Sicarius dove for it. Another tentacle clipped Basilard in the back, stirring pain again, and he swam away from the writhing limbs. He worried the kraken would turn on them, but it was still intent on its prey—Amaranthe.
With quick efficient strokes, Sicarius retrieved the keg before it disappeared into the depths below.
Basilard paddled down to join him. Even here, underwater, Sicarius maintained his neutral facade with no hint of disappointment stamping his face. He had to be surprised or annoyed at the least. Hadn’t the keg been designed to implode?
Above them, the kraken swooped beneath the laboratory. Amaranthe was swimming there, hiding beneath the corridors and rooms of the vessel. The rest of the team appeared to be out of harpoons. Maldynado was chasing after the kraken with his sword. Basilard’s gut clenched. They had to stop the creature soon, or it was bound to catch Amaranthe.
Basilard’s lungs called out for air again, but he swam closer to Sicarius and waved his knife. He pointed at the keg and made a hammer motion. If they pierced a hole in it, the poison might flow out when the kraken sucked it in next time. Enough of the poison to affect something.
Sicarius nodded and held out the keg. Basilard rammed his dagger through the wood. He started to pull it out again, but Sicarius stopped him.
He mouthed something but swam away before Basilard realized what. The dagger hilt stuck out of the wood, and he left it there. Ah, cork. Yes, he could pull it out at the last moment.
Basilard wanted to stay and help, but he needed air. Maldynado and Akstyr swam past as he headed upward. He hoped they would survive without him.
* * * * *
Amaranthe circled the vessel and swam beneath its belly, following one of the corridors. Its ascent had slowed to a crawl, and she wondered if it would ever break the surface. All too aware of the kraken weaving after her, she stayed in the craft’s shadow. She was out of harpoons and had dropped the launcher. She still had her sword, and, though it made swimming hard, kept it in hand.
She hoped she was giving Sicarius and Basilard the time they needed.
Something batted her ankle. One of the tentacles. It moved in to get a grip, but she bent double and sank her short sword into it.
It jerked away and bumped against the hull of the laboratory. Streaks of lighting ran up its length, dancing between the clear cups on the underside of the tentacle.
The kraken jerked that limb away, but another snaked in from the opposite side. Amaranthe pulled her legs up, barely evading the grasping tentacle. She tried to spot Maldynado and the others, but couldn’t see anyone. Ink and blood—all the kraken’s, she hoped—muddled the water. With the creature so obviously targeting her, she dared not swim out from beneath the vessel. Besides, with the electrified hull so close, the craft offered more than a hiding spot.
A tentacle swooped in five feet ahead, and she reversed her strokes to halt herself. The two sinuous limbs had her trapped; she could not evade them without swimming into the open.
Amaranthe gripped her sword, a notion of making a stand in her head. She stroked forward, eyes focused on the tentacle blocking her route. It swept back and forth like a cat’s tail, though it was careful not to touch the hull this time. She timed the movements and stabbed the rubbery purple flesh. Too bad she did not have poison on the tip. The tentacle did not seem to notice her attack.
She tugged her sword free, intending to search for a more vulnerable target.
Something wrapped around her leg. The other tentacle. She’d taken her eye off of it for too long.
Amaranthe tried to yank her leg free, but the grip tightened, applying bone-crushing force that smothered her from calf to thigh. Her knee creaked, and she hissed in pain.
An image flashed through her mind of a shattered knee with her unable to walk for the rest of her life. If she had a rest of her life. Where was the rest of her team?
She twisted and slammed her sword into the tentacle. Though her blade sank in a few inches, the kraken tightened its grip instead of releasing her.
Maldynado swam into view, but he carried only that thin rapier, not a harpoon launcher. What would that do?
He stabbed gamely at the creature, but the tentacle ignored him. The kraken pulled her from beneath the vessel, its movements slow, almost leisurely.
Amaranthe hacked at the appendage, no grace to her movements. She was like a logger hewing at a tree. A tree that wanted to kill her.
Something snapped in her knee, and she screamed, the noise half pain, half rage. She tore into the tentacle with even more vigor.
