Deadly Games (27 page)

She could not stop picturing Fasha’s dead
body in her mind. Though the girl had never officially hired her
team, or asked for protection, Amaranthe knew she had failed her.
She should have kept better tabs on the girl, or at least warned
her not to go hunting for clues on her own.

She swept more vigorously.

“Amaranthe?” Books called. “Are you up
there?”

She swept a walnut shell off the edge,
sending it clanging against the rail car on the far side of their
camp.

“Must be a yes,” Books muttered as he climbed
up. He frowned over the top of the ladder at her. “I can see
cleaning the cars we’re dwelling in, but the tops of them? Is that
necessary?”

Books held a napkin full of food, and
Amaranthe stopped sweeping. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that
many hours had passed since her last meal.

“Someone ate walnuts up here and left shells
everywhere,” she said.

“Yes, but is it
necessary
to clean
that?”

“No, it’s not necessary, Books, but this is
what I do when—” She broke off, not wanting to start ranting over
nothing. He was not the one upsetting her; it was the cursed
situation and the fact that she was losing men every time she
turned around. “This is what I do.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I just thought...you
should get more rest.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.” Books cleared his throat, glanced down,
and seemed to remember he held food. “Breakfast?” He offered her a
couple of hard-boiled eggs and a slab of ham.

Amaranthe drew her kerchief from her pocket,
found it soot-stained, and sighed. She set it aside to wash later
and grabbed the food barehanded. “Thank you.”

“It’s an all-protein breakfast,” Books said.
“I believe Sicarius would approve.”

She tried to smile. “He’d add seeds and raw
vegetables to counteract the saltiness of the ham. Or maybe they’re
to keep morning movements regular. I think I’ve finally got his
diet down, but I can’t remember all the reasons for all the
rules.”

“I just know we’re lucky to have food at all
with Basilard gone. What are we going to do next to find them?”

“I’m not sure.” Which meant she had no idea.
“They know we’re looking for them now. I wish we had some soldier
friends at Fort Urgot, so we could ask if anyone knew what
Taloncrest was last working on.” Amaranthe took a bigger bite of
ham than normal, tearing it off with a savage chomp.

“Yes, soldiers have that tedious tendency to
try and capture us when we get close. Or shoot us on sight.”

“We were
this
close....” She held up
her thumb and forefinger, a millimeter between them. “I don’t know
if that was their hideout or simply a transfer station, but the
fire surely destroyed any evidence left behind. They must have
realized there were witnesses to Basilard’s kidnapping. Or maybe
they intended him to be the last person they stole, and they didn’t
need the fire brigade building any more.”

“I know it seems bleak now,” Books said, “but
we can’t give up.”

“Of course not. We’re just...” Amaranthe
touched the lump on her head, eliciting a stab of pain. “Recovering
for a few hours.”

“Anyone home?” a familiar voice called.

Akstyr. Amaranthe rose to her feet and
stepped to the edge of the car roof. He slouched into camp, his
spiky hair drooping, and dark circles beneath his eyes. He appeared
uninjured.

Amaranthe knew it was uncharitable, but she
wished it were Sicarius striding into camp instead. Akstyr might
have information though. She waved for him to come up.

“Busy night?” she asked.

“Boring night,” Akstyr said.

That didn’t sound promising. “Did you learn
anything?”

“Enh.”

She circled her hand in the air, implying he
could explain further.

“I spotted the woman and the man running out
of the smoke and into an alley,” Akstyr said.

“Woman and man? From inside the carriage?”
Amaranthe asked. “What did they look like?”

“The woman had red hair and she was nice and
curvy. The man was older. Short, gray hair. Looked like a soldier,
but he was just wearing a black shirt, so it was hard to tell.”

That sounded like Taloncrest and the woman
the young thieves had described. Amaranthe nodded. “Go on.”

“I followed them, figured you’d want to know
where they went.”

“Yes, I do. Thank you. And?” Sometimes she
appreciated that Maldynado launched into the whole story at the
tiniest prompting. Surely soldiers could get information out of
prisoners of war more easily than she could dig it out of Akstyr at
times.

