Deadly Games (6 page)

“Dear ancestors,” Maldynado said. “You
already have a new scheme in mind.”

“Nothing big. Maldynado, I need you to do a
little shopping, then you can meet the others at the stadium and
let them know we’ll be late. Sicarius and I will be arranging a
kidnapping.”

Maldynado scratched his head. “A kidnapping
that requires...shopping?”

“One must be prepared.” Amaranthe smiled
again.

“What are all these slagging enforcers doing
here?” Akstyr slouched against a tree and glowered at the grounds
where athletes mingled, roaming from the barracks to the baths and
to various eating and shopping tents.

Books stood beside the tree as well, though
he was scribbling something in a notebook and paying little
attention to the scene before them. As far as Basilard could tell,
serious training had ended for the day, but the evening was young
enough that few of the athletes were heading for the barracks. More
enforcers than one would expect patrolled the grounds.

“We’re not going to be able to investigate a
cigar butt without getting spotted,” Akstyr went on.

In the fading light, Basilard exaggerated his
signs so Books and Akstyr could read them.
We’re only supposed
to see if magic is being used. We don’t need to get close or talk
to anyone.

“Cursed enforcers will bug me just because of
my brand.” Akstyr lifted a fist to display the arrow mark scored
into the skin on the back of his hand. That seemed less likely to
get him harassed than the greased ridge of spiky hair bisecting his
head and the baggy mismatched clothing any enforcer would assume he
stole—probably correctly.

“Then keep your hands in your pockets,” Books
said.

Where should we start?
Basilard
asked.

“I believe I’ll observe from here,” Books
said. “You two lads are young enough to pass as athletes, but with
my gray hairs, nobody will believe I’m in the competition.”

Basilard lifted his eyebrows, amused at being
called a lad. He was close to thirty-five and had a bald spot it
would take a beaver pelt to cover. All the scars made the hair on
the sides grow in patchy, so he simply kept his whole head
shaven.

“That and the fact you can’t walk more than
ten steps without tripping over something,” Akstyr said.

“I’m not
that
clumsy.” Books tucked
his notebook into a pocket.

A gaggle of young women Akstyr’s age walked
past, their sleeveless togs displaying enough flesh to stir one’s
imagination. Akstyr straightened and touched his hair, as if to
ensure it was still suitably spiky.

Basilard signed a comment for Books,
I’m
surprised your empire lets girls compete. Larocka and Arbitan did
not have women fight.

“They’re permitted to enter the running
events and the Clank Race,” Books said. “Not wrestling or boxing.
Women have never been allowed to fight in the empire. As to the
rest, the historical precedent is interesting. In the old days,
warrior caste men would come to the Imperial Games to hunt for
brides. The women who won the events were presumed to be most
likely to birth sons who would become superior warriors. The
original awards ceremony involved interested men coming out to
compete for the winners. Bloodshed was often involved. Sometimes
death. I understand there are some warrior-caste men who still come
with the intent of shopping for brides, but the women are less
likely to be interested these days. They want to start shops or
wide-ranging businesses, using the status and honor they gain from
their victories to assist in their endeavors. We live in a
fascinating time, I must say.”

“Look at the chest on that one.” Akstyr
pointed at a woman trotting to catch up with comrades. “I’d watch
her run a race anytime.”

“Fascinating for some of us anyway,” Books
muttered. “Akstyr, why don’t you go look for magic. That’s why
we’re here, right?”

Akstyr shrugged and ambled off.

Basilard had wanted to talk to the younger
man alone and saw his chance.
I’ll go, too, and see if all these
enforcers are here about the missing people or Sicarius.
Amaranthe had briefed Basilard, Books, and Akstyr on the morning’s
events.

He jogged to catch up with Akstyr, and they
took the path that meandered around the grounds. A nervous flutter
teased his gut, and he did not start a conversation immediately. If
he guessed incorrectly, and Akstyr tattled on him, he would be a
dead man.

They avoided the crowded areas as they
walked. Basilard could not tell if Akstyr was checking for signs of
magic use or simply ogling female athletes. They veered into the
shadows to avoid a pair of enforcers marching in their
direction.

