Emperor's Edge Republic (11 page)

“Have I ever said how charming I find your practicality?”

“No,” Sicarius said, anticipating her next word, his own humor piqued.

“Good.” A soft thrum vibrated through the hull, and he sensed their course turning before Amaranthe added, “I’m taking us toward that cove where we trained with the bricks last summer. You’ll have to direct me though. It’s darker than—gah!”

Sicarius had been focused on the waterfront, on trying to make out what exactly was growing between the docks, but he peered through the hatchway to check on Amaranthe. “What—”

Something thumped against the hull. A log?

“Cursed ancestors,” Amaranthe said, “there’s more than one.” Her words came out fast and clipped.

Sicarius stood for a better look ahead but couldn’t see into the dark waters. The submarine had a probe light that illuminated the area in front of the nose, but choppy waves broke up the white blur, making it impossible to see details beneath the surface from his viewpoint. Whatever they had hit, it wasn’t some log floating on the top. He slipped inside to join Amaranthe at the controls.

She stood frozen, staring through the viewport. Several strands of green seaweed stretched across the Science-enhanced glass, as well as a human arm—what remained of it. Fish had been nibbling at it for several days. It drifted away, not to bother them further. Sicarius wondered if the seaweed could become entangled in the rudder and affect the submarine’s steering ability.

“I do not recognize that species,” he observed.

“Of seaweed or arm?”

“Seaweed,” Sicarius said before the sarcasm in her tone registered.

“There are other body parts tangled up in there,” Amaranthe said. “The first thing that hit us was a man’s torso with the head... there were tendrils of that—whatever that is—growing out of the eye sockets.” She released the controls and rubbed her face with both hands. “Talk about an abrupt end to your vacation.”

Sicarius considered her, wondering if this was a time when she would appreciate a hug or other gesture of physical support. She shouldn’t have an emotional attachment to the bodies, unless they later discovered the parts belonged to someone they knew, but she clearly found their appearance distressing. Before he had decided one way or another, she took a deep breath and returned to the controls.

“Let me see if I can steer out of this, or if this whole end of the lake is full of mutilated bodies wrapped in seaweed,” Amaranthe said, her composure regained. “If the latter, then I think Starcrest should have ordered a whole
fleet
of submarines to help.”

Sicarius waited to see if they would have further trouble steering through the mess, but they soon pushed into clear water again.

“Some random tangle,” Amaranthe said.

“That may be what’s growing out of the water by the waterfront,” Sicarius said. “Though from what I could make out in the dark, some of it seemed quite tall, almost like small trees.”

“Seaweed trees, wonderful.” Amaranthe waved toward the hatchway. “I’m fine. Go direct me to that cove, please.”

Sicarius inclined his head, but paused before heading up the ladder. “For my edification, when you chance across bodies or body parts, is that a time for physical contact of an emotionally bracing nature?”

A faint smile crept across her face. “You mean, should you have hugged me?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen enough bodies at this point to get over it on my own, though if you’re inclined, you could put a hand on my shoulder or stand close or something. When you’re looking into the eyes of death, it’s nice to be reminded that you’re not alone.”

“Hm.” Sicarius could not recall ever experiencing that need, but much of his boyhood training had revolved around desensitizing him to death and human emotions. His mentors had considered that training a success; Amaranthe, he suspected, would have another opinion on the matter.

Sicarius climbed up, again crouching on the hull with the hatch at his back. They hadn’t reached the other ships yet, and he doubted anyone out there on the water would be hurling an attack at him, but old habits dictated current actions. He scanned the dark shoreline to the south of the city, its trees, rocky shores, and cliffs. By night, it would be easy to miss that cove, but he had jogged around the lake so many times that he knew the location of every feature along its shore. He guided Amaranthe with confidence.

A hint of orange light appeared through the trees. A lantern? It was part way up a promontory, one that thrust into the lake, its tip a good quarter mile from the trail that circled the body of water. Someone caught out late and walking on the popular route shouldn’t have a reason to deter up that steep, rocky slope, though he did recall that a path led up to the top. Had someone seen the submarine? And been curious enough to climb out for a look? Given the black non-reflective paint Starcrest had used on the hull, it seemed unlikely, but Sicarius had been riding with the hatch open. Faint light from inside might be visible on the shore. The fact that this lantern was waiting at the north end of the cove he was directing them toward... he found it unlikely that it was a coincidence.

