“Yesterday morning, she escaped from Fort Urgot, where she was being held for questioning about some dead bodies. It’s believed she has something to do with the creature that’s been murdering people around the waterfront.”
“Yes, I read about the creature,” Sespian said, though he did not see how Amaranthe could be related to it.
“Also, there was a man with her who escaped,” Dunn said. “He was later identified as the criminal Sicarius.”
Sespian sank low in his chair. “Maybe it just looked like… Maybe she’s not…” No, he couldn’t think of a logical reason as to why she’d be with the assassin. “Damn. I wanted…” Aware of Dunn watching, Sespian sat up and shut his mouth. He could mull and moan when he was alone.
“All right,” Sespian said. “Just complete these lists for me, please. And if you can, requisition someone to keep an eye on Hollowcrest. Someone on the housecleaning staff perhaps. I want to know if he leaves the Barracks or meets with guests here.”
Sespian wasn’t going to have time to spend hours lurking in the ductwork to spy on Hollowcrest himself. He had to figure out how to subvert-or was it un-subvert?-General Lakecrest and all the other local men on the list. All soldiers, he noted grimly. All men he had nothing in common with. Nothing to worry about.
• • • • •
“When you asked how to get in touch with my former gang,” Akstyr said, “I didn’t think you were planning to take me along.”
Amaranthe trailed him, her scabbard dragging in the knee-high drifts lining the path. She felt silly wearing a short sword with her businesswoman’s long skirt and jacket, but in this neighborhood no one worried about fashion. The packed-snow trail parted a narrow street, and spurs provided access to dilapidated tenements, brothels, and alcohol shops. Behind wrought iron bars, the cracked window of a smoke shop promised illegal drugs in several languages. The bundled men and women they passed bore pitted and rusted swords, long knives, or axes.
“I thought you might want to brag to your old comrades that you escaped and were well,” she said.
“And working for a crazy woman for no pay?”
“Careful, you’ll make them jealous.” Amaranthe stepped over a wad of human excrement mashed into the snow. “Besides, you know these people. I can’t think of anyone better to have along when dealing with them.”
“Except him.” Akstyr jerked his chin to indicate Sicarius, who walked a few steps behind, scanning their surroundings alertly.
“He’s just here in case there’s trouble,” Amaranthe said. “It’s your advice I’ll need.”
“Whatever. I don’t see why you can’t use official couriers to deliver your messages.”
“Because…” I’m trying to involve you with our mission and get you to care so you don’t turn us in for our bounties. “The Courier Network requires too much personal information about the sender. I can lie, but if someone comes back later asking about me, they’ll answer. We need people we can count on for discretion.”
“And murdering gang members came to mind?” Akstyr asked.
“Surprisingly, yes. Can you imagine them answering honestly if Hollowcrest’s minions come around asking questions?”
“Probably not,” Akstyr said. “They’ll charge you more than couriers would though.”
“I expected it.”
“We are being watched,” Sicarius said.
“I expected that too,” Amaranthe said.
Her group turned a corner. Beggars, drunks, and drug dealers lined the drifts. Amaranthe guessed most served dual purposes as lookouts and spies.
“The entrance is down there.” Akstyr pointed to an alley barely two feet wide.
No obvious doors marked the chipped sides of the brick buildings, though a narrow metal stair on one wall rose in switchbacks to the roof.
“Do we invite ourselves up or wait for a welcoming party?” Amaranthe asked.
“It’s already here.”
A boy of nine or ten detached from a shady nook and planted himself in front of Akstyr, fists on his hips. “You’re s’pose to be dead, you magic-cursed cur.”
“We here to see the boss, Pigeon,” Akstyr growled. “You can eat street.”
“Tuskar don’t want to see some pretend wizard,” the boy said.
“How about me?” Amaranthe lifted a finger. “Would he consent to seeing me?”
“What you want, woman?” the boy asked.
“I have a job for someone in your gang. Paying job.”
The work ethic ran strongly through the empire’s citizens, a social construct too embedded to be cast aside as easily as the legal code. Amaranthe hoped even gang members would value the idea of earning their pay.
“That truth?” The boy pointed at Sicarius. “Who’s he?”
Amaranthe suspected more ears than this youth’s were listening to the conversation. “My secretary.”
The boy snorted. “Whatever. Follow me.”
Amaranthe led her men into the alley, trailing their new guide.
“Secretary?” Sicarius murmured behind her.
She tossed a smile over her shoulder. “You did write my letters.”
The narrow stair rose so steeply, Amaranthe decided to reclassify it as a ladder. Make that a deathtrap. As they ascended, the rickety contraption quaked with such enthusiasm that she pictured falls and broken bones.
Three stories up, the climb ended on top of the building where much more than a roof awaited. A permanent camp consisting of wood and scrap-metal huts sprawled across the footprint-laden snow. The elevated village spanned at least ten adjacent buildings connected by flimsy planks. The roof provided an excellent view of the icy lake, which sparkled white beneath the blue sky.
“Nice location,” Amaranthe said.
The boy bowed as if he had orchestrated the construction. He led them past defenders posted at the roof’s corners. Crossbows or muskets leaned against the low walls for easy access. A moment of doubt sank into the pit of Amaranthe’s stomach. These were the types of folks who would be up-to-date on the latest wanted posters. Perhaps she should have looked elsewhere for messengers. Still, these men would have underworld connections, too, and could probably deliver her notes without drawing attention.
“Tuskar’s office.” The boy stopped before one of the larger shacks.
Two meaty brutes stood guard outside. One presented missing front teeth as he leered at Amaranthe.
The boy did not stay to make an introduction. Amaranthe glanced at Akstyr, who merely shrugged. When she reached for the door latch, the guards made no effort to stop her. Expected, are we?
The room inside seemed more of a recreational area than an office. Ten or twelve men loitered. Some played Tiles on top of a crate, one gave another a tattoo, and two practiced at knife fighting. At least, Amaranthe thought they were practicing.
Everyone paused and glared when Akstyr entered. At the far end of the room, a rangy man sat behind a desk-if one could call a couple boards propped on concrete blocks a “desk.” He lounged in a chair with his muddy boots atop a stack of papers. He, too, affixed Akstyr with a frosty glare and worked a toothpick back and forth with his tongue.
Amaranthe crossed the room and stopped in front of the man. “Greetings.” She decided not to mention her name. “Are you the leader? Tuskar? I have a job proposition for you.”
Tuskar’s eyes never left Akstyr. “How’d you escape from the pillory, boy? ‘Round here, magic’s forbidden, death penalty.”
“I wasn’t doing no magic,” Akstyr growled. “Though it was real nice of you to turn me in without even asking about it.”
“You gotta fit in to be one of us. You never did. Always having airs, pretending you’re something better. Truth is you just crawled out of a piss pot, same as the rest of us.” Tuskar pointed at Akstyr’s hand. “I see you with my brand after today, I’ll put my boys on the hunt for your hide.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Akstyr asked. “Gnaw my hand off?”
Tuskar surged to his feet and around the desk. “If you can’t figure out a way to get it off, I’ll do it for you.” He slid a dagger out of his belt.
