Emperor's Edge Republic (38 page)

You were busy searching pockets, Sicarius reminded himself. He had failed to capture the assassin, but he would not return to the president empty-handed.

Chapter 14

A
maranthe said little as she, Maldynado, and Sergeant Yara headed into the quirky metal-crafting neighborhood where Ms. Sarevic’s Custom Works was found. Yara’s shift had been nearing an end, and Maldynado had convinced her to join them for this excursion, filling her in on the suspicious goings on at the construction site. Yara commented occasionally, though she seemed more thoughtful than talkative as well. Not surly and silent, the way she often was, but thoughtful. Was she, too, contemplating the religious zealots and what that demonstration might mean for the new government and the people in Stumps?

Amaranthe wished she had been back in town for longer and had more of a feel as to what was going on in the capital. To her eyes, these religious people had popped up out of nowhere, but maybe they had been here all winter. Or all... of forever. That priest had implied they had existed all along and had been in hiding. With religion having been forbidden since the reign of Mad Emperor Motash and magic for centuries longer, it was hard to imagine some underground cult surviving, but she couldn’t think it impossible.

“Which street is it on?” Yara asked, ignoring Maldynado who had trotted over to take part in a common custom—rubbing the metal breasts of a female sculpture mounted in front of one of the shops. The gesture brought luck, supposedly. The old bronze statue had darkened to a smoky hue with time, save for certain areas that were rather bright and shiny. A copper top hat lay upturned at the statue’s feet, inviting “tips for the lady” to further the likelihood of receiving good fortune.

“Molten Street.” Amaranthe pointed to the intersection ahead where the brass street sign was attached to a stout gas lamp.

“And this woman makes illegal wares?” Yara rested her hand on the hilt of her short sword, as if she meant to enforce the law, whether this district was hers or not.

“I’m not sure the wares are technically illegal, though many of the people who order them are the nefarious sorts who don’t always pay their taxes.”

“
You
ordered some,” Maldynado pointed out.

“Yes, and when I was a homeless outlaw, I found it difficult to pay my taxes as well. I tended to get shot at whenever I showed up in public buildings.”

“And the nefarious part?”

“I’m sure there are some who would have classified us that way,” Amaranthe said, thinking of all the Forge people she had vexed. At some point, she would have to check in with Deret Mancrest and see if he was still getting on with Suan Curlev. At the least, she would have to give him her condolences about his father, even if the two hadn’t been close.

“Are you paying taxes
now
?” Yara asked.

“Er.”

“Yes, Amaranthe, why don’t you tell us about that?” Maldynado smiled as they turned the corner onto Molten Street. “Now that you’re no longer an outlaw and staying at the same now-private hotel as the president, you must be an upright citizen again.”

“I haven’t been in the country for months. Or earned any income unless you count trading fish and octopus for supplies on remote tropical islands.”

“The government taxes barter,” Yara said.

“And as a Turgonian citizen, you’re responsible for paying taxes on income earned even when you’re across the borders,” Maldynado said. “Really, Amaranthe, how do you expect to enjoy the benefits of being a citizen, such as enjoying the protection of the enforcers—” he waved at Yara, “—when you’re not contributing?”

“I had no idea she wasn’t paying her taxes,” Yara said. “Should I be walking by her side, agreeing to help her with this investigation?”

Amaranthe gave them both the squinty eye. “I suppose you’re saying you two have both kept up with your taxes, despite all the craziness that was keeping us busy last fall and winter?”

“I did,” Yara said.

“And she filed mine for me too.” Maldynado smiled. “You’re the only criminal here.” He nudged Yara. “I think you’re right. You shouldn’t be walking beside her, looking so enforcerly. At the very least, don’t raise a hand to protect her until she’s left a suitable deposit on the president’s desk.”

“Are you two enjoying this conversation?” Amaranthe asked, coming to a stop in front of the shop.

“I am,” Maldynado said. “I’ve missed having you around, boss.” He patted her on the shoulder.

Amaranthe eyed the spot then looked at Yara. “Should I accept that pat with good humor or feel offended because it’s the same hand he was using to rub that statue?”

“I always make him wash before he touches me,” Yara said.

