“That’s the tally as of last night when the paper was prepared.” Books started pacing back and forth, gravel crunching beneath his feet. “Only his dead ancestors know how many more he killed under the stars. Those people may all have been aligned with Forge, perhaps working toward a goal that’s at cross-purposes with ours, but you know they’re not all responsible for the threats to the city, to the empire. I’m sure some of them were just joining the coalition because they thought it was better to be with Forge than against them. Some of those names-” Books thrust a hand toward the paper, his movements stiff and jerky, “-weren’t even confirmed members. They were just people loosely associated with the organization. Dear emperor, I wasn’t sure on some of them. I put them on the list because they were suspects, people to research in more depth later. I-” Books sank into a crouch and buried his face in his hands.
“I’m sorry, Books,” Amaranthe said, wishing she could say something less inane. “That’s not the reason I had you collect the names. I never would have-”
“Oh, I know you’re not that callous. Or thoughtless.” Books jumped to his feet and resumed pacing, hands clenched at his sides. “He’s just declared war on Forge, that’s what he’s done. Did you read the article? They were all killed the same way, slit throats. It’s not going to take an enforcer detective to guess who was responsible. And what’s it gotten him? However many he’s slain, it’s not going to be all of them. It won’t be the ones that have the most power, the people like Larocka Myll and Arbitan Losk who could afford magical protection, and it won’t be the people who are in the Imperial Barracks, strong-arming the emperor. No, he’s out there killing journeymen and apprentices. All he’s going to do is make the higher powers angry. He may be able to dodge their wrath, but what about us?”
Akstyr stirred. Behind Amaranthe, Basilard and Maldynado came to the edge of the open freight car.
“Everybody knows we’re working with him,” Books said. “People will think… I don’t know what they’ll think. I don’t even know what he was thinking.”
Amaranthe knew exactly what Sicarius had been thinking. He’d learned that Sespian had one of those nodules in his neck, and he’d gone into a reckless place where parents went when their children were threatened.
Books’s pacing ended and he pressed his palms against the rail car. “Amaranthe, I put that list together,” he whispered. “I abetted a murderer.”
“If it helps,” Maldynado said, “we’ve decided we’re vigilantes, not murderers.”
Books launched a glare so fierce that Amaranthe thought he might leap into the train and pummel Maldynado. She put a hand on Books’s arm, lest he be tempted. He rammed his other hand against the wall of the rail car, but, after that, he let her guide him away from the others.
“I won’t say I know how you feel,” Amaranthe said quietly, “but…”
“You do. I know.” Books’s shoulders slumped, and the rage seemed to bleed out of him, though perhaps not the disappointment in himself. “I remember talking to you that night outside of the cannery. I don’t know how you could ever forgive him for killing your enforcer colleagues.”
“I… realized I’d chosen to work with him, knowing what he was, so the responsibility was mine. That doesn’t make it easier, I know.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
“But I’d also be dead by now, a dozen times dead, if not for him,” Amaranthe said.
“Though I’m glad you are still among the living, does one saved life make up for countless others taken?”
“I don’t know.” Amaranthe liked to think that what she was doing for Sespian, and for the empire, put her life above that of business people trying to strong-arm the government, but she was undoubtedly biased when it came to her own subsistence. And the Strat Tiles had yet to all be played, so she didn’t know how history would see her in the end. As a hero? Or some fool who’d tried to fight on the wrong side and had done more harm than good? Or maybe it wouldn’t remember her at all. Depressing thought, that.
“Amaranthe.” Books gripped her arm and lowered his voice. Akstyr had joined the others in the car, so they’d lost their light, but Amaranthe had little trouble reading the earnestness on Books’s face and in his voice. “I make this request, not as your colleague or team member, but as your friend, as someone who cares about your soul. Get rid of him. Please. I know he means something to you, and he has skills that are valuable, but those aren’t good enough reasons to keep a murderer around, especially not if he’s going to turn into an Akstyr, someone who runs around doing random things that can have consequences without thinking about the welfare of the group.”
“Books…” Amaranthe wanted to tell him that Sicarius’s actions weren’t random, that she could predict them, indeed had predicted this, but she couldn’t, not without betraying secrets that she had sworn never to voice to anyone.
“Just think about it.” Books released her arm, took a deep breath, and straightened his spine. “I’ll collect Akstyr, and we’ll do our part to help the emperor.”
“Thank you, Books. Maybe helping Sespian here… maybe this can be the beginning of the end.” Amaranthe added, “In a good way,” when she realized the former might have negative connotations.
“Let’s hope.”
A steam whistle screeched.
“We have to go.” Amaranthe stuck her head inside the car. “Akstyr, Books is waiting for you.”
“Be careful out there,” Books said before he and Akstyr departed. “I’ve come to think of you all as family, albeit some members are more irritating than others-” he glanced toward the door where Maldynado leaned, mouth open for a noisy yawn, “-and I should be most disgruntled if you did not return from this mission.”
“Me too,” Akstyr said, the comment surprising Amaranthe. He might have surprised himself, too, because he was quick to add, “Being left alone with only Books to talk to would lick donkey balls.”
“If Sicarius doesn’t show up in the next minute or two, you may be left with him too,” Amaranthe said.
That comment inspired much grousing between Books and Akstyr as they walked away. The whistle screamed again, and the wheels of the train started rolling.
Amaranthe swung up into the rail car, though she didn’t shut the door. She waited, gazing at the stationary cars across from them, and then peering up and down the long gravel aisle. The train inched forward, gradually increasing speed.
She resigned herself to Sicarius not making it, and the team having to undertake the kidnapping without him. Then, as they were rolling out of the yard, he jogged out of the dim light beside the fence, his soft boots not making a sound on the gravel as he ran. He caught up to the train and leaped into the car beside Amaranthe. Without a word, he passed her and disappeared into the shadows on the opposite end from where Maldynado and Basilard were sitting.
Akstyr had never liked bicycling, and he liked it even less with a crate of blasting sticks fastened to the rack behind him. Books had been the one who refused to drive around in the stolen pumpkin lorry, and who had pointed out that people carrying explosives wouldn’t be welcome on the city trolleys, but somehow he wasn’t toting the volatile load. Worse, it was a long bicycle trip. Apparently flying machines took up a lot of space and weren’t stored in the city proper.
They spent the hour after sunrise peddling through frost-slick streets, past Barlovoc Stadium and the sporting fields at the south end of the city, and finally turning down a lane hedged by substantial fences. A couple of the barriers were made with wrought-iron bars, revealing warehouses and steam-equipment manufacturing plants, but stone and brick hid most of the large lots from sight.
Books lifted a hand and pointed to a cement wall with tangles of razor wire running along the top. Akstyr saw such security measures as a challenge and could have found a way over in a minute, but the front gate stood open beside a brass plaque that read Experimental Aeronautics.
A woman wearing a mink cap and a white leopard fur coat waved them inside. She could have been a successful businesswoman, but the haughty tilt to her pretty face made Akstyr think she was one of Maldynado’s warrior-caste cohorts.
“Lady Buckingcrest?” Books asked after he swung off his bicycle.
“Yes.” The woman peered down the street the way Books and Akstyr had come.
“Maldynado’s not coming, my lady.” Books bowed when the woman looked his way. “He said he’d let you know we were to pick up your… conveyance.”