“They’ll all over the place,” Akstyr said
when the men had passed, “and as annoying as flies on dung.”

Perhaps it’s because Sicarius was
supposedly spotted this morning
, Basilard signed, seeing a
chance to bring up the topic he wanted to discuss.

“I guess,” Akstyr said. Unless one was
talking about the mental sciences, he was a hard man to draw into a
conversation.

Basilard tried again.
I wonder why that
man impersonated Sicarius. Especially when it only got him
killed.

“Because he was stupid,” Akstyr said.

Someone paid him perhaps.

“Not enough.”

Yes, even if the enforcers did not kill him,
Sicarius himself might have...for having the audacity to
impersonate him.

“Probably.”

Basilard gritted his teeth. With the
conversation going nowhere, he decided to drop it, but then Akstyr
gave him a lead-in.

“I hate him sometimes.”

Sicarius?

They stepped into the shadows behind a food
tent to avoid more enforcers.

“Sometimes he kind of seems all right,”
Akstyr said. “Like he stood up for me once when we went to see my
old boss, but I think that was on account of Am’ranthe and not
because he cares if I live or die.”

Likely
, Basilard signed, but he did
not know if Akstyr could see his hand codes in the gloaming
light.

“But I hate when he climbs all over our backs
just because we aren’t good enough at his dumb exercises. I want to
be—” Akstyr caught himself and lowered his voice. “Well, you know
what I want to be. I don’t care about running and swords and
obstacle courses. You can’t object though or he threatens you. He’s
such as cold bastard.”

Basilard drew Akstyr around the side of the
tent where there was more light. Raised fire pits illuminated
tables and benches where men and women chatted over tea and
cider.

He lifted his hands to sign the next
question. A bead of sweat dribbled down his spine.
Do you ever
think of...collecting his bounty?

“Oh, dead deranged ancestors, yes.” Akstyr
laughed. “Don’t you?”

The blatant admission surprised Basilard, and
his fingers hung still for a moment before he could sign a
response.
Maybe.

“Bas, you don’t know how bad I want to get
out of this balls-sucking sinkhole of an empire. I’m tired of
having to hide all my...interests, and I can’t find anyone to teach
me, and people here would shoot you just for—” Akstyr’s voice
tightened, and he cleared his throat.

Basilard had not realized how passionate the
boy was about learning the mental sciences.

“If I had a million ranmyas,” Akstyr said,
naming the price on Sicarius’s head, “I could get out of here. I
could go to Kendor or the Kyatt Islands and hire a teacher, and
nobody would care ‘cause it’s
normal
there.”

Basilard nodded. Though money would do
nothing for his predicament, it made sense to encourage Akstyr’s
fantasy if he wanted him for an ally.

“But it’d be a dumb move,” Akstyr said. “He’d
kill you in a heartbeat if he thought you were serious about it.
And how would you get him anyway? He never sleeps, and he won’t eat
anything we cook unless he’s seen everyone else eat it first.”

Yes, Basilard had already considered the fact
that he prepared more meals for the group than anyone else. He knew
of numerous herbs that could incapacitate or even kill. But
Sicarius never ate his stews or soups, nor did he drink anything
besides water. Basilard was not sure if it represented paranoia or
simply dietary preferences. He’d never seen Sicarius eat anything
except fruits, vegetables, nuts, and plainly prepared fish or meat.
Basilard thought he
might
try something Amaranthe offered,
but his stomach turned at the idea of using her to get to him. It
would devastate her to be the instrument of his death, and Basilard
did not want to hurt her.

One would have to be extremely
careful,
Basilard signed.
Perhaps there’s
some...magic?

Akstyr’s forehead furrowed. He glanced
around—three times—then lowered his voice. “Are you actually
thinking of doing this?”

Maybe.

“What’d he do to you? I thought you got along
with him better than anyone except Am’ranthe.”

Basilard debated whether or not to share his
reason. Akstyr would care nothing about the deaths of the
Mangdorian royal family—he probably wouldn’t even be outraged at
the idea that Sicarius had killed children—but he might understand
why Basilard would be committed and trust him not to back out or
cross him.

Remember that note in the Mangdorian shaman’s
hideout?

“Yes,” Akstyr said.

