Emperor's Edge Republic (67 page)

“Would you remember to get Deret’s swordstick?”

“I would not consider a swordstick a priority.” The only thing Sicarius wanted that he thought might be in the house was information identifying the key members of this religious organization. If a poison had indeed been used on the president, one of them would know which one.

“That’s what I thought.” Amaranthe waved to the back of the house. “Lead the way.”

Sicarius did so, making a circuitous route to avoid the dogs. He hopped onto the side of the fence, catching the bars near the top, his nose less than a foot from the barbs. A faint odor wafted to his nostrils and he froze, his legs dangling three feet above the ground. The barbs smelled like a mix of juniper berries and the
laddakal
plant, a combination he recognized, for the compounds were mixed to create a deadly poison.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

“What?” Amaranthe whispered up to him. “And you know that’s a rather strange position to be experiencing introspection from, right?”

“The tips of the fence are poisoned. Proceed with extreme caution.” Sicarius had lost his momentum when he paused, but he still pulled himself up and over while giving the barbs a wide berth. He landed and waited for Amaranthe. Though he believed she could avoid the trap, he would offer assistance if needed.

She grumbled to herself but climbed to the top and over without brushing the tips. In her eagerness to avoid them, she dropped to the ground more heavily than normal, and her landing was audible.

A shift and a canine yawn came from one of the doghouses around the corner. Sicarius held up a hand, and they waited in silence for the canine to return to slumber. From behind the building, he couldn’t see the bunkhouse or the mill, so he listened for steps or creaking doors that would mean someone was going to check on the missing man. Nothing yet.

Sicarius pointed toward the attic, then climbed atop a rain-catchment barrel and pulled himself onto the roof. He and Amaranthe padded across the ceramic tiles and up to the vents on the top story. He withdrew a hook from his lock-picking kit and unfastened an inner latch. Inside, Sicarius stretched out his senses, his fingers to the dusty floor, listening for people awake in the halls below. The attic smelled of cloves and cinnamon, the scent strong enough to blunt any lesser odors in the area.

“A question,” Amaranthe whispered before he could start searching for a trapdoor down. “If the fence is poisoned, is it likely these people have an extensive collection of concoctions and might have used them elsewhere?”

“Such as for poisoning a president?”

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

“It’s possible,” Sicarius said.

“I don’t know if one of the Edgecrests is involved in the religion, but for whatever reason, this seems like a stronghold for the priests. If they do make poisons, they could be here. Along with antidotes.”

“Yes.”

“By the way, it seems the priests also have Serpitivich under their sway, or perhaps it’s the other way around. He’s probably been our snitch all along.”

“How did you come by that information?” Sicarius had never spoken to the vice president, indeed, had rarely seen him at all. He didn’t think Amaranthe had spent any more time with the man.

“Starcrest’s former wife is in bed with him. She’s here on the compound tonight. Or she was earlier.”

“Was she not just sharing a bed with Lord Mancrest?”

“Yes,” Amaranthe said, “she seems to visit a lot of beds.”

“A curious hobby.”

“I’m glad you think so. She and Serpitivich both want Starcrest out of the way. Permanently.”

“Is he here?” Sicarius hadn’t intended for his voice to sound hard and chill when he asked, but if the vice president was plotting against Starcrest, he would take care of it in a blunt manner.

“I haven’t seen him.”

“Retrieve the swordstick,” Sicarius said. “I will check the rest of the house.”

For a moment, Amaranthe didn’t answer. Sicarius waited to see if she would admonish him about assassinating people, but she either hadn’t understood his intent or couldn’t muster a defense for the man trying to kill Starcrest.

They hunted around and found a trapdoor. The hallway below lay in shadows, without any light seeping beneath bedroom doors. Sicarius dropped to the floor and started listening at doors, trusting Amaranthe could find the swordstick and her own weapons without his help.

He did advise, “Watch for more traps,” before she disappeared down the stairs to the first floor.

She waved a hand in acknowledgment.

Most of the doors weren’t locked. When Sicarius opened them, he found empty bedrooms, closets, and storage rooms stacked high with apple paraphernalia. Whatever else might lie within these walls, the orchard and mill appeared to be legitimate operations. A few bedrooms held sleeping figures, an older man and woman in one, and some younger single forms. Parents and adult children, he guessed. Those who ran the orchards? He didn’t smell the hints of the lemongrass incense that had lingered near the bunkhouse.