“Sounds... hygienic.” Amaranthe turned her attention to the brick shopfront with the metal shutters securing the windows. The patchwork copper-and-steel door appeared equally impregnable. Amaranthe tried the latch. It didn’t open, though numerous scratches marred the frame.

“Does this look like it’s seen the attention of a crowbar lately?” she asked.

Yara touched the scratches. “Yes.”

“Perhaps a few customers were feeling irate due to the fact that the shop isn’t open yet, and it’s four hours past dawn,” Maldynado said.

“Or perhaps someone wanted badly to get in,” Yara said.

“She does have quality wares,” Amaranthe said. “And a meticulously organized shop appealing to both customers and employees.”

Maldynado snorted. “Assuming she’s continued to use the system you installed. Some people simply fling their cogs and wrenches into the corners of the room when they’re done with them.”

“Yes,” Yara said, “
some
people do the same things with their undergarments.”

“You say this as if it’s not normal. Strange would be stopping to fold them in the middle of amorous beginnings.”

“I just don’t see why the hats get carefully tucked into a glass display case when other garments are treated so cavalierly. Don’t you think that’s odd, Lokdon?”

“Uh.” Amaranthe couldn’t decide if being included in their not-quite-married-life conversation was entertaining or horrifying. She resolved never to discuss Sicarius’s undergarments in public.

Maldynado nudged Yara with an elbow. “Don’t ask
her
. Who do you think I was talking about with the folding?”

“Ah.”

Amaranthe knocked on the door. As Maldynado had pointed out, it was well into Ms. Sarevic’s first set of office hours, the ones publicly posted on one of the metal shutters. The perpetual-motion clock above the door confirmed that it was less than an hour until noon. Even a store proprietor who had overslept should have wandered out by now.

“Store hasn’t been open for three days,” a bald fellow with a beard down to his belt said from a vendor’s cart a dozen meters up the street. Numerous automata toys stood, rolled, or teeter-tottered on the cobblestones around him. “Might be I can help you though. I can make all sorts of precision instruments, not simply children’s toys.”

“Thank you,” Amaranthe said. “If we can’t find her, maybe we’ll come back to see you.”

She headed around the corner of the building and into an alley she had been invited to use before. Without the invitation—and the key that came with it—she didn’t know how she would get in, as Ms. Sarevic had designed the shop to withstand invasions by enforcers if need be.

“There’s an entrance back here?” Yara asked.

“Yes, though we won’t be getting into it unless my lock-picking skills are sufficient to tackle a steel door with what is likely one of the more advanced locks in the city.” Not to mention that it might be booby-trapped.

Amaranthe slowed as she neared the side door. The formerly gleaming steel was distinctly soot-colored now. The entire wall around had a blackened hue, with broken bricks and disintegrated mortar littering the rough stones of the alley.

Maldynado ambled up to the door and pulled it open with a finger. It wobbled on its hinges. “Doesn’t look that advanced to me.”

“It’s... changed,” Amaranthe said.

Yara picked up a piece of iron. “This looks like the plunger from one of the old-style military hand grenades.”

Amaranthe pictured the ordnance in her mind—when working correctly, the little ovals detonated on impact, the plunger being pushed in to ignite the black powder when it struck its target. “Too crude to be one of Sarevic’s weapons, I think. But I guess it proved effective.”

“Shall we invite ourselves in?” Maldynado peered into the dark stairway behind the door.

“Trespassing?” Yara frowned.

“It’s not trespassing,” Amaranthe said, “when you’re simply concerned about the proprietor of a business and you’re going inside to try and ascertain why she hasn’t been here to open her shop in three days.”

“Actually it is. I’m beginning to see why your enforcer captain hasn’t hunted you down to offer you your job back now that you’re no longer an outlaw.”

“I’m sure he would have if I hadn’t been out of the country.” Amaranthe ducked beneath Maldynado’s arm—he had been nodding knowingly through this discussion and holding the door open—and headed down the stairs. Broken glass crunched beneath her boots. The door at the bottom had been forced open too. Before they stepped inside, Amaranthe was already worrying that they wouldn’t find Ms. Sarevic or anything useful left intact.

