Conspiracy

Chapter 16

Akstyr shivered and stuffed his hands under his armpits. The snow had abated, but dark clouds lingered in the sky. Icy wind gusted across the mountaintops. Akstyr would have stamped about the snow-covered precipice to generate warmth, but his calf hurt, and the deep drifts made moving about difficult under any circumstances. He’d ventured close enough to the edge to verify that he could see the landslide-smothered railway below and then scooted back. Icicles the length of swords hung from a nearby outcropping, and he didn’t need to see if more ice lay underfoot.

The rounded top of the dirigible hovered behind him, with most of it floating below the level of his ledge. Anyone approaching the pass from the direction of Forkingrust wouldn’t see it. Akstyr had a red flag-technically it was a shirt one of the stowaways had been wearing-to toss over the side to let Books know when the train showed up. If Akstyr didn’t freeze to death before then.

“Shoulda kidnapped the emperor when he was near some army fort on the Gulf,” he groused. “By a beach. With palm trees. And sun. And girls not wearing any…”

A faint rrr-ring noise drifted to Akstyr’s ears, and he closed his mouth to listen. The train, that was his first thought-what else would be cruising through the mountains at night? — but the sound wasn’t right. Nor did it seem to be coming from the correct direction. The emperor’s train would be chugging in from the southwest, but this noise came from…

Akstyr tilted his head and spun slowly, trying to pinpoint the location. Mountain peaks surrounded him on all sides, and noise bounced about unpredictably, but he thought the noise originated in the north. He inched toward the edge of the precipice and peered into the darkness in that direction. Nothing but snow, rocks, and cliffs lay to the north. Akstyr didn’t think there was a road over there, or even a trail. The rrr-ring grew louder though, and he became more and more certain it was coming from that direction.

“Something in the ground?” he wondered. “In the mountain?” He thought of mining equipment, but didn’t think they were near any mines.

Then lights came into view, a lot of lights. And they weren’t on the ground. They outlined a sleek black dome-shaped craft gliding into view above a pair of peaks to the north. The noise grew louder as it cleared the ridge.

Akstyr had no idea what it was-some kind of flying contraption, but it didn’t have a balloon for lift, nor could he see any propellers or wings. All he knew was that it was huge. Anything should have appeared small next to the substantial mountain peaks, but it did not. He looked down at the dirigible for comparison. This new machine had to be at least four times the size. More like four hundred times the size, if one didn’t count the balloon on the dirigible, but only the occupiable space.

The lights illuminated hints of an inky black hull, but Akstyr would need a spyglass to see details. Or he’d need to be a lot closer, but that didn’t sound like a good idea. Somehow he doubted the thing was friendly.

After the craft cleared the ridge, it turned toward Akstyr, showing a narrower but still substantial profile and confirming that there weren’t wings. He let his eyelids drop and stretched out with his senses, seeking the telltale tingle of a construct that had been crafted using the mental sciences. He sensed… nothing.

“Mundane technology?” Akstyr muttered, shaking his head. How could that be? There wasn’t anything in the empire like that. Was there? Maybe he was just too far away to sense the Science being used.

He squinted at a horizontal bank of light near the top half of the dome’s front end. The illumination seemed to come from within rather than from the running lights-or whatever one called them-attached to the hull. Maybe the windows represented a navigation chamber, similar to the one Books occupied. Except there had to be room for a whole crew behind them.

A wolf howled in the distance, and another responded from a different ridge. The nocturnal wildlife was probably wondering what sort of monstrosity had invaded the mountains.

A cone of red light shot out of the base of the craft. Akstyr jumped. The crimson light bathed the snowy landscape below the dome, then started moving slowly from side to side.

“Searching,” he mumbled.

Akstyr stretched out his senses again. No kerosene lantern could throw out a beam like that. This had to be something made from the Science. But again, he sensed nothing.

The only thing he knew for certain was that it was heading in their direction.

Akstyr scrambled toward the slope he had climbed up to reach the precipice. He had no idea what they could do-that dirigible didn’t even have weapons-but he had to warn Books.

Snow sloughed down the slope ahead of Akstyr as he half-ran, half-slid back to where a rope dangled from the hatchway at the bottom of the dirigible. His leg and shoulder sent stabs of pain shooting through him, but he ignored them. If that flying behemoth found them, he might have a lot more than minor wounds to trouble him. He figured it belonged to that Forge group, but he couldn’t help but wonder if his mother had been the one to tip them off to the team’s location as well. If so, his stupid plan might have dropped buckets of donkey piss all over the team, and there’d be no cleaning up that mess.

Akstyr leapt out of the snow and caught the rope. “Books!” he called up. “Books, are you there?”

He was almost to the top when a shadow fell across the rope. Books grabbed his arm and helped him inside the craft.

“I told you to simply signal with a flag that they were coming,” Books said. “I would have flown closer to pick you up.”