Her breaths came in short gasps. She could not get enough air.
Under her rain of blows, the tentacle stiffened, then loosened. Had the creature finally had enough? Or maybe it was only shifting its grip.
Amaranthe looked up, trying to spot the kraken’s eyes, hoping she would find defeat there.
It hovered, ten feet below the Saberfist. Her harpoon still protruded from the right orb, and the tentacles on that side of its body floated limply. Basilard and Sicarius were weaving between them, approaching the underside of the creature. The keg was still in Sicarius’s arms.
Hurry, she urged.
He swam the last few meters, yanked something out of the keg, and thrust the poison into a dark orifice.
Amaranthe hoped that was it, the death blow, but a spasm coursed through the tentacle restraining her. It tightened about her leg, and she gasped as fresh pain erupted from her knee. She fought back tears of frustration. What if Sicarius had delivered the killing blow, but the kraken ripped her in half in its death throes?
She hacked at the tentacle with renewed vigor, determined to free herself or die trying. Inside her helmet, sweat dribbled down her face, stinging her eyes. Dozens of perforations marred the tentacle, and blood clouded the water, but still it would not release her.
Finally, the limb relaxed. Amaranthe shoved at it to pull her leg free. She stroked away from it and almost lost her sword as lightheadedness overcame her. She was breathing too hard, sucking in more air than the suit was designed to deliver.
But the tentacle remained limp and unmoving.
Two suited figures and one naked one were treading water a few feet away.
Problem? Amaranthe signed, cheeks warming with sheepish chagrin, knowing Sicarius had observed her wild hacks. Mercenary leaders were supposed to remain calm and rational during a crisis, not descend into an animalistic frenzy.
It’s dead, Maldynado signed, but if you want to keep at the blade practice, we can wait.
She checked Sicarius’s face, wondering how long it had been since he had taken a breath. He appeared fine, if more serene than usual with those hooded eyes.
No, she signed. That was sufficient.
Amaranthe started to swim toward the men, but the first attempt at a kick sent fire flaring from her knee. Someone gripped her upper arm. She lifted a hand to sign that she could make it on her own, but it was Sicarius, so she stopped. No doubt, he wanted to go up for air, not discuss her independent streak.
She stroked with her arms, letting her wounded leg hang limply, and he helped her toward the surface. He angled away from the Saberfist as they rose. Good idea. No need to tempt any marines by popping his million-ranmya head up in the middle of the activity.
The top of the laboratory vessel was creeping out of the water. That ought to keep the marines busy for a while.
When she broke the surface, sun blazed into her eyes. Morning sun. It seemed as if they had been underwater all day, yet it must have only been a couple of hours.
Amaranthe squinted and tried to lift a hand to shield her face, but, with her left leg dangling uselessly, she needed both arms to stay afloat. Her eyes adjusted, though, and she made out the marines scurrying about on the deck of their ship, preparing their salvage crane and dinghies for boarding. The kraken was floating on the surface now, too.
She struggled with the fasteners for her helmet. She wanted the thing off, so she could breathe fresh air again.
Sicarius caught her by the armpit with one hand and unclasped her helmet with the other. He had no trouble staying afloat using just his legs, but then both of his legs were working. As soon as her head was free, she flung the helmet aside, not caring if it floated away. She had had enough of suits and krakens and underwater practitioners. Though she could not complain about the outcome, she decided not to put subaqueous activities on their official list of mercenary services.
“Your knee?” Sicarius asked, his gaze roving the deck of the ship and the surrounding activity.
“Yes. I don’t think I’ll be joining you for a morning run anytime soon.”
“Akstyr can fix it.”
“Surely, I’ll need to rest it for a couple of weeks.”
“Days.”
Amaranthe spotted Maldynado, Akstyr, Books, and then Basilard closer toward the shore. She waved for them to head inland. It was time for her team to disappear.
“Aren’t I entitled to a vacation now and then?” she asked. “Look, there’s a nice beach over there. If we swim that way instead of meeting up with the men, we could enjoy the summer day.” She nodded at Sicarius’s bare shoulders. “You’re dressed for it.”
