Deadly Games

CHAPTER 8

Under the light of day, the brick buildingwhere Raydevk and his wife lived seemed poorer. Every few minutes,a train chugged through, shaking the ground. Surly men hunkered indoorways, drinking from ceramic applejack mugs stamped with theThree Legged Dog logo, a homely mark for the satrapy’s cheapestdistillery. Some said the outfit used the bruised worm-filledapples left in the orchard grass after the other distilleries hadtheir pick.

“Charming neighborhood,” Maldynado drawledafter a gaunt old man stepped out of an alley, buttoning his pants.Amaranthe hoped all he had been doing in there was peeing.

As she and Maldynado approached the building,they stayed near the wall, so the wife, Pella, would not see themcoming if she glanced out the window.

“This is the kind of place Sicarius takes youfor evenings out, eh?” Maldynado added.

“Actually, I took him here,” Amaranthesaid. “And got him kidnapped. I’m not a very good date.”

They reached the front door, and Maldynadoheld it open for her.

“Fortunately, Deret likes an adventure,” hesaid.

“Is there some reason you’re intent onmatching us up?” she asked as they headed up the stairs.

“He’s a good man, mostly, and you’re a goodwoman, mostly. And he’s in a position to help us reach our goals,so that doesn’t hurt. Maybe he’s not in love with you yet, but I’llwager you could talk just about any man over to your side, giventime. I mean, emperor’s warts, you’ve got Sicarius workingfor you.”

Her lips twisted into a dry smirk. “Gettingpeople to go along with my schemes and getting men to fall in lovewith me aren’t the same.”

“Sure, they are,” Maldynado said as theystepped out onto the third floor. “You just make the former yourpriority. If you tried as hard to woo a man into bed as you did towoo me into joining your mission, you’d never sleep alone.”

Amaranthe speculated on the idea of puttingeffort into “wooing” Sicarius, but shook the notion from her head.She had more important things to focus on. She hoped Pella hadreturned home, so she could question her.

Two doors away from the flat, Amaranthehalted and stretched her arm across the hallway to stop Maldynadoas well. An uneasy feeling raised the hairs on the back of herneck.

The door to the family’s flat stood open.Gouges marred the wood of the jamb near the lock, and splinterslittered the floor beneath.

“Think Sicarius is in there?” Maldynadowhispered.

A thump sounded inside, like a drawerclosing.

“You think Sicarius would leaveevidence of entering or make noises once inside?” she whisperedback as she slipped her short sword from its scabbard.

“Er, no.”

She would like to think it was he, thatperhaps he’d spent the night tracking the miner, lost him, and comeback to question the wife, but Amaranthe doubted it. She easedforward, sword in hand, stepping lightly on the hall’s threadbarerunner.

A faint rasp of steel sounded as Maldynadodrew his rapier and followed her.

Before she could peep around the doorjamb,footsteps came from within. Heavy footsteps. A scruffy young manstrode out, carrying a canvas tote stuffed so full the contentsthreatened to burst through the material. When he saw Amaranthe andMaldynado, he threw the tote at them and bolted down the hallway inthe opposite direction.

Amaranthe turned her shoulder, but Maldynadolunged and caught the bag before it hit her.

“Get him,” she said. “Bring him back.”

Amazingly, he dropped the bag and sprinteddown the hall without stopping to make comments about how hard sheworked him for so little pay.

Another thump came from inside. Amaranthepeeked past the door, did not see anyone, and eased into the room,her back pressed against the wall. Several of the purposelyarranged clutter-piles-turned-into-walls had been tipped over. Foodcans, cooking utensils, and clothing scattered the floor. All thecabinet doors were open on the credenza where Raydevk had storedhis applejack. One dangled from a single hinge. No bottles ofalcohol sat inside the cabinets now.

Footsteps came from the corner of the roomnear the window, but one of the partitions hid the area. A curtainhanging from a rod marked the “doorway.” Amaranthe eased closer andpeered around it.

A man knelt before a dresser, shovelingclothing and knickknacks into an apple crate on the floor. His backfaced Amaranthe. The hilt of a dagger poked up from his belt, butshe did not see any greater weapons on him. No thoughtfulconsideration went into the items chosen for the crate, and shesuspected they had stumbled across a mere burglary.

She crept forward and pressed the point ofher sword against the back of the man’s neck. “Aren’t thievessupposed to ply their trade at night?”

The man froze for a heartbeat, then doveforward into a roll. He twisted and came to his feet, facingAmaranthe. His hand went to the dagger, only to find it missing.Bewilderment widened his eyes.

Amaranthe held up the blade and raised hereyebrows. “Mind if we skip further attempts at complicating my day?If you tell me how you found out this place was vacant, I imagine Ican look the other way over this robbery.”

“Velks!” the man shouted.

“I see, you wish to complicate my day.”

“Velks!” he cried again.

A grunt sounded in the living area. The mangave Amaranthe a you’re-in-trouble-now look, to which she shook herhead sadly. This fellow, barely older than a boy, judging by thethinness of the goatee he aspired to grow, did not seem toobright.

When his comrade, Velks presumably, came tostand beside Amaranthe, his arms were twisted behind his back,courtesy of Maldynado who loomed behind him. Velks appeared littleolder than the first young man, and they shared a squareness offace. Brothers?

“Got him, boss,” Maldynado said.

“Tie them up, please,” Amaranthe said.

“Gently or roughly?”