“More strange seaweed,” Amaranthe announced from inside.

“Body parts?” Sicarius asked softly, not wanting his voice to carry to shore.

“A buoy from a ship and a piece of the wooden hull of a fishing boat. I’ve never seen seaweed that likes to collect souvenirs from its travels.”

Sicarius, focused on the cliff, did not answer. The lantern light disappeared. It hadn’t moved out of sight—there shouldn’t be anywhere to hide on that bare rock—so it had gone out. Been
put
out. In his black clothing, he shouldn’t stand out, but someone knew he was watching.

Perhaps nothing. To a local unaware of the existence of Starcrest’s submarine, he must appear a strange sight drifting across the lake. Someone might report them to the local garrison—wherever it had been moved to—believing them spies sneaking up on the city at night.

Sicarius called out a few more soft directions to Amaranthe, and they soon glided into the cove. The
Explorer
drifted to a stop twenty meters from the bank.

Amaranthe stuck her head through the hatchway. “That’s as close as I can get us without risking grounding the sub.” She peered past him. “The water looks cold. I don’t suppose you’d like to practice your swimming skills by carrying me above your head? And the luggage as well.”

He thought about pointing out that they would not need to swim if she hadn’t chosen this cove over the dock in front of the Fort Urgot remains. But he understood her reasoning. Besides, he wanted to see who carried that lantern.

“I will go ahead and check for danger.” Sicarius slipped off into the water.

“Danger? Is there more seaweed around?”

He did not respond. After the warm tropical waters of the southern climes, the icy temperature shocked his system, encouraging him to start moving immediately. He would have to resume training and reacclimatize his body as soon as possible.

He swam underwater, not wanting the sound of surface-level kicks and strokes to reach whatever ears might be waiting on land. His fingers soon brushed the pebbly bottom. He patted around until he found a boulder that would hide his approach from someone in the trees or on the promontory. Despite the cold, he lifted only his head at first, listening, looking, and smelling the air before leaving the camouflaging water. He didn’t hear anything beyond the rustlings of the grasses in the breeze and an owl hooting in the distance. This close to the city, he could smell little more than coal smoke from stoves and that unfamiliar jungle vegetation.

Once in the trees, Sicarius paused again to listen and smell. For an instant, he detected the faint fumes of kerosene, though the scents from the city almost overpowered them. Trusting his nose, he glided into the woods, like a hound after his prey. He came out of the brush near the wide running trail and hunkered down, gazing up and down the route, a hand to the earth. The soft crushed-brick surface had been recently re-laid, but not so recently that he might pick out fresh prints from amongst the hundreds that trod the route every day. Still, the freshness was a clue that whatever might have occurred in the city in his absence, this routine maintenance had not been neglected. Again following his nose, he crossed the trail and weaved through maples and aspens, tiny leaves budding from their branches. The scent of a recently snuffed lamp grew stronger. There, he spotted a lump against a tree, one with the blocky dimensions of a man-made item rather than the contours of nature.

A quick touch confirmed that he had located the lamp, its metal hull still warm from use, but nothing else waited on the forest floor. He patted around in the fresh spring grass and found some of the blades bent. Something had been resting in the spot. A rucksack? Someone had come out here prepared. Prepared for what?

Sicarius leaned close to the grass, inhaling with soft sniffs. A faint odor lingered. Black powder? No, not exactly. It was more like...

He bolted to his feet. Blasting sticks.

He had handled them often enough to recognize the scent. Whoever was out here... they weren’t simply strolling along the lake, watching for spies.

Sicarius ran through the trees, forcing himself not to sprint so quickly he made noise, though concern for Amaranthe made him want to charge with reckless abandon. The submarine was the only thing out here one might employ blasting sticks on, and she might still be gathering their gear inside it. He leaped a log and was about to sprint onto the beach, when a dot of light drew his eye. It was up on the promontory again.