Sicarius came to a locked door near the end of the hall and heard breathing that bordered on snoring coming from within. It was feminine, he thought, but he couldn’t be certain. He started to pull out his picking kit, but hesitated, detecting a hint of kerosene in the air. He hadn’t caught the scent farther down the hall. Someone had been that way with a lantern recently. Heading to a bedroom? Or elsewhere?

The hallway dead-ended with a large framed painting occupying the wall. Sicarius drifted toward it, then felt around and under it for hidden passages. He found a switch between the creases in the wood paneling near the ceiling. The wall popped open. He expected another hallway or a stairwell, but cool metal met his fingers. He probed side to side and up and down, outlining the contours of a vault door, a sturdy vault door. In the darkness, he couldn’t tell if it was new or, like the fence, had been there for some years. He also couldn’t tell how to get in. Maybe someone in the house would have the combination.

He took out his picks and returned to the locked door. It was unlikely Starcrest’s first wife would be sleeping in the bunkhouse, and this was the last bedroom to check. While he worked, he debated what he would do if he found her within. If she was plotting against Starcrest, she might deserve a fate similar to Serpitivich, but would Starcrest wish death for her? If not, he might be displeased with Sicarius if he killed the woman. Sicarius nodded to himself. He would only question her.

He did not hear Amaranthe climbing up the stairs, but the scent of brandy preceded her return. Her silence pleased him, but he chose not to whisper more than, “Here,” in the quiet hallway.

Amaranthe joined him in front of the door while he finished picking the lock.

“I found the swordstick and my dagger,” she whispered, “as well as a rapier I didn’t recognize. Maybe Deret and I weren’t the only people kidnapped tonight.”

The lock released and Sicarius withdrew his tools. The heavy even breathing continued, so he eased the door open. Some starlight filtered in through the bedroom window, enough to pick out a single form under the blankets on one side of a bed large enough for two. The covers were rumpled on the empty side.

Amaranthe padded over for a look. “Sauda,” she whispered.

Somewhere outside of the house a door banged open. Sicarius and Amaranthe were running out of time to explore without the compound being aware of them.

“I will restrain her,” Sicarius whispered. “Get the vault combination from her.”

“Vault combination?”

“Yes.”

Sicarius pulled the woman out of bed, clasping a hand to her mouth and pressing his dagger to her throat. She struggled for a startled moment, then her mind awakened to the presence of the cold blade.

“Amazing you can sleep so peacefully,” Amaranthe said, “when you believe people are drowning in the next building over.”

Sauda said nothing, though that might have been a growl.

“What’s the combination to your vault?”

Surprise stiffened the woman’s limbs. “My what?”

“The vault at the end of the hall behind the painting,” Sicarius explained.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sauda twisted around as much as Sicarius’s grip would allow. “Where’s Serp? What did you do with him?”

So, the vice president was here as well. Good.

“Give us the vault combination and we’ll tell you,” Amaranthe said.

“I don’t know anything about a vault. I’m just a guest here.”

Possibly true. Just because she was sleeping with the vice president didn’t mean she knew all his secrets.

Amaranthe walked over to a desk and lit a lamp. “Does he work here?” she asked and rummaged through drawers.

“I don’t know,” Sauda mumbled. “Let me go, and I’ll find him so he can answer your questions.”

“I don’t think so.” Amaranthe opened a book stuck in the bottom drawer and let the pages dangle downward. She fanned them, and a slip of paper fluttered out. “This has three symbols on it. Did the vault have numbers or something like this?” She walked to Sicarius and held up the paper.

“Symbols.” Sicarius hadn’t been able to see out there, but had run his fingers across the etchings around the lock wheel.

Another door banged outside and someone shouted from the direction of the mill.

“What?” came a response from the bunkhouse.

“I said, they’re gone!”

A dog barked in the yard, and the others soon took up the chorus.

“You’re about to be captured,” Sauda said, “but I can help you escape. Keep me alive, and I’ll tell you a secret way out of here.”