“Neither!” Velks blurted with a heroicattempt to twist free.

Maldynado yawned, unperturbed by the slenderman’s efforts.

“Yes, neither.” The younger man eyedAmaranthe’s sword, but with Maldynado blocking the exit, he did notattempt anything physical.

“That depends,” Amaranthe said. “Are youworking for someone I shouldn’t annoy, or are youindependent…entrepreneurs?”

The old enforcer in her hated the idea ofturning her back on a crime because the criminals were working fora gang leader or another influential underworld figure, but she hadspent the last few months trying to establish connections with afew of those types, and she would look the other way if it meantkeeping contacts happy. If they were independent thieves, she sawnothing wrong with trussing them up and sending a tip to EnforcerHeadquarters so they could be collected.

“We’re working for Sicarius,” Velks said.

For half a second, Amaranthe thought he mightbe telling the truth, that Sicarius had sent them back to hunt forclues or some such, but she caught herself. That was wishfulthinking, a hope that Sicarius was about and on the mission. Evenif this man’s eyes had not darted up and to the left when hespoke-according to Sicarius, that was a tell for many folks whenthey were lying-the story was implausible. Before he met her,Sicarius had always worked alone. He would not use errand boys.

“Yes, that’s right,” the younger brothersaid. “We know him real well, and he’ll assassinate you if youbother us.”

“Assassinate you for certain,” Velks said.“He owes us a favor on account of us taking him out for drinks lastnight.”

“You lads aren’t very good at this,”Maldynado said. “So, boss, gentle or rough for the tying?”

“Actually…” Amaranthe eyed the clothingstrewn about the floor. “I believe they’d like to clean up theirmess first. Take their weapons and help them find a broom.”

“Clean?” The thieves exchanged incredulouslooks.

“Yes,” Amaranthe said. “It’s a type of work.Like stabbing people with knives, but with less bloodinvolved.”

Maldynado shrugged and patted down the firstman for weapons. “As long as I’m not the one waylaying the dustballs, I don’t care.”

While he monitored them, Amaranthe searchedthe room. One of the thieves tried to flee for the door whenMaldynado thrust a feather duster into his hands. Maldynado poundedan unapologetic fist into the man’s nose, convincing him to sufferthe task without further escape attempts. He wiped at a trickle ofblood with his sleeve and glowered at Amaranthe.

“I thought you said cleaning didn’t involveblood,” he growled.

“I said it involved less blood than stabbingpeople, not no blood,” she said without looking up from the deskdrawers she was rifling through.

Fifteen minutes of searching did not revealanything interesting. She checked the tote the first thief had beencarrying out when she interrupted them, but it contained onlyvaluables, modest ones commensurate with the income level of aminer.

Amaranthe drummed her fingers against herthigh and considered the thieves again. “Did you gentlemen takeanything out of here before we found you?”

“No.”

Maldynado grabbed Velks by the collar andhoisted him up to his tiptoes. “Are you positive?”

“Positive!”

“Were you looking for anything when you brokein?” Amaranthe asked.

“No, just stuff to fence. We live downstairs,saw the family leave last night.”

She watched his eyes, but nothing in his faceimplied he was lying. The other one nodded, and he, too, appearedsincere.

“What lovely neighbors this place has,”Maldynado said. “Go out for the night, and they’re in your flat,pawning your silverware before lunchtime the next day.”

“Have you noticed any men coming and going,visiting this flat?” Amaranthe asked.

“You mean the other miners?” Velks asked.

“Yes. How long has that been going on?”

The brother lifted his feather duster. “Whyshould we answer all these questions? What’s in it for us?”

“I could restrain myself from punching youagain,” Maldynado said.

“Now, now, no need to be brutish,” Amaranthetold him while considering the thieves thoughtfully. “If the flatis cleaned up and everything is put back, I don’t think there’s aneed to tell the enforcers you were here. If you answer myquestions.”

“You were going to tell the enforcers?” Velksasked. “You’re thieves, too, aren’t you?”

“No, we’re investigators.”

Both brothers’ brows furrowed. She imaginedthem trying to figure out if “investigators” were people who werelegally on the premises or not. She decided not to clarify.

“About these miners,” she said, “how longhave they been visiting?”

“Seen some of them before,” Velks said, “butthey only started coming all the time last week.”

“Did they stay here when they met, or didthey start here and go someplace else?”

Velks shrugged. “How should I know? We didn’tsit up here with our ears pressed to the door.”

The brother snapped his fingers. “But thatone time, when we were sitting on the steps, hoping to get a lookup girls’ dresses when they went up, we did hear them saysomething, remember?”

“Don’t tell people about that,” Velkshissed.

“About what they said?”

“About the dresses, you idiot.”

Maldynado leaned a hand against the wall andshook his head. “Not too bright, are they?” he mouthed toAmaranthe.

“You never tried that tactic?” she asked.

“I never had to resort to such desperatemeasures. Women couldn’t wait to lift their dresses when I wasaround.”

Amaranthe kept from rolling her eyes-shehad encouraged him by asking after all-and turned back tothe thieves. “What’d you hear them say?”

“They were going with Raydevk to meet a girlat a fountain,” Velks said.

Oh, yes, that was a priceless gem ofinformation. Still, if the men had all been going together, maybeit had been more than a tryst. “What fountain?” she asked.

Velks glanced at his brother who onlyshrugged. “They didn’t say.”

