She pulled the grate shut, pausing to leanher head against the cold bars. “Dumb move,” she whispered. Yes,she had escaped, but at what cost? She didn’t have the kind ofmoney it would take to reimburse the homeowners.
Amaranthe straightened, and a wine bottle inthe bag clunked against the iron bars. How she had managed to keepthe silly groceries with her she did not know.
She turned her back on the canal, and thedevastation she had wrought, and ran up the tunnel.
In the alley behind the newspaper building,she checked both directions before crawling out of the passage.Careful to do it quietly, she eased the manhole cover back intoplace. She stood, then jumped with surprise when she found a shadowlooming next to her.
“It’s me,” Sicarius said before she couldthink of flinging a shopping bag at him.
“Thank the emperor,” she breathed. “We needto go.” She trotted to the nearest street.
“Yes.” He fell into step beside her, and theyheaded away from the canal. Shouts rang out behind them-peopleyelling at others to help or run for the fire brigade. “I saw theenforcers,” he said.
Great. Another witness to her arson, thoughhe would probably approve of such tactics. That didn’t make herfeel better.
They jogged past rows of factories, dormantfor the night, and crossed into a residential neighborhood. Severalblocks into it, on the edge of a park, Amaranthe dared to stop tocatch her breath and collect herself. She dropped the canvas bags,hardly caring if she damaged something. The bottle of wine rolledout and bumped to a stop against a tree root.
“What happened after I left?” she asked. “Didyou follow Mancrest?”
“Yes. An army lorry rolled into the alley andpicked up two squads of soldiers. The Mancrests left out the front.They parted ways, and I followed the journalist to his house.”Sicarius eyed the shopping bags. “You still wish to speak withhim?”
“Yes.” Amaranthe snorted. More than ever sheneeded to make friends with Mancrest. “I need someone to squash thefront-page headline I foresee hitting the papers tomorrow: Notorious Criminal Amaranthe Lokdon Commits Arson on the 17thStreet Canal.”
“That can be arranged,” Sicarius said, thoughhe hesitated before saying it, as if he was not certain they werethinking of the same way that deed could be done. Good guess.
“Not with threats of pain,” Amaranthe said.“Or actual pain.”
He said nothing.
She crouched, putting her back to an oak, andlooked up at him. Streetlights burned at both ends of the park, butfull night had fallen, and darkness hid Sicarius’s face. His blackclothing made it hard to pick him out, even a few feet away.
“Out of all the enforcers you’ve…killed…”She had a hard time saying that. Whatever happened, she had stillbeen an enforcer for nearly seven years, and it was painful tothink of harm coming to her old colleagues. “Out of all of them,did you ever start the fight? Or was it all just a matter of themtrying to kill you?”
“If I perceived them as a threat, Ieliminated them.”
“But you never saw a couple of patrollersstrolling down the street and decided, oh, yes, there need to befewer enforcers in the world, so I’m going to leave the shadows andstick a knife in their backs?”
“You know I did not,” Sicarius said, a hintof reproach in his normally emotionless voice.
“I know. Sorry. I’m just trying to figurethis out.” She dropped her head in her hands and dug her fingersinto her scalp. She liked to think she was bright, but maybe shewas just delusional. She ought to have been able to escape withoutwreaking havoc. If she truly were smart, she would not have beencaptured in the first place. But as long as they worked in thecity, and went out and about to pursue missions, it seemed unlikelyshe could successfully avoid the enforcers every minute of everyday. She needed them to look the other way, but her stomachclenched at the idea of blackmail or any strong-arming. “How can Imake them understand that I’m on their side and they don’t need totry to capture me, no matter what the bounty says? I feel like wemade some progress with that water scheme, but again so few peopleknow we were involved. And every time something like this happens-”she waved back toward the canal, “-it’s a step backward. I’m notsure they’ll ever forgive me for what happened to Wholt and thoseother enforcers.” She thought of her discussion with Basilard andwondered if she was delusional for believing she could find a placein the history books as a hero. “Maybe I should give up on heroicsand become a villain. The money’s better, I hear, and you’re a fineexample of how easy it is to become notorious. You’reprobably guaranteed a place in the history books.”
She sighed and dropped to her knees to grabthe wine bottle and shove it back in the bag. “All right, I’m donewhining. Thank you for listening.”
In the dim lighting, she did not at firstnotice when Sicarius grabbed one bag and extended a hand for thesecond. She gave it to him. She was cursed tired of carrying thethings anyway. Maybe he knew that. He surprised her by offering hishand again, this time to grip her arm and help her up.
“Hm,” she said. “If I’d known it would resultin you carrying things for me, I’d have moaned and complained toyou more often.”
“Easy?” he said as they headed off down thetree-lined street.
“What?”
“You think it’s easy to becomenotorious?”
“Well.” She managed a faint smile. “You makeit look easy.”
“Huh.”
CHAPTER 4
“Top floor, eh?” Amaranthe followed Sicariusto one of only two doors in a short hallway. The one they stoppedin front of was made of stout oak and featured a hand-carved imageof a spear-toting man hunting a bear alongside a tree-linedriver.
“Yes,” Sicarius said.
Since Mancrest was warrior caste, it madesense that he would have the resources to own a flat that took uphalf of the floor. What surprised her was that he lived in aneighborhood full of university students and modest-incomefamilies, in a building that lacked a doorman in the lobby to keepout riffraff. Maybe as a journalist, he favored being in the heartof the city.
Amaranthe took the grocery bags fromSicarius. “Thank you. Do you want to wait outside while I-”
“No.”
“No?”
“He may have a limp, but he’s a formerofficer. He’ll be a dangerous opponent.”
“No doubt,” Amaranthe said, “but I’m notplanning to fight him. Also, I find it difficult to…sway peopleto my way of thinking when you’re holding knives to their throats.That tends to render one unwilling to believe my entreaties offriendship.”
Sicarius’s only response was to knock on thedoor.
“You have an amazing knack for being almostpersonable one moment and, er, yourself the next.”
He said nothing.
Uneven footsteps and the rhythmic thump of acane on a hard floor sounded on the other side of the door.Sicarius took up a position against the wall. She wanted to tellhim not to jump out and put a knife to Mancrest’s throat, but thedoor opened too soon.
Amaranthe had a glimpse of short, wavy brownhair, a strong jaw, and spectacles before Mancrest realized who shewas and reacted.
He jumped back, whipping his cane up. A clicksounded, and the wood flew away from the handle. Amaranthe droppedthe groceries and flung an arm up to block the projectile, butSicarius blurred past her.
He caught the flying cane and tackledMancrest. Something-steel? — clattered to the floor.
In the half a second it took Amaranthe torealize she could lower her arms, the skirmish was over. Mancrestlay sprawled face-first on the floor with Sicarius on top, pinninghim. She cringed. At least knives were not involved. Yet.
“Good evening, Lord Mancrest.” Amaranthepicked up her bags and the hollow husk of the cane. She spotted thehandle attached to a rapier on the floor inside the threshold.Sword stick. “I thought we had a dinner date. Was my invitationreceived in error?”