“Hollowcrest was secretive in matters related to my upbringing,” Sicarius said. “The documents would have been hidden.”
“Good,” Amaranthe said. “Maybe they’re undisturbed then. If you three can find something favorable to counteract the questionable nature of, ah…” She extended an apologetic hand toward Sicarius. The empire might be full of war-loving soldiers, but it favored those who won battles bravely and openly, not by sticking daggers in people’s backs. “It’ll be easier to put Sespian forward as the most promising scion if we acknowledge the truth. It’ll come out anyway, but maybe we can put a palatable sauce on it.”
Sicarius’s grunt had a skeptical undertone.
“At the very least,” Amaranthe said, “we’ll need to know who currently holds the Imperial Barracks.”
“The last time I attempted to enter them, they were warded.” Sicarius eyed Akstyr.
Without hesitation, Akstyr raised his hand. “I’ll go and check them out.”
Eager, eh? Amaranthe wondered if it was the chance to study another practitioner’s work that interested him or if he was concerned about being seen on the streets. She didn’t know how many thugs would be searching for him—his bounty wasn’t as high as hers, and nowhere near Sicarius’s, but the gangs had more eyes on the street than the enforcers, so they might represent more of a threat. Things were also more… personal with them. She’d have to do her best to keep Akstyr out of sight until they could deal with the bounty or he could escape the empire. Though he hadn’t always been her most earnest worker, he didn’t deserve to have his loyalty rewarded with a crossbow bolt in the chest.
“So, this leaves only Yara and Basilard to locate our new hideout?” Maldynado shook his head. “We’re going to get something sparse, I know it.”
“Are you whining?” Yara asked.
“No, that was observing.”
“What’s the difference?”
Maldynado snapped his fingers. “Professor Booksie? Would you care to explain?”
“How a grown man can justify constant complaining to his lady?” Books tapped his bulging rucksack. “None of my texts has an answer to that.”
“Let’s get started,” Amaranthe said before Maldynado’s sputtered protest could evolve into fighting words. The gray plumes of smoke from the locomotive had faded, and fresh troops were already piling into the city. “We’ll meet in the alley behind Curi’s Bakery at midnight.”
• • •
A faint breeze stirred the darkness in the underground passages, bringing the scents of fresh snow and damp fir needles from the Emperor’s Preserve. They’d entered the tunnel system through a hidden and booby-trapped gate in the park a half a mile back, one Sicarius had used often in the past. Hollowcrest hadn’t wanted anyone to know an assassin in the emperor’s employment came and went in the Imperial Barracks. The mundane booby traps were not a problem. The newly added Science-based ones were a different matter.
Sicarius followed his nose back to the spot where he’d left the others. The air also carried mold and mildew spores, along with the sharp tang of pine tree resin mixed with bear grease. Akstyr’s hair concoction. The smell of ink verified Books’s presence. Sespian’s scent was more subtle, and Sicarius heard his soft, steady breathing before identifying him in an olfactory manner.
Before speaking and betraying his presence, Sicarius listened, smelled, and touched his fingers to the damp, coarse stone of the tunnel floor, testing for vibrations that would indicate footfalls nearby.
“Maybe he’s going to leave us here all night,” Akstyr muttered.
“If so, I’ll be most put out,” Books said.
“Because you didn’t bring your work with you?”
“Precisely. He said I couldn’t bring my books because they’d slow me down.” Books sniffed. He carried only a lightweight satchel with matches and lanterns.
“The man is truly a tyrant,” Sespian said, his tone dry.
“No argument there,” Akstyr muttered.
Having determined that nobody else approached—despite the distracting babbling of his own colleagues—Sicarius lifted his hand from the stone floor. “I have verified the existence of a ward guarding the Barracks entrance.”
Surprised scuffles sounded, along with the thud of flesh bumping against stone. Books cursed beneath his breath. Sespian stirred—uneasily?