Amaranthe asked a few more questions, hopingshe might tease more out of the would-be burglars’ heads, but theyproved feeble resources at best. While they finished cleaning, shesearched every last nook of the flat, even going so far as to thumpat floorboards in case any covered a hollow storage niche.

She knelt, doing a last check of the areasbeneath the beds, when Velks spoke again. “Can we go?”

“We cleaned everything and put everythingback that we took,” his brother said. “We even got rid of thosegummy food stains that we were not responsible for.”

“We even did the windows!” Velks added.

Maldynado snickered. He was lounging on thesofa, playing with a sliding puzzle block in which one had to findappropriate niches for various war implements. Apparently thethieves had not made an escape attempt in a while.

“Yes, you may go.” Amaranthe returned thedagger she had taken from them and surveyed the flat. It sparkled.Huh. “Gentlemen?” she added, stopping them in the middle of asprint for the door.

“What?” Velks asked, shoulders hunched.

“You do good work. Perhaps you shouldconsider a career in the cleaning services.”

“Cleaning services?” Their mouthsgaped open.

“Men don’t clean, they fight!” one said.

“And they run over imperial enemies withgiant steam trampers and they tear down massive fortifications withthose brilliant new rammers.” Velks sighed longingly.

“Are you two planning to join the military?”Amaranthe asked, thinking they appeared old enough-Akstyr’s age atleast.

Maldynado yawned and gave her awhy-are-we-spending-so-much-time-here look as he thunked a puzzlepiece into place.

“Maybe.” Velks shrugged.

Probably a no then. “Madame Rawdik on Fourthruns an industrial cleaning outfit. They have a steam pressurewasher as big as a tramper. If you worked for her, you couldprobably ride it.”

Two sets of eyes grew round. “Really? Ididn’t know there was such a thing.”

“If you decide to apply for a job, tell herthat her old school friend Amaranthe says you do good work.”

Their eyes remained wide, and they exchangedgapes with her. It wasn’t that much of a favor. Had nobodyever vouched for them for anything before?

“Thanks,” Velks said, and his brother noddedand scampered out the door. Velks hesitated, his face screwed up inconcentration. “I don’t know if it helps, but those miners alsosaid…the girl they were seeing had…fire hair? Fiery hair. Andshe was worth pounding like a steam hammer. I listened to thatpart, on account of, well-it was about a woman.”

“I see,” Amaranthe said. “Thank you.”

The young men left, and Maldynado thunked afinal piece into the puzzle before tossing it onto a chair. “How’dyou know?” he asked.

“Know what?”

“That they had more information.”

“I didn’t.” She winked. “I just like toreform wayward youths whenever possible.”

“That’s very noble. I bet Deret likes noblewomen.”

“Don’t start with that again, or I’ll try toreform you.”

“I’m hardly a youth.”

“But you don’t argue against needing reform?”Amaranthe headed for the door.

“Not really, no.” Maldynado opened it forher. “What’s next?”

“We have Akstyr update his search. He’s notjust looking for that powder at the apothecaries; he’s askingclerks if they remember a sexy red-headed woman coming in and doingthe shopping. That’s far from a normal hair color in theempire.”

“Ah, Akstyr will be doing the work?Excellent.” He followed her into the hallway.

“Oh, no, we’ll be searching the neighborhoodand contemplating all the fountains within a two miles radius.”

Maldynado stopped walking and flopped againstthe wall. “All the… This is Stumps! There are almost asmany fountains in the city as there are headless statues.”

“There aren’t that many,” Amaranthesaid.

“There’s one at every intersection.”

“Every other intersection, at the most.”

“That’s still a lot. And just becausethese people met at a fountain the other night doesn’t meanthey’ll be loitering nearby now.”

“I know. It’s not much to go on. I’ll thinkon it while we watch Basilard compete this afternoon.”

“Yes.” Maldynado snapped his fingers. “And weneed to get there early. No fountain searching on the way. What ifsomeone tries to kidnap him?”

“I doubt anyone knows who he is,” Amaranthesaid, amused at how quickly Maldynado could start scheming his wayout of work. “He entered with his Mangdorian name, didn’t he?” Evenif people knew a “Basilard” ran with Sicarius, nobody in the citywould know his real name.

Maldynado snickered. “Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see.”

Basilard hopped up and down and swung hisarms. He was one of six athletes left in the staging area, and hedid not think anyone else appeared as nervous as he. Though it wasthe first day of events, and only a third of the benches in thestadium were filled, Basilard could not help but feel as ifthousands of eyes watched him. Already, he had visited the washoutsbeneath the stands three times, both to urinate and to throwup.

He remembered being nervous before the pitfights, but not this nervous. Strange, considering his life hadbeen on the line there, and people had shouted and jeered fromabove, calling out for bloodshed. Maybe it was because he had moreto win here. It wasn’t just an extension of his own existence, buta visit with the emperor and a chance to speak for his people. Ifhe did not get himself killed trying to take out Sicarius first. Hegrowled at himself, annoyed with the situation. He never shouldhave gone to visit that priestess.

Basilard distracted himself by studying alarge blackboard near the furnace. So far, two people had beatenthe best time he had recorded with Maldynado or Akstyr. He hopeddaylight-and the exhilaration of the moment coursing through hisblood-would help him improve. To go out in the first round would bea shame.

“It’s all right,” a familiar voice said. “I’mhis coach.”

“You don’t look like a coach. You look like aprofessor.”

“Why, thank you,” Books said.