“We didn’t work out a signal for gia-gantuan flying machine bearing down on us.” Akstyr slammed the hatch shut, not worrying about the rope still dangling through it. He pushed past Books and grabbed the ladder. He would have rushed straight up to navigation by himself, but he had no idea how to fly the dirigible. “Are you coming?” he demanded.

Books hadn’t moved. “I… yes. I’m just stunned.”

“By the flying machine?”

“That and the fact that you think giant can legitimately be combined with gargantuan to form a word.” Books collected himself and waved for Akstyr to continue up the ladder.

“Cut out that light, will you?” Akstyr pointed at a lantern on the wall. “Maybe if we go completely dark and stay in this little nook they won’t be able to see us.”

Books blew out the lamp and rushed to navigation, while Akstyr ran through the corridor and the cargo room, turning off every lamp he found. The engine pulsed softly in its room, throwing alternating light and shadows against the walls. Akstyr thought about tossing a blanket over it, but there weren’t any windows or portholes in that cabin, so he simply shut the door and let it be.

By the time he stumbled into the navigation cabin, Books had darkened it as well and had his nose pressed to the bank of windows. Fortunately, none of the gauges or panels in front of Books glowed or blinked-as far as Akstyr could tell their engine was the only Science-based mechanism in the dirigible, and nothing else was likely to glow sporadically. Unfortunately, they were still hanging from a giant beige balloon that would stand out against the snow and craggy lines of the mountains.

“I see it,” Books said. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, but can you really disagree that it’s gia-gantuan?”

“Now is not the time for jokes.”

“Who’s joking?” Akstyr leaned closer to the window, trying to see the details of the valley beneath them. “Can you take us lower? So that we’re right above the snow? Maybe we’ll blend in.”

“Maybe we’ll blend in?” Books frowned over his shoulder. “We’re mounted under an enormous balloon. It’s not white, so unless you want to get climb out and shovel snow on top of it, we’re not going to blend in. Besides, that… that… thing has a light beam shooting out of it. It must be magic. Won’t they just sense us out there?”

“It’s not Science-based.”

“What?” Books leaned so close to the window that he bumped his nose. “You must be wrong. There’s no mundane technology in the world that could put something like that into the air.”

“I’d be able to sense it if it were a construct.”

“They must be cloaking themselves from you somehow.”

“Whatever,” Akstyr said. It was impossible talking Science with people that hadn’t studied it at all.

“Whatever it is, that beam is searching systematically, like it expects us to be here.” Books’s words came out in a tumble. He was scarcely taking time to breathe.

Akstyr had seen Books get nervous before, and he wasn’t much use when he was like that. Amaranthe could always get him to calm down, but Akstyr didn’t think he could have the same effect. Nobody on the streets had ever told him he was reassuring.

“All our lights are off, and… maybe I can do something to help camouflage us.” Akstyr didn’t say the latter with a lot of conviction. He had studied illusions, sure, and he could do a few tricks, the sorts of things that might impress dumb guards on a train, but could he hide the entire dirigible?

“They’re getting closer.” Books’s gaze was riveted to the window, his hands gripping the console, his shoulders hunched and tense. The craft was higher than the dirigible, and Akstyr couldn’t see it from his spot behind Books, but the red search beam came into view, sweeping left and right, probing the snow with its telling light. “If we try to leave now, they’ll see us,” Books said. “But we’re too close to the pass too. If they keep coming toward it, they’re sure to see us anyway.”

“Not if we hide,” Akstyr said.

Books was only shaking his head. He didn’t seem to hear.

“If you don’t lower us deeper into this little canyon-” Akstyr rapped his knuckles on the control panel, “-I will.”

That broke through Books’s worried trance.

“Dear departed ancestors, no.” Books plopped down into the seat. “I’ll do it.” His voice lowered to a mutter. “If I can find the cursed levers in the dark.”

Akstyr allowed himself a tight smile. If he couldn’t be reassuring, threatening was an option.

The dirigible engine offered a smooth ride, and Akstyr might not have noticed they were descending except that the scenery outside the windows changed. The view of distant mountains disappeared, replaced with nearby cliffs and snowy slopes.

Akstyr sat cross-legged on the floor. He wished he had more time to think about how to go about manufacturing the illusion. He’d seen the terrain around the dirigible when he’d been up on the precipice, but he hadn’t thought to memorize it and think about how best he could add a piece to it-a piece that would make it appear like someone was looking at an empty canyon instead of a ship tucked in a nook. The artistry required daunted him. Even if he could pull it off, he would have to hope nobody over there was a practitioner, someone who could see right through such guises.

A few fat snowflakes blew across the windshield. Maybe a blizzard would roll in, forcing the other ship to abandon its search. That gave Akstyr an idea.

“This is as low as I dare get,” Books said.

A long squeal of metal assaulted their ears, and a jolt coursed through the dirigible.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have dared to get that low.” Akstyr thought the metal hull of the lower part of the craft could stand up to a few scrapes, but he was less certain about the balloon. He didn’t know what it was made from, but he assumed the material could tear.

