Akstyr pulled the outer hatch shut. The light from outside disappeared, and blackness dropped over them.
“Well, that’s lovely,” Amaranthe said.
Since the helmets and the water precluded talking, she had to imagine the sarcastic comments from the others. It was a strange sensation, being in the dark with water swirling about her. Inside the helmet, her breaths echoed in her ears. Somewhere in the distance, a throbbing woo-wah noise pulsed.
A clunk sounded, reverberating from within a nearby wall. Water tinkled, as if running down a drainpipe, but nothing happened quickly. When she reached up, Amaranthe found only a two-inch-high pocket of air at the top of the chamber.
When the water lowered to chest level, she removed her helmet, figuring it would be better to talk to the naked girl looking like a human being, not some mad tinkerer’s person-shaped walking machine.
With the helmet off, the woo-wah sound rang more loudly in her ears. An alarm? And if so, was it for her team, or for the marine ship overhead? The latter she hoped, but there could be a squad of guards waiting with rifles on the other side of the hatch, especially given how long it was taking the chamber to drain.
Water splashed behind her—someone else removing his helmet.
“Are we shooting people?” Maldynado asked, and Amaranthe imagined him hefting the harpoon launcher.
“We should save the poisoned harpoons for the kraken,” she said. “We don’t have many, and I suspect we’ll have to deal with it before this is over.”
“Are we stabbing people then?” Maldynado asked. “Or is this like with soldiers and enforcers where it’d be bad for our image to kill them?”
Amaranthe winced at the idea that it was only their image that kept her from killing people, but she knew what he meant. “I doubt we’ll run into any enforcers down here, and we can assume any soldiers have gone rogue.” She thought of the message these people had sent to the enforcers, claiming they would be turning a dead Sicarius in for reward, and she had little trouble hardening herself toward them. “We don’t need to go out of the way to butcher anyone, but...we’re going to be outnumbered. Don’t let mercy get you into trouble.”
“Understood,” Books said quietly.
When the water level dropped to her knees, Amaranthe figured it was low enough. “Time to go,” she said, though her fastidious streak made her wince at the idea of water gushing into the corridor, leaving the enemy’s floor in need of a mopping.
Maldynado grunted a few times. “The wheel’s not budging. How do we get out?”
“Never overlook the obvious.” Amaranthe knocked.
He snorted, but the hatch creaked open. A foot of water flowed into the corridor. Though dim, the lighting was bright after the darkness of the chamber, and Amaranthe squinted. After a few blinks, the nude woman came into focus. She stood in the corridor, ignoring the water dampening her bare feet. She alternated glancing both ways down the passage and plying Amaranthe with questioning looks. One of the men stirred, and the woman jumped away, pressing her back to the wall.
Lowering her harpoon launcher, Amaranthe stepped into the corridor and raised a friendly hand. “We’re here to help.”
The men crowded out behind her. Maldynado and Books had the maturity not to gape openly at the naked woman—even in her frazzled state, she had a tall, athletic form with curves enough to interest any man—but Akstyr was another matter. Amaranthe elbowed him, and he closed his mouth.
“I’m Amaranthe,” she told the girl. “I assume you’re one of the kidnapped athletes?” The alarm going off made her want to grab the woman by the arm and demand to be taken to the others immediately, but they would get farther with a cooperative guide.
“Yes, I’m Merva.”
“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” Maldynado managed a graceful warrior-caste bow even in the confining corridor, with the bulky helmet beneath his arm. “Are you perhaps—”
“Able to show us where the other prisoners are?” Amaranthe asked, giving Maldynado a please-wait-to-seduce-her-until-later look.
“And can you let us know,” Books added, “if that’s an alarm? Are they trying to find you?”
“I—probably.” Merva touched her mouth with her fingers. “I think they’re after those two men though.”
Amaranthe stood straighter, eyes riveted on the woman. “A blond man and a scarred one?”