Basilard lifted a hand toward the young mantasked with keeping intruders from bothering the athletes in thestaging area. He let Books through with a suspicious glower.

Books weaved past other athletes swingingtheir arms and stretching in the sandy pit. “Greetings, Basilard,”he said. “Are you prepared for your event?”

Yes.

“Good.” Books unfolded a piece of paper. “Ifound those other two names. They are indeed athletes here. One isa male boxer and one a female entered in the Clank Race.” Heconsidered the men surrounding them. “Did the women alreadycompete?”

Earlier this morning.

“She’s not missing yet-she’s the only one onthat list who isn’t. The boxer disappeared last night. If we couldfind the girl and watch her, perhaps we could get a glimpse of thekidnapper.”

Books?

“Yes?”

I race soon. I must concentrate.

“Oh. Yes, of course. Do you want me to watch,or leave you alone?”

Stay. Cheer. He lifted an arm andimitated some of the enthused people in the stands.

“I’ve not attended many sporting events,”Books said. “Is that arm-pumping action required?”

Absolutely. Basilard flashed agrin.

“Clapping won’t suffice?”

Clap for others’ performances. Cheer forme.

“Ah, very well.”

“Temtelamak?” the man queuing the athletescalled.

Basilard lifted an arm, then told Books,That’s my imperial athlete name.

Books’s eyes widened. “Temtelamak?Why?”

Thought enforcers would recognize ‘Basilard,’and Maldynado said my Mangdorian name didn’t sound fierceenough.

“Did he tell you who Temtelamak was?” Bookslowered his voice to mutter, “I’m surprised that uneducated buffoonknows that much history.”

A mighty warrior.

“A moderately famous general, yes, but he wasnotorious for his bedroom exploits, not fighting. He had sevenwives at the time of his death, all near different forts andoutposts where he’d been stationed. None of them knew the othersexisted. I believe there were copious mistresses as well.”

Basilard shrugged. It’s Maldynado.

“Yes, he doubtlessly thought it’d be amusing.We’ll see if the emperor finds it so, should you win the event andget your chance to meet him.”

Could make an interesting conversationstarter.

Books opened his mouth to say more, but ascream of pain interrupted him. One of the athletes had stumbled inthe axe crossing and fallen off the moving platforms. He rolled inthe sawdust, one hand grabbing the opposite triceps. Blood flowedthrough his fingers and stained the wood chips. A medic trotted outto help him off the field while the people in the seats roared.Whether they were supporting the noble attempt or cheering at thesight of blood, Basilard could not guess.

“Perhaps you should have entered a runningevent,” Books said, eyeing the bloodstained sawdust.

If he were tall and lanky and fast, thatmight have been an option. For Books’s sake, or perhaps to reassurehimself, he simply signed, One less competitor now. Besides, Ihad no trouble with the axes on the practice runs.

“Yes, but is it not different when a thousandgazes are upon you, and there’s something at stake? Suddenly, sweatis dripping into your eyes, your hands are unsteady, your sensesare over-heightened, and-”

Basilard gripped Book’s arm. You’re nothelping.

“Oh, pardon me.”

“Temtelamak,” the call came again. “You’re upnow, or you’ll forfeit if you’re not ready. You coming?”

Basilard chopped a quick wave at Books andjogged forward. On his way, he glanced at the chalkboard. The topseed had run the Clank Race in 1:55 with the fifth coming in at2:03. The top five advanced to the finals, and there were four morerunners after him. He had best target a sub two-minute time, whichwould put him in third. That ought to be enough.

Easier said than done, he thought, as hewalked to the starting line. The giant axe heads swinging on theirpendulum arms appeared far more dangerous by the light of day.Their steel blades gleamed in the sun, and Basilard no longer hadto imagine their ability to draw blood, since crimson dropsspattered more than one of the platforms.

After taking a deep breath, he stepped to theline and nodded his readiness to the starter.

Though nobody in the stands could know who hewas, or care, cheers went up, regardless. Memories flooded hismind. He thought of his nights in the pits, fighting before anaudience who craved blood. The pain and anguish he had experiencedthere. The comrades he had been forced to kill so he could go onliving.

Nausea stirred in his stomach again, andthose memories almost overwhelmed him. It’s merely a race, he toldhimself. He was not here to hurt anyone.

A hammer hit a gong, signaling the start ofthe run. Thanks to his wandering thoughts, he lost a split second,and he cursed himself even as he sprinted up the ramp to thespinning logs. He sprang across them, bare feet navigating wood hotbeneath the sun. Most of the other athletes wore shoes of somekind, but he could grip and scramble up obstacles more easily withtoes available. He skimmed across the moving platforms, ducking andweaving the swinging axes.

He launched himself at a rope hanging from abeam. Below, a bed of three-foot-long spikes glistened in the sun.Basilard caught the rope and zipped up it. Thanks to Sicarius’straining, that was an easy obstacle.

No, no thanking Sicarius, he told himself.And no thinking about anything except the clock he had to beat.

When he reached the top of the rope, hethrust himself toward the first of several pegs sticking out of thebeam. Sweat slicked his palms, and his hand slipped free. Basilardflailed with his other hand and, by a stroke of luck, caught thepeg before he fell. His heart hammered in his ears. The thirty-footdrop to the spikes would do more than put him out of thecompetition; it would kill him.

The crowd roared shouts of encouragement,and, for the first time, he grew aware of them. He wished hehadn’t.