“It’s difficult to steer a vessel this large in the dark,” Books said. “Especially when my control panel is also in the dark.”

“Just hold us here.” Akstyr closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

“Obviously,” Books grumbled, then raised his voice and added, “They’re getting closer, so anything you’re thinking of doing should be soon.”

“I’m already doing it,” Akstyr whispered, voice strained. He opened an eye to check outside, to see if the snow appeared to be picking up. The flakes drifting across the window had increased, though some were falling straight down while others slanted at an angle. “Stupid wind,” he muttered. He’d thought it would be easier working with the existing snow than creating an illusory storm from scratch, but perhaps not.

“Are you making it snow?” Books asked.

Akstyr ignored him and closed his eyes to concentrate harder. All the flakes had to be going the same direction, and there had to be more of them, enough to shroud the dirigible and convince the other ship to call off its search until the weather improved, ideally long after the team had finished in the pass.

“You are, aren’t you?”

The touch of awe in Books’s voice was flattering, but Akstyr would have preferred silence. He needed every iota of concentration he could muster. He caught himself breathing heavily, as if he’d been running stairs at one of Sicarius’s workouts. Though cold seeped up from the metal floor, he was anything but cold. Heat flushed his face, and sweat prickled his armpits.

“That craft must be magic,” Books said. “There’s no visible propulsion system. More than that, I don’t see how something like that could achieve lift in the first place. Emperor’s teeth, it looks like a big balrock ball that some student cut in half. Though it does seem to be designed to reduce drag. Maybe it has internal engines, and the body itself acts as a…”

Getting irritated or telling Books to shut up would have disturbed Akstyr’s concentration, so he did his best to ignore the analysis.

“They’re close,” Books whispered a few moments later. “They’re angling for the pass. Maybe they’ll miss us.”

Akstyr could think about nothing but the snow. Behind his eyelids, he pictured it, from the clouds high above all the way to the drifts below. Sheer will turned it into an illusion others could see and not simply an image in his mind.

“It’s getting hard to see them,” Books murmured. “But if I can’t see them, maybe they can’t see us. Uh oh, they’ve stopped. Their beam is… it’s behind the precipice. I think they’re looking at the landslide.”

More snow, Akstyr thought. Blizzard.

“I can’t see anything now,” Books said.

“They’re still there,” Akstyr whispered. He might not sense any Science built into the craft, but he could still feel the physical presence of something that large.

“Are they… coming this way?”

“They’re not moving.”

“It’s hovering?” Books asked. “Amazing. A dirigible can hover, of course, but that’s because the hydrogen is used in the balloon, a gas that’s lighter than air, thus-”

“Nobody cares, Books,” Akstyr said.

“Can you make it snow harder over the pass? Perhaps you could throw a little wind at them too.”

Akstyr opened an eye and glared. “You don’t want much, do you?”

The exchange stole his concentration, and illusion faded, leaving a third as many snowflakes in the sky. Akstyr gritted his teeth and refocused. Only when he’d filled the sky again did he feel safe enough to add, “I don’t know how to do auditory illusions yet. No wind.”

“Oh, it’s all an illusion?” Books asked. “That’s quite good. Maybe it’s worth sending you to school, after all.”

“Glad you approve, professor.”

Something nudged Akstyr’s senses. It came from the direction of the flying craft. Maybe there was Science in the bowels of that black machine after all. But, no, it felt… sentient. Like a person, not an object.

“I think they have a practitioner.” Akstyr’s stomach sank. Maybe the person had been asleep and had woken up when he or she sensed someone manipulating the scenery. That couldn’t be good.

“You’re overdoing it,” Books said.

“Huh?” Akstyr opened his eyes to a whiteout outside the window. The rocky terrain to either side of the dirigible had disappeared behind snowfall so thick one would be lucky to see a foot ahead. The shadow of the balloon protected the windows from fat flakes that might have coated the glass otherwise, but enough snow flew sideways that it still blotted out the view. “That’s not all me.”

Akstyr let his illusion slip away, and it didn’t make a difference. Wind moaned through the mountains, though their position in the canyon protected them.

The new presence he’d sensed faded from his awareness. Akstyr stretched out with his thoughts, but it was as if the snow was somehow muffling his mental reach. No, that wasn’t it. The other vessel was moving away.

“They’re leaving,” Akstyr said.

“That’s a relief,” Books said.

“Maybe. I think they’re following the tracks.”

“North or south?”

“South,” Akstyr said. “Toward the others.”

Maldynado’s voice floated out of the locomotive, and his words filled Amaranthe’s ears as she swung through the door to land inside. Yara was in the engineer’s seat while Basilard leaned against the back wall. Sespian stood before the furnace, the coal shovel still in his hands. Between Yara and Sespian, Maldynado lounged against the control wall, his arms flung wide, draped over valves and pipes, as he spoke.