“You are not.”
“True.” She plucked at the heavy suit. “But I’ve been wanting to get out of this. Whether that’s back at the docks or on a secluded beach doesn’t matter to me.” She smiled playfully.
He did not answer promptly, and she thought he might actually be considering it. Until he said, “With Akstyr’s healing, two days should be sufficient rest for your knee. Then your training can commence again.”
Amaranthe sighed. “You’re an unrelenting taskmaster.”
“Yes.”
A wave washed over them, and he wiped his face. She eyed him, half-suspecting him of using the movement to hide the barest hint of a smile. But surely that would be too jovial for him.
“Ready to go?” she asked.
Something on the Saberfist caught his attention, and he did not answer. Someone on the ship leaned against the railing, someone in civilian clothing and a hat.
Amaranthe lifted a hand toward Deret, the best “thank you” she could manage at this distance. He started to wave back, but glanced at marines jogging past behind him and kept himself to a nod.
“Ready to go?” Amaranthe repeated.
“Yes.” Sicarius’s humor had evaporated, and his unreadable facade returned.
CHAPTER 19
Amaranthe straightened the crimson, braided-hide band across Basilard’s chest. Following in the Turgonian style, he wore it diagonally across a crisp white shirt with silver piping. According to imperial lore, the band was symbolic of the across-the-back sword scabbards the original conquerors had worn, a throwback to the days when the size of a man’s sword had indicated...well, no man had dared carry one any less than five feet long.
How do I look? he asked when she stepped back.
“Maldynado picked out your clothes and dressed you,” Amaranthe said. “How do you think you look?”
Fabulous?
“Correct. How’s your shoulder?” They had taken him to a surgeon to remove the pistol ball, and Akstyr had applied his healing fingers, but she was still surprised he had been able to compete in the final Clank Race. Compete and win. He’d said he had realized his purpose—or perhaps remembered it—down in that laboratory and had been motivated to kill himself, if that’s what it took, to earn dinner with the emperor.
Basilard rotated his shoulder. Good enough. How is your knee?
Amaranthe grimaced. “Also, good enough. Unfortunately. I was hoping for more of a vacation from our training regimen.” She glanced toward the doorway of the rail car, though she doubted Sicarius was anywhere nearby. He had been scarce the last three days, and she wondered if there was something he had not told her about the events below.
Sicarius does not know what a vacation is.
“I’ve noticed.” She could use one though. Earlier that day, she had talked to Keisha about Fasha’s death, and the weight of that failure, along with so many others, hung heavily about Amaranthe’s shoulders.
When I get to talk to the emperor, Basilard signed, what should I say about the team?
Everything, Amaranthe wanted to blurt. Basilard should tell Sespian how much they’d done for the empire, that they were responsible for stopping his assassins, for fixing the water supply when it was poisoned, and for saving the athletes. And he should let the emperor know Sicarius wasn’t the demon he once knew.
Amaranthe exhaled slowly. “Don’t say anything about us. That’ll get you thrown in the dungeon. You didn’t enter the Imperial Games using the name you go by now, so, with luck, he won’t know you’re part of a team of criminals. Wrongfully accused criminals, but criminals nonetheless. Just talk to him about what’s important to you.”
Basilard held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. I understand.
Amaranthe waved to Books, who was sighing dramatically and repeatedly as Maldynado fiddled with his clothes. Since he no longer had a bounty on his head, Books would go with Basilard to act as a translator. Sending two members of her team to see the emperor was risky, but this was Basilard’s dream. Besides, they were the quietest and least notorious of her crew.
What if we get thrown in the dungeon? Basilard asked, as if he had been reading her thoughts.
“We’ll rescue you, of course.” She patted him on his good shoulder and debated a moment before voicing her next thought. “I’m glad you chose...to set aside the past to try to improve the future.”
He stared at her. You know? That I meant to kill...
He did not finish. He didn’t need to. Amaranthe knew.
