ago and had made more than one subtle suggestion to the effect that she should abandon them. But by calling Sicarius her beau, Books seemed to be implying he thought Sicarius might feel something for her. Maybe…
Stop it, girl, Amaranthe told herself. None of that was important.
“Yes,” she said, “to answer your question. We have to finish with the emperor first, but after that, maybe we can do something to help Akstyr on his way, so he won’t feel he has to betray us for coin. A few lucrative assignments could probably pay his way, especially if I could convince the men to give up their share of the booty or take a reduced percentage for a while.”
“If anyone can, you can,” Books said and fortunately didn’t mention beaus again.
He and Amaranthe were approaching the campus when Maldynado and Basilard jogged around a corner and joined them. Maldynado wore a new fur cap with a raccoon tail dangling onto his shoulder. It might have looked like something out of the Northern Frontier, except that some creative haberdasher had dyed the fur pale blue. Only in the capital, Amaranthe thought.
In addition to the fur cap, Maldynado wore a grin almost as big as his ego.
“Success?” Amaranthe asked when the men joined her and Books.
“Oh, yes,” Maldynado said.
The concerned expression furrowing Basilard’s brow worried Amaranthe.
“You arranged for a vehicle suitable for carrying an emperor and that can make it over snowy roads?” she asked.
Maldynado’s grin widened, and he repeated, “Oh, yes.”
It flies, Basilard signed.
Books halted so quickly he nearly dumped his volatile cargo.
“Uhm, what?” Amaranthe asked.
Maldynado swatted Basilard. “I told you to let me tell her.” Before Basilard could respond, Maldynado said, “It’s a prototype, but Lady Buckingcrest has ridden in it and assures me it has everything we need. We won’t have to worry about snow-filled roads, not when we can fly right over them. The mountains won’t be a problem at all. She said the flyer can reach the pass in a day and a half instead of the three the train takes.”
“Are you aware of such devices?” Amaranthe asked Books. She’d heard of hot-air balloons, of course, and knew there were people experimenting with flight, but she’d certainly never seen aircraft cruising over Stumps.
“That would be safe enough to carry a box of blasting sticks?” Books scowled. “No.”
“Lady Buckingcrest’s family owns Experimental Aeronautics,” Maldynado said. “They haven’t gone public and started selling their craft yet, but they have lots of prototypes.”
“And you’ve seen them?” Amaranthe asked. “They work?”
Basilard shook his head.
Maldynado nodded. “I’ve seen the compound where they’re manufactured. It’s big and important looking.”
“Gee, why didn’t you say so?” Books asked. “That adds all sorts of veracity to the woman’s claims.”
“Whoever is going to the pass can pick up the flyer in the morning here.” Maldynado handed Amaranthe a piece of paper.
She gazed at it for a long moment, though it only contained a street address. Why did she have a feeling she’d made a mistake in letting him handle transportation?
“You needn’t look so glum.” Maldynado draped an arm across her shoulder. “It’ll be fantastic. Just think of the getaway. Instead of steaming off at ten miles an hour on windy, snow-filled roads, we’ll be able to take to the skies, with the soldiers left on the ground, gaping helplessly.”
“Who’s going to pilot this craft?” Books asked.
“Lady Buckingcrest said she’d send someone along.”
Great, someone else who would be privy to their plans. Amaranthe took Books by the arm and led him away from the others. “What do you think?”
“That this idea is more idiotic than Maldynado’s hat,” Books said, “but we don’t have time for something else.”
“All right.” Amaranthe handed him the slip of paper. “Check it out in the morning. If it doesn’t look feasible, come back and get the pumpkin lorry. We’ll hope for clear weather and no snow in the mountains.”
“Very well.”
“If it does look feasible… see if you can find a technical manual and learn how to fly the thing. I don’t want any extra witnesses.”
“I understand,” Books said.
Amaranthe was glad he didn’t mention Sergeant Yara. She didn’t need to be reminded that that might have been a big mistake. “Also,” she added, “if it’s as fast as Maldynado’s lady friend claims… go out east and see if those blasting sticks work to blow open the mines where the shaman’s workshop is buried. If we can get information on those implants-and how to remove them-before we pick up the emperor, so much the better.”
“You don’t want much, do you?” Books asked.
“I know you can handle it.”
“I don’t know why I always believe you when you say things like that.”
“Because you know I believe it, and it’s true.”
“Hm.”
Amaranthe rejoined the others. “Did Akstyr go with you two?” When she and Books had left, he had been reading one of his Science books. “Or is he still at the hideout?”
“No, and no.” Maldynado flipped the blue tail of his cap, so it rested over the other shoulder. “He went out. Probably for a booze-and-brothels night before we head off into the savage hinterlands.”
Amaranthe exchanged looks with Books, and, when he shook his head slowly, she knew exactly what he was thinking. They hadn’t even left the city yet, and her plan was in more danger of being mauled than the boulders in the mountain pass they were targeting.
Akstyr checked over his shoulder often on the way to West Quay, a modest but clean part of town with shops on the bottom floors of narrow brick buildings and residences above. The view of the lake might have made it a more upscale neighborhood, but factories to the north cast a pall of gray across the lowland streets, one that lingered even that late at night. Few pedestrians remained out, and those who did didn’t look like bounty hunters. For some reason that didn’t quell the nerves dancing in Akstyr’s stomach.
Hand on the hilt of the short sword hidden by his coat, he approached a worn brick square dominated by a fountain-statue of some old general. He eyed the benches around the area, telling himself not to expect his mother. She’d never been reliable, so why would that change? Unless she wanted something.
The bakery they had spoken of had closed for the day, but Akstyr found her sitting on a bench across from the building. She wore the same dress, though she’d added a scarf and mittens. A brown paper bag sat on the bench beside her. When she spotted him, she waved and smiled.
The friendly gesture did nothing to relax Akstyr-if anything it made him more uneasy. She’d arranged this meeting, and she could have very well arranged a trap. What if she knew about the bounty on his head?
“Mother,” he said, meeting her eyes for a moment before resuming his checks of the surrounding area.
If she noticed his wariness, she didn’t speak of it. “Sit down, son.” The bag crinkled as she delved into it, and she held up a frosted cookie shaped into a puppy-dog face. “I bought these for you.” She offered him the bag.
Akstyr accepted it, but he didn’t sit down. He didn’t want to have his back to the square and make it easy for someone to sneak up behind him.
“Thanks,” he said, lifting the bag, though the idea of returning to the hideout with it made him feel foolish. Sure, he’d liked the cookies as a little kid, but grown men didn’t eat sweets shaped like puppies. Maldynado would mock him for ages if he showed up with them.
“I’m glad you came,” his mother said. “I was hoping to talk to you.”
Ah, here it came. A request.
“Oh?” Akstyr asked.
“It seems you’re on the path to becoming somebody important. You’re working as a mercenary, but there’s