“…nothing monstrous in size,” he was saying, “but substantial enough to show off my handsome features. And location is important. I’d hate to be like Korgoth the Cranky with that old, dank copper statue by the sewer treatment plant. I was thinking something in the Imperial Gardens would be nice. Or perhaps in the University District where all those pretty young female students would see-”

“Maldynado,” Amaranthe said, “why are you loitering around and talking while the emperor is shoveling coal into a furnace?”

“Er.” Maldynado’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he settled on, “He was doing that when I came in. I thought he was enjoying a chance to live like a peasant and partake in menial labor.”

Though Sespian did not appear offended, Amaranthe propped her hands on her hips and stared at Maldynado.

“Ah, yes, why don’t I handle that, Sire?” Maldynado took the shovel from Sespian and gestured for him to step aside.

Sicarius had come in after Amaranthe, but he merely stood by the door, as quiet as usual. If Amaranthe was going to convince him to chat with Sespian, or, ancestors help him, to make a joke, she would have to get rid of the crowd.

“Basilard, do you want to help me dig out our medical kits?” Amaranthe said. “It looks like we could all use some suture and bandages.”

“Alcohol, too, perhaps,” Yara said.

“For sterilizing wounds?” Amaranthe asked.

“Among other things.” Though the enforcer sergeant retained the usual determined set to her jaw, the haunted cast to her eyes suggested she had found the night’s adventure harrowing.

“We’ll see what we can find.” Amaranthe faced Sespian. “Sire, I… have to tell you that your kidnapping wasn’t entirely without casualties. I’d hoped that if it couldn’t be bloodless it could at least be deathless, but it seems that was too much to ask.”

Sespian’s young face grew grim, and he nodded. “I anticipated that. When I made the decision to contact you… It is something I carefully weighed beforehand. Perhaps it was selfish, but I assure you it wasn’t only my hide that I was thinking of. There are… things afoot that I couldn’t have halted from within the Imperial Barracks. Too many people watch me there. If I can survive long enough out here to investigate Forge’s latest scheme further, and to figure out some appropriate action to take, it will be for the good of the entire empire.”

His defensiveness startled Amaranthe. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might take the blame for the deaths of his soldiers, though, now that she thought about it, she realized it shouldn’t surprise her. He was a conscientious young man, certainly. His hints of evil afoot intrigued her, but the guarded way he was phrasing things implied he wouldn’t be sharing a lot of details. Not yet anyway. He must see her and her team as tools, not as allies. She would have to change his mind about that.

Amaranthe moved a pack off the top of the coal box and extended a hand toward it. “Sire, would you like to sit down? Perhaps you can let us know what, now that we’ve kidnapped you, you’d like us to do with you.”

Sespian moved toward the box, but, after a wary glance at the men all around him, chose to lean against the wall beside it instead of sitting down.

It was a tad crowded, and he might not feel comfortable with mercenaries looming on all sides. Amaranthe had to remind herself that the men she regarded as friends- family — were strangers to him, and even Maldynado, affable and smiling as he shoveled coal, was an intimidating figure. Shaven-headed Basilard, with more scars than most chopping blocks, looked like a bouncer who relished his work, and Sicarius… well, Amaranthe already had a good idea how Sespian felt about him. She didn’t know if he’d exchanged any words with Sergeant Yara, but doubted her presence alone was enough to put him at ease.

“Would you mind telling me where this train, what’s left of it, is going now?” Sespian asked.

He hadn’t answered Amaranthe’s question. Maybe he wouldn’t with such a large audience.

“The Scarlet Pass,” she said. “We have comrades meeting us at the top. From there… that’s up to you.”

“There aren’t many roads up there,” Sespian said.

Maldynado snickered. “Roads.”

Amaranthe quelled him with a glance. “Should our arrangements prove fruitful, we’ll have a flying machine of some sort picking us up.”

Sespian’s eyebrows jumped for his hairline. “A flying machine?” His face lost its guardedness, and he grinned. “I read a book when I was a boy about people’s attempts at building them. I had my sketchpad out, drawing various models for weeks. I even tried to build one myself out behind the kitchens. In case you were wondering, a dirigible with a balloon made from bed sheets won’t fly.”

Amaranthe smiled and nodded, encouraging him to open up to them, but Sespian seemed to feel he’d slipped up-it might not help that Maldynado was staring at him, slack-jawed-for he clamped his mouth shut. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Your men are probably concerned with more important things, such as when they’ll be paid. I have the money in Sunders City. If you could take me there, I’ll see to your fee and leave you to your next job.”

For the first time, Sicarius stirred. He gave Amaranthe a look that she doubted anyone else could read, but she saw the concern in it. Yes, Sunders City was only a day away by rail and probably less if they could fly over the mountainous terrain. That wasn’t much time for someone to build up to making an important announcement like, “Sespian, I am your father.”

Amaranthe acknowledged his look with a hand wiggle, though Sespian caught it and grew noticeably concerned by the exchange.