He caught the next peg, a couple of feet tothe right, and swung from handhold to handhold, his feet danglingbelow. The pegs started in a straight line, but then zigzagged upand down, requiring strength and agility to maneuver throughthem.

Basilard reached the end and swung his legsto the right, catching a net stretched between two massive woodensupports. He skimmed halfway down to the ground, found the openingin the middle, and slithered through to land on a platform. One ofhis bare feet, just as sweaty as his palm, slipped on the smoothwood boards. He caught himself, but not before he rethought thewisdom of going shoeless.

Ahead of him, the small circular platformsmoved, some linearly back and forth and others in orbits onmechanical arms, like those that rotated wheels on a train. Theaxes swung like pendulums.

He launched himself onto the first platform,planning his route on the fly. An axe whistled by behind him. If hehad hair, the breeze would have stirred it. He did not look back orslow down. Basilard danced to the next platform, then the next.Some were barely four inches wide. Even without the axes slashingthrough, they would have been difficult targets.

Here, his bare feet helped. His toes wrappedover the edges, and he launched himself from spot to spot. At onepoint, he dove under an axe for a chance to skip two platformsahead.

Thousands of people gasped at once as theblade skimmed past, an inch above his shoulder blades. He got hisfeet under him again and leaped the last couple of feet to thesolid platform on the far side. Two more walls, net climbs, and asprint across a spinning log, and he reached the ramp on the farside. Though weariness burned in his thighs, he sprinted the lastfew meters and catapulted over the solid wall, pulling himself upand over without using his feet. Relieved to be done, and out ofsome notion he should finish with a flourish, he leaped into theair as he passed the finish line, doing a somersault before landingby the timekeeper.

Cheers erupted, and he grinned. Those peoplewould root for any good showing, but knowing they appreciated hisathleticism, instead of his ability to stick knives into people,made him grateful.

The cheers went on longer than expected. Anattendant was already painting his time on a sheet on a giant padof paper that could be spun to show both sides of the stadium.1:53.

Basilard gaped. That put him in firstplace.

A high-pitched, enthusiastic whistle floateddown from the seats near the stadium entrance. He glanced over intime to see Books swatting Maldynado in the back of the head,nearly knocking a hat off, one with a white plumed feather ofridiculous proportions. Though Basilard could not read lips, hecaught the gist of Books’s words, “Quit drawing attention to us,you big oaf. We’re wanted men.”

Amaranthe stood with them, too, herbroad-brimmed sunhat hiding her face to some extent. A lump formedin Basilard’s throat. They-especially Amaranthe-were risking achase from the ever-present enforcers to be here to root forhim.

He did not want to call attention to them, sohe merely nodded that direction before accepting a towel from a boygarbed in attendant’s yellow and white. Basilard swabbed sweat outof his eyes and off his scalp.

“Congratulations on your time, sir,” the boysaid, eyeing the briar patch of scars crisscrossing Basilard’shead. No imperial child would shy away from a man covered with oldwounds, but even here, in the militaristic empire, he was anoddity. “There’s lemonade in the athletes’ lounge. I’ll showyou.”

The promise of a cold drink enticed him.Besides, it was better not to go straight to Amaranthe and theothers, not when enforcers might be watching. Still wiping himselfoff with the towel, he headed for the shady rooms beneath the tiersof spectators. He had never had lemonade before coming to theempire-importing a perishable item from hundreds of miles to thesouth was an impossible feat for his people-but he admitted afondness for the drink, and he was salivating in anticipation whenhe entered the shady concrete corridor.

He padded into the interior, his eyesadjusting to the dim lighting. Just as he was wondering if it wasstrange that nobody else occupied the passage, something stirredthe hairs on his arms. Magic?

When he glanced over his shoulder, he sawonly the towel boy strolling after him. With dark hair and tanskin, he appeared a typical Turgonian youth, not anyone who mighthave access to the mental sciences.

A few feet ahead, something tinkled to thefloor. Glass.

Immediately, Basilard thought of the corkAkstyr had found, the cork that had restrained a vial full ofknock-out powder.

He backed away and stumbled into the boy, butthe youth made no move to stop him.

Basilard’s mind spun. Had his fast time madehim a new target? Could these kidnappers work so quickly?

He would not linger to find out. Though hecould see no one in the corridor, he continued backing toward theentrance, ready to defend himself if necessary. Before he had gonemore than a few steps, a strange lethargy came over him. Thefatigue that had turned his legs leaden at the end of the ClankRace was nothing compared to the heaviness that flooded them now.Heaviness and numbness.

His steps turned to stumbles, and then hecould not feel his bare feet coming down on the cement at all. Helost his balance and tipped backward. The ground came up far tooquickly for him to turn the fall into a roll, and his head crackedagainst the hard floor.

Shapes drifted out of the shadows andcoalesced into men looming over him. Basilard could not lift hisarms, could not do anything to defend himself.

His instincts forgot he could not speak, andhe tried to scream for help, but no sound came out. One of the mengrabbed Basilard’s head and slipped a bag over it. Darknessswallowed him, and he knew no more.

The last of the competitors finished theClank Race, and the timekeeper painted the results for all to see.1:59. Nobody had beaten Basilard’s score. Amaranthe smiled toherself, tickled that he had done so well against younger andtaller competitors, men who had trained all year for this event.Albeit, the exercise sessions they endured with Sicarius could beno less arduous than anything those athletes inflicted uponthemselves.

