Deadly Games (7 page)

Deepening twilight made it easier to travel
without worry of being recognized, and she was almost jogging by
the time she reached the canal. Lamps brightened the street
paralleling the waterway, but shadows obscured the alcoves and
alleys. She headed for the niche where she had left Sicarius, but a
figure stepped out of a doorway before she reached it.

Two figures. One threw back the hood of a
lantern with a clank, and light flared.

Amaranthe squinted and stepped back.

Two enforcers stood before her, one a
sergeant holding a sword and the lantern, and the other a young
private aiming a repeating crossbow at her chest.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” she asked, hoping
they had not identified her for certain yet. Across the canal, the
windows of the
Gazette
building were dark. If the Mancrests
had left, Sicarius would be gone, too, following Deret home. No
chance for help.

“Former Corporal Amaranthe Lokdon,” the
sergeant said.

So much for not being identified.

“We were told you might be in the area
tonight.”

Idiot, she cursed herself. She should have
assumed Mancrest would tip off the enforcers as well as his brother
in the army.

“Who?” Amaranthe asked innocently. “You must
have the wrong person.” It was worth a try. She hefted the shopping
bags. “I’m heading home to prepare a dinner for the young man who’s
courting me.”

Footsteps sounded behind her. Steel rasped—a
sword being drawn—followed by the thunk of a crossbow lever being
set. She peeked behind her, verifying that two more enforcers stood
less than ten paces away. One she recognized, Corporal Riek, a man
she had worked with before. Not good.

The sergeant snorted. “Who’s courting you?
Sicarius?”

“We know who you are Lokdon,” the crossbowman
in front of her said. “You worked with us until you turned
traitor.”

Right, no chance of convincing them they had
the wrong person.

“Do it,” the sergeant told the
crossbowman.

The weapon came up, quarrel aiming at
Amaranthe’s chest, and the meaning of “do it” became clear.

“Sicarius,” Amaranthe blurted.

“What?” The crossbowman and the sergeant
looked around.

Amaranthe might have taken the moment to run
and fling herself into the canal, but it was a dozen paces away,
and the two men behind her surely had her targeted.

“Sicarius
is
in the neighborhood,” she
said. “And he’s more of a reward than I am, isn’t he?”

The sergeant scowled at her. “We’re not in
this for a reward. Taking down criminals is our job, a job
you
once shared.”

“I know you wouldn’t be granted a monetary
reward,” Amaranthe said, glad she had him talking. Talking to her
was far superior to shooting her. “But surely promotions have been
offered.” She remembered how much the promise of a promotion had
meant to her once—it was the reward Hollowcrest had dangled to get
her to go after Sicarius all those months ago.

The men exchanged glances. Soft murmurs came
from the enforcers behind her.

“Out of curiosity, has a promotion been
offered for me?” Amaranthe said.

“Killing you, or bringing you in, is worth a
positive commendation,” the sergeant said.

“And Sicarius?”

“A promotion to captain.”

If not for the bags in Amaranthe’s hands she
would have propped her fists on her hips. “I’m only worth a
positive mark in your record, and getting
him
can leapfrog
you straight to captain?”

The crossbowman laughed. “Jealous?”

The sergeant glared at him, and he forced his
features into a more professional expression. That’s right,
Amaranthe thought, chat with me, laugh at me, and think I’m a
friend and not someone you want to kill....

“Look,” she said, “I don’t want to die
tonight. I know you gentlemen have no reason to believe it, but I
wasn’t the one who kidnapped the emperor. I helped free him in
fact. You should be looking up an outfit called Forge.”

The sergeant was shaking his head, and he
lifted a hand, as if to give an order. Yes, that tactic was
worthless.

“But regardless,” Amaranthe blurted, rushing
to out-speak the man, “I can take you to Sicarius. In exchange for
my life. I’ll show you his latest hideout.”

“You wouldn’t betray an ally.”

“Come, now, if you believe I betrayed the
empire and the enforcers, why would you think I wouldn’t turn in an
assassin? It’s not like he’s a friendly, cuddly fellow who I share
a deep, meaningful relationship with.”