“We know you’re in trouble, Sire,” Amaranthe said, hoping to distract him from whatever suspicious thoughts must be going through his head. “We’d like to help. We’re not mercenaries simply in this for the money. I don’t know what led you to choose us, but if you’ve been following the papers at all-” she raised her eyebrows, hoping he’d nod or otherwise indicate he knew what she was talking about, “-you might know that we’ve been trying to work for the good of the empire.”

The concern in Sespian’s eyes deepened, though this time it looked like the embarrassed concern of someone realizing he hadn’t kept up with events the way he should have. “I’m sorry, no. I wanted to meet with you primarily because of your counterfeiting scheme last winter.”

Amaranthe blinked. “My, what? I mean, that was only for coercing Hollowcrest and that Forge duo into negotiating. We didn’t-we aren’t actively… We destroyed everything related to that.” Dear ancestors, he hadn’t chosen them because he thought they were pecuniary villains, had he?

“That’s the truth,” Maldynado said. “Much to Akstyr’s horror, the boss burned all of those fake bills.”

Sespian lifted a hand. “That’s fine, but surely you must have done research before embarking on that… scheme. And you have a history professor on your team, don’t you? Economics would be better, but perhaps he’s versed in that as well. My movements are tracked, so I haven’t been able to get out of the Barracks and do the type of research I need to do.”

Amaranthe struggled to guess the intent behind his words. He wasn’t thinking of starting a counterfeiting scheme himself, was he? That didn’t make any sense. As emperor, he controlled the Imperial Mint. The Imperial Mint that was in Sunders City. He’d mentioned a new Forge scheme. Were they doing something to the money supply?

Basilard’s fingers twitched. Tracking? Will someone be able to follow him to us?

Good question. “How are you being tracked, Sire?” Amaranthe asked.

“I’d… rather not share that information, as it’s tied to something… sensitive.” His hand strayed to his neck before he caught himself and dropped it into his lap.

The implant. Amaranthe stifled a groan. It made sense that the owners could use it for tracking too. One would want to monitor one’s victims if they were left to roam freely. She thought about telling Sespian about Books and Akstyr’s side trip, but she didn’t want to get his hopes up in case her men failed to find anything.

“I’d be open to discussing more with you in private.” Sespian’s gaze skimmed across the men, lingering on Sicarius before returning to Amaranthe. “Perhaps with you and your professor.”

Amaranthe opened her mouth, intending to agree to the private meeting, but Sicarius spoke first.

“From how far away can they track you and trigger the artifact in your neck? Can it kill you if you think or speak of matters Forge considers inappropriate?”

Sespian gaped at Sicarius, his face growing ashen. He recovered his composure quickly, but not before Amaranthe glimpsed a new fear darting through his eyes. Sicarius himself was as unreadable as ever. She knew his concern for Sespian had prompted the questions, but Sespian would simply be alarmed that an assassin knew about his vulnerability.

“We’ve encountered the devices before,” Amaranthe explained.

“I see,” Sespian said, and she had a feeling that was all he’d say if she didn’t get rid of some of the men.

“Maldynado and Basilard,” she said, “you two look tired. Would you mind taking a nap in the coal car?”

“A nap?” Maldynado said.

Meanwhile, Amaranthe met Basilard’s eyes, and signed, We’ll find time to talk to the emperor about your people later. I promise. What he’s dealing with has to be the priority.

Sespian noticed her signing, and his eyes narrowed. Amaranthe hoped he didn’t think they were scheming something. Basilard merely nodded and walked out.

“Maldynado.” Amaranthe pointed toward the door.

“A nap,” he muttered. “Do I look like a toddler?”

“You look like an overgrown-”

“You can do whatever you want,” Amaranthe hurried to say, before an argument could break out, “so long as it’s back there and not up here. Sergeant Yara? Can I prevail upon you to join them?”

“She can stay,” Sespian said.

Amaranthe didn’t wince, not outwardly anyway, but having Yara there would keep Sicarius from speaking freely. Still, if Sespian felt more comfortable because of her presence, that might be a good thing. Maybe they had exchanged a few words when they’d been alone, and he knew Yara was on his side. If only Amaranthe could make him believe she was on his side too.

“I’d rather he wasn’t here.” Sespian nodded toward Sicarius without making eye contact with him.

“He stays,” Amaranthe said.

Sespian grimaced. “I suppose it’s understandable. You must not feel comfortable enough around me to be without your bodyguard?”

Amaranthe almost blurted that that was ridiculous-even if she thought Sespian well trained enough to be a physical threat, she wouldn’t believe him capable of harming a woman who was trying to help him-but she caught herself in time. Erroneous assumptions or not, he was agreeing to Sicarius’s presence.

Amaranthe perched on the top of the coal box, clasped her hands between her knees, and gazed into Sespian’s eyes with all the guilelessness she could muster. “Sire, I understand that you have reasons to be uncertain about us, but whatever you think we’ve done or haven’t done, we’re here now. Why not make use of us? At the very least you should believe we’re not associated with Forge. If you’ve read the papers lately-” Amaranthe caught herself. Laying claim to a rash of assassinations might not be a good idea, especially if Sespian didn’t yet know Sicarius had been responsible. “We’ve been making trouble for them for a while, and I suspect they’d very much like to see me dead. And certain others in my party.” She glanced at Sicarius, but only for a heartbeat before refocusing on Sespian. “You know what those old military strategists say. The enemy of my enemy is… someone who could make useful cannon fodder. If you have some plot in mind, perhaps you could use us to create a distraction elsewhere.”