Sicarius knew that his soundless approaches startled others, though he did not know why they so often showed signs of discomfort when they realized he’d heard them talking about him. He did not care if they spoke of him during moments of inane chatter, so long as they were not plotting harm toward him.
“I do not believe it has been disturbed since I came this way last summer,” Sicarius continued. “Akstyr, come.”
Akstyr sighed but did not otherwise object to the command.
Books took a step and banged his knee against the wall.
“If nothing except magic is down here, can we risk a light?” Sespian asked, the material of his sleeve rustling, followed by a pat, suggesting he’d offered Books a hand.
“The Science,” Akstyr corrected.
Sicarius would have preferred to continue in darkness, but knew the other men’s senses were not honed appropriately. “It is unlikely we will encounter another until we enter the basement. Or trigger the ward.”
“Good.” Akstyr snapped his fingers, and a soft ball of blue light burned into existence.
Sicarius put his back to it to preserve what he could of his night vision and led the way deeper into the tunnel system. Few people knew about the passages. If the curious way Sespian regarded the damp, rough walls was an indication, their existence was new to him too. Raumesys had prepared him poorly. Perhaps because, from what little Sicarius had witnessed of the boy’s upbringing, the old emperor had never been impressed with his successor. Even before Sespian had come of age, Hollowcrest had been speaking of arranging a marriage for him so he’d produce an heir early on. So they had an alternative should Sespian one day disappear?
A strident twang plucked at Sicarius’s senses, and he slowed down, extending a hand to stop the others. He hadn’t heard or smelled anything, nor had he felt the mental sciences being used, but something was amiss.
Behind him, the men halted without saying a word. In his peripheral vision, he spotted hands dropping to swords sheathed on belts.
Ahead, Akstyr’s light illuminated a dead end, one that appeared to be of natural origins. It wasn’t. There was a stone door, one designed to only allow an exit, not an entrance, but Sicarius knew a way around the locking mechanism. They hadn’t reached the secret door yet, though. He’d stopped a dozen meters from it. He’d sensed…
No, that was the problem. He didn’t sense anything. The ward. It’d been right here. His training had included enough exposure to the mental sciences and practitioner-crafted devices that he knew when he was in their presence. Five minutes earlier, a chunk of the stone wall had been emitting a telltale aura. Now, he felt nothing.
The faintest hint of an odor touched his nostrils. Smoke. Pipe smoke, though the particular tobacco blend wasn’t anything imperial men favored. It had a resiny underpinning, one that teased his memory. Nurian rek rek. One of his old tutors had smoked it.
He sniffed the air again, trying to verify that identification, but the faint scent proved elusive. Nobody had been smoking in the tunnel, he decided, but someone might have passed through wearing clothing that had been near a smoker.
“Akstyr,” Sicarius whispered. “Do you sense anything?”
“No. Should I?”
“There is a ward here.” Sicarius pointed to the spot on the wall. Even before, there hadn’t been anything tangible to touch or visible to the human eye, but he was certain that it’d been located there. “Now it is gone. Or it has been triggered.” He was reluctant to admit that he could have failed to notice another person in the tunnels, but had to inform them of the possibility. “Someone else may be down here.”
> “I don’t sense anything.” Akstyr shuffled over to the spot. “Are you sure you didn’t imagine it in the first place?”
“I am certain.”
“Really? Because you’re not a practitioner.”
Books sucked in a breath, as if he feared Sicarius would lash out at Akstyr for daring to question. Were Sicarius going to punish the youth for impertinence, he would have done it the day they met. He did let his tone chill when he repeated, “I am certain,” thus to discourage further argument.
Akstyr closed his eyes and ducked his head, his upswept ridge of hair bobbing. He placed a hand on the wall.
“If someone triggered the trap, so to speak,” Books said, “should we abandon this mission? At least for tonight?”
“Hoping to get back to your work?” Sespian murmured.
“Partially. Partially I’m concerned for our safety if someone was skilled enough to sneak past Sicarius without his noticing. Or any of us noticing,” he rushed to add, perhaps feeling he’d offered an insult.