“You’d been glowering suspiciously in his direction for months,” she said quietly, so the others would not hear, “and then suddenly you were avoiding looking his way at all. And spending an inordinate amount of time with Akstyr.”
Oh.
“You don’t have to forgive people for their past crimes, but if you believe they can do future goods, perhaps it’s worth helping them along that path.”
Perhaps. It’s hard for one man to make those kinds of choices. Normally a priestess would advise.... Basilard grimaced. It doesn’t matter. No priestess will advise me any more. Even if I avenged our people, it wouldn’t make a difference. Not for me. I have no chance at redemption.
Amaranthe blew out a slow breath. What could she say to that? “I’ve noticed...every culture has a different notion of what the afterlife entails, which makes me think nobody’s all that certain. Maybe your best bet is to find fulfillment here, in this life.”
Basilard raised a single eyebrow. You think I can find fulfillment with Sicarius?
Amaranthe smirked. “Perhaps not him specifically, but if you can get him on your side, he’s pretty useful for helping achieve goals.”
Basilard stroked his chin, and she left him like that. Considering her words, she hoped, and not dismissing them as the ravings of a Turgonian heathen.
Amaranthe headed for the doorway, but Maldynado stopped her with, “Don’t go far, boss. We’ve got to get you into your outfit and do something with your hair.”
“My outfit?” She cringed and wished she had not mentioned that she was meeting Deret that evening. She only intended to tell him her team’s side of the story, but Maldynado believed that, because this discussion was taking place in the Imperial Gardens and involved a picnic basket, it should be treated as a tryst.
“I picked out something tasteful for you,” Maldynado said.
“Tasteful?” Books said. “You? That’s doubtful.”
“You doubt my fashion sense?” Maldynado asked. “You who, most days, wear the same rumpled clothes as you slept in? And who...”
Amaranthe left them to bicker. Maybe she could sneak out of camp before Maldynado finished with Basilard and Books.
When she hopped out of the rail car, she turned and almost stepped on Sicarius’s toes. He stood by the door,
his back to the rusty metal siding.
“Something you wish to discuss?” Amaranthe could not imagine him eavesdropping on a conversation about clothing.
“We should move the camp tonight. If Basilard is recognized and interrogated, he could lead the imperial guard right to us.”
Always the positive-thinking pragmatist.
“We have been here for a while,” Amaranthe said. “We can move tomorrow.”
“Tonight would be better.”
“I don’t believe Basilard would give us up, even if he were taken prisoner. Besides, tonight everyone’s busy.”
“Busy,” Sicarius said.
“Sorry, but after the last week, I think a few days of relaxing and recuperating are in order. You’re welcome to do so, too.”
“Relax.”
“Yes, it’s something most humans need to do. It involves getting one’s mind off one’s troubles, putting away one’s extensive knife collection, and not stalking about in a hyper-alert state all the time.”
“Sounds like a way to get killed,” Sicarius said.
Amaranthe pointed toward the rail car doorway. “Maldynado and Akstyr do it at brothels all the time, and nobody’s bothered to stick daggers in their backs yet.” She realized how that might be construed and winced. “Not that you need to visit brothels to relax. I mean, unless that’s what you prefer, because it’s not my business if you do, but you could, uhm, take a nice moonlit stroll on the beach.” Oh, sure, like any man would choose that option. “Or play Tiles or gamble a bit, or, uh...” Dear ancestors, she could not imagine what he might do for fun or relaxation. Practice throwing knives? “Well, you should do something you’d like to do tonight, as the rest of us are, and we’ll worry about moving in the morning.”
Sicarius, as usual, regarded her with the blandness of a particularly featureless rock, then walked away.
* * * * *
The dress Maldynado had chosen wasn’t entirely appalling. The V-neck and sleeveless nature left more skin showing than Amaranthe was wont to do, but it was summer. Though the sun floated low over the horizon, it still beat against her shoulders, and the faint breeze felt good whispering across her bare arms. She enjoyed the rustle of the silk swishing about her legs, too. She never could have afforded such a garment on her enforcer salary. No doubt Maldynado had wheedled it from some businesswoman for free.