“Stayed back in the shadows so they wouldn’t
see me. Almost lost them a couple of times, but I found ‘em again
on the docks. They went out on Pier Thirteen to a warehouse at the
end.”

Amaranthe frowned at Books. “That’s the
Bolidot’s Imports warehouse, isn’t it? She has a huge business with
a big turnover, and cargo ships go in and out of there every day.
Kidnappers needing to maintain a low profile couldn’t use such a
busy place.”

“Agreed,” Books said.

“They never came out,” Akstyr said.

“That seems unlikely,” Books said.

Akstyr stepped toward him, chest puffed out.
“You thinking I’m blind? Or lying? While you were sleeping, I was
sitting there watching and waiting for them to come back down the
dock and they never did. I stayed until workers showed up and went
inside. What’d you do? Come back here and snore all night?”

“Four hours, perhaps,” Books murmured.

Amaranthe rested a hand on Akstyr’s arm,
drawing his attention to her. “Is it possible they slipped away in
a boat?”

“Don’t think so,” he said. “I thought of that
and checked how many boats were around. Didn’t see any
disappear.”

“I guess we can take a look,” Amaranthe told
Books.

Akstyr yawned. “You two do that. I’m going to
make it thunderous in the sleeping car.” He emulated a noisy snore,
then jumped to the ground.

“Akstyr,” Amaranthe called. She stifled a
twinge of annoyance that he had dismissed himself without asking if
she needed anything else. He had to be tired after staying up all
night, and he was surly even on a perky day. “We need you to
come.”

“What?” he called up in a whiny voice a five
year old could not have bested.

“I’ll bet you ten ranmyas Taloncrest and his
foreign lady aren’t working out of that warehouse.”

“So?”

“
So
, if you didn’t see them leave by
mundane means, isn’t it possible they used the mental
sciences?”

“Oh,” Akstyr said. “Well, yeah.”

“Then we’ll need you to stick your
magic-sniffing nose in the corners,” Amaranthe said, “see if you
can catch a scent.”

“I’m not a hound, you know.”

“We
know
,” Books said. “Hounds work a
lot harder for a lot less incentive.”

“You’re not helping,” Amaranthe said.

“We can’t go until night, right?” Akstyr
asked. “Lots of people will be working, so we can’t sniff around
until they go home.”

Amaranthe leaned over the edge of the roof
and smiled down at him. “I’ll get us in. Have some breakfast, and
we’ll head over. You can sleep later.”

Akstyr stabbed a finger at the open door of
the sleeping car. “Does Maldynado get to stay here?”

“That wouldn’t be fair, would it?” Amaranthe
asked. “You better go wake him up.”

“Good.” Akstyr smiled for the first time and
leaped into the car with zealousness.

“Misery is more palatable when shared with
others,” Amaranthe noted to Books.

“Indeed.”

* * * * *

Amaranthe led Maldynado, Akstyr, and Books
onto Pier Thirteen, her strides long and her chin high beneath the
brim of her sunhat. It hid her face to some extent, and, on the
trolley ride over, she had arranged her hair in a number of braids,
then pinned them up in a creative bundle that looked nothing like
the style on any of her wanted posters. She supposed she could look
into cosmetics to disguise her facial features, but she
wanted
to be recognized when she was doing something good,
something that might help her clear her name.

A massive crane belched smoke as it lifted
shipping containers from the bowels of a merchant steamer and
lowered them to the dock. Dozens of burly, bare-chested stevedores
unloaded the cargo and ported it inside the towering warehouse. The
shirtless workers seemed to be competing with each other for the
role of Tattoo Emperor. Amaranthe decided the man with the kraken
was the winner—its head emblazoned his neck while tentacles ran
down his back, both arms, and his chest, with the largest pair
disappearing beneath his trousers. Of its own wayward volition, her
mind wondered how far beneath the waistband the tentacle motif
might continue and what exactly it would be doing down there.

The tattooed man glanced her way before
heading into the warehouse with a crate in his arms. He caught her
eye and winked.

“If Deret doesn’t turn out to be your dream
man,” Maldynado said, “we can always find you someone here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you dolt,” Books said.
“If Amaranthe must copulate at all, it should be with a man who
knows how to read and preferably how to use the Imperial Locus
System to pluck appropriately intellectual books from the library
shelves.”