Sicarius ignored the slight. He, too, would find cause for concern if someone had bypassed him without a whisper. Perhaps the person had been there first and had been waiting to deal with the ward until Sicarius left. That idea didn’t grate at him any less, for it would have meant he hadn’t been paying as much attention to his surroundings as he should have been, but he’d find that more plausible than the notion that someone had sneaked past him in the dark.
“I found it,” Akstyr said. “The ward. It wasn’t tripped.”
“That’s a relief,” Books said.
Was it? What had happened then? Sicarius waited for a further explanation.
Akstyr tapped the stone wall. “It’s been disarmed.”
“Disarmed?” Sicarius asked, his tone sharper than he’d intended. Long ago, Hollowcrest and various tutors had drilled into him the importance of maintaining a neutral facade and giving away nothing through expression—or timbre of voice. He wondered, sometimes, if so much time spent amongst men—and women, he added to himself, thinking of Amaranthe—was affecting his ability to distance himself from humanity, from his own frail human side. “Disarmed how?” he asked, making his tone calm and emotionless again.
“It’s like… if this were a mine… someone had left the casing and detonator and stuff in place, but removed the charge,” Akstyr said. “It’s something only a practitioner would know how to do.”
“This could be done swiftly?” Sicarius was certain he’d been gone for no more than five minutes.
“If someone had practiced enough, I guess.”
“Are you telling me that a wizard sneaked into the Barracks just ahead of us?” Sespian whispered.
“Practitioner,” Akstyr corrected.
Ignoring him, Sespian focused on Sicarius. “To what end? Are they trying to beat us to your records? How would they even know we sought them?”
“I doubt this person’s presence has anything to do with me,” Sicarius said.
The others exchanged dubious looks.
Sicarius refused to doubt his statement. Until Amaranthe had voiced her new interest in digging into his past, nobody had been contemplating such matters. Nor had anybody been around spying on their conversation earlier in the day. “It is more likely that another assassin has entered the Barracks.”
Such an occupation would explain the person’s stealth.
“A wizard assassin?” Sespian asked. “Who’s the target?” He didn’t point to himself, but he didn’t need to. After being a target for so long, he must have learned to worry about his life. Good. Paranoia kept one alive.
“Perhaps Ravido or whomever has taken over the Barracks,” Sicarius said.
“Hm, yes.” Books stroked his jaw. “If the newspapers speak the truth, the competition is going to be noticeable—and bloody—over the next few weeks. There’s an entire empire at stake here.”
“We will enter and attempt to avoid the other intruder,” Sicarius said, though their errand to Hollowcrest’s office would take them to the same floor and hallway that housed the imperial suites. If Ravido had taken the Barracks for his own, he may have decided to set himself up in Raumesys’s old rooms, something an assassin clever enough to disarm magical traps would soon deduce.
“What if we’re not able to do that?” Books asked quietly. “An assassin with a practitioner’s skills sounds formidable.”
“We too are formidable.” Sicarius headed for the secret door, though a niggling thought followed him, one that suggested someone who had evaded his notice in the tunnel might be more than formidable.
Chapter 2
Soldiers and enforcers patrolled the cobblestone streets on either side of the canal passing in front of the Imperial Gazette building. Amaranthe and Maldynado crouched in the shadows beneath the closest bridge, waiting for night to deepen and for the foot traffic to dwindle. Most of that foot traffic was uniformed. Though numerous eating and drinking houses dotted the waterfront, the sounds coming from within them were muted. Few civilians lingered in the streets. She doubted it had anything to do with the frosty evening air—winter would grow far colder in the coming months, and Turgonians were used to the chill. Those civilians who did brave the streets did so using quick, purposeful strides, their coats pulled tight, their eyes watching the troops.
“Those soldiers are taking the joy out of people’s evenings,” Maldynado said as a squad marched across the bridge above them, the synchronized thuds of their steps echoing from the raised walls on either side of the canal.
