Deadly Games

“Yes,” Books said. “A new strain of pizzlerot out of the Gesh Islands. Coitus isn’t required fortransmission. I expect we’re all doomed just from walking besidethis lout.”

The dark figures in the shadows pushed pasteach other in an effort to be the first to sprint away. One trippedand fell in his haste to round a corner. Nobody stopped to help himup. Cursing, he scrambled to his feet and ran after hiscomrades.

“That’s one way to deter bandits,” Bookssaid, a grin in his voice.

“You would approve,” Maldynado said.“Boss, it’s not right to joke around about a man’s… Did you callit a peeper?”

“Too sanitized?” She pointed down a ricketydock with missing and broken boards. A sign magnanimously called itPier 173.

“Not if your next job will be teaching smallchildren.”

“Will they be less vexatious than you?”Amaranthe led the way down the dock.

“Doubtful,” Books said.

Three ships lined the dock, none with lightsburning on the decks. She started to check the first one, butpaused. The skeletal frame of a crane rose from the deck of thelast ship, a steamer. It possessed a metal hull instead of wood andhad the sturdy look of a tug. Other equipment bristled from thedeck like quills on a porcupine, creating a strange silhouetteagainst the moonlit sky. Gear for pulling treasures off the lake orsea floor, Amaranthe guessed.

She turned off her lantern, and darknessengulfed the dock. She padded toward the salvage vessel, steppinglightly on the warped, creaking wood. In the still night, she grewaware of the sound of her own breathing and a breeze flapping aloose sail a few docks away. The air stirred the omnipresent fishyscent of the waterfront, and for a moment Amaranthe thought shesmelled something else. Something rotten. The breeze shifted, andthe scent disappeared. Maybe it was nothing-a dead fish washed upto a nearby beach.

The starlight did not offer enoughillumination to read the name on the bow, but she could not imaginethis being anything except the ship they sought, theTuggle.

“Must not be any treasure on there now,”Maldynado said. “Nobody’s on guard.”

“Some of the crew might be sleeping belowdecks,” she whispered.

They stopped beside the ship. No gangplankoffered easy access, but Amaranthe had come prepared. She unwound alength of thin rope she had looped around her waist several timesand dug out a collapsible grappling hook. She fastened it and swungthe tool, releasing it toward the ship’s railing. The hook clinkedsoftly and caught on the first try.

“You’re turning into a proficient burglar,”Books said.

“Is that a compliment or a condemnation?”Amaranthe tested the secureness of the rope.

“It depends on whether we’ll be leavingmonetary compensation for the suits we’re stealing.”

Maldynado groaned. “You’re wholesome enoughto teach toddlers right alongside her.”

“I was hoping to return the suits withoutdoing any damage,” Amaranthe said.

“Such as with the trash vehicle?” Booksasked.

She winced. “When we have our men back, I’llsee what I can do about compensating those we’ve wronged.”

“I know,” Maldynado said in response to amuttered comment from Akstyr. “They are the worst outlawsyou’ll ever meet. What criminals worry about such things?”

Amaranthe shushed them, then shimmied up therope. Before climbing over the railing, she paused to listen forvoices or movement on the deck. Only the soft lapping of the wavesreached her ears.

She slipped over the railing and landed in asoundless crouch. Nothing stirred. She glided through the shadows,skirting the crane and capstans the size of huts. A single closedhatch allowed access to the lower levels. She collected the menbefore exploring further.

“Shall we light the lanterns?” Bookswhispered.

“Wait until we’re below decks,” Amaranthesaid.

At this point, she did not think anyone wasaboard, but she did not need someone on another dock noticing theirlight and coming to investigate.

Amaranthe pressed an ear to the hatch. Again,she heard nothing. She turned the latch and eased the dooropen.

A powerful stench rolled out, smelling ofrotten meat and death. Her unprepared stomach roiled, and images ofthe dam-those eviscerated men and women-washed over her. She bracedherself against the wall.

“Ugh,” Akstyr said. “It smells like ahalf-eaten possum left to bake on the street in summer.”

“Or dead people,” Books said, his voicehoarse, as if he was fighting back the urge to retch.

“Really, boss,” Maldynado said, “is itnecessary to take us to such desecrated destinations all thetime?”

“Apparently.” Amaranthe wondered if theSaberfist might have been a better bet after all. “Books, isit possible these people brought back some sort of contagiousdisease from their explorations? Something that…killed them?”

“Pizzle rot?” Maldynado asked.

“I made that up.”

“If it helps,” Akstyr said, “it smells likemore than pizzles are rotten down there.”

“How does that help?” Maldynado asked.

“I read the dock master’s report,” Bookssaid. “These fellows have been in port for a couple of weeks, andbefore that they were working Squall Lake.”

“So whatever happened…” Amaranthestarted.

“Happened after they arrived here,” Bookssaid.

“Do you think we’re in danger of catchingsomething if we go down?”

“If it is a disease, I’d guess we’re findingthem after the point of contagion, but I couldn’t be certain.”

Akstyr lifted a finger. “How about I stay uphere and stand guard?”

“How about you go first?” Maldynado said.“You’re the youngest. The most expendable.”

“What?”

“Maybe they just brought back a treasure thatsomeone wanted and someone killed them for it.” Amaranthe musedthat it was a strange line of work she found herself in when thatwas a cheery thought.

“And maybe not,” Maldynado said.

“I’ll go,” she said. “Akstyr, you get to findout a way to heal me if I contract something.”

“Uh, I don’t know how to do diseases,” Akstyrsaid. “It’s not in the On Healing book.”

“Get a shaman then. Sicarius has found themin the city before.”

“Sicarius isn’t here,” Maldynado pointedout.

All too aware of that fact, Amaranthe pushedthe hatch further open, descended three steps, and entered a darkcorridor. Mosquitoes whined in the air. The scent of urine andfeces lingered beneath the overpowering stench of death. Shebreathed through her mouth as she turned up her lantern. Closedcabin doors lined either side of the short corridor. She glimpsedmetal and coiled rope through an open hatchway at the end.Storage?

A creak sounded from the steps behindher-Books following with a lantern of his own.

“You’ll need help collecting all theequipment and hauling the suits out,” he said, “The kits weigh overone hundred fifty pounds each.”

She gripped his arm. “Thank you.”

Her intent was to bypass the cabins and gostraight to the storage area, but, in the confining corridor, Booksbumped an elbow against one of the doors. It had not been fastenedso it creaked open. He hesitated, then eased his lanterninside.

Whatever he saw arrested his attention for hestared for a long moment.

“Body?” A few steps farther down thecorridor, Amaranthe could not see in, and she was not quick to runup and poke her head under his arm.

“Yes.”

“Throat cut?” She doubted it.

“No. It does appear to be some sort ofdisease.”

Reluctantly, Amaranthe went to take a look.If it was a contagious disease, it was probably too late forthem to avoid it anyway.