“Anyone bring a lamp?” she asked. What little light filtered down from the alley did nothing to illuminate the subterranean workshop. She crinkled her nose at the mix of leather, grease, and something that was either mildew or a crafting ingredient that smelled a lot like mildew. She took a step into the room, patting in the air to her right, remembering that there had been a tool-filled credenza there, and thinking there might be a lamp on it. Her toe clunked against something. She bent and identified it by touch. “Never mind, I found a lamp. Anyone have a match?”

A flame flared to life near her head. “Were you this unprepared when you were an enforcer?” Yara asked. “I always had this image of you being the model officer, before you started lurking about with an assassin.”

“I got used to having Akstyr around to light things for me.” Amaranthe held out the dented lantern toward the match.

“That lamp looks like an elephant stepped on it,” Maldynado said.

“The whole room looks that way,” Yara said.

With the lamp pushing back the darkness, Amaranthe gaped at the mess before them. The shelves and racks she had installed, labeled, and alphabetized had all been torn from the walls or had their contents flung onto the floor. Broken tools and machine parts lay everywhere. Pieces of leather and fabric dangled from the pipes running along the walls. A cog hung from a light fixture near the ceiling, as if it had been tossed there in a disc-hurling competition at the Imperial Games. Sticky substances competed with oily substances for space on the cement floor. The wooden stairs leading up to the street-level shop had been broken, the treads snapped in half as if Maldynado’s elephant had been guided up them.

“I’m not sure the proprietor is employing your organizational system to its highest potential,” Maldynado observed, prodding a manikin in an armored vest—its stuffed head had been knocked off to land who knew where.

“You worked for Sarevic at some point?” Yara asked.

“Don’t answer that,” Maldynado said, “or she’ll have to stand witness before the magistrate when you’re called in to answer about those taxes.”

“I did some cleaning and organizing for her since we didn’t have the cash to pay for an order in full.” Amaranthe was torn between cursing over the fact that all her work had been destroyed and grabbing the nearest broom to set things aright. “Was this a robbery or a war zone?”

“Are any valuables missing?” Yara asked.

“Who could tell?” Maldynado asked.

“Actually...” Amaranthe wandered into the room and pushed an upturned case into an upright position. “I did an inventory when I was designing the system, so I could probably tell you that in a few minutes. Although the best items are supposed to be stored in the safe. Sarevic didn’t let me in there. That’s where all her prototypes and bars of precious metals were.”

“Where is the safe?” Yara asked.

“This way.” Though it made her fingers itch to step over a mess instead of straightening it, Amaranthe picked a route over, around, and between the toppled shelves and cases. It would take days to clean up, and they had more pressing matters to deal with. Admittedly, she did put a few items back on shelves if they happened to be on the way. “It’s behind that bookcase in the corner.”

“The bookcase that’s clearly been shoved away from the wall?” Maldynado asked.

“Yes, someone may have already broken into the safe,” Amaranthe said, though the wall lacked soot, and neither those shelves nor anything nearby had the utterly destroyed appearance of something that had endured a blasting stick discharge. “If this happened three days ago, our assassin and whoever else has been shopping here—” she waved toward the pocket where Maldynado was keeping the stamped scrap of metal, “—could have walked in anytime and taken what they wanted.”

“The assassin probably
did
this,” Yara said. “After killing the woman to ensure there wouldn’t be witnesses.”

“That’s a possibility.”

“A likely possibility,” Yara said.

“The question is whether this assassin is also responsible for the sabotaged lorries at Sespian’s construction site,” Maldynado said. “And if so, why? You wouldn’t think that would be related to someone trying to kill Sicarius and the boss. Or was it the submarine they were after?”

That thought had crossed Amaranthe’s mind. Maybe someone hadn’t wanted the submarine returning home, since it might be used against the plant. Those priests couldn’t save the city if the president figured out how to do it on his own.

Yara, in the midst of climbing over a pile of scrap metal, paused to look at Maldynado.

“What?” he asked.

“Every now and then, you surprise me by actually seeming to care about something other than hats and sex. What is that construction site to you? And why are you bothering to research sabotage there?”