“What?” Maldynado asked.
Even if Basilard had decided to find thelatrine or change out of his white togs, the boy should havereturned to attend to the remaining competitors. Why had hefollowed Basilard, anyway? No boys had accompanied any of the otherathletes.
“I think Basilard’s in trouble,” shesaid.
“What?” Books asked.
“He’s been gone too long.” Amaranthe wonderedif it signified paranoia that neither of them seemed concerned. “Doeither of you two ‘coaches’ want to try to go down there? See ifyou can get into that tunnel?” Amaranthe eyed a pair of enforcersstationed where they could keep spectators from wandering into thearena to bug the athletes. “I’ll go outside and see if I spotanything suspicious.”
“Which of us should-” Books started.
“Either. Both. I don’t care.” She was alreadymaneuvering through the packed benches toward the aisle, worryingthat they had wasted too much time. How long would it take to dragan unconscious man out through a back door? “Maybe I’moverreacting,” she muttered under her breath. “Maybe it’snothing.”
Though she said the words, they did not keepher from pushing past spectators and running down the stairs. Atthe bottom, she reluctantly slowed down, aware that a sprintingwoman might draw the enforcers’ suspicions.
Only when she reached the stadium exit didshe break into a run. Maldynado caught up with her.
“Books is going in since Basilard alreadyvouched for him today.”
“Understood,” Amaranthe said.
They ran off the path to follow the curve ofthe stadium’s outer wall. Twenty meters of neatly trimmed grassstretched away from the structure before trees and shrubberystarted, hiding the locomotive tracks in the distance. Amaranthescanned the leafy green canopy, searching for the telltale smoketrail of a steam-powered lorry. Anyone in the kidnapping businesswould need a getaway vehicle.
“I don’t see anybody,” Maldynado said.
“Me either.”
Intermittent metal doors marked the outsidewall, too many for her and Maldynado to watch. Amaranthe took aguess at which one corresponded with the corridor Basilard had gonedown and tried it. It did not budge, nor did it have a lock on theoutside one might pick. A single pull-bar handle rose from a sea ofbrass rivets and steel.
“No way to pick the lock, huh?” Maldynadoasked.
Amaranthe knelt to examine tracks in theearth. Dozens, if not hundreds, of people had been in and out ofthe door that day, so they told her little. A dirt trail led to thewider road ringing the stadium.
“We’re smart though,” Maldynado said. “Weought to be able to figure a way in.”
“Got an idea?”
Amaranthe touched a long gouge in the earth.Was it her imagination, or did that look like the sort of mark thatmight be left if a couple of men were dragging another?
“Lots of ideas.” Maldynado grabbed thepull-bar and heaved for all he was worth. Muscles strained beneaththe thin fabric of the back of his shirt, but the door did notbudge. He released it with a growl, then kicked it.
“Watching your mind work is always apleasure,” Amaranthe said.
“Because it’s unique?”
“Something like that.” She pointed at thegouge. “I think they may already have him.”
She trotted to the opposite side of the roadand examined the ground. If kidnappers had dragged Basilard out ofthere, they would not have stuck to the main path where witnesseswould be many. Even now, a pair of female athletes was joggingalong the road, warming up for the upcoming races.
Half-crouching, half-walking, Amaranthesearched for unusual prints. Too bad Basilard was the one missing;he was a great tracker.
“Afternoon, ladies.” Maldynado swept his hatfrom his head and dropped into a low bow when the athletesapproached.
Amaranthe expected him to ask them toaccompany him somewhere for drinks or other activities, but hestayed on task.
“Has either of you seen anything suspiciousout here?” he asked.
One of the women eyed Amaranthe, who wasstill poking at the earth, looking for tracks, and asked, “Asidefrom you two?”
“Yes.” Maldynado offered a sparkling smile,the kind known for making the most standoffish ladies swoon, andthe women’s visages softened. One blushed. “Anyone dragging anathlete across the grass, for instance,” he said. “Or a towel boyroaming around where he shouldn’t be?”
“Oh!” The blushing girl sidled closer toMaldynado and laid a hand on his forearm. “On our last lap, we didsee a young boy standing at that door.” She pointed to the oneMaldynado had tried to open. “It looked like he was beckoning tosomeone in the woods. I didn’t see anyone, and he ducked backinside when he spotted us.” She gazed up at Maldynado and battedher eyelashes. “Does that help?”
Amaranthe shook her head in bemusement. Attimes, Maldynado could be downright useful.
“Tremendously, dear,” he said. “Thankyou.”
“We should go, Reeva,” the girl’s companionsaid. “Our race starts soon. If you don’t want me to win again, youshould probably be there to compete against me.”
“Win again?” Reeva released Maldynado andpropped her hands on her hips. “You only won
“On second thought,” her comrade said, “youshould stay here and go off with him.” She resumed her jog, heelskicking up dust on the dry path.
Reeva pouted at Maldynado. “I have to go.Would you like to come watch my race? It starts soon. And thenafterward, perhaps we could have an iced tea in the garden.”
“Why, I’m quite tempted, my lady,” Maldynadosaid.
Amaranthe gripped his arm. “No, he’s not. Ourfriend needs us.” She jerked her chin toward the trees.
The girl scowled at Amaranthe. She ignored itand tugged Maldynado along.
“Sorry, miss,” he called to his newfoundfriend. “I’m not the sort to put my own pleasure above a friend’sneeds. Not a good friend’s, anyway.”
Amaranthe led the way into the trees, andMaldynado caught up with her. She was debating whether to look fortracks or go straight through to the railway when voices drifted toher ears.
Somewhere ahead of her, men spoke in urgenttones. She picked up the pace, though she stepped lightly, notwanting to be heard. She held a finger to her lips, and Maldynadosoftened his own footfalls.
“…got him,” someone said ahead of them.“Go, go.”
Machinery ground and clanked. An enginestarting? Amaranthe sniffed and caught a whiff of burning coalmingling with the earthier scents of the woods.
She gave up stealth and ran full out, dodgingtrees and trampling through dry brush. Her hand strayed toward herbelt, where she often wore her short sword, but it wasn’t there.Right. She’d decided a woman with a sword would stand out at thestadium. At least Maldynado had his.
The chugging of machinery floated through thetrees clearly now. It sounded more like the great pumping pistonsof a locomotive rather than the smaller engine of a carriage. Butnobody had a train for an escape vehicle. She hoped.
The woods thinned ahead with sunlightstreaming through a gap in the canopy. The railway tracks?
The sounds of the machinery were moving awayfrom her. More, the distinctive clickety-clack of a car moving onrails joined with the chugs. No doubt now. She was listening to atrain.
Amaranthe sprinted the last ten paces, burstout of the trees, and scrambled up the raised ballast bedsupporting the train tracks. Twenty meters away, a combinationlocomotive-carriage was rumbling toward the city. Puffs of graysmoke wafted from a short stack. Though doors on either side heldwindows, the carriage had moved too far away for her to see throughthem. For a second, she thought of running after it, but it pickedup speed even as she watched. No, she would never catch it.
Growling, she kicked at the gravel betweenthe wooden sleepers.
Branches snapped and brush rustled,announcing Maldynado’s exit from the woods. Amaranthe pointed atthe carriage dwindling in the distance.