Merva shrugged without dropping her hand. “I’m not sure. I’ve been...” She touched her head with her other hand. “I don’t remember anything since... Two men grabbed me in my bunk at the athletes’ barracks and thrust a vial under my nose. After that... I don’t know how long I’ve slept. I woke up a little while ago, like this. Someone had cut straps holding me to a table.”
Someone? That sounded too beneficent for Sicarius, but Basilard perhaps? She wanted to pump the girl for answers, but they had best find someplace less open for planning the next step.
Merva leaned past her and pointed into the staging chamber. “Can I get out that way? We’re underwater, right? Are we in the ocean?”
“Nah,” Akstyr said. “We’re just—”
“We can help you escape,” Amaranthe said, cutting Akstyr off before he could reveal how close to the city they were. She did not want the girl swimming out there, only to drown trying to reach the surface. “But let’s get all the prisoners out first. Have you seen others since you woke up?”
Merva tore her gaze from the chamber. “We started out together, several of us, but then we ran into those soldiers, and one of them fired at us. Everyone scattered, and—”
A man in military fatigues jogged around the corner and skidded to a halt. His eyebrows flew up when he spotted the diving suits. “Intruders!” he shouted and grabbed for a pistol, but he seemed to realize he was outnumbered. Instead of shooting, he whirled for the cover of the corner.
Grimly, Amaranthe fired her harpoon launcher. They couldn’t let him run off and gather reinforcements.
The projectile zipped down the corridor and sliced into the man’s shoulder before he disappeared around the corner. He stumbled and landed belly-first on the deck. His pistol flew free and clanged against the bulkhead, going off with an echoing bang.
Amaranthe winced at the noise.
Maldynado ran past her and checked the corridors leading from the intersection. “No one else. Yet.”
The guard tried to crawl away. Maldynado stepped on his arm to pin him. The man scrabbled for a knife at his belt, but Maldynado took it from him easily.
“Want me to...?” He made a throat-slashing motion.
Amaranthe sighed. The poison should kill the man in a couple of minutes, but she had no idea if that would be a more merciful end than a dagger to the throat.
The man twisted his neck to look at her. Fear haunted his eyes.
“Sorry,” Amaranthe said quietly.
A part of her was tempted to ask Akstyr if he could do anything to keep the man from dying, but there was no time. Someone would come to investigate that shot.
“Leave him,” Amaranthe told Maldynado. “After that entrance, I’m sure the whole vessel knows we’re here.”
She waved for Merva to come forward. The younger woman gave her the same wary look Amaranthe had seen so many people use on Sicarius. Having such an expression directed at her made her uncomfortable. I’m not a monster, she wanted to say. I’m just trying to do the right thing....
“Can you take us to the navigation area?” she said instead. Finding the captain—or whoever was in charge of this place—would be better than wandering around randomly. If they found someone important, perhaps they could use him or her as a hostage and avoid more bloodshed.
“I think it’s on the second floor,” Merva whispered.
They hid the harpoon launchers in the transition chamber, drew their swords, and headed away from the fallen guard. They passed numerous closed hatches and ducked under and around knots of pipes. Another four-way intersection came into view ahead of them, an
d, beyond it, a ladder rose to a second level. Voices drifted from the corridor to the left of the intersection. Agitated voices.
Amaranthe lifted a hand for silence and passed Merva. As if by magic, the clomps of her men’s heavy boots softened to imperceptible footfalls. She glanced back, intending to sign an order for someone to watch their hindquarters, but Books was already doing it. He stalked backwards, his sword at the ready.
At the intersection, Amaranthe poked an eye around the corner. She almost yanked her head right back. Not ten feet away, six white-jacketed men and women stood before a closed hatch marking the end of the corridor. Only the fact that all their heads were turned away from the intersection kept her there for a longer look.
Their hair ranged from blond to black, straight to wiry and tightly curled. Representatives from several nations and, Amaranthe feared, practitioners as well.
They were gesticulating and talking, more than one at a time with frequent, emphatic points at the hatch. Were her men inside? Or other escaped prisoners?
