Выбрать главу

Disguises were on her mind as the sea of people moved about her, any one of whom would turn her in, either for the reward, or simply because she was a wanted felon. She touched the hilt of her short sword, reassured by its presence. She wondered what Maldynado would find for her to wear. She probably should have gone shopping with him, though more than once he had pointed out he had an easier time getting bargains from the predominantly female merchants in the city if they thought him unattached.

A familiar man ambled past, hand on the ruby-crusted pommel of one of his own swords, obviously selected to offset crimson embroidery on his black vest. Maldynado. He had no shopping bags tucked under his arms. So much for her disguise.

Figuring he would not spot her with the hood, Amaranthe lifted a hand and stepped away from the statue.

“We have a problem,” came a voice from behind.

Amaranthe jumped before recognition caught up to reflexes. Sicarius.

“Your ability to find me despite the fact I’m hiding incognito in the shadows?” she asked.

He drew her into an alcove behind an overflowing bicycle rack. Maldynado stopped on the street corner to chat with a group of ladies. He must have come with Sicarius.

“What’s going on?” Amaranthe asked.

Perhaps as a concession to the number of weapons dangling on nearby hips, Sicarius, too, wore a jacket with a hood. Black, of course. “The area where Books was researching was attacked,” he said. “There was a woman with him. He may or may not have been the target, but someone sent six men to do the job. I took care of them while he fumbled through rescuing the unconscious woman.”

“Is he all right?” she asked, more concerned by that than whether Books had pulled his own weight in a fight.

“He’s injured but not mortally so. I found Basilard, and he assisted Books back to the pumping house.”

She wrestled with the temptation to forgo the gambling house visit and check on Books. Sicarius’s idea of “injured but not mortally so” could involve missing limbs and eyes. But if he had Basilard to watch over him, Books ought to survive without her for a few hours. It was not as if she had vast medical expertise.

“Thanks for making sure he got back. Shall we head into Ergot’s Chance?” Amaranthe pointed to a dead-end street across the way. “Akstyr went in ahead to scout for magic. Or so he said. He might be putting all his pocket change on the lucky Wolf Star Tile.”

She took a step, but Sicarius caught her arm.

“There’s more,” he said. “The woman Books was with, she’s from the warrior caste, someone who used to do work for Hollowcrest during the Western Sea Conflict.”

“Oh? What use did Hollowcrest have for a woman? Er, assuming it wasn’t for the usual male-female after-sunset activities.” From what Amaranthe remembered of Hollowcrest, he had not respected women overmuch, especially not those with any sort of ambition.

“Her name is Vonsha Spearcrest,” Sicarius said. “She taught cryptography at the University, and Hollowcrest brought her in to build unbreakable keys during the war.”

“Didn’t some brilliant Kyattese linguist break all our keys?”

“Yes. Spearcrest disappeared shortly after that.”

“You’re certain it’s the same woman? It’s been nearly twenty years.” Amaranthe had been a toddler during that war, and since most of the fighting had been at sea, over a thousand miles away, she remembered little of the details. Sicarius probably would have been in his teens, but he had been trained from birth, so she would not be surprised if he had already been killing people for Hollowcrest by then.

“I’m certain. She was injured in the explosion, but the enforcers took her for treatment.”

“I wonder if Books was the target or if she was.” Amaranthe tapped her leg. “You didn’t hear their conversation?”

“I stayed out of sight, so she wouldn’t recognize me.”

“She knows you? Er, knew you?”

“Not well, but I was there at a couple of their meetings.”

“You’re older now.” Amaranthe smiled, wondering if she could draw any indignation out of him. “Grayer.”

“I don’t have any gray.”

He said it in his monotone, and she could not tell if it was an indignant denial or a simple statement of fact. In truth, he appeared no older than thirty, and it was only that Sespian was close to twenty that told her otherwise, though Sicarius still must have been very young when Sespian was conceived. That was a story she wanted to wheedle out of him someday.

“Ah, forgive me. I guess it’s your perennial stodginess that leaves me with the impression you’re old.” There, that had to get a response out of him.

He studied her, as if she were some exotic specimen of fish he’d pulled up from the lake depths and he was deciding whether to keep her or throw her back. “I’m not old,” he finally said.

“But no argument on stodgy, eh?”

“Akstyr is waiting, is he not?”

Amaranthe grinned and patted his arm. She shouldn’t have fun teasing him, but considering his reputation, she found it encouraging that he let her. Of course, if she were a more mature person she would tell him she cared for him instead of poking fun, but the latter seemed…safer.

“Yes, he is.” She lifted her hand and gestured toward the dead-end street.

When they drew even with Maldynado, Sicarius grabbed him and propelled him alongside.

“Hullo, boss,” Maldynado said. “Didn’t see you under that jacket. It’s bulky. You almost look like a boy.”

“That’s one method of disguise, I suppose,” Amaranthe said. “Though I thought you’d have a costume for me.”

“Oh, I bought one.” He smiled. “It’s having a few custom alterations done, but I can pick it up later.”

She would have to hope nobody who memorized wanted posters was gambling tonight.

Drum beats and guitar strums floated from a cider house on the corner where a female singer extolled the virtues of battle engaged in the spring. Several gambling houses and entertainment venues lined the wide avenue, all with fresh, new brick or stone facades. People crowded the sidewalks, though they all seemed to be jostling toward the building at the end of the street. Indeed, the venues on either side were sparsely populated. Outside an eating house, a red-haired woman’s shouts alternated between announcing the meal specials and advising a worker scraping graffiti off the wall.

A freckled man on the opposite side of the street tried to foist samples of a dark liquid on passersby. Two soldiers spat at his feet and shoved him aside.

“Filthy foreign slug,” one snarled.

It seemed Amaranthe’s team had turned down a street overtaken by aspiring entrepreneurs from beyond the borders. And only one of the businesses was doing well.

“That’s the place.” Maldynado nudged a couple of smaller men aside and pointed at the brick wall stretched across the end of the street. Gold-gilded doors stood open, and people flowed in and out of the building. A pulsing sign read Ergot’s Chance. Two giant glowing orbs perched upon spinning poles.

“That’s blatant,” Amaranthe said. “You’d think a place daring to use magic in a city where it’s forbidden would be more subtle. Especially since the sentiment around here is anti-foreigner, and most of these businesses seem to be struggling.”

“It’s possible the effects are mundanely created,” Sicarius said.

She stepped around a puddle and drew her men to the side. “Sicarius and I will try to find the manager or owner and see what these key fobs are about. Maldynado, link up with Akstyr if you see him. I’d like you to go around to the tilers and table masters and ask questions. See if anyone recognizes the fellow who had the fob in his pocket.”