Her smile faded at the thought of Sicarius.Guilt sat in her belly like an undigested meal; it was wrong toidly watch the Games while he was missing.

“What’s he doing down there for so long?”Amaranthe murmured.

She wanted to collect Basilard and startinvestigating the fountains near Raydevk’s flat. They did not havemany hours before her meeting with Deret. She was tempted to cancelthat, but he might have information about the kidnappings she didnot. Surely a journalist had as many informants in the city as theenforcers did.

“He’s a contender for the trophy now.”Maldynado removed his hat to scratch his head and nearly pokedAmaranthe in the eye with the ostrich feather. “I bet he’s gettingmobbed by women who want to grease his snake tonight.”

Amaranthe gave him a sidelong look. “The wayyour mind works is unique.”

“Not amongst men,” Maldynado said.

“Amongst some men,” Books said.

Amaranthe fidgeted and watched the tunnelentrance through which Basilard had walked with the towel boytrailing behind. Several minutes had passed, and neither hadreturned to the arena.

“The towel boy hasn’t come back,” shesaid.

“What?” Maldynado asked.

Even if Basilard had decided to find thelatrine or change out of his white togs, the boy should havereturned to attend to the remaining competitors. Why had hefollowed Basilard, anyway? No boys had accompanied any of the otherathletes.

“I think Basilard’s in trouble,” shesaid.

“What?” Books asked.

“He’s been gone too long.” Amaranthe wonderedif it signified paranoia that neither of them seemed concerned. “Doeither of you two ‘coaches’ want to try to go down there? See ifyou can get into that tunnel?” Amaranthe eyed a pair of enforcersstationed where they could keep spectators from wandering into thearena to bug the athletes. “I’ll go outside and see if I spotanything suspicious.”

“Which of us should-” Books started.

“Either. Both. I don’t care.” She was alreadymaneuvering through the packed benches toward the aisle, worryingthat they had wasted too much time. How long would it take to dragan unconscious man out through a back door? “Maybe I’moverreacting,” she muttered under her breath. “Maybe it’snothing.”

Though she said the words, they did not keepher from pushing past spectators and running down the stairs. Atthe bottom, she reluctantly slowed down, aware that a sprintingwoman might draw the enforcers’ suspicions.

Only when she reached the stadium exit didshe break into a run. Maldynado caught up with her.

“Books is going in since Basilard alreadyvouched for him today.”

“Understood,” Amaranthe said.

They ran off the path to follow the curve ofthe stadium’s outer wall. Twenty meters of neatly trimmed grassstretched away from the structure before trees and shrubberystarted, hiding the locomotive tracks in the distance. Amaranthescanned the leafy green canopy, searching for the telltale smoketrail of a steam-powered lorry. Anyone in the kidnapping businesswould need a getaway vehicle.

“I don’t see anybody,” Maldynado said.

“Me either.”

Intermittent metal doors marked the outsidewall, too many for her and Maldynado to watch. Amaranthe took aguess at which one corresponded with the corridor Basilard had gonedown and tried it. It did not budge, nor did it have a lock on theoutside one might pick. A single pull-bar handle rose from a sea ofbrass rivets and steel.

“No way to pick the lock, huh?” Maldynadoasked.

Amaranthe knelt to examine tracks in theearth. Dozens, if not hundreds, of people had been in and out ofthe door that day, so they told her little. A dirt trail led to thewider road ringing the stadium.

“We’re smart though,” Maldynado said. “Weought to be able to figure a way in.”

“Got an idea?”

Amaranthe touched a long gouge in the earth.Was it her imagination, or did that look like the sort of mark thatmight be left if a couple of men were dragging another?

“Lots of ideas.” Maldynado grabbed thepull-bar and heaved for all he was worth. Muscles strained beneaththe thin fabric of the back of his shirt, but the door did notbudge. He released it with a growl, then kicked it.

“Watching your mind work is always apleasure,” Amaranthe said.

“Because it’s unique?”

“Something like that.” She pointed at thegouge. “I think they may already have him.”

She trotted to the opposite side of the roadand examined the ground. If kidnappers had dragged Basilard out ofthere, they would not have stuck to the main path where witnesseswould be many. Even now, a pair of female athletes was joggingalong the road, warming up for the upcoming races.

Half-crouching, half-walking, Amaranthesearched for unusual prints. Too bad Basilard was the one missing;he was a great tracker.

“Afternoon, ladies.” Maldynado swept his hatfrom his head and dropped into a low bow when the athletesapproached.

Amaranthe expected him to ask them toaccompany him somewhere for drinks or other activities, but hestayed on task.

“Has either of you seen anything suspiciousout here?” he asked.

One of the women eyed Amaranthe, who wasstill poking at the earth, looking for tracks, and asked, “Asidefrom you two?”

“Yes.” Maldynado offered a sparkling smile,the kind known for making the most standoffish ladies swoon, andthe women’s visages softened. One blushed. “Anyone dragging anathlete across the grass, for instance,” he said. “Or a towel boyroaming around where he shouldn’t be?”

“Oh!” The blushing girl sidled closer toMaldynado and laid a hand on his forearm. “On our last lap, we didsee a young boy standing at that door.” She pointed to the oneMaldynado had tried to open. “It looked like he was beckoning tosomeone in the woods. I didn’t see anyone, and he ducked backinside when he spotted us.” She gazed up at Maldynado and battedher eyelashes. “Does that help?”