Sespian dropped his chin onto a fist and gazed at her.

Finding the response encouraging, Amaranthe pressed on. “Or use us as a research team. You mentioned an interest in what Books might know. He’s well versed in a number of topics, and I’m sure he could pontificate at length on the subject of economics. We have another man with knowledge of the mental sciences.” Amaranthe watched to see what Sespian’s response would be to an allusion of magic, but the term didn’t so much as make his eye twitch. He must be familiar with it. “He may be able to help get that implant out of your neck. We would be useful allies. I’m certain of it. Spend some time with us before heading to Sunders City and whatever you need to do there. We’ll help, regardless of the money.”

Sespian opened his mouth, paused, closed it, then shook his head ruefully. “It’s very easy to be drawn into what you’re saying, and I catch myself wanting to nod and agree. Maybe I should be taking notes on your technique.”

Amaranthe blushed and felt like she should stutter an apology, but she hadn’t done anything to be embarrassed about, had she?

“It’s her eyes,” Sicarius said, startling her.

Yara glanced over her shoulder at him, apparently surprised to hear him speak, but soon turned her attention back to the tracks. She seemed to believe she should remain silent for the discussion.

Sespian scratched his jaw. “Yes, maybe so. They’re like a doe’s. Warm and earnest and…”

“Wholesome.” Sicarius’s eyes glinted, and Amaranthe scowled at him. She knew he was referring to that conversation-that private conversation-she’d had with Deret Mancrest in the Imperial Gardens, where he’d called her wholesome. She didn’t say anything, though, not when Sicarius was finally taking part in the discussion. Sort of.

Unfortunately, Sespian didn’t share eye contact or a knowing smirk with him. All he did was eye Sicarius warily, as if he’d realized whom he’d been chatting with, then he shifted to face Amaranthe more squarely, pointing his shoulder at Sicarius.

“I would like to trust you, Corporal Lokdon,” Sespian said, “but you’re running around with my father’s assassin, someone without a conscience who’s murdered men, women, and children, and-”

“Those are people Hollowcrest and Emperor Raumesys ordered him to kill,” Amaranthe said. “Sicarius was raised by them to be an assassin. What choice did he have?”

“And even if I could believe he bore me no ill will,” Sespian went on without acknowledging her interjection, “what about that Marblecrest you’ve got on your team?” He waved behind his head, toward the coal car. “That whole clan is angling for my hide. They’re working with Forge, planning to put the eldest son on the throne and rule with one hand while panhandling to those entrepreneurs and bankers with the other. And you’ve got the youngest one in here, babbling to me about statues?”

“I…” Amaranthe didn’t know what to respond to first. She’d heard of the Marblecrests-they were one of the oldest warrior-caste families and had spent several generations ruling the empire until Tevok the Third had sired thirteen daughters and not a single son-and it didn’t surprise her to learn that Maldynado came from that line. What did surprise her was that his family was working with Forge and angling for the throne. And the Marblecrests would have a claim too. At one point, Amaranthe had had Books give her a list of the people who would be in the running should Sespian disappear-or the news about his parentage come out. If the latter happened, Sespian still had a claim through his mother’s line, but it wouldn’t be any stronger than that of seven or eight other families, and it would harm his interests if someone digging through Sicarius’s bloodlines didn’t find any warrior-caste patrons.

Amaranthe realized her mouth was hanging open as her mind darted all over the place-and that Sespian was waiting for an answer. “I probably should have asked Maldynado for his surname at some point,” she finished with a sheepish shrug.

She looked at Sicarius, wondering if he had known. He was wearing his expressionless mask and giving away nothing.

“You don’t know the names of the men working for you?” Sespian’s voice wasn’t exactly sarcastic-he seemed to be someone who was careful not to offend with his tone-but it might have been as close to it as he came.

“I don’t know their bloodlines, no. It’s never mattered before.” Amaranthe spread a hand. “Regardless, if you spend a few minutes with Maldynado, I think you’ll see that he’s no threat to you.”

“Yes, that was the gist I got from our brief conversation about statues, but I thought his… garrulous innocuousness might be a facade.”

Amaranthe smiled. “I do think he’s brighter than he lets on, but not in a duplicitous way.” She let the smile fade in favor of a more earnest expression. “I can get more details from him, but Maldynado’s been disowned, and he doesn’t speak fondly of his kin, so I doubt he’ll be a problem for you. If anything, he may be someone from whom you could gain inside information.”

Sespian leaned back. “Huh.”

The monosyllabic grunt reminded her so much of those Sicarius had issued when listening to her early plans, that she paused to consider it. With Sicarius, it usually meant he was open to the idea, and perhaps a little surprised he was open to it. Like father, like son?

