Amaranthe led the team into the tunnel Sicarius had chosen. It angled downward. More gold-gilded lamps lined the chiseled black walls, each one worth more than an enforcer’s annual salary. The display of wealth couldn’t take away from the fact that the team was walking through a dank, underground-no, under lake — passage. Dampness clung to the walls, and a musty smell floated in the air. At least the tunnel was tall and broad with an even floor one could have driven a truck over.
As they rounded a bend, Books touched the porous black stone. “You said they’d acquired the mining rights? I haven’t noticed any promising veins.”
“Or promising anything,” Maldynado said. “This place is dreary.”
Up ahead, Sicarius glided out from behind another bend.
“The tunnel slopes steeply downward and ends at two closed double doors,” he said. “There are forty people waiting in a chamber outside, servants, I believe.”
“ Forty?” Amaranthe asked. How were they supposed to sneak past forty people to spy on the meeting? “Any other tunnels that branch off along the way?”
“Many.”
Ugh. Many tunnels was as bad as forty people. Unless there was a handy map somewhere that proclaimed, “Spying Balcony this way,” Amaranthe feared they’d either get lost or spend so much time wandering that someone would notice the missing dock security men.
Sicarius tilted his head, indicating the team should follow. They soon reached the first of the tunnel branches he’d mentioned, and he paused in front of it. “There are four more before the doors. This is the only one that is unlit.”
Amaranthe peered into the darkness. The passage might lead to a secret nobody was meant to explore, or it might lead to a storage closet. Though she didn’t care for the idea of splitting up her team, especially when she had no idea how long these side tunnels might extend, all they needed was for one person to make it within earshot of this meeting.
“Let’s split up,” Amaranthe said. “Maldynado and Yara-”
Sicarius jerked up a hand. Voices drifted down the passage from somewhere ahead, voices that were drawing nearer.
Amaranthe pointed at the tunnel. Never mind. We’ll all check this one.
She hustled into the passage, but Sicarius, before they’d gone beyond the influence of the light, waved the others onward and drew Amaranthe aside.
Do you want me to keep them from reaching the dock?
By tying and gagging them? Amaranthe asked, well aware that these might simply be servants with little to do with their employers’ schemes.
Yes. I will find a dark nook in which to store them.
Only Sicarius would think of a person as something to “store.” So long as he didn’t kill anyone.
Do it, Amaranthe signed.
More aware than ever of the limited time, Amaranthe hurried into the darkness to catch up with the others. After groping around a couple of bends, the walls disappeared on both sides. A draft caressed her cheek. They must have entered a larger space.
A soft scrape sounded, and a match flared to life. Basilard, his pack open at his feet, lit a lantern.
Brass and steel glinted in the shadows. Basilard moved in that direction, lifting the lantern. The small flame revealed a row of sturdy tunnel boring machines. Eight steam lorries with open cargo beds occupied a second row.
“The carriage house?” Amaranthe mused.
Books gazed toward the rocky ceiling. “It was reckless of them to hollow out these big tunnels with the lake right above. A single hole, or any seismic activity in the area, and water would flood the entire complex. It’s hard to believe they’d do all this just to create a secret meeting place.”
“We can ask them what they were thinking if they capture us,” Amaranthe said.
“If that’s the only way to find out, I can live with not knowing,” Yara said.
“Yes.” Maldynado gave Amaranthe a pat on the back. “It doesn’t look like they treat their prisoners well.”
Everyone turned sympathetic eyes toward Amaranthe. She couldn’t fault her team for their sympathy, but she’d rather forget the entire experience, or at least push it to the back of her thoughts and move on.
Perhaps sensing her discomfort, Maldynado added, “If that hat you were wearing earlier is an example of the type of clothing they force their prisoners to wear, I truly couldn’t withstand such exquisite torture.”
Amaranthe decided not to mention that she’d been nude. She didn’t need anyone speculating about that.
A tunnel left the vehicle chamber on the far side, and Amaranthe was of a mind to keep exploring-and put this conversation out of its misery-but Sicarius hadn’t rejoined them yet. She walked around the area, searching for more clues as to what Forge had been doing down there. The “carriage house” lacked any sort of symmetry; it didn’t seem to have been excavated with any design or purpose in mind. It was more like people had simply been digging, looking for something, and had stopped when they’d found it.
“Oh,” Amaranthe said.
Once again, all eyes swiveled in her direction, this time with curiosity.
“Sire,” Amaranthe asked, “do you still have that black whatchamacallit? The thing for tracking?”
“Yes.” Sespian removed a knapsack and poked through a tangle of socks and shirts.
Amaranthe thought of the meticulous way Sicarius packed his clothing and gear. Fastidiousness must not be hereditary.
“Nobody here knows how to use it, though.” Sespian finally found the egg-shaped device and handed it to her.
Amaranthe held it and rotated it, pointing it in different directions. “No noticeable change. Too bad. I thought it might glow or get warm or something. Unless they’ve removed everything and there’s nothing left around.”
“Uh, boss,” Maldynado said, “did you forget something? Like to explain that yarn ball of musings rolling around in your mind?”
“Sicarius said he first encountered this technology at an archaeological dig site. Maybe someone in Forge found this, figured out how to use it, and-”
“Employed it as a tuning fork that led them here?” Books nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“We had better press on,” Sespian said. “Time isn’t on our side.”
Yes, he’d given up much to come down here, so he’d be even more aware of the need to hurry. Sicarius hadn’t rejoined them yet, but Amaranthe headed for the tunnel on the far side anyway. She trusted him to find them again.
They’d only gone a few meters when a small alcove opened to one side. An ordinary wooden table sat in it, providing a resting place for five extraordinary black cubes.
“I guess there are artifacts left around, after all,” Amaranthe said.
Akstyr stuck a finger out toward one of the cubes.
“Don’t touch them!” Sicarius barked, jogging out of the tunnel behind them.
Everyone jumped, both at his abrupt appearance and at the shout. Amaranthe couldn’t remember ever hearing him shout, and he’d certainly never let that much urgency seep into his voice, not that she’d heard.
“Back away,” Sicarius said, his tone calmer, though it left no doubt that he was giving an order.
Akstyr, who had frozen at his initial shout, lowered his arm and took an exaggerated step in reverse.
“We should go back,” Sicarius told Amaranthe.
“Because these are… ” She waved toward the table.
“Deadly. And indestructible with the gear we have.” His gaze flicked toward the cubes. “They fly. And incinerate you.”
“Really?” Akstyr sounded more intrigued than alarmed.
“If they’re here to guard the tunnel,” Sespian said, “perhaps that’s a sign that we’re going in the right direction.”
“How’re they activated?” Amaranthe asked.
“I don’t know,” Sicarius said, “but if we’re standing here when they are, we’ll all be dead.”