“I don’t believe we’re ready to go,” Amaranthe said. “Got any rope left in that pack?”

“Yes,” Sicarius said.

He pushed his prisoner toward Amaranthe. Sauda opened her mouth to scream, but Amaranthe caught her, clamping her mouth shut before a single syllable escaped. Sicarius pulled out twine to tie the woman, then cut a gag from the bedspread. They left her trussed in a corner.

“Let’s see if these symbols do anything.” Amaranthe grabbed the lamp.

The dogs were still barking, and footsteps sounded from other rooms in the house—sleepy people climbing out of bed to check on the commotion. Though aware of the need to hurry, Sicarius studied the slip of paper before rushing for the door. Some of the symbols were similar to Turgonian letters. Others he had never seen, and a couple had a vague familiarness.

He pointed to one. “That’s etched in stone at Pyramid Park. Near the altar.”

“Kriskrusian?”

“Perhaps.”

Sicarius opened the door, but waited before sticking his head out. Yellow lantern light swayed and wobbled farther down the hall—someone leaving a bedroom and heading for the front of the house. He waited until the illumination disappeared before slipping out and opening the secret door again. Amaranthe held up their lantern so he could see the symbols clearly. There were more he recognized from the pyramid.

He turned the wheel in the standard left-right-left manner of opening a safe, though he didn’t know if Turgonian standards would apply.

The front door to the house slammed open. “Lord and Lady Edgecrest?” a man called. “Vice President? Are you here? The prisoners escaped.”

“We’re going to have to go out a window if that doesn’t open,” Amaranthe whispered. “We might want to go out a window anyway. Getting locked in a vault... Judging by Ms. Sarevic’s story, that doesn’t make for an enjoyable day. Or week.”

The vault lock clicked. Sicarius pulled on the wheel. The thick door was heavy, but it swung open.

“Wake up Sauda and Serp,” someone called.

Boots hammered the stairs.

Amaranthe snuffed the lantern. “Sicarius...”

He stepped through the vault door and tugged her in after him. He pulled the vault door shut from within—a rope attached to the inside allowed for this, but the hinges groaned and the ponderous door wouldn’t be snapped shut quickly.

Gunshots fired. Metal rang out as a bullet clanged against the outside. Finally the door thudded shut, the lock engaging. A couple more pistols fired, but the thick metal muffled the bangs. The bullets made faint pings striking the door, hardly anything to be concerned about. Of course, there were other concerns to ponder. Sicarius slid his fingers across the cool metal of the door. Aside from the rope handle, it was smooth. If there was a way to open the door from this side, it wasn’t apparent.

“Sicarius,” Amaranthe said slowly, “did you just lock us into a room with no way out?”

“Given the temperature, moisture in the air, and musty smell, I believe it’s an underground complex.”

“Fine. Did you just lock us into an underground complex with no way out?”

“Unknown.”

“It’s not that I’m judging you,” Amaranthe said, “it’s just that I’m usually the one who does such rash and impulsive things, not you.”

“Serpitivich went this way.”

“Meaning, he’ll know a way out?”

“Meaning, he’s the one behind the attacks on Starcrest. I will kill him.”

Sicarius thought Amaranthe might object to his bluntness—or rather his intent to kill the man—but all she said was, “After he tells us how to get out, I hope.”

• • • • •

The submarine tilted, scraped on the warehouse floor, then swung in the air like a pendulum. Maldynado decided it would be unheroic to get seasick before the craft touched the water. Another soft scrape sounded as it bumped down on the rails. Someone must have already shoved open the back doors of the warehouse—they weren’t quite as charred and as the front, but the plant had smashed many holes into them—for the craft immediately started moving. A series of muffled booms penetrated the hull—soldiers hurling blasting sticks into the lake around the warehouse, trying to clear an entry path.

Maldynado sat on the cold metal floor, his back against the bulkhead, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh as he wondered what in all the lands in all the world he had been thinking. Even before Starcrest and Tikaya had gotten all teary and clingy, he’d known the odds were in favor of this being a one-way trip. Some genius scientist from a race a billion times more advanced than humans had made that plant. To think they could defeat it with a submarine and a couple of diving suits was hubris. Madness. Insanity.