge is able to… end his life from a remote location?”
“They’ve kept him alive this long,” Amaranthe said. “They must have some use for him.”
“Maybe they’re just keeping him to ensure peace in the city while Forge readies themselves for something,” Books said.
“Something involving the army and a lot of weapons?” Amaranthe asked and glanced at Maldynado. “Or a certain faction in the army?”
“Maybe the emperor wants us to kidnap him, so he gets out of range of that neck-bump thing,” Maldynado said, and Amaranthe wondered if he was deliberately steering the conversation away from family matters.
Perhaps that old woman we saw escorting him at the dinner last summer holds the controls to the device, Basilard signed.
“You’re suggesting there’s a range of effectiveness and he hopes that we can take him beyond that range so he can act freely?” Books asked. “If he couldn’t get away on his own, that might explain why he wanted to hire us. He must know about the device.” Books patted his pockets. “I wish I’d thought to research some of the technology and gadgets we’ve seen Forge employ. As it is, I’ve only got…” He frowned, gave himself another pat down, and delved into his pockets only to come out empty-handed. “It’s gone.”
“What is?” Amaranthe asked.
“My journal with the list of Forge names and addresses and everything I know about the outfit.” Frowning, he checked his pockets again. “That represents three months worth of research. I just had it. I didn’t leave it in the lorry, did I?”
Amaranthe stared at the open door, the door Sicarius had long since disappeared through.
Chapter 8
Metal shutters secured the windows of Ms. Sarevic’s Custom Works, and a lock secured the patchwork copper-and-steel door. Aside from a streetlamp burning at the closest intersection, darkness blanketed Molten Street. The owners of the smithies and metalworking shops along either side had gone home for the night. Mounted on the brick wall above Ms. Sarevic’s sign, a perpetual motion clock ticked softly, its gears turning behind a clear glass display. Five minutes until ten.
“I guess we didn’t need to rush.” Amaranthe waved at the clock. “We’re early.”
Books stood to her side, wearing an expression of disapproval. Amaranthe suspected it was for the shop and what one could purchase there rather than her overzealous punctuality. Maldynado would have been a more suitable companion for the night. She hoped his side-trip proved fruitful.
“One wouldn’t think someone who deals with the nocturnal criminal element would be able to worry about keeping precise shop hours,” Books said.
“I’ve heard Ms. Sarevic is a stickler.” Though only recently. Amaranthe had patrolled this neighborhood as an enforcer for years, and she’d had no idea that the proprietor kept two sets of shop hours.
Books’s lips puckered, reminding Amaranthe of an old lady contemplating a diatribe on the wayward nature of today’s youth. He’d been in a rotten mood all evening, railing at the others and demanding that whoever took his journal return it. As far as she knew, he didn’t suspect Sicarius. Amaranthe hadn’t told Books where the journal had gone or that it’d likely be returned with blood on the pages.
“You could have gone with Maldynado if you find this errand distasteful,” Amaranthe said.
“You think I’d find watching him seduce some businesswoman for the use of her very expensive private vehicle less reprehensible than purchasing illegal blasting sticks? A private vehicle that will likely, under our care, be shot full of bullets or perhaps crashed.”
“Should I be more offended that you find my shopping list reprehensible or that you’re certain we’ll wreck our getaway vehicle?”
“Given our history with stolen conveyances, it’d be shocking if we didn’t damage it.”
Amaranthe checked the clock. Three minutes to go. “We won’t be stealing this one, simply borrowing it, assuming Maldynado can sufficiently woo this woman with his talents.”
“Please, he’s as talented as a sock,” Books said. “Besides, didn’t you borrow that garbage lorry last summer? The most recent newspaper article I read on the subject said the Imperial Ash and Refuse Collection Service is still looking for one of the articulating arms.”
“It is not,” Amaranthe said, though the deadpan way Books had said it caused her to eye him with concern. There hadn’t truly been an article, had there? “As to the borrowing, no, I think the magistrate would find us guilty of theft in that case.”
As they so often did, Books’s comments showed her how flexible her morals had become of late. Amaranthe hoped the team would successfully snatch Sespian and earn a chance to talk to him. With a hand wave, he could remove their bounties and her new hobby of crime could come to an end. So long as he still had the power to act within the Imperial Barracks. Amaranthe winced, thinking of the implant.
Two minutes to go.
“You haven’t mentioned who will be responsible for the landslide,” Books said.
“I haven’t?”
“No.”
“Ah.
One minute to go on the clock. Amaranthe was tempted to knock early, so she wouldn’t have to answer Books right away, but she needed a good deal from Ms. Sarevic, and she didn’t want to risk irking her.
