he might have been handsome.
Before she could speak to him, he turned and yelled at a little man tugging on his sleeve. “I already told you, bets are final! You can’t change your mind in the middle. Go away!”
The man scampered into the crowd. The bouncer turned on Amaranthe.
“ What? “ he roared.
She stifled the instinct to step back. Instead she met his eyes and asked, “Rough day?”
“Huh?”
She added a sympathetic smile. “It looks like you’re having a rough day.”
The irritation bled away from the bouncer’s face. “Actually, yes.”
“I’m Amaranthe. What’s your name?”
“Ragos.”
“It must be trying dealing with the same silly questions day in and day out,” she said.
“That, I’m used to. But today, two of the bookmakers didn’t show up. The potatoes for our vendors’ potato cakes didn’t come. The furnace that powers the Maze decided to break down, and who do you think got to fix it?” Ragos pulled a wrench out of a back pocket and waved it.
“I didn’t realize bouncers had so many responsibilities,” Amaranthe said.
Another bouncer sidled up to Ragos and grinned. “Most don’t. Unless they’re the boss’s pet.”
Ragos glowered at his comrade. “Your section is over there, isn’t it?”
The man’s grin never left, but he returned to his post.
“The boss? Is that the owner?” Amaranthe asked. “I came to see her about some business.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but she knows me. We went to school together.”
“Is that the school that makes her sound like she’s swallowing spikes when she talks about it?” Ragos asked.
“I believe so. She didn’t get along well with the teachers. Or the students.”
“I’m sure she’ll love to see you then.”
“Probably not,” Amaranthe admitted.
Ragos smiled mischievously. “In that case, I’ll show you right up.”
He unlocked a door behind the betting cage, and they climbed a metal staircase to a catwalk that passed over the Maze. They stopped before an office built against the rafters. A name plaque on the door read: The Boss. Ragos raised a finger for Amaranthe to wait before ambling inside.
“No!” came a woman’s voice almost immediately.
Ragos ambled back out and winked. “Go right in.”
“Thank you, Ragos.”
Amaranthe waited until he descended the stairs. She was tempted to leave as well, but she had already asked every pawnbroker, bar keeper, weapons smith, and loan shark in the city how to get a message to Sicarius, all with no luck. Either they did not know, or they were not willing to risk the infamous criminal’s ire by bothering him.
She knocked.
“Oh, come in already,” the woman growled.
Amaranthe stepped inside. The magnificent, floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Maze was not quite enough to distract her from the old clutter, new clutter, and nascent clutter swamping the office. At first, the mess overshadowed the woman lounging behind a desk overflowing with boxes, ledger books, and discarded men’s clothing. She wore tight-fitting leather that emphasized lush curves. Maybe Hollowcrest should have hired her to seduce Sicarius.
“Amaranthe Lokdon?” the woman said. “I never expected you to show up here. And look. You’re still wearing your hair in that unimaginative bun.”
“Mitsy Masters.” Amaranthe forced a smile. Be friendly. If anyone has the right contacts to get in touch with Sicarius, it’s her. “I like to keep my hair neat, out of the way.”
“Yes, I remember your neatness, my dear. The way teachers gloated over your pretty penmanship and ingratiatingly perfect papers.”
“That didn’t keep you from copying them, as I recall.” Easy, Amaranthe. Remember you’re being nice.
“I never believed in wasting time doing something you could get someone else to do for you. That’s what business is all about, isn’t it?”
Mitsy yawned, took out a file, and began working on her fingernails. A gang mark identical to the bouncers’ branded the back of one of her hands. As of the latest enforcer reports, Mitsy was the Panthers’ leader.
“I’m not sure that’s quite the philosophy our teachers tried to instill,” Amaranthe said. “Though your tactics must be working. It looks like you’ve done well since, ah…”
“Being kicked out of school? Yes. You? I assume you went on to become a model entrepreneur, though I admit I haven’t heard anything of you.”
Good. Since female enforcers were rare, Amaranthe had feared Mitsy would have heard about her career. “You wouldn’t. I’ve been…discreet. I have an…export business.”
Mitsy leaned forward, eyes narrowed, interest kindling for the first time. “Oh ho, what illegal commodities are you sending out of the empire?”
“Parts,” Amaranthe said, intentionally vague. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Dear Amaranthe, do you mayhap need a favor?” Calculation glittered in Mitsy’s eyes.
“Nothing that would require much effort on your part, I assure you. I have a shipment that I need to get from my warehouse in Itansa across the border to Kendor. I need someone reliable to accompany it, to make sure it reaches its destination. Someone who can handle any imperial soldiers or Kendorian shamans who might snoop too closely.”
“I must say, Amaranthe dear, I’m impressed by these nefarious allusions. You always acted so insufferably noble. If I’d known devious streaks lay beneath that facade, I would have teased you and your prissy cohorts less frequently in school.”
“Only three times a week instead of five?”
Mitsy flashed a lupine grin. “Precisely.”
“Sicarius,” Amaranthe said, anxious to end the meeting and leave. “I’ve heard he’s in town. I’ve heard he’s good. Do you know of him?”
“Certainly, he’s the best.”
“Do you know what he charges?” Amaranthe asked, trying to add a hint of verisimilitude. She was supposed to be a businesswoman after all.
“Whatever it is, he’s worth it.”
“Oh? Have you met him?”
Anything more Amaranthe could learn about the assassin would be invaluable. Before running the lake trail that morning, she had sneaked into Enforcer Headquarters to retrieve Sicarius’s record, but it contained no personal information, and the arm-long list of kills had done little to bolster her confidence.
“Not personally, no,” Mitsy said. “They say he never fails an assignment though. They also say…” She shrugged, deliberately mysterious. “Let’s just say you’d do best to take care with him.”
“Temper?”
“No, he’s a cold one by all accounts. I know a fellow in Iskland-or rather I knew a fellow-who hired Sicarius for a retrieval operation, then decided he didn’t want to pay the agreed upon price.”
“I assume Sicarius got the money from him,” Amaranthe said.
“Cut his throat, actually. Left the money.”
“I see.”
“And then there’s that merchant in Komar who paid Sicarius but thought he would recoup his losses by tipping the local garrison to the assassin’s whereabouts. Sicarius killed the merchant and the soldiers who came after him.”
Mitsy smiled as she spoke, intentionally trying to rattle her guest, Amaranthe suspected.
“As much as I’m appreciating story hour,” she said, “I really just need to know how to get in touch with him. Can you get word to him for me? I’ve heard you have a vast network of contacts in the city.”
