“You haven’t heard about his death?” Incredulity wrinkled Pabov’s face.
“I’ve been… tied up recently.”
“Emperor Sespian died in a train crash,” Pabov said. “This is the official mourning day. It’s why so few are about.”
“I see.”
“The papers report much chaos going on in Stumps. The Marblecrests are making a bid for the throne, as well as the Moorcrests, the Wolfcrests, and several of the satrapy governors with roots back to the Savarsin line. Then there are the women with babies who have shown up, some fifteen that are supposedly Sespian’s bastards.”
Amaranthe coughed, almost choking on that idea. He had to be the least libidinous teenage boy she’d met.
“A couple of older boys, too, who are reputedly Raumesys’s illegitimate spawn. You really hadn’t heard about any of this? Where did you say you were from?” Pabov squinted at her, wearing the expression of a man starting to wonder if he’d made a mistake in confiding in her. He glanced around the facility, a facility he probably had orders not to show to unauthorized personnel.
“I’m from Stumps,” Amaranthe said, hurrying to talk before he thought overmuch on her inquisitiveness and the way she’d wheedled information out of him. “I came down on business and made the mistake of wandering off alone and getting attacked by local boys. They took me off and… ” Amaranthe closed her eyes, as if she were too pained at the memory to go into details. It wasn’t far from the truth. “There’s a distinct lack of civility in parts down here, I noticed.”
“Oh.” Pabov considered her bruises again, then stuck his hands into his pockets. Sheepishness replaced the suspicion on his face. “Sorry. Do you need any help or a place to stay?”
“No, no.” Amaranthe eased toward the door as she spoke. “I shouldn’t have bothered you at all. You just seemed nice. And interesting. Your work, I mean.” She waved at the snarl of pipes and tanks.
“Oh,” he said again, brightening at her compliment. “Thank you. If you’re in town for a while, come back and see me. I’ll take you on a tour in the UWTMV.”
Amaranthe halted. She’d been halfway to the door, but there was an invitation that tempted. A quick trip with him and she could learn how to use the vehicle.
“I have time now,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too eager.
A smile returned to Pabov’s face. “Great.” He opened a drawer-ah, there were those coveted keys. Amaranthe and Sicarius could come back for them after dark. No need for a musty rowboat.
Pabov jangled the keys and jogged out the door, only to halt so quickly that Amaranthe almost crashed into his back. She peeped around him and groaned. Horrible timing.
Sicarius had been walking from the beach to the warehouse. At Pabov’s appearance, he’d halted. He wore sable, brushed cotton trousers and a matching vest that complemented his deep brown eyes, and a crisp ivory shirt that drew out the warm olive tones of his skin. The clothing fit well-he must have visited numerous clotheslines-and few women would have trouble fancying him as a “handsome stranger.” He wore only one weapon, a dagger belted at his waist, and appeared far more approachable than usual. At least Amaranthe thought so. From the rigid way Pabov stood, he didn’t agree.
“Pabov,” she said, trying to draw his eyes toward her and hoping his wariness stemmed from the fact that this was a trespasser rather than recognition on his part. “This is my friend… Hansor,” she said, plucking out a name she’d used for him before. “He helped me escape the thugs who-”
Pabov ran around her and back into the warehouse.
Remembering the musket, Amaranthe barked, “Pabov, don’t!” and spun to follow him.
Sicarius sprinted past her, entering first.
Inside, Pabov snatched the loaded musket from the wall. Sicarius sprinted across the intervening ground so quickly Amaranthe would have missed it if she’d blinked. Pabov whirled toward him, raising the weapon, but Sicarius was already there, tearing it from his hands.
“Don’t-” Amaranthe blurted, a hand outstretched as visions of dead enforcers rampaged through her head.
A thump sounded-a head hitting wood. Before she’d taken more than two steps, Pabov lay on the floor, unmoving.
“-kill him,” Amaranthe finished weakly.
“He is alive.” Sicarius searched through drawers and found a coil of rope. “But he will escape eventually if we leave him here alone.”
His over-the-shoulder glance was unreadable, so maybe she only imagined him thinking how much easier things had been when he simply killed everyone.
“We wouldn’t have that problem if… ” Amaranthe stopped. She couldn’t blame him for coming to look for her, especially when she hadn’t left a message to explain her absence. As usual, this was her fault. “Never mind. It was unfortunate timing. I was ten seconds away from getting a tour of an underwater craft that might let us sneak up on the secret meeting island. Did you know there’s a Marblecrest Island?”
“No.”
Pabov groaned as Sicarius kneeled on him to tie his wrists behind his back.
“Don’t break him, please,” Amaranthe said. “He’s been an amenable fellow.”
“To you.” Sicarius finished tying and stood. “It did not work.”
“What?”
“The costume you recommended I obtain.” He’d been wearing black for far too many years if he considered normal clothing a costume. Perhaps he simply felt crabby without his knife collection within reach.
“It will in town,” Amaranthe said. “He’s a soldier. I think all soldiers have your face etched in their memories.”
Pabov, cheek mashed into the floor, glowered at Amaranthe. “Who are you?”
If they were going to leave Pabov alive, they’d better not tell him anything that might get them in trouble later. Unless there was a chance Amaranthe could talk him into helping. She glanced at Sicarius, wondering if he would be against sharing if it might yield them an ally.
“I know who he is,” Pabov growled.
“Yes, I gathered that from your mad musket dash.” Amaranthe smiled sadly at Sicarius. “Perhaps you should have kept the beard.”
“I just want to know… have I betrayed the empire?” Pabov’s gaze fell to the floor, and he mumbled, “Should have known better than to talk to some strange woman. Obviously spying. What was I thinking?”
Amaranthe knelt beside him. “You haven’t betrayed anything. We’re working for the empire, for Sespian. He didn’t die in that train wreck. He’s still alive.”
Sicarius stirred. Amaranthe didn’t know if he’d heard of Sespian’s reputed death yet. It better only be “reputed,” she thought. If Sicarius had gone on a killing bent when he’d learned of the implant in Sespian’s neck, his death might send him over a precipice and into a very dark, very deep canyon. And would he blame her? Because he’d chosen to come after her instead of helping Sespian?
“No,” Pabov said, “I don’t believe you.” Despite his words, he stared into Amaranthe’s eyes, as if seeking some truth, as if he wanted to believe her.
“The Marblecrests have been working with a nefarious business coalition to oust Sespian and put someone new on the throne. If they have their way, General Ravido Marblecrest.”
“Who are you?” Pabov asked again.
“Amaranthe Lokdon.”
The pronouncement earned a blank look. Amaranthe supposed it was too much to wish that her team’s fame had spread hundreds of miles. She wasn’t certain her name would be recognized in Curi’s Bakery, much less remote lakeside towns.
“I-” Amaranthe smiled and spread her hand across her chest, “-am the former enforcer who talked the infamous assassin, Sicarius, into changing his vile, man-slaying ways and working for the good of the empire.”
She thought Sicarius might object, or more likely snort, but he only lifted a single eyebrow at her proclamation.
“You’re not that charming,” Pabov grumbled.
“Really.” Amaranthe sniffed and resisted the urge to point out that she had charmed him effectively enough.