Amaranthe eyed the metal support beams overhead. She recalled hearing that soldiers were supposed to break into unsynchronized steps when crossing bridges, thus to keep the vibrations from collapsing the structure, but perhaps that was only for poorly constructed wooden bridges out in the countryside. Still, if the bridge toppled—preferably when she wasn’t under it—it’d provide a nice diversion for her and Maldynado to enter the Gazette building. She didn’t want to light any houseboats on fire this time.
“They’re just following orders,” Amaranthe said when the soldiers passed without bridge mishaps. “It’s their generals we need to worry about. Have you figured out the armband code yet?” They’d seen soldiers with blue, red, and white sashes tied about their right biceps. Not all the soldiers wore them, and Amaranthe assumed they had to do with identifying allegiance to certain would-be successors. The military fatigues were otherwise identical.
“Aside from the fact that those men have dreadful fashion sense?” Maldynado asked.
“Yes.”
“Then… no. Except there seem to be more white armbands than any other color.”
“I noticed that too. Ravido’s people, you think? With Forge at his back, he should have all the advantages, and he’s had more time to gather troops than Lord Heroncrest and Lord General Flintcrest,” Amaranthe said, citing two other contenders who’d been named in a newspaper a few days earlier. She had, however, seen men on all sides carrying new rifles and old flintlocks as well. Maybe there was some bartering going on between the armies. Or maybe Forge wanted to confuse outsiders by selling to everyone.
“Ravido is thoughtless enough to choose white.” Maldynado sniffed. “White, on a soldier. They’ll be smudged with dirt and spattered with blood by the end of the week.”
“Perhaps so.” As of yet, Amaranthe hadn’t heard any gunshots or seen signs of fights between the different factions, but she doubted that would last. Right now, the soldiers seemed to be more focused on instilling martial law. Once all the contenders for the throne were ready to make their moves, things would start happening quickly. And violently. “It looks like most of the newspaper employees have gone home for the night.” She nodded toward the front of the three-story building across the canal. Several minutes had passed since anyone exited the front door. She hoped to find Mancrest working late, as she had once before.
“I don’t suppose, with Sicarius being elsewhere, we could just walk in the front door?” Maldynado s
uggested.
“With all the soldiers roaming about, I think we should go the same way as last time.” Amaranthe waved at the storm grate on the opposite canal wall.
“Are you sure that’s necessary? If you’re worried we’re not being sneaky enough, we could turn sideways and hug the shadows as we go up the front steps.”
“Come, come, you don’t want me to tell Yara you were whining, do you?” After checking both sides of the canal, Amaranthe left the shadows and jumped, catching one of the iron bars beneath the bridge. The cold metal bit into her hands, but she wouldn’t have tried the maneuver with gloves on. She swung her legs for momentum and caught the next handhold, then the next, trusting Maldynado would follow her, despite his complaints. Her short sword hung on her waist, too short to bother her legs as she picked her route. Maldynado’s rapier might be more of a distraction, but she trusted he’d be fine.
“We’ve been comrades for almost a year now.” Maldynado grunted as he jumped up and caught the first bar, probably wincing at the icy touch as well. “Shouldn’t your allegiance be to me instead of our newest and most untried member?”
“I think she was suitably tried on the riverboat mission.” Amaranthe reached the last bar and swung onto the stone walkway, catching herself against the cement wall.
“That is true.” Maldynado chuckled.
Somehow Amaranthe doubted he was thinking of the same sort of trying as she was. When he dropped down beside her, they headed for the storm grate, passing several tethered houseboats along the way. She looked for the one she’d inadvertently set fire to the summer before, hoping she’d see it repaired and little worse for the experience, but it wasn’t there. In fact, none of the houseboats looked familiar. Perhaps the fire had sullied the homeowners’ perspectives of the neighborhood. She sighed, longing for a day when her face no longer graced wanted posters, and she could work freely within the bounds of the law again. A day, she thought grimly, that would only come if they succeeded in getting Sespian back on the throne.