Though it was her intent, it saddened her in
a wry way that the argument seemed to sway the men. At the least,
they nodded in agreement. Who could have a meaningful relationship
with a callous assassin?

“We can’t let you go, Lokdon,” the sergeant
said.

“And we don’t have enough men to take down
Sicarius,” the crossbowman said with a shudder.

The sergeant glared at him again.

“You don’t have to let me go,” Amaranthe
said. “Just don’t shoot me. Take me to the magistrate, and I’ll
plead my case to him. I’m sure you’ll still get your commendation.
And then there’s the potential of that captaincy....” She met the
sergeant’s eyes. He would be the one who would make the
decision—and who stood to earn the reward. “Big pay increase, huh?
And an honor as well. It’s true Sicarius is a dangerous man, but he
won’t likely be there right now. It’s night...the time when he does
his work. I can show you his hideout, and you can come back
tomorrow with more men. Attack him while he’s sleeping.”

“I don’t know....” The sergeant scratched his
jaw.

She had him. She sensed it. A little more,
and she could sway him.

“Wasn’t he seen on the Imperial Games
grounds?” Amaranthe asked.

The sergeant’s chin came up. “This morning,
yes. What was he doing there? Do you know?”

“I’m not privy to all his whims,” Amaranthe
said, “but if he
did
have some mischief planned...” She
shrugged. “I’m sure you’d feel bad if he hurt someone there, and
you knew you’d had the chance to take him down before it all
happened.”

The sergeant glowered. He had to know she was
trying to manipulate him, but her argument was persuasive—she
hoped.

“If I agree to take you to the magistrate,”
the sergeant said, “and to have you show us this hideout, will you
give me your word you aren’t walking us into a trap?”

“A trap?” How could she be walking them into
a trap, when they’d been the ones to ensnare her? She almost
blurted, ‘Of course,’ but stopped herself. If Sicarius saw her
being escorted by these men, he would attack them without thinking
twice, and he might kill somebody. She frowned at her thoughts?
Might?
Sicarius
would
kill somebody.

“I’m aware of what happened to Corporal Wholt
and his team when he tried to arrest you,” the sergeant said
coolly.

The crossbowman scowled, finger tightening on
the trigger of his weapon. She wished nobody had mentioned that
incident. They would be more wary while escorting her now.

“They tried to kill me,” Amaranthe said.
“That whole night was...unfortunate.”

“I’ll say,” the sergeant said. More murmurs
came from the men behind her. “Your word. You’re not walking us
into a trap?”

Strange that her word meant something to him.
She lifted her chin and announced loudly—loudly enough Sicarius
would hear if he was nearby, “You have my word I’m not walking you
into a trap.”

She hoped that was true. Fortunately, he had
not made her swear she would not try to escape. That was more on
her mind, and she had better do it before Sicarius showed up.
Having more enforcer blood on her hands would be intolerable. She
could not pretend she was some noble hero working for the good of
the empire if her actions resulted in dead citizens.

“Check her bags,” the sergeant said.

“Want to carry them for me?” Amaranthe asked
the young private who came forward to rifle through them. She hoped
he would be less likely to confiscate them if she made it sound
like it would be a favor. “They’re getting heavy.”

“Carry them yourself, outlaw,” the private
said.

Good.

“Just food and wine, sergeant,” the private
announced.

“Wine?” came a speculative inquiry from the
crossbowman. “Maybe we should confiscate that.”

“Focus on your duty,” the sergeant told him
in a clipped tone. “Get going,” he said to Amaranthe.

With two enforcers marching behind her,
crossbows trained on her back, and one man on either side,
Amaranthe led the way down the street. She doubted she could
meander through the city for long before they grew suspicious about
her ability to take them to this fictitious hideout.

She considered her surroundings, searching
for inspiration. Couples walked past, hand in hand, enjoying the
pleasant evening. Now and then, crowds of university students or
off-duty soldiers sauntered down the street, their voices
boisterous with drink. Everyone turned curious eyes toward the
enforcer procession as it passed, but nobody gave Amaranthe
anything to work with.