Symbols were etched in a plate above the doorway. Amaranthe waved for Books to take her spot and decipher the language.
Engine room, he signed after a peek.
Amaranthe fingered the hilt of her sword, but she did not want to attack practitioners. They would have far more tricks than Turgonian guards. Besides, she did not know if what lay behind the hatch was something that should concern her or not.
Let’s sneak past, Amaranthe signed, then put a finger to her lips and pointed to the ladder for Merva’s sake.
She waited until all of the practitioners’ heads were turned and eased through the intersection, figuring sudden movement would be more likely to draw someone’s eye.
A clang sounded down the corridor behind Books. Guards searching the vessel? The practitioners were too engrossed in their argument to notice.
Amaranthe waved for Maldynado and the others to follow, one at a time. A bead of moisture slithered down her ribcage. More than nerves made her sweat; now that they had left the icy water, the suit kept her far warmer than she needed.
Akstyr slipped across without incident. Good.
Out of habit, Amaranthe lifted a finger to her mouth to nibble on a nail, but the gloves stopped her. Books crossed, and Merva stepped into the intersection. Amaranthe curled her fingers into a fist. It was working. Everyone would—
A thunderous boom erupted, and the corridor heaved.
Amaranthe stumbled back and threw an arm out, trying to keep herself from falling, but the smooth walls offered no hand holds, and the suit affected her balance. She hit the floor, her helmet flying from her fingers. It clanked down the corridor, bouncing as it went, and she cursed under her breath.
Quakes rattled the fortress. Half of her team had fallen to the floor as well, making her glad for her decision to leave the harpoon launchers behind; someone might have cut himself on a poisoned blade.
Curses in foreign languages—multiple foreign languages—spilled from the adjoining corridor.
Amaranthe rolled onto her knees and grabbed her helmet. She waved and pointed toward the ladder, silently urging her team to hurry. She hoped the commotion had kept the practitioners from hearing them.
Merva and the men filed up the ladder. Amaranthe went last, her oversized boots making the ascent awkward.
Clomps sounded in the corridor she was leaving. The practitioners? No, Turgonian words punctuated the footfalls. Those were guards coming.
Ignoring the awkward boots, Amaranthe flew up the last few rungs. She rolled into the corridor above just as a man below demanded, “Have you seen the intruders?”
Her first ludicrous thought was that he was talking to her, but the voice was not that close. The guards had to be at the intersection. She was tempted to stick around to listen to the conversation, and see if she could find out what was going on in the engine room, but those men would soon move on with their hunt.
At the top of the ladder, another hatch-filled metal corridor stretched.
“Which way to navigation?” Amaranthe whispered.
Merva spread her hands, palms up.
“That way.” Maldynado pointed down one corridor. “Or that way.” He pointed the other direction.
“Twit,” Books said.
Amaranthe chose a direction at random. The passage angled to the left, and a well-lit chamber opened up at the end. Something shimmered in the air before it. Some sort of magical hatch?
Books pointed to a plaque above the doorway. “Navigation.”
Amaranthe slowed as they approached. She did not see anyone inside yet, but such an important station should be manned.
Another boom rocked the fortress, though not as fiercely as the first, and she remained upright this time.
What is that? she signed to Books. Some kind of attack from the marine ship?
Charges dropped in a waterproof container? he suggested.
Amaranthe inched closer to the chamber. The far wall held an eight-foot-wide oblong porthole above a console filled with levers, gauges, and a head-sized illuminated dome. Water pressed against the porthole, and an orange glow from the lights outside bathed the silt and rock of the lake floor. A school of the translucent guard fish flitted past.
One man walked into view from the side, and a second rose out of a high-backed chair that had hidden him from sight. They leaned over the controls and argued in their own language. One pointed at the porthole. Muskets leaned against the console between them.
Amaranthe used their distraction to inch closer, though she was careful not to touch the shimmering field. Energy crackled in the air and nipped at her cheeks.
