inside.Amaranthe clambered up, amused that what would have once seemed animpossible climb did not cause her to break a sweat. She did haveto perform an acrobatic lunge to launch herself from the pipe tothe vent opening, but she had mastered the art of not looking downsome time ago. She shimmied through and landed on a dusty, woodfloor littered with owl pellets and rat droppings. Grimacing, sheremoved a kerchief from a pocket and wiped her hands.
Sicarius waited inside, close enough that hecould have helped if she had needed it. He never presumed she wouldthough. She liked that he trusted her to take care of herself, butit would have been considerate if he’d kept her from stepping inthe dubious pile of… Was that
Thanks to Maldynado’s broad shoulders, he hadmore trouble squeezing through the vent opening. He grunted andpushed and cursed Sicarius’s ancestors and finally plopped onto thefloor.
Sicarius took the lead again, padding througha dusty maze that sprawled before them. Boxes and bundles ofyellowed newspapers rose to the ceiling, creating twisting aislesthat often ended without notice. Most of the clutter in the atticwas what one might expect, though a stuffed grimbal head satinexplicably under one window.
Sicarius’s route led them to a trapdoor. Hepressed his ear to the wood, then lifted it. After peering about,he dropped out of sight. Amaranthe waited for his signal, thenfollowed him through.
As soon as she landed, she heard voicescoming from below, but she could not make out words yet. Nolanterns burned, but enough evening light angled through thewindows to illuminate the area. They were on a broad balcony filledwith book-laden shelves. The floor vibrated from printing pressesat work somewhere below.
When Maldynado joined them, Sicarius headedtoward the balcony railing. Before he reached it, he waved for themto drop to their bellies. On elbows and knees, Amaranthe crawled tothe edge.
Two stories below, in a vast workspace opento the ceiling, rows of desks stretched from wall to wall. Only onewas occupied. A man with dark, wavy hair sat before a stack ofpapers, head bowed, pencil scrawling, while a second fellow pacedaround him. The first wore civilian clothes, a cream-colored shirtand forest green vest, and he seemed to be doing his best to ignorethe mutterings of the other. The second man had the same hair,though shorter, and wore black army fatigues, complete with a swordand pistol hanging from his belt.
Amaranthe squinted but could not make out therank pins on the man’s lapel.
“A lieutenant,” Sicarius whispered, and shewondered when he had come to know her so well that he could guessat the thoughts behind her squints.
Maldynado wriggled up beside them. He pointedat the man at the desk and whispered, “That’s Deret.”
“Trap?” Amaranthe flicked a finger at theofficer.
“Maybe not,” Maldynado said. “I think that’sFerel Mancrest, one of Deret’s brothers. There’s an older one, too,but I think he’s a captain. Ferel’s probably in town for theImperial Games and visiting his little brother.”
“So he stopped to load a weapon in thealley?” Amaranthe whispered.
“Hm.”
Down below, the officer leaned his hands ontothe desk. “You said six, didn’t you?”
“That’s what Maldynado said.” Deret keptworking without looking up.
“That disowned drunken gigolo,” the officergrowled. “You’ll be lucky if he gives her the right directions tofind this place.”
Maldynado’s eyebrows rose. “
“Just don’t shoot me with your grandioseplan,” Deret said. “The army has already damaged me enough.” Heflicked a hand at a cane leaning against his desk.
“Don’t be bitter because my C.O. didn’tconsult you. You let me know about her. You did your part.”
“Wonderful.”
“You don’t need to be here. We’ll-” Theofficer broke off and faced the balcony.
Amaranthe tensed, prepared to back away fromthe railing, but his eyes focused on something on his own floor. Asoldier jogged into view, a rifle in hand. He saluted and clickedhis heels together as he came to attention.
“Sir, Corporal Dansek checking in, sir. Nochange in status. The target has not been spotted yet. The menremain ready.”
“Very well. Dismissed.”
“The
Sicarius leveled a dark stare at him aswell.
Maldynado’s eyes widened. “I didn’tknow.”
Amaranthe scooted back, gesturing for theothers to follow her. They retraced their route in, not stoppinguntil they reached the back alley again. Maldynado muttered tohimself all the way out.
“I can’t believe he’d betray my trust likethat,” he said.
Sicarius took a few steps toward the alleyentrance, but Amaranthe caught his arm.
“Wait,” she said. “Let’s talk aboutthis.”
“You’re not going in,” he said, more an orderthan a question.
“Going in, no. That wouldn’t be too smart ifthere’s a squad of soldiers waiting to capture me.”
“Then what is there to discuss?”
“This man could still be the ally we want himto be. It’ll just take more work than we thought to sway him to ourside.” Amaranthe smiled.
“Dear ancestors,” Maldynado said. “Youalready have a new scheme in mind.”
“Nothing big. Maldynado, I need you to do alittle shopping, then you can meet the others at the stadium andlet them know we’ll be late. Sicarius and I will be arranging akidnapping.”
Maldynado scratched his head. “A kidnappingthat requires…shopping?”
“One must be prepared.” Amaranthe smiledagain.
CHAPTER 3
“What are all these slagging enforcers doinghere?” Akstyr slouched against a tree and glowered at the groundswhere athletes mingled, roaming from the barracks to the baths andto various eating and shopping tents.
Books stood beside the tree as well, thoughhe was scribbling something in a notebook and paying littleattention to the scene before them. As far as Basilard could tell,serious training had ended for the day, but the evening was youngenough that few of the athletes were heading for the barracks. Moreenforcers than one would expect patrolled the grounds.
“We’re not going to be able to investigate acigar butt without getting spotted,” Akstyr went on.
In the fading light, Basilard exaggerated hissigns so Books and Akstyr could read them.
“Cursed enforcers will bug me just because ofmy brand.” Akstyr lifted a fist to display the arrow mark scoredinto the skin on the back of his hand. That seemed less likely toget him harassed than the greased ridge of spiky hair bisecting hishead and the baggy mismatched clothing any enforcer would assume hestole-probably correctly.
“Then keep your hands in your pockets,” Bookssaid.
“I believe I’ll observe from here,” Bookssaid. “You two lads are young enough to pass as athletes, but withmy gray hairs, nobody will believe I’m in the competition.”
Basilard lifted his eyebrows, amused at beingcalled a lad. He was close to thirty-five and had a bald spot itwould take a beaver pelt to cover. All the scars made the hair onthe sides grow in patchy, so he simply kept his whole headshaven.
“That and the fact you can’t walk more thanten steps without tripping over something,” Akstyr said.
“I’m not