“Buy him a drink,” Amaranthe suggested, “and I imagine he’ll spill everything on his eldest brother.”

“I’ll… consider it,” Sespian said, and Amaranthe caught him scrutinizing her eyes. He glanced speculatively at Sicarius, but didn’t say anything else.

Under other circumstances, Amaranthe might have laughed at him-at both of them. Her eyes were the same boring brown shared by ninety percent of the people in the empire, so she couldn’t imagine what they were talking about, but if something in her eyes got Sespian to believe she was on her side, she’d be happy to use it.

“I hope you’ll consider letting the rest of us help you, too, Sire,” Amaranthe said. “At the least, you’ll want that implant out of your neck before you head off to do… whatever it is you’re going to do.” If they had to perform some surgery on Sespian, that’d delay him a couple of days, and maybe she and Sicarius would find their moment alone with him. “I’m sure my mental-sciences man will have some ideas when we meet up with him again.” She wasn’t sure of that at all, but she hoped it would be the case.

“That’s the teenage boy with the spiked hair, isn’t it?” Sespian asked dryly.

“Er, yes, but he studies hard. He’s healed me before, after I’ve done foolish things and nearly gotten myself killed. Also, he’s only a year younger than you, Sire.” Amaranthe decided not to mention that Akstyr appeared older than Sespian. Emperors probably liked to be told they looked fierce and commanding, not baby-faced.

“Yes, and that’s why I’d doubt him. I’m not terribly wise or experienced.”

“We’ll find a solution. Books and Sicarius have a lot of experience they’ll share with him.”

Sespian shot another look at Sicarius. “How comforting.”

“Sire…” Amaranthe started, but didn’t know what to add, not with Yara there, and she didn’t think Sespian wanted her to send Yara away.

“Corporal Lokdon,” Sespian said, “I’d like to trust you and treat you as a confidante, but I’m afraid I’d be letting my feelings trample all over my pragmatism. These Forge people have been consuming my time and my sanity with their plotting and manipulation, and I haven’t had a chance to research what your group is doing. Your questionable allies aside-” Sespian gave Sicarius another narrowed-eyed glance, “-you went to that elite business school before becoming an enforcer, and some of your old classmates are affiliated with Forge.”

That was news to Amaranthe. Maybe she ought to be getting in touch with old comrades to see if they might be sources of information.

“I’m sorry to be mistrustful,” Sespian went on, “but I’ve been wrong once already.” He grimaced, and Amaranthe wondered how he’d been captured-or tricked? — into leaving the Imperial Barracks to end up in Larocka’s clutches the winter before. “If my concerns are unfounded, I apologize. I hope you can understand my position and won’t hold it against me.” He offered her a sad half-smile.

“Of course I won’t, Sire.” Amaranthe sensed that she’d made headway and had best not press him further. Knowing how little time they had, she wanted to, but if she was too insistent, he’d grow suspicious of her motives. At the least, he’d want to talk to her again with Books present to get more information on whatever economic scheme he was researching. “You don’t happen to know which of my old colleagues are involved with Forge, do you?” she asked.

“Boss!” came Maldynado’s voice from outside. “We have a problem!”

Amaranthe lifted a hand toward Sicarius, about to ask him to check it out, but he was already heading for the exit.

“What do you think, Sergeant Yara?” Sespian asked. “Are these outlaws to be trusted?” He said it casually, as if he were simply making conversation, but something in the intent set of his face made Amaranthe think the answer might matter.

Yara turned in the engineer’s seat to face Sespian. “I think you can trust Lokdon, Sire.”

At that simple endorsement, Amaranthe let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Sicarius, halfway out the door, had paused to hear the exchange. He met and held Amaranthe’s eyes for a moment before leaving, and she thought it might be an acknowledgement that she hadn’t been an idiot for involving Yara after all. She didn’t know if the sergeant’s words would sway Sespian in the end, but they couldn’t hurt.

Only a few moments passed before Sicarius returned. “There’s something flying overhead,” he said without preamble.

“Books and Akstyr?” Amaranthe asked.

“Not unless Maldynado pleasured a whole platoon of wealthy businesswomen.”

“That’s… not impossible,” Amaranthe said, but Sicarius had already swung back outside.

“What?” Sespian asked.

“I’m not sure. Stay here, please, Sire.” Amaranthe headed for the door.

Snow greeted her when she climbed outside. They were still in the forest, with evergreens towering to either side of the tracks, but the railway sloped upward more steeply than it had before. Amaranthe climbed into the coal car, where the men were crouching and looking skyward.

“That thing’s huge.” Maldynado spotted Amaranthe. “Did you see it?”

“No, what is it?”

“A flying… I don’t know. Castle?”

It wasn’t a castle, Basilard signed.

“Then what was it?” Maldynado asked.

Big.

Amaranthe scratched her head. A big, flying not-castle. Lovely description.

