figuring some of the men rode inside.
“ Forty marines heading toward the steamboat,” she said.
“ Forty?”
A second military boat appeared around the bend.
“ Make that eighty,” Evrial said.
“ Emperor’s warts, this is going to be a bloodbath.” Maldynado pushed his hair back from his forehead, not noticing that he knocked off his enforcer cap.
“ For your friends?” Evrial thought of Sicarius’s deadly skills-and his unhesitating willingness to use them. “Or the marines?”
“ I don’t know. Both probably.”
CHAPTER 11
The cracks of breaking boards and the squeals of nails torn free from wood assaulted Amaranthe’s ears. She hunkered next to the hole the enforcers had cut, ready to defend the entrance, though she feared there’d soon be too many holes to guard. The enforcers-or maybe it was the marines-were tearing into the stage with crowbars and axes. Light flowed through numerous punctures. They must have guessed Amaranthe and Sicarius didn’t have crossbows or a way to shoot projectiles, for they hacked away with impunity.
Someone tapped Amaranthe on the shoulder. “I have an update,” Books said from the darkness behind her.
“ An update I’ll like or one I won’t?”
“ We’ve built a framework, mixed the cement, slathered it all around the rockets.”
Slathered didn’t sound as good as totally buried.
“ Enough, to smother the light and, I hope, add a layer of protection and make the weapons difficult to access in the future. But the cement won’t harden for…” Somewhere nearby, a board was torn free with a nerve- wrenching crack. “For more time than we have,” Books went on. “We did get a marine mix that’s capable of hardening underwater. I’m hoping that it’s set enough that even if we drop it…” Books might have shrugged, but Amaranthe couldn’t see the gesture in the gloom. “I’m also hoping that the impact of the weapons striking the bottom of the river won’t be hard enough to… I’m hoping for mud down there.”
That was a lot of hoping. What if all their effort resulted in them doing the very thing they’d been trying to stop others from doing? Detonating the weapons?
“ If not, better the poison is unleashed here, between towns, than in the capital,” Books said.
Better not to unleash it at all, Amaranthe wanted to cry, then grab his shirt and shake a better plan out of him. Stay calm, she thought, reminding herself that she was in charge and people in charge weren’t supposed to lose their minds.
“ Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” she said. “I’ll… think of something.” Right. Sure, she would. No problem.
“ Oh?” Books sounded encouraged. At least one of them was. “We’re heating up the blow lamp to cut a hole in the hull.”
“ Good. Tell Sicarius. We’ll-”
Someone thrust a smoke bomb through a newly opened gap, and an acrid scent flooded the tight space. Cursing, Amaranthe yanked her shirt over her nose and crawled toward it. She intended to grab it and throw it back out, but she paused. It was a sphere, rather than the cylindrical cans the enforcers had been tossing in earlier. New weapons the marines had brought?
“ Get back,” she told Books, reversing her momentum.
Before she’d gone more than two steps, light flashed and a boom rattled the stage. A concussive force pounded her, flinging her several feet. Her back slammed into something hard, blasting the air from her lungs. All around her, shards of wood flew into the air. A crash sounded, part of the stage structure collapsing. She tried to suck in a breath and roll to her hands and knees, but the blow had stunned her. Her rigid muscles wouldn’t relax, wouldn’t move.
Hands caught her shirt by the shoulders. Books dragged her backward. Amaranthe wanted to stay and defend the hole she’d assigned herself, but it was too late anyway. There were too many gaps to defend. Dark figures moved about in the smoke, and the marines tore away broken boards. They’d pick their way inside soon enough. Or simply throw more explosives.
By the time Books pulled her back to the grate, a second explosion had gone off, this one at the other end of the stage. Sicarius’s end.
Amaranthe found the wherewithal to rise up to her hands and knees. Something warm trickled into her eye. Blood. Smoke clogged the air, and her first attempt at speaking launched nothing but coughs. She threw her arm across her mouth, trying to stifle the sound. Telling the marines their exact location wasn’t a good plan.
“ Hurry,” Sespian whispered, his upper body sticking out of the entrance. “Join us down here. We’ll cover the grate, buy another minute.”
Without hesitation, Books climbed over the edge, jostling Sespian as he passed.
“ Sicarius,” Amaranthe rasped, her voice rougher than a saw blade. “Have you seen him?”
“ No, but he can take care of himself.”
Not if a grenade had taken him by surprise the way it had her.
“ Cut the hole in the hull.” Amaranthe smothered her mouth to still more coughs. The cursed smoke was everywhere. “I’ll get him.”
She crawled past the grate, but Sespian caught her calf, fingers tight and unrelenting.
“ Don’t get yourself killed,” he whispered. “This is our only way out.”
Amaranthe yanked her leg away. “I’m not leaving him.”
She could feel Sespian’s gaze upon her as she crawled away, moving as fast as her battered limbs would carry her. The smoke made her dizzy-or maybe she’d hit her head too many times-and she struggled to navigate the maze of gear, much of it charred and destroyed by the explosions. When she neared Sicarius’s side of the stage, she found a huge gaping hole in the top. She couldn’t believe marines weren’t leaping through it, but the hackings of the crowbars had stopped. The shouts outside had changed as well, no longer the calm back and forth of orders being given and acknowledged, but frenzied shouts of distress. And pain.
An inkling of Sicarius’s whereabouts came to her. Instead of continuing to the side entrance, she lifted her head past the smoking edges of the hole and peered into the dining hall. A sea of black and gray uniforms surged about, the crowd trying to pin something- someone — in a corner. She glimpsed short, blond hair.
“ Get him!” someone in the back cried. “Finally. This is our chance!”
“ Ten thousand ranmyas to the man who brings him down,” an officer cried from the doorway.
There had to be forty men in the room, and more waited outside, bearing crossbows.
“ Sicarius,” Amaranthe groaned to herself-nobody was looking her way, “ what are you doing?”
Buying you time, her mind answered. What else?
As good as he was, the situation appeared inescapable. Only the officers’ dead ancestors knew how many men they’d sacrifice for a chance to bring down Sicarius.
Though she knew he’d want her to get out of there, to make his distraction-she couldn’t bring herself to think of it as a sacrifice-worthwhile, Amaranthe looked for a way to help. Axes and crowbars littered the deck in front of the decimated stage, the tools cast aside in favor of swords. Little good they’d do her. Then she spotted something better. A bulky rucksack with numerous protrusions pressing against the fabric. Some of the explosives the marines had brought in?
Afraid the men at the door would spot her immediately if she crawled out of the top of the stage, she dropped back below and hustled to the side entrance. She burst out and scrambled around the corner. Using the discarded gear for cover, she dove for the rucksack and tore the flap open. Thick padding protected metal spheres and cans nestled within. She dug past several with fuses and grabbed two with pull-tab ignition mechanisms.
“ One’s by the stage!” someone yelled from the doorway.
“ Shoot her!”