“A skill that would be completely useless for
satisfying her in bed,” Maldynado said.

“Surely, finger dexterity has crossover
applications.”

“Gentlemen,” Amaranthe said, wondering when
such commentary had ceased to make her blush. “Let’s go over our
story.”

“You’re going to pose,” Books said, “as the
owner of an escort service, with Maldynado as your employee
and—”

“
Star
employee,” Maldynado said.

“Uh huh.” Books stepped around a man carrying
a massive ceramic jar and continued. “And you’re shopping for
imported silks and tapestries and such for your...office? Is that
the correct term for a place where someone like Maldynado would be
prostituted out?”

“Close enough,” Amaranthe said.

“Costasce called her viewing room ‘The
Parlor’,” Maldynado said.

They had reached the roll-up door of the
warehouse, so Amaranthe stopped. None of the men streaming in and
out spared her group a glance. Maybe they could simply walk in and
snoop about without anyone caring. She peeped through the
doorway.

A woman in spectacles checked off items on a
clipboard and directed men toward different areas in the warehouse
or toward a massive lift that could deliver cargo to an upper
level. The men might not care about interlopers, but she would
surely notice strangers strolling through the premises. The
platform sandals crossing her feet with thin straps promised she
wasn’t going to wander far to do lifting or other work.

“As to our role,” Books started, but
Amaranthe cut him off with a raised hand.

“Akstyr?” she asked. With his disinterest for
things non-magical, she never knew how much he was paying
attention. “Your role?”

“We’re your porters.” He yawned. “Me and
Books.”

“Good,” Amaranthe said.

“As long as we don’t have to really port
things.”

“You just sniff about,” she said.

“Are we sure this is wise?” Books ask.
“Should this turn...confrontational, we don’t have our two most
proficient fighters here.”

Maldynado propped his hands on his hips. “You
have
me
.”

Books looked him up and down, then focused on
Amaranthe again. “We don’t have our two most proficient fighters
here.”

“You believe Basilard a better brawler than
me?” Maldynado asked. “
Truly?
”

“We’ll be fine,” she said and headed in.

The clipboard-toting lady’s head swiveled
toward the door before Amaranthe had gone more than three steps.
No, this woman would not allow random snoopers, not without a cover
story.

“Morning,” Amaranthe said, strolling
closer.

“What do you want?” the woman snapped.

Ah, the friendly sort. Wonderful.

“Hello, I’m Darva,” Amaranthe said. “Darva
Larkcrest.” As long as she was making up names, she might as well
attach herself to a warrior caste family. “Who are you?”

Amaranthe’s invocation of warrior-caste
status did nothing to impress the woman. In fact, she scowled more
deeply. New money, perhaps, one who had no respect for the
aristocracy. Still, if she was the owner, or someone high up in the
business, she ought to be interested in pleasing clients.

“Ms. Setjareth,” she said. “Partial owner.
What do you want? This is my warehouse, and unless you’re carrying
in cargo, I’m not interested in talking to you. You, Squid Tat,
take that one to the second floor.”

“I’m interested in purchasing some of your
inventory,” Amaranthe said.

“Shop’s on Third and Canal.” The woman’s gaze
lowered to her clipboard again.

Amaranthe stepped closer so she blocked the
woman’s view of Akstyr. Behind her back, she flicked a finger to
send him to snoop. “I thought it might save us both some money if I
came directly to the source. No need for you to transport and stock
your inventory when I can—”

“Shop’s on Third and Canal,” the woman
repeated.

“I see. You’re the half of the ownership team
that
isn’t
in charge of dealing with customers.”

“Correct,” the woman said without the
faintest hint of an eyebrow to suggest she took reproach at
Amaranthe’s dry tone.

Akstyr had moved away from the group, but he
had scarcely begun to search. Time for another tactic. Maldynado
was leaning against a post nearby, an amused smile on his lips. She
jerked her chin toward the woman.

Maldynado gave her a small bow and strolled
forward. He crouched down so the woman could see past the clipboard
to his face.