She decided to stay on the street paralleling
the canal. If no better option presented itself, she might be able
to distract her captors long enough to sprint to the side and jump
in. Of course, she might also get her back peppered with quarrels
if she tried that tactic. Even if she made it in, the gas lamps
from the street shone onto the water, creating yellow pools that
provided enough light for a crossbowman to see a head pop up and to
shoot at it.

Ahead lay the bridge her team had crossed
under earlier. She thought of the grate Sicarius had unlocked. He
had closed it, she remembered, but nobody had bothered to re-lock
it. If she could get to it, maybe she could sprint through that
tunnel and out the other side, then lose the enforcers in the city.
How, though? Jump into the canal, swim to the grate, open it, climb
in, and run? That seemed like an eternity where she would be a
target to the crossbowmen—if she could get past them long enough to
jump over the railing to start with.

Most of the boat traffic had dwindled with
twilight’s arrival, though a keelboat floated past now and then.
Lanterns lit up one heading upriver, with six pole-bearers striding
along the sides in sync, pushing the vessel with their long staves.
It would float under the bridge before long. If Amaranthe slowed
her pace, she might be able to time a trip over the canal at the
same time as the keelboat passed below.

“Hold up, please.” Without waiting for
permission, she lowered the bags to the ground and made a show of
shaking out her hands. “These are heavy.” She moved a couple of
items from one bag to the other.

A boot thumped against her backside. “Get
going.”

She picked up the bags one at a time,
watching the approach of the vessel. That should do it.

“This way.” Amaranthe headed for the bridge.
“He’s in the attic of a factory over on Sankel Street.”

The enforcers followed without comment. Her
heart lurched into double time as she considered the escape. She
might very well get herself shot. Or she might break a leg jumping
off the bridge. Or they might simply follow her and capture her.
This was foolish. She should wait for a better opportunity. But
there might not be one.

They started up the bridge as the keelboat
approached.

A harsh smell wafted through the air. She
sniffed, trying to identify it. Varnish.

She eyed the houseboats tied on either side
of the canal. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but she spotted
something that may have been brushes, drop cloths, and a tin of
varnish on the deck of a floating home.

Between one step and the next her plan
changed.

Amaranthe slipped a hand into one of the
bags, hoping Maldynado had been complete with his shopping. What
good were stamina-promoting candles without matches to light
them?

As they reached the apex of the bridge, the
sergeant moved a step closer, a shrewd gaze upon her. He must have
noticed the keelboat and guessed at her plan.

Well, she had a new plan now. Down at the
bottom of the bag, past the vegetables, wine bottles, and candles,
she found what she sought—a couple of sturdy wooden matches. While
thanking Maldynado for overly thorough shopping, she slid them
out.

When they passed the apex without Amaranthe
attempting to leap onto the keelboat, the sergeant’s attention
shifted forward again.

She found a round tin can in the bag. Some
fancy spread? It didn’t matter. As they neared the bottom of the
bridge, and the floating home in the process of being refinished,
Amaranthe tossed the item down the slope.

“Oops,” she said, “dropped something.”

She bent, as if to try to catch it before it
could roll away, and launched a backward kick into the enforcer who
had been walking on her right. At the same time, she jabbed an
elbow into the sergeant’s gut. Without waiting for them to gather
their thoughts, she vaulted over the railing.

Though she anticipated the drop, it stole her
breath. With the water low this time of year, she fell twelve or
fifteen feet before hitting the roof. She rolled to keep from
breaking an ankle, but got tangled up with the shopping bags, and
an ill-placed stove vent made the landing even more painful.

Shouts sounded above. A crossbow quarrel
thudded into the roof.

Amaranthe scrambled over the side, landing on
the deck near the finishing equipment. She found the varnish and
unscrewed the tin.

Thumps came from the roof—the enforcers
following her down.

“Over here!” one shouted.

She dumped the varnish all about and struck a
match. She dropped it in the liquid and darted around the corner of
the house. Flames flared to life behind her.