more to it than that, isn’t there?”
“Sort of.”
“The pay decent?”
“Not really.”
“Oh.” Her smile only faltered for a second before she added, “Maybe it will be one day.”
Akstyr shrugged and checked his surroundings again. A pair of soldiers in fatigues strode across the other side of the square. They looked like nothing more than men returning from a long day’s work at Fort Urgot, but he shifted to keep his face out of their view.
“If it does get decent,” his mother said, “maybe you’ll forget some of the wrong your ma’s done by you and help her out one day.”
Akstyr focused on her. “What?”
“I know you don’t have any reason to think fondly of me, but it’s hard getting work when you live where we live and got the skills that we got. Or don’t got.” Her lips twisted. “I’m making a way now, but my joints are already stiffening up.” She flexed her fingers and winced. “I don’t expect I’ll be able to work forever. I’m just hoping, if you end up in a good place, you’ll see fit to let me have a room somewhere in your home.”
Though she’d proven his suspicions founded by asking for something, Akstyr relaxed an iota while she spoke. If all she was looking for was a handout, then he probably didn’t need to worry about getting a dagger in his back, at least not that night.
“I guess,” Akstyr said.
Something flickered in her eyes-surprise?
“I mean, I’m not in a place to do much now, but maybe someday,” he said.
“That’s wonderful, son. Where are you off to now? Will it be dangerous?”
He wondered if she was only concerned because she’d learned he might be a meal ticket. Probably. “It was going to be Forkingrust, but now I think I might get stuck doing something in the Scarlet Pass, but probably it’ll be dangerous either way. It usually is.”
“Oh, dear. Up in the mountains? It’s getting cold. Take a scarf.”
If she hadn’t looked so earnest, Akstyr would have laughed. Where had this mothering instinct been when he’d been growing up? He remembered a time when he’d been playing on the floor, she’d stepped on him, then kicked him and cursed him for being in the way. Of course, he’d never known her when she wasn’t on some drug or another.
She wrapped her own scarf around his shoulders. “I’m sure you’re busy, so I won’t keep you. I’ll find you when you get back. Take care of yourself.” She smiled again and walked away.
Akstyr glanced around again, but nobody jumped out to attack him.
Chapter 9
Though a hint of pink brightened the eastern horizon, darkness filled the nooks and alleys of the train yard. Engines rumbled in the distance, and the scent of burning coal lingered in the crisp air.
Amaranthe, Maldynado, and Basilard padded alongside a freight train scheduled to depart for Forkingrust soon. A rucksack, her repeating crossbow, and the clunky blowtorch weighed down Amaranthe’s shoulders. A utility belt hung low on her waist, laden with her short sword, ammunition for the bow, vials of poison, and a couple of Ms. Sarevic’s smoke grenades. Canisters of knockout gas were nestled in her rucksack along with food, water, and other necessities for the trip. Maldynado and Basilard were similarly loaded down with supplies and weapons. It was a testament to good packing skills that nobody clanked and rattled as they walked. They weren’t paying for passage-Amaranthe didn’t want a record of their passing-so they needed to hop the train like the listless hobos who rode the empire’s rails, never staying in one place for long.
They’d left Books and Akstyr with orders to pick up the flying craft as soon as Lady Buckingcrest’s business opened. Only Sicarius was unaccounted for. Every few meters, Amaranthe glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see him jogging up behind them. She knew he was annoyed with her, and he had a right to be, but she couldn’t believe he wouldn’t show up.
This was the last train heading south in time to catch Sespian at Forkingrust. If Sicarius didn’t make it… he’d miss everything. Worse, she’d have to infiltrate a train full of elite soldiers without her best man.
A soft knock, knuckles against metal, drew Amaranthe back to the moment.
“That one?” Maldynado asked.
Basilard opened a freight door and peered inside. Yes. Only a few crates.
Maldynado stuck his head inside. “Completely empty. No chairs, sofas, bunks, or other decent furnishings. Again. Really, boss, when are we going to be established enough that we can afford a few comforts?”
“It’s a freight train, not a luxury passenger transport,” Amaranthe said.
“You say that as if it’s not a problem.”
“We’re lucky to find an empty car.” Most of the ones Amaranthe had peeked into were filled with apples, potatoes, turnips, carrots, and other local produce being shipped to various parts of the empire.
Basilard signed, In?
“Yes, you two go ahead,” Amaranthe said. “I’ll wait to see if Sicarius shows up.”
A dog barked in another part of the train yard.
“Maybe you should wait inside with us,” Maldynado said. “Station security will likely be along, banging on the doors and making sure there aren’t too many train-hopping vagrants weighing down the cars.”
Like us? Basilard signed.
“No, we’re vigilantes, not vagrants. They ought to feel lucky to have us along. I bet if highway men jump the train, the boss’ll insist we do something heroic like save the engineer’s life.”
Who would rob a train full of potatoes?
“Someone without my charisma and good looks,” Maldynado said. “In other words, poor saps who have to pay full price for groceries.”
“Get inside, you two,” Amaranthe said.
She wondered if leading these men was good practice for having children someday. If she kept herself alive long enough for that eventuality to come to pass.
Gravel crunched, someone jogging. The noise meant it wasn’t Sicarius.
Amaranthe pressed her back against the train to hide in its shadows and peered into the predawn gloom. Two figures were running her way. Before she could worry that it might be security, she recognized the familiar, long-legged gait of one. Books, and that must be Akstyr at his side.
Amaranthe stepped out of the shadows. “Here.”
Books jumped and Akstyr skidded to a stop, arms flailing for balance.
“Emperor’s bunions,” Akstyr whispered. “Don’t scare a man.”
He was out of breath. Books swiped sweat out of his eyes.
“News?” Amaranthe asked.
“News,” Books said.
“Good or bad?”
“When is it ever good?” A newspaper crinkled as Books pulled it out from his waistband and handed it to Amaranthe.
“It’s a little dark for-”
Akstyr waved a hand, and a small globe of light flared to life.
“-reading without an Akstyr around,” Amaranthe finished.
He smirked. The light did not reveal a hint of humor on Books’s flushed face. He simply pointed at the front-page headline.
ASSASSIN STRIKES: TWENTY-ONE PROMINENT ENTREPRENEURS FOUND MURDERED.
“I didn’t spend months putting that list together so your thrice-cursed assassin could kill everybody on it,” Books whispered, his voice cracking on the word kill.
Amaranthe sagged against the rail car and used the excuse of reading the story to avoid Books’s stare.