Though he suspected he was too late, he veered in that direction. He could hope he was wrong about the blasting sticks or that the person missed, but—

The dot of light spun away from the top of the rocks, arcing toward the submarine. Sicarius almost changed direction again, to run out to check on Amaranthe, but he would be another target down there. That person might have a whole bundle of sticks.

A soft clang sounded—the stick hitting the sub? Boulders blocked his view. He hoped the explosive had struck the hull and bounced off.

He charged up the rocky slope like a panther, bounding meters with each step. Just as he crested the highest part and the ground flattened, a boom roared and orange light fired the sky from below. Though tempted to sprint to the edge to check on the submarine—
Amaranthe
—the figure crouching at the end of the cliff, preparing a second blasting stick consumed all of his attention. If he had hurt Amaranthe...

In his haste, Sicarius didn’t watch every footfall, and he landed on gravel that crunched softly. After the explosion, the noise was almost insignificant, but the crouching figure turned its head. A white cloak and cowl hid the person’s face and any distinguishing features; it almost hid the movements of the figure’s hands as he jumped to his feet. The blasting stick that had been meant to descend into the cove was hurled at Sicarius. He ducked and kept running. The figure jumped off the end of the cliff. Sicarius would have jumped after him, but the stick exploded behind him.

The force of it pummeled him in the back. He rolled with the power, using it to propel himself forward, and he jumped to his feet at the edge of the cliff. The rocky shoals below came into view, but the cove did as well, and that sight made him freeze.

The hull hadn’t been torn open—there was nothing to burn on the steel ship, and the light from the first explosion had faded—but a dense pillar of smoke roiled from the open hatch. And that hatch was all that remained above water. Most of the hull had disappeared. It was sinking. With Amaranthe within? He scanned the beach, but nothing stirred out in the open.

Sicarius stared down at the water beneath the cliff. Had their cloaked attacker come to the surface, he might have leaped down and given chase, but nothing moved down there, either. The waters were choppy in the aftermath of the explosion, but he should have been able to spot a head. Any sign that another person had been there had disappeared.

Sicarius turned his back on the water and ran down to the beach, searching and listening for Amaranthe. He was about to charge into the lake again, to swim out to the submarine, but he halted on the pebbles. The craft had disappeared beneath the waves. He would have waded out anyway, but a familiar scent drifted on the breeze. Amaranthe’s shampoo, one she had picked up on one of the islands they had visited: hibiscus and coconut. The scent of the latter he found pungent and easy to identify, and his nose led him up the coast.

“Did you catch him?” Amaranthe asked from the trees as he approached.

“No.”

“You probably should have, because your luggage was still on board. I grabbed mine and planned to go back for your collection of black shirts, trousers, and boots, until, ah... someone threw a blasting stick in the submarine.”

Sicarius drew close enough to pick out her form—and that of the duffel bag at her feet—in a copse of trees. She had chosen a spot where her back was protected. Good. From her voice, she did not sound hurt, but she was jumping up and down and swinging her arms. In agitation? Irritation at him for not capturing the one who had attacked her? He shared that irritation—that person must have doubled back after dropping off the lantern, intentionally hoping to lose him perhaps. Or maybe it had been ill luck and the person hadn’t realized he was out there; instead, he had hoped to catch Sicarius still in the submarine. Had the attack been meant for him? Or Amaranthe? Or the Science-powered contraption itself?

Sicarius stretched out a hand. “Are you injured?”

“No, but this would be a good time for that hug.”

He stepped closer. “Because you were emotionally upset by the attack?”

“Because I’m
cold
.” Amaranthe flung herself into him, like a cat burrowing into a pile of blankets. “The calendar might say it’s spring here, but I bet it’s still frosty in the mornings.”

“Likely.” Sicarius wrapped his arms around her, though physical exertion would be a more efficient way of generating body heat. They ought to jog into the city to report to Starcrest promptly, though the idea of explaining that the submarine he had loaned them was at the bottom of the lake... Sicarius felt a renewed sense of failure. Perhaps on this vacation, he had allowed himself to relax too much, to grow less attentive. To have been fooled by this other person was unacceptable.