On a side wall, an open weapons locker held cutlasses and the empty musket slots. A row of yellow vials hung in a small rack. If those contained the same concoction that had rendered so many people unconscious, they might prove useful.
The voices of the two men grew more agitated. Outside the porthole, a metallic box floated into view. It couldn’t be heavy since it drifted down instead of plummeting. Amaranthe squinted, trying to decipher a black stamp on the box. An oil can over crossed swords, the symbol representing the army’s engineering division.
Books grabbed her arm and tried to pull her further back into the corridor, but too many others occupied the space. Before they could organize a retreat, the metallic box exploded with a blinding flash.
The force hurled her backward. Someone caught her, but they tumbled to the deck in a tangle of limbs anyway.
In the chamber, the navigators also toppled, and their muskets clattered to the floor. One man lunged to his feet and pointed at the porthole, curses flowing from his lips. At least, Amaranthe assumed they were curses. Nobody said happy things in that tone of voice.
She spotted the reason for their ire: a hairline crack streaked across the porthole glass.
Amaranthe climbed off of Books, and he touched her arm, nodding for them to retreat to speak. The rest of the group followed.
“You know what they’re saying?” she whispered when they had backed to the ladder. Voices still floated up from below, but she could not tell if any belonged to the guards searching for them.
“They’re cursing the Turgonian devils outside and the blond devil inside,” Books whispered.
Blond. That had to be Sicarius.
“They want to move this vessel,” Books went on, “but he’s killed the engineers and barricaded himself in the engine room.”
Those were her men inside, giving those practitioners trouble. But if they were trapped, they needed her help. Amaranthe rubbed sweat from her brow and ignored an urge to claw off the stifling suit. They might need to flee outside again.
“All right,” Amaranthe said, “here’s the plan: you and Akstyr take Merva and find the rest of the athletes. Maldynado and I will get inside navigation and deal with those two.” And maybe the practitioners in front of the engine room, too, if she could pilfer a couple of those vials.
Books lifted a finger, as if he me
ant to object—or perhaps warn her of the lack of prudence in her scheme—but shouts came from the level below, and he dropped his hand. “Very well.”
“One more question,” Amaranthe said. “I know these helmets are waterproof. Are they air-proof, too? If one chose to wear them in here?”
Books’s brow crinkled. “I imagine they’d have to be. So long as you don’t run out of the air in your dedicated supply, you should be fine.” He nodded to the tank on her back.
“Thanks.” Amaranthe waved for him to take off with the others. “Be careful.”
Books, Akstyr, and Merva left, leaving Amaranthe and Maldynado alone to face the practitioners. She took a deep breath and pointed toward the navigation room. “I’m going to distract those two while you grab a couple of the yellow vials in the weapons locker, got it?”
“Got it, boss.”
Amaranthe returned to the barrier and knocked on the wall. The two men, who had been arguing over the crack, whirled and gaped. She spoke quickly, wanting to head off any lunges for weapons—or magical attacks.
“Greetings. It looks like you gentlemen could use some help. Do you speak Turgonian?”
“Help!” one man yelled. He wore spectacles that rested so low on his nose that Amaranthe could not imagine them offering anything more than an enhanced view of his own pores.
“Was that a question,” Amaranthe asked, “or a call for assistance?”
“Are you with them?” He stabbed a finger toward the ceiling with such vigor that his spectacles fell the rest of the way off his nose. He caught them with a growl and thrust the frames back over his ears.
The second man, a rangy fellow with pale hair combed over a balding pate, watched the exchange in silence. Long, bony fingers flexed at his side, as if he might be thinking of hurling some spell at Amaranthe.
“With the marines?” she asked, her eyes wide. “No, they want us dead. I’m Amaranthe Lokdon. I run The Emperor’s Edge mercenary outfit. Haven’t you heard of us?”
The two men exchanged blank looks. That was fine. As long as they weren’t thinking of attacking her.