Sicarius was crouching on top of the locomotive cab. Amaranthe clambered up beside him.

“Can you describe what we’re dealing with?” she asked.

He pointed through the falling snow toward the slope ahead. At first, Amaranthe saw nothing. Then, dark against the white mountainside, a massive black craft floated across the railway, dwarfing the evergreens beneath it. Intermittent lights outlined its half-sphere shape. It was flat on the bottom and convex on top, like the dome of a building. A steady, conical red beam shot out the front, its focus downward as it illuminated a swath of snow-covered trees in its path. The vessel had to be miles away yet, but its size made it seem much closer.

“I’ve never seen anything like that.” Amaranthe twisted to look at the men. “Maldynado, is there any chance that’s the flying contraption you sent Books and Akstyr to pick up?”

“No, they were getting a dirigible,” Maldynado said, “not a giant black flying fortress.”

Up ahead, the craft had disappeared, but the image remained etched in Amaranthe’s mind. Was this some secret new technology Forge had designed or somehow gotten its hands on? She thought of the underwater laboratory her team had infiltrated that summer. For all its strangeness, it had appeared to be a mix of imperial technology and magic. Whatever this was, it seemed utterly alien.

Sicarius hadn’t moved. He crouched, elbows on his knees, gaze toward the spot the craft had occupied.

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Amaranthe asked.

“It’s making its way down from the mountains,” Sicarius said, “going back and forth over the tracks.”

Looking for them, perhaps? “You didn’t answer my question,” Amaranthe pointed out.

“It’s possible they haven’t seen us yet. The snow is picking up. It may hide our smoke.”

“Sicarius…”

He pulled out his collapsible spyglass and lifted it to his face. “There are three tunnels between here and the pass. If we speed up, we may be able to reach the closest one, stop the train, and hide in there until the craft flies past.”

Amaranthe doubted he could see the tunnels with the spyglass, not with so many trees in the way, but she trusted he knew the railway by heart. While she had rarely traveled out of the city, he’d been all over the empire and to other nations during his previous career.

Wind battered at Amaranthe and she pressed her fingers against the top of the cab for balance. “At the risk of sounding like a nagging wife, I’m going to ask again if you have an idea as to what we’re dealing with.”

Sicarius lowered the spyglass. “It reminds me of technology I saw in my youth. Extremely deadly technology. We don’t want to be noticed by whoever is piloting it.”

“Technology? Not magic?”

“Come.” Sicarius stood, unperturbed by the wind and snow gusting at his chest. “We need to hurry if we’re going to make the tunnel.”

He slithered over the edge of the roof and into the cabin.

“I don’t know why I bother asking him questions.” Amaranthe didn’t feel up to duplicating Sicarius’s exit, so she hopped down into the coal car before angling for the ledge leading back to the locomotive cabin.

“Can we come back in now?” Maldynado asked. “I don’t know if you noticed the snow, but it’s getting a touch nippy out here. I’d hate to be unable to perform to my fullest capacity because of cold-induced… atrophies.”

“The only thing that might atrophy because of the cold isn’t something you need right now,” Amaranthe said.

Maldynado hopped onto the ledge and followed her into the cab. Sicarius had the furnace door open and was shoveling mounds of coal inside. Yara still sat in the engineer’s position, but a new grimness marked her face, and Amaranthe had a feeling she’d seen the mysterious craft. Sespian stood behind her, gripping the back of her seat.

“You don’t know that for certain,” Maldynado said, stepping inside after Amaranthe. “What if there’s a beautiful woman flying that thing, and her people capture us using superior magics, and our only hope of survival will come if I can seduce her, thus distracting her while the rest of the team escapes?”

“Maybe I was mistaken,” Sespian said, “and he’s not a Marblecrest.”

Maldynado’s step faltered and Basilard, swinging into the cabin after him, had to skitter to the side to avoid crashing into him. For a moment, Maldynado looked like a bumbling private caught at the end of an enemy cannon, or at least like someone who’s secret was out, but he recovered and shrugged.

“Technically, I’m not, Sire,” Maldynado said. “I’m disowned. Disappointed the old man one too many times, as it were.”

I can’t imagine why, Basilard signed.

The cab grew crowded with everyone inside, and when Maldynado lifted an arm to say, “You wound me, Bas,” he clunked Yara in the head with his elbow.

“I told you not to touch me, you ungainly goon,” Yara said.

Maldynado bowed deeply, this time bumping Basilard. “My apologies, my lady. Perhaps you’d like me to drive while you stand in a place less likely to be disturbed by human activity?”

Amaranthe opened her mouth to say less yammering and more focusing on the problem would be good, but Sicarius acted first. He spun away from the furnace and hurled his favorite dagger at the floor. Instead of bouncing off, the black blade sank an inch into the textured metal. Even though she’d been watching him, Amaranthe jumped in surprise. She started to ask what he was about, but Sicarius pointed at the quivering dagger hilt.

“Unless I miss my guess, that is the technology we’re dealing with up there.”