Amaranthe turned to walk away, but a hand clamped onto her shoulder.
“Who are you and what were you doing out there in the first place?”
“I was jogging,” she said, intentionally ignoring the first question. She doubted anyone was going to recognize her through the snow and wan lighting, but her name might set their steam clocks to whistling.
“With a sword?”
“One never knows when one might have to defend against…” Bounty hunters? Soldiers? Enforcers? “Opossums.”
Judging from the matching scowls that blossomed on their faces, they did not appreciate her humor. The soldier who had grabbed her arm shoved her toward the other.
“Remove her sword and take her to the LT. She’s all kinds of suspicious.”
Amaranthe tamped down a smile as she was marched up the gangplank. Step one, get on the ship, was complete.
The wardroom might have been a decent place to spend time, if Amaranthe’s wrist was not shackled to a post. She sat in the one chair she could reach, tracing the whorls on a teak table, the only piece of wood in sight. Brass kerosene lamps hung on the walls, casting yellow reflections on the ubiquitous bland steel surrounding her. The scent of lye soap added to the sterile feel.
The main hatch creaked open. Two bulky grunts strode in and assumed guard positions to either side of the entrance. A graying man with gold bar-and-sail pins on his collar followed. He had a cleft chin, intense brown eyes, and a nose sharp enough to break ice without the aid of his ship.
Amaranthe stood. “Greetings, Captain. I came to discuss-”
He slid a sheet of paper onto the table before her. Her wanted poster. The guards murmured to each other, and one eyed her with calculation.
“-something of more importance than that,” she finished.
“I’ll bet.” Though chilly, the captain’s voice was not hostile, and his dark eyes seemed to be weighing her. “We found the bodies you mentioned. There was no sign of any Kendorian.”
Amaranthe’s stomach went for a swim amongst the table legs. The second Kendorian must have circled back and hidden his comrade’s body. That was bad, very bad. That meant-
“My XO thinks we should shoot you outright. He suspects you of slaying the men yourself, especially since your wanted poster says you traffic with that cur-licking, soldier-slaying assassin, Sicarius.” The captain glowered at her, brow furrowed.
She kept her chin up and met his eyes. “But you know I wouldn’t have been foolish enough to turn myself over to your guards if that were the case.”
The captain snorted. “Perhaps you are a diversion while Sicarius sneaks aboard my ship to attempt some sabotage.” He thrust a finger toward her nose. “If my commanders learned that fiend was within a mile of my ship and I didn’t shoot him, I could be accused of treason and booted out of the service. I’d lose my warrior caste title, my military rank, my home, my land, everything.” A flash of real fear haunted his eyes.
Amaranthe grimaced in sympathy. “Sicarius isn’t the one you need to be worried about. I’m here because I don’t want to see some scheming Kendorian sink this ship. I believe one may be aboard even now.”
“The
“It sounds like a significant upgrade to the
“Drastically. That moldy tub was made of wood with only the bottom reinforced with iron. It’s a wonder it didn’t sink years ago. Though only that drunk lout, Captain Mekam, could ram his ship into a cliff on a lake.”
“Cliff? The newspapers said the ship was decommissioned.”
“The papers don’t-” The captain frowned at her, eyes narrowed.
“Was it an accident? Ineptitude?” Amaranthe knew the captain had realized he was saying too much, but hoped she might squeeze another drop out regardless. “Or maybe the Kendorians were at work even then.”
“Or maybe you’re about to spend the night in the brig.” The captain gestured for the guards to take her and stalked out.
Amaranthe barely noticed as the soldiers unlocked her and marched her out the hatch, her arms clamped in their hands. Her mind dwelled on that new information. The
“How’re we going to do this?” one of her escorts asked, voice low.
“We’ll split it. Gotta make it look like she tried to escape.”
Emperor’s eternal warts, her soldiers were going to get greedy instead of taking her to the brig. She eyed the bleak gray corridors, textured flooring, hanging lanterns, and intermittent ladders and hatches. Sicarius would be aboard by now, but he would be hunting for the Kendorian, not looking to rescue her in some random passageway.
“This is good. Nobody’s around.” The men slowed. “Get your sword out. We’ll-”
“Are you really intending to risk your careers for a chance at my meager 10,000-ranmya bounty?” Amaranthe asked, hoping a little chitchat might distract them.
An alcove ahead held a bucket of sand, an axe, and a hand pump. Though she wondered what there was that could possibly burn on the metal ship, the firefighting station offered hope.
“Hush, woman.”
“10,000 is a lot. And ain’t nobody going to object to your death.”
“10,000 isn’t enough to live on for more than a couple years, and you have to split it, right? A mere 5,000 each.” She stopped to trade looks with them. In truth, she just wanted to take a break in front of that axe. “What you really need to do is get Sicarius. He’s worth millions.”
“Naw, too dangerous. He’s a sincere killer.”
“He’s on the ship. It wouldn’t be hard to set something up.”
She had their full attention now. The axe was in reach, if she could just get a hand free.
“He trusts me,” she said. “I could easily set a trap. I wouldn’t dare go against him alone, but with help…”
“Maybe we could-” one of the soldiers started.
“No, don’t be stupid,” his comrade said. “Sicarius would kill us easier than spit.”
She twisted her neck to look behind them. “Then you’ll be concerned that he’s standing behind you.”
The soldiers’ eyes bulged, and they whirled about. She yanked her arms free. She grabbed the bucket and threw the sand just as they turned back and reached for her. Their arms flailed. They cursed as grit pelted their eyes.
Amaranthe snatched the axe and swung at the closest soldier. She turned her wrists and struck with the flat of the blade. It thudded against the man’s head. As he dropped, she tore his cutlass free. He struck the floor and clutched at his head, oblivious. She released the axe in favor of the lighter weapon.
The other soldier recovered from the sand barrage and unsheathed his own blade as well as his pistol. He opened his mouth, but she did not have time for conversation now. She sidestepped and kicked the pistol out of his grip.
Cutlass leading, she lunged and slashed, hoping to catch him by surprise. As a soldier, he would have had hours of drills pounded into him, though, and he parried easily. Reluctantly, she settled in for the obligatory exchange where they gauged each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Someone could turn down the corridor any moment, and now that she was armed, soldiers would not be her allies.
His cutlass flashed toward her head. She recognized the feint-even with his greater arm length, his lunge would not bring him close-and only dropped her own blade in anticipation of a second attack. Steel screeched as cutlasses met before her thigh.
She used the momentum of the rebound to riposte, flicking at his wrist. A line of blood appeared in his flesh.