Amaranthe shook her head in bemusement. Attimes, Maldynado could be downright useful.

“Tremendously, dear,” he said. “Thankyou.”

“We should go, Reeva,” the girl’s companionsaid. “Our race starts soon. If you don’t want me to win again, youshould probably be there to compete against me.”

“Win again?” Reeva released Maldynado andpropped her hands on her hips. “You only won last timebecause that stupid warrior-caste girl tripped and took me downwith her.”

“On second thought,” her comrade said, “youshould stay here and go off with him.” She resumed her jog, heelskicking up dust on the dry path.

Reeva pouted at Maldynado. “I have to go.Would you like to come watch my race? It starts soon. And thenafterward, perhaps we could have an iced tea in the garden.”

“Why, I’m quite tempted, my lady,” Maldynadosaid.

Amaranthe gripped his arm. “No, he’s not. Ourfriend needs us.” She jerked her chin toward the trees.

The girl scowled at Amaranthe. She ignored itand tugged Maldynado along.

“Sorry, miss,” he called to his newfoundfriend. “I’m not the sort to put my own pleasure above a friend’sneeds. Not a good friend’s, anyway.”

Amaranthe led the way into the trees, andMaldynado caught up with her. She was debating whether to look fortracks or go straight through to the railway when voices drifted toher ears.

Somewhere ahead of her, men spoke in urgenttones. She picked up the pace, though she stepped lightly, notwanting to be heard. She held a finger to her lips, and Maldynadosoftened his own footfalls.

“…got him,” someone said ahead of them.“Go, go.”

Machinery ground and clanked. An enginestarting? Amaranthe sniffed and caught a whiff of burning coalmingling with the earthier scents of the woods.

She gave up stealth and ran full out, dodgingtrees and trampling through dry brush. Her hand strayed toward herbelt, where she often wore her short sword, but it wasn’t there.Right. She’d decided a woman with a sword would stand out at thestadium. At least Maldynado had his.

The chugging of machinery floated through thetrees clearly now. It sounded more like the great pumping pistonsof a locomotive rather than the smaller engine of a carriage. Butnobody had a train for an escape vehicle. She hoped.

The woods thinned ahead with sunlightstreaming through a gap in the canopy. The railway tracks?

The sounds of the machinery were moving awayfrom her. More, the distinctive clickety-clack of a car moving onrails joined with the chugs. No doubt now. She was listening to atrain.

Amaranthe sprinted the last ten paces, burstout of the trees, and scrambled up the raised ballast bedsupporting the train tracks. Twenty meters away, a combinationlocomotive-carriage was rumbling toward the city. Puffs of graysmoke wafted from a short stack. Though doors on either side heldwindows, the carriage had moved too far away for her to see throughthem. For a second, she thought of running after it, but it pickedup speed even as she watched. No, she would never catch it.

Growling, she kicked at the gravel betweenthe wooden sleepers.

Branches snapped and brush rustled,announcing Maldynado’s exit from the woods. Amaranthe pointed atthe carriage dwindling in the distance.

Maldynado blew out a low whistle. “What abeauty. An expensive conveyance for a private owner to pay for,too. My father talked about getting one for the family businessesat one point, but we never did.”

“So our kidnappers are well-to-do,” Amaranthesaid. “Or they stole it from someone well-to-do.”

“Always a valid vehicle acquisitionstrategy.” Maldynado threw a wink at her, no doubt thinking of thetimes they had borrowed enforcer wagons as a means of creating adistraction.

She could not muster a response, not with asecond man now missing. Amaranthe squatted on the tracks, elbows onher knees, head hanging. If she had thought Basilard would be atarget in the middle of the day, she never would have suggested heenter the competition. Well, not exactly true. She would have hadhim enter with the intent of using him as bait to lure thekidnappers, and she wouldn’t have been sitting hundreds of metersaway in the stands when it was time to spring the trap.

“Did he ever run the Clank Race that quicklyin your practice sessions?” Amaranthe asked.

“Nah. He got under two minutes once, but whoknew he’d have the fastest time today?”

“Strange that the kidnappers went after himright in the middle of the day when all their other abductions havebeen at night. Did they know he didn’t sleep in the dormitories?Maybe this was to be their last abduction, and they figured itdidn’t matter if someone saw them at work. Maybe they weren’tplanning on targeting him at all, but he beat the person they hadin mind so they switched-”

Crashes sounded in the woods from whenceAmaranthe and Maldynado had come. She drew her knife and jumpeddown to take cover behind the four-foot-high ballast bed. Maldynadoknelt beside her, a rapier in hand. This one had an opal gem on thepommel, and silver runes running up and down the steel blade.

“How many swords do you have?” Amaranthewhispered.

“Only thirteen. That covers most of myensembles.”

The thrashing continued, closer now. Booksraced out of the foliage.

Amaranthe started to relax, but theexpression on his face stopped her. As he ran toward the tracks, heglanced over his shoulder twice. The second time, he tripped over arock and nearly tumbled head long into the gravel.

“Time to depart,” Amaranthe said. She climbedup to the wooden sleepers and waved for Maldynado to follow.“Books,” she said, but he had already seen her.

He scrambled up the ballast bed and joinedthem on the railway.

Amaranthe raced along the tracks, bootsstriking the wooden sleepers with each stride. She wanted toobscure their trail by running on a surface that wouldn’t leavetelltale footprints, but only for a moment. “How far behind areyour pursuers?”

“Not…far,” Books panted.

