be stored for summer use, but smoke blurred the scene. Amaranthe pinpointed the source.
“There’s not a factory there.” She grabbed Wholt’s arm and tugged him forward. “Fire!”
They took a trolley toward the waterfront and hopped off at the nearest stop. Smoke thickened the air, and they slipped and skidded as they negotiated the slick sidewalks. They ran around a corner, almost crashing into the back ranks of a gathering crowd.
In a residential district, where wooden structures were more common, people might have raced back and forth with buckets to help, but this dilapidated wooden building was an island surrounded by brick, stone, and cement. The onlookers appeared more fascinated than concerned about the flames spreading, and the Imperial Fire Brigade had already arrived with one of the city’s self-propelled fire pumps. Black smoke poured from the stack, mingling with the plumes rising from the building. A thick hose was attached to the pump and to a fireplug up the street. Water streamed onto the flames flickering through the broken windows of the old building. Only one corner, which was dominated by a multistory brick kiln, was not burning.
“You mentioned something about the city not catching on fire today?” Amaranthe asked as she and Wholt pushed their way through the onlookers.
“Did I say that?”
Heat flooded over them, dry and powerful. Charred flakes of wood and paper floated through the air.
“We better help with crowd control,” Amaranthe said, but as they advanced, she glimpsed a merchant standing at her counter in a tea-and-coffee import store. Other shop owners had joined the gawking crowd. Two men loomed in front of this woman. Customers? Given the proximity of the fire, shopping seemed unlikely. “Or we could help this lady who I believe is being robbed.”
“Huh?” Wholt turned his head. “Oh. It wouldn’t hurt these businesses to be looted once in a while. Merchants are practically running things around here anyway.” But he drew his sword.
“I’ll go in the front,” Amaranthe said. “You go around back.”
“Be careful.” Wholt trotted down the street toward an alley where he could cut over.
Amaranthe strode through the front door. Barrels and canisters cluttered the aisles, and stuffed shelves rose from floor to ceiling on each wall. The scent of tea leaves and coffee beans from distant parts of the world soared above the pervading smell of smoke. Her strongbox open, the merchant was clutching a stack of bills. Her eyes brightened when she saw Amaranthe’s uniform.
Amaranthe focused on the two men towering over the shopkeeper. The huge brutes were only a couple feet shorter than the floor-to-ceiling stack of coffee tins fronting the aisle behind them.
“Well, well,” one man said, nudging his cohort, “it looks like a girl enforcer. We’re very concerned.”
His comrade snickered. Scars lined the faces of both men. Swords hung in belt scabbards, the hilts’ sweat- stained leather wrappings evidence of frequent use. One thug shifted to reveal a flintlock pistol aimed at the merchant. Apparently, he did not consider Amaranthe enough of a threat to warrant switching his target. Indignation flared and her hand twitched toward her sword. She caught herself before she acted foolishly. After all, it was better not to have a weapon pointed at her chest.
“Gentlemen,” Amaranthe said, “this robbery is over. If you put down your weapons and submit to being detained, perhaps I can speak to the magistrate on your behalf. Your possession of firearms, which, according to Imperial City Code seven-four-three dash A, are for military use only, will elevate your crime from simple theft to aggressive larceny.”
“Darn.” The thug waved a negligent hand at her, then leered at the merchant. “Give us the money, lady.”
Amaranthe drew her sword. The thugs displayed less concern than men chattered at by irate chipmunks. Probably rightfully so. They outnumbered her, and they had the miens of ex-soldiers. While she had undergone weapons and unarmed combat training at the Enforcer Academy, that was mediocre compared to the constant drilling military men endured. And they knew it. One of the robbers assumed a bored ready stance, lips canted in a knowing smirk.
A glance at the back of the building revealed no one charging in to help. What was keeping Wholt?
The thug shifted his weight to advance.
Amaranthe bent her legs, drew her shoulder back, and hurled her sword with all her strength. Reflexively, both men lifted their blades to block. As soon as they realized her weapon would not touch them, they burst into chortles.
The men were not her targets.
Her sword crashed into the ceiling-high collection of coffee tins behind them. The stack exploded, full canisters pummeling the robbers. Metal thudded against skin and bone, and the men cursed as they flailed, tripped, and inevitably toppled. One hit his head on the counter as he went down and did not move when he landed. The other fell, scrambled to rise, slipped on a canister, and cracked his chin on the tile floor.
Amaranthe picked her way through the mess, stepped on one man’s back, and collected their weapons. She handed the pistol to the merchant who pointed the weapon gleefully at the prone robbers while Amaranthe cuffed one and found twine to tie the other.
“Nicely done, Corporal,” a quiet voice said from the direction of the front door.
“Thanks.” She started to look up to identify the speaker when Wholt burst in through the back. “Where have you been?” she demanded. “Did you get lost?”
“There was a third one out back. I had to…uh…uhm…” Wholt’s mouth dropped open as he stared past Amaranthe. “Good morning, Sire,” he finally managed.
Sire? Amaranthe slowly stood and turned. Crowded at the entrance, six tall broad men wearing black gold- trimmed uniforms-the color of the emperor’s elite bodyguard-framed a smaller man of eighteen or nineteen. He had pale brown hair, gentle dark brown eyes, and yes, his was the same face that adorned the currency in the merchant’s strongbox. Emperor Sespian Savarsin, in power this last year since reaching his majority.
“Good morning,” the emperor answered.
Amaranthe stammered a greeting. What’s the emperor doing down here? Shouldn’t he be somewhere safe, doing emperorly things? She ransacked her memory for the proper protocol and found…nothing. Emperors did not traditionally saunter through the waterfront shops. They certainly did not mingle with people of the labor class.
The merchant, equally flustered, curtseyed deeply and said, “Sire, I must apologize for the state of disarray infecting my store.”
The emperor arched his eyebrows. “I should be apologizing to you, madam. For allowing this-” he gestured toward the fallen thugs, “-in the city. Fortunately, our enforcers are quite competent.” He bounced a little at this and smiled at Amaranthe, more like a young man hungering for a friend than a leader over millions. Don’t be presumptuous, Amaranthe.
“Yes, Sire,” she said. It felt like a safe answer.
“What’s your name?” he asked. “Both of your names?” He waved to include Wholt.
“Corporal Lokdon,” Amaranthe said. “And this is soon-to-be Sergeant Wholt,” she added when Wholt did not manage to utter anything intelligible.
A ponderous man with flapping jowls thundered through the doorway. Beads of sweat gleamed on his face. The emperor sighed like a boy whose tutor had caught up with him.
“Sire, there you are. They’ve got the fire under control. Do you want to finish the inspection now?”
“Not really.” The emperor smiled wistfully.
“Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest will be expecting our punctual return.”
“I suppose.” The emperor cast a mournful gaze at Amaranthe as he trooped out the door flanked by his guards.
When the entourage had departed, Wholt shuffled through the tins and elbowed Amaranthe. “I think he liked you.”
She snorted. “Yes, I’m surely destined to be the next empress.”
“That might be ambitious, but you could have asked him for a promotion.”
For a moment, Wholt’s words enticed her. If the emperor told the chief someone should be promoted to sergeant, surely it would happen. And she deserved it, didn’t she? She worked harder than Wholt. But no… “If I get promoted, it’ll be because I earned it, the same as everyone else. Not because I begged someone for a favor.”
“You have earned it.”
• • • • •