I recently learned that fifteen years ago,
Sicarius was the one responsible for the assassination of my
rulers.

“Oh. Huh.” Akstyr stuffed his hands into his
deep pockets and prodded a tuft of grass with his boot. “If I found
a way to make him sleep, would you do the deed?”

Yes.

“And I’d get half the money?”

You can have it all.

Akstyr’s eyes bulged. “Really?”

Yes.

“Well, maybe we could look into things a
little. You gotta swear not to say anything to anyone though.
Maldynado and Books wouldn’t get on this locomotive.”

Agreed. You make same promise?

“Oh, I’m not saying a word.”

As they left the side of the tent and the
tables full of happily chattering people, Basilard wondered if he
had taken the first step down a path that would result in his
death. The idea of death terrified him, especially since that
priestess had confirmed he had no chance of avoiding eternity in
Ethor, but shouldn’t he at least go out striking a blow of justice
for his people?

* * * * *

Amaranthe nibbled on a fingernail. She hid in
the shadows behind a street vendor’s cart while she waited for
Maldynado. Almost a half an hour had passed since he disappeared
into the busy market. She needed to get back before the Mancrests
left the
Gazette
building.

Though twilight had settled in, the throng of
shoppers had yet to wane. Gas lamps shone light onto the vegetable
stands, smoked meat carts, and tables displaying candles, soaps,
and flower bundles. Across the street from Amaranthe, a man and
woman were selling freshly roasted walnuts and almonds doused in
cinnamon and sugar. Her mouth watered, reminding her it had been a
long time since breakfast.

Maldynado ambled into view with bulging
canvas bags draped over both arms.

Amaranthe stared at the sizable haul. “You
were just supposed to get flatbread and cheese,” she said when he
joined her. “Maybe a cheap jug of applejack.”

“You do
not
know how to prepare a
romantic dinner.” He poked through his bags. “I got you red wine,
Anduvian rolls, quiche, fresh herbs and greens, carrots, parsnips,
cider vinegar, and walnut oil—you can make a lovely salad. Oh, and
cedar-wood scented candles. Those promote stamina.” He wiggled his
brows.

“First off, I’m not romancing the man. He
tried to turn me over to the army tonight. Second, how did you get
all that? I only gave you five ranmyas.”

“That’s right, you did.” Maldynado rearranged
the bags, fished in a pocket, and pulled out a five-ranmya bill.
“Here’s your change. I got it all for free. Samples, you see, on
account of the lavish spread my mother is planning. If she likes
what she tries, she’ll put in a huge order for her annual summer
tea party.”

“This is the mother who hasn’t spoken to you
in a year?” Amaranthe asked.

“Closer to two.” Maldynado winked and started
loading bags onto her arms, but paused midway through. “Maybe I
should go with you and help set things up. You’re a capable woman
in general, but I’m not convinced you have the necessary experience
to seduce a man.”

“I’m not
seducing
anyone.” She took
the remaining bags from him. “I’m just trying to talk him into
listening to my story and publishing the truth about our
adventures.”

“I got you today’s copy of
The
Gazette
, too. You might want to see if he’s got an article in
it. Then you can talk to him about it. Men love it when you’re
interested in their work. And sports. Do you know anything about
the athletes entering the wrestling? You could—”

“
Thank
you, Maldynado.” Amaranthe did
not quite manage to keep the exasperation out of her voice. “I’ve
got to get back before he leaves the office.”

“You’re certain you don’t want me to
come?”

“I’m certain.”

“At the least, I feel I should go along and
punch him in the nose a couple of times for betraying me and trying
to ensnare you. That’s not a gentlemanly thing to do.”

“No need. Go check on the others. Books will
be bored without you.” Amaranthe strode away at a brisk pace before
he could burble more.

“That
is
true,” was the last thing she
heard him say.

With the bags in hand, she headed toward the
canal where she had left Sicarius watching the
Gazette
building. Though she appreciated Maldynado’s enthusiasm for
planning her evening—sort of—his shopping trip had taken her away
for longer than expected. If Lord Mancrest left before she
returned, Sicarius was supposed to follow him and find out where he
lived, but Amaranthe worried that sending Sicarius off after a man
he loathed might not be wise.