Three bangs sounded. Not bangs, Amaranthe realized. Knocks.
“Do we answer that?” Books whispered.
“Uhm.” This was so unlike what Amaranthe had expected-not that she’d known what to expect-that she didn’t know what to say or do. She met Sespian’s eyes, wondering if she should defer to the emperor-or, more specifically, wondering if said emperor had a plan.
Sespian opened his mouth, but whoever was standing on the hatch spoke first.
“Go forward fifteen meters,” came a man’s muffled voice. “Then turn right after the black submarine and dock at the end of the row.”
Sicarius looked to Amaranthe instead of Sespian for instructions.
“Better do as the man says.” She waved him back to his seat.
“We’re not supposed to be expected,” Sespian murmured.
“Not cordially expected anyway,” Books said.
Sicarius pressed the pistol into Amaranthe’s hand and returned to the controls. As he maneuvered their craft, following the directions, other vessels came into view. Akstyr was right. They were all submarines. Or at least, all underwater conveyances of some kind. There was no uniformity amongst the eclectic designs, and Amaranthe had the sense of looking at custom furnishings in a woodworking show. Or perhaps, she mused, custom-designed yachts for the wealthy. What if everyone except Maldynado’s sister-in-law and those on the Behemoth had come down the river in these underwater crafts to ensure no one would witness their passing?
“Any reason why your sister-in-law wouldn’t have one of these?” Amaranthe asked Maldynado.
“She’s claustrophobic?”
“Are you asking her or telling her, you dolt?” Books said.
“Either way, I wasn’t talking to you.” Maldynado nodded to Amaranthe. “She is claustrophobic. There’s a family rumor about her being unwilling to, ah, service my brother on conjugal visits when he was a young LT staying in the barracks. She found the tiny rooms too constricting.”
“Thanks for the details,” Amaranthe said. “I think.”
“According to my network of trusted spies in the Imperial Barracks,” Sespian said, “Mari Marblecrest was the only one likely to be tracked. Perhaps everyone else did have submarines crafted for this meeting.”
“You have a trusted spy network, Sire?” Amaranthe asked, surprised he had managed to find allies amongst all the Forge infiltrators. “It’s good that you’ve been able to suss out loyal people and make use of them.”
“Actually… I’m the network. I spy by crawling through the old hypocaust ducts in the Barracks. In my socks. So as not to make noise.” Sespian studied the floor. “I haven’t particularly trusted my ability to choose loyal people since the debacle with Lieutenant Dunn.”
Amaranthe didn’t know if she’d met that lieutenant, but he might have been the one who’d tricked Sespian into entering Larocka’s clutches the winter before.
“We have arrived at the designated docking space,” Sicarius said.
Something bumped into their craft, rocking it to the side. If not for a control lever she could grasp, Amaranthe might have ended up in Sicarius’s lap.
“What was that?” Maldynado asked.
A dark shadow swam across the front of the craft, blotting out the view for a moment. It was too close to identify features, but the length made Amaranthe think of those eels Basilard had caught and frizzled up. Except this had been far too large to fit into a frying pan.
“The welcoming committee?” Amaranthe suggested.
Three more knocks struck the hatch. Maybe it was her imagination, but they sounded rushed and nervous this time.
“I’ll stick my head out first.” Amaranthe looked for a place to tuck the pistol, but her dress lacked a belt. She settled for tucking it into an apron pocket and wondered if any other mercenary in history had charged into battle wearing a farmwife’s smock. “If they’re expecting more people, maybe they’ll think I’m a Forge member arriving late.”
“Or they’ll recognize you and shoot you,” Sicarius said.
Amaranthe patted his arm. “Your cheery optimism always bolsters my spirit.”
Sespian snorted.
Amaranthe slipped out of the seat and grabbed the wheel that controlled the hatch’s locking mechanism. It squeaked as she turned it. A couple of footfalls sounded. Their greeter stepping off the hatch? There wasn’t much room for walking around on top of the sphere-shaped vessel.
Amaranthe opened the hatch an inch. “Hello?”
Their vehicle lacked a ladder, so Amaranthe would have to fling the hatch open before she could pull herself out. She didn’t want to expose the interior though. Maybe she could-
Hands gripped her waist, hoisting her until her head was level with the hole. That worked.
“Thank you, Basilard,” Amaranthe whispered.
“State your name,” a man said. A pair of shiny black boots waited to the side of the hatch.
“Retta,” Amaranthe said.
“You’re not on the list.”
“I work for Ms. Worgavic. I’m the one who flies the… ” Amaranthe groped through her memories for the official name of the Behemoth. “Are you aware of the Ortarh Ortak? There’s a problem on board. I need to speak with Ms. Worgavic immediately.”
The greeter, or whatever he was, did not answer. Beneath her, the men shifted as much as they could in the confined space. More than one pistol had appeared. Sicarius crouched on his seat, one foot on the backrest as he faced the hatch, a throwing knife in hand.
Hoping to see more of the area, Amaranthe eased her head as high as she could without opening the hatch farther. A wide stone ledge rose on the other side of the pool, and it supported four sets of legs wearing shiny black boots and facing in her direction. She couldn’t see the men’s upper bodies, or what weapons they might hold in their arms, but she had no trouble making out belts laden with ammunition pouches. No powder tins hung on those belts, so she assumed the ammo was for the new multi-shot rifles.
Waves undulated across the surface of the pool. A few feet away, something black broke the surface. Amaranthe glimpsed a fin, a large fin, before it disappeared beneath the water.
“Show yourself,” the man above said.
Amaranthe lifted the hatch a few more inches, hoping she could crawl out without revealing everyone inside. Unfortunately, the man had other ideas. Perhaps thinking he was helping her, he pulled the hatch the rest of the way open. Amaranthe grabbed the lip and scrambled out. Maybe if she got her feet under her quickly enough, she could block his view of the interior.
It didn’t work. The man raised a shiny new rifle and blurted, “There’s a bunch of-”
A hand gripped his ankle and yanked him into the vehicle. A flying elbow caught Amaranthe in the ribs, and she barely avoided tumbling into the water. She scarcely had time to note a floating dock arranged in an X across the pool, with submarines tied up alongside it, before four rifles were being lifted in her direction.
Amaranthe had only a split second to decide what to do. She should have jumped back down into their craft to avoid being shot, but, with some deluded notion that she needed to draw fire so the men could climb out, she leaped off the craft and onto the dock. She sprinted several meters and, anticipating a barrage of gunfire, dove off the backside, landing on the square hatch of a long, tube-shaped submarine. She winced when she came down on one of her bruise collections, but managed to yank her pistol out anyway.
The dock hid the men from view-and, Amaranthe hoped, provided an obstacle they couldn’t shoot her through. When a couple of heartbeats passed without gunshots, she lifted her eyes over the level of the wood planks. Nobody shot her. Three of the men who had been standing on the ledge were lying on it now. The fourth had fallen into the pool. He paddled one-armed, trying to reach solid ground again, though pain contorted his face. Something silver stuck out of the front of his shoulder. Just as he found a grip on the ledge, the water stirred next to him. Amaranthe blinked, and he was gone, pulled beneath the surface. Bubbles floated up, but nothing except stillness followed. She realized the men on the ledge weren’t moving and rose to her knees.