A steam whistle screeched in the distance, atrain heading for the city. Good. Maybe it would cut offpursuit.

“This way!” a male voice shouted from thewoods.

Amaranthe led the way off the tracks, jumpingfrom the gravel to the weeds lining the edge of the woods, hopingnot to leave prints in the dusty band in between. Maldynado andBooks, with their longer legs, made the leap easily. The teamweaved through the trees for a hundred meters, then came out on thepaved trail that ran along the lake, the trail Amaranthe andSicarius had run together so many times.

The ache that formed behind her breastbonehad nothing to do with her running efforts. He hasn’t even beengone a day, she reminded herself. Nothing to worry about yet.Besides, they were going to find him. Basilard, too.

Thousands of footprints trampled the dustyred clay of the trail, and her fear of pursuit faded as she and themen continued along it.

“What happened?” Amaranthe asked Books.

“Basilard wasn’t back there,” he said.

“We know.”

She explained the towel boy and the railcarriage as they continued running. Popular beaches sprawledbetween the trail and the lake, many occupied with naked childrenrunning, playing, and swimming about. It was a workday, and mostadults who could steal time away were at the Imperial Games, but afew nannies attended the youths. One voluptuous and quite nudewoman waved to Maldynado who puffed out his chest and smiledback.

“Well, there’s one witness to our passing,”Amaranthe muttered. “Who was chasing you, Books? Enforcers?”

“Yes, I saw that towel boy, and I tried toapprehend him. He pulled this out of his pocket.” Books plucked avial filled with a golden powder from his own pocket and held itout for Amaranthe. “He tried to hurl it to the ground to, Ipresume, knock me out. I was quicker than he and stopped him, buthe started screaming, and enforcers surged into the tunnels. Onethought he recognized me as a criminal-can you imagine that? — so Ihad to run.”

Amaranthe took the vial. With that much ofthe powder, perhaps Akstyr could give her more information onit-confirm whether it was the one from his book or if it had otherproperties.

“You bested a ten-year-old boy?”Maldynado asked Books. “All by yourself? Why, I’m impressed.”

“Impressing a small mind is an insignificanttask.” Books lifted a hand, pointing toward a beach. “Is thatAkstyr?”

Amaranthe almost dismissed the possibilitywithout looking-Akstyr was supposed to be investigatingapothecaries-but they were getting close to the boneyard.The shirtless figure lounging on his back in the sand had afamiliar spiky hairstyle, too….

“Yes, it is,” Maldynado said. “How come he’sgot the afternoon off?”

“He doesn’t.” Amaranthe checked behind themto make sure no squad of enforcers was huffing and puffing down thetrail after them, then veered past three rows of stands stuffedwith bicycles.

Akstyr saw them coming and sat up, a sheepishgrin on his lips. Children hollered and yelled in the shallows.Though this particular beach was far from residentialneighborhoods, it sported sand instead of rocks, making itpopular.

“I checked a whole heap of apothecaries anddidn’t learn anything about your red-headed woman or the powder,”he rushed to say, probably trying to head off a lecture. “Some ofthe older clerks knew about the powder, but they said you can’t getit in the empire.”

“How many apothecaries are in ‘a wholeheap’?” Amaranthe asked.

“Bridger’s on Second and that littleforeign-owned one in the Veterans’ Quarter, and…uhm…”

“Two?” Books said. “Two constitutes a heap?I’ll send a note to the publishers of the Titanus ImperialDictionary so they can update the entry.”

“Ha ha,” Akstyr said. “Look, I was going tocheck some more after I relaxed a little.”

Amaranthe held out the vial Books hadretrieved. “We got a sample of the powder.”

Akstyr took it and held it up to the sun.“Oh, brilliant,” he breathed. His eyes narrowed, and calculationgleamed in them.

Amaranthe noted his expression. Did he thinkhe could sell the powder for a handsome profit?

“Where’s Basilard?” Akstyr asked. The handholding the vial drifted toward his pocket.

“He was kidnapped after a stellar performanceon the Clank Race.” Amaranthe reached out and caught Akstyr’s handbefore he could pocket the vial. She pried it out of his fingers.“I’ll keep this for now.”

He reached for her hand, and an objectionseemed on his lips, but he caught himself. “Sure, whatever. Notlike I need it for anything.”

Uh huh. Which assured her he did. She wouldhave to keep an eye on him.

“What do you mean Basilard was kidnapped?”Akstyr asked. “Weren’t you there? How could someone take him whenyou were watching?”

“He was in the athlete area,” Maldynado said.“We were spectators.”

“And we’d appreciate it if you didn’t implywe were negligent,” Books added, his back straight and stiff.

“Fine, but we need Basilard,” Akstyr said.“He’s important for…stuff.”

“Yes,” Amaranthe said, her own eyes narrowednow as she considered Akstyr. “Yes, he is.” It was hard for her tobelieve Basilard would be a part of some scheme of Akstyr’s, butshe had noticed the two talking together more this past weekthan ever before. “We’re going to get him back. Sicarius, too. Ineed to hunt down a map and make some notes.”

“A map of city fountains?” Maldynado asked,watching her warily.

“Perhaps,” she said. “You can help me. Books,are you up for a research assignment? Want to see if you can find arecord of that rail carriage?”

“Of course,” he said.

“This isn’t turning out to be a very goodvacation,” Maldynado observed.

“I agree,” Amaranthe said, as they paddedonto the dusty trail.