Amaranthe wondered if that was Maldynado, doing his bit to help. Or had he left long ago? And where was Sicarius?
She ducked arms stretching to grab her. One caught her hood and nearly tore her jacket off. She tugged away, seams ripping. Only in the empire would people attack someone with a pistol instead of throwing themselves to the floor.
The path cleared as Amaranthe neared the entrance, and she thought she might escape without shooting anyone. The double doors stood open, the night street stretching beyond, but two bouncers blocked the exit. With bare muscled arms that blacksmiths would have envied, the men appeared strong enough to rip someone’s head off with their hands-and stupid enough not to move at the sight of a firearm.
A wise woman would have stopped and tried to find another way out. Amaranthe sprinted toward them, pistol raised. They saw the weapon and crouched, but did not move from the doorway.
One slipped a hand into his belt. Steel glinted. A throwing star spun toward Amaranthe.
She ducked but kept running. Movement blurred at the corner of her eye. Someone barreled toward her from the side, diving for her legs. She leaped over the flying bouncer. He missed his grab and skidded into the crowd.
Another ten feet, and she would crash into the men blocking the door. The one with the throwing stars reached for a second.
Amaranthe fired the pistol, aiming at the wall behind his head. Her ball grazed his ear, but he only roared. She threw the pistol at his face. While he batted it away, she angled to his side, choosing to go around him instead of between the two. He grabbed for her, but she shifted her weight to the outside foot and launched a sidekick into his knee.
His leg crumpled, and he stumbled against his comrade.
Amaranthe raced out the door. Mist thickened the air, and the street traffic had thinned. That meant fewer people to hide her escape, so she did not slow down. Sweat plastered her clothes to her body, and strands of hair that had torn free from her bun whipped in her eyes.
Halfway to the main street, a twang sounded behind her. A crossbow quarrel skipped off the concrete at her feet.
She urged her legs to greater speed. Her breath rasped her in ears. A few more paces, and she would reach the intersection where she could duck around the corner and-she hoped-disappear.
“Down,” a familiar voice ordered from ahead.
Amaranthe threw herself into a roll. Another crossbow quarrel zipped over her and clanged off a streetlamp.
She came up running and lunged around the corner. She almost crashed into Sicarius. He sidestepped to avoid her and hurled something with a burning fuse. It spun down the alley and clattered onto the concrete.
Amaranthe kept running and did not see the result. A moment later, coughs and curses came from the dead-end street.
Sicarius fell in beside her and they ran several blocks, turning a few times before slowing.
“Smoke bomb?” Amaranthe sucked in a few deep gulps of air, but her breathing returned to normal quickly. She was glad for all the training they did, or she would likely be on the ground wheezing after that long sprint.
“An acrid one, yes.” Sicarius gave her a sidelong look. “I’d almost gone back to the hideout. What were you doing in there so long?”
“Snooping. Getting trapped. Getting found. Running. Evading. It was quite the full evening.”
“I see.”
“Have you heard of Waterton Dam?”
“No.”
“I’ll ask Books. I’m not sure if Ellaya is involved with those murdered people or not. All I know for sure is that she’s storing people’s personal information in those fobs, and there was something about a ‘return compulsion.’ Any idea about that? A magical way to coerce people to come back to the same gambling house and spend money again and again?”
“Possibly.”
“Also, I may have done some physical damage to a magical device, which might leave Ellaya rather peeved at me.”
“Might?”
“All right, it’s a high probability.”
“That the device is damaged? Or that Ellaya is peeved at you?”
“Yes.” She smirked at him.
Footfalls slapped the concrete behind them. A boy dressed in rags scurried up to them.
“Ma’am.” Though he could not have been older than eight, he thumped his fist to his chest in a soldier’s salute and lifted his chin. “I have a very important message for you.”
“Oh?” she replied.
The seriousness with which he took his delivery task was somewhat diminished by the fact that his “message” was scribbled on the back of an apple taffy wrapper.
Nobody recognized the dead bloke, despite my pinpoint description. Akstyr got beat up. Taking him to The Pirates’ Plunder for a night of relaxation. Will meet at the hideout at daybreak. Or nine. Or noonish. ~M
“The Pirates’ Plunder is a brothel, isn’t it?” Amaranthe asked Sicarius.
“Yes.”
“Relaxation. Right.”
The boy cleared his throat. “The mister who told me to deliver this said you’d give me a tip.”
“That mister is a pretty generous fellow,” Amaranthe said, though she fished in her pocket for a coin, “and I’d be shocked if he hadn’t already given you that tip.”
The boy shifted his weight and studied the street. “Well, I did have to wait longer than he said I would…”
“Ah, of course. Your patience is admirable.” Amaranthe tossed the coin to the boy.
He jogged away.
“Shall we check on Books?” Amaranthe asked. She wanted to have a powwow with Books and Sicarius, to see if they could figure out if all these events were connected. Basilard would be there, too, and he might offer some insight on Ellaya, since they were both Mangdorian. That reminded her…
“I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what that woman was talking about when she brought up Mangdoria?”
“No,” Sicarius said.
Amaranthe clawed through her memories, trying to think of Mangdorian atrocities Sicarius might have caused, but it was such a minor nation-small scattered tribes rather than anything with a central government-that it rarely made it into the imperial newspapers. “Can you at least tell me if it’s something that’ll cause a…problem if Basilard finds out about it?” she asked.
He did not answer.
“Aren’t we to the point in our relationship where you feel you can tell me some of your secrets?”
“That didn’t go well last time,” he said, voice hard.
Amaranthe frowned. He was right about that. She ought not to pry. Yet, if Sicarius had done something to irk Mangdorians in general, and Basilard learned of it, she could end up with a rift in her group. Or worse.
Sicarius handed her a folded piece of paper. “I found this in the woman’s desk drawer.”
“You snooped? Excellent, excellent.” She veered toward a gas lamp. “I thought you might find such tasks beneath you.”
“The acquisition of information is a job I’ve performed frequently.”
“When you say it like that, it almost sounds noble.”
Sicarius remained in the shadows while Amaranthe held the page to the light. Though the hour had grown late, pedestrians were still walking in pairs and groups. Most were boisterous with drink, but she had best not spend too long with her face limned by lamplight.
“We thank you for putting us in contact with the Maker,” she read. “Please accept our protection, free of
