“Too late,” Sicarius said. “The husband hasarrived. Or an enthusiastic lover.”
“Huh?” Amaranthe lifted the spyglass to checkon the flat again, but jerked it from her eye as soon as the scenecame into focus. “Ugh. I don’t want to walk in on that.”
“They’ll stop.” Sicarius started for thedrainpipe leading to an alley below.
“Maybe we should wait until they’re done,”Amaranthe said.
“Why?”
“I’m sure he’ll be in a better moodafterward. Would you want to be interrupted in the middleof…stoking the furnace?”
He said nothing. He probably thought itridiculous to worry about such a thing.
“We’ll just wait here and…” She groped fora way to pass time that would not make Sicarius balk. Chat? No.Draw a grid and play Dirt Defender? No, not enough light. Emulatethe people across the street? Hah. Sure.
“Watch?” Sicarius said when her silence wenton.
“What? No! I used to arrest people forthat.”
Grunts drifted up to the rooftop. The lovershad clambered out of their window and were undressing each other onthe fire escape. That was one way to avoid waking the children,Amaranthe supposed. Though the neighbors might not appreciateit.
“We could discuss the team uniform,” shesaid, joking.
“The what?”
“Maldynado thinks we should have a teamuniform.”
The long silence that followed said plentyabout his opinion of the idea. She collapsed the spyglass, tuckedit into a pocket, and moved away from the edge of the roof so shecould not be seen from the fire escape. “We’ll just take our timegetting over there,” she said.
“The plan?” Sicarius asked.
Yes, it would not be as easy for him to snoopwith two adults in the room. “Back to the original.” Amaranthepatted a pocket that held a forged document neatly folded intoquarters. “It seems we have the magistrate’s permission to searchthe premises.”
“If they recognize one of us?” Sicariusasked.
“I doubt they will. Miners don’t get muchtime off to roam the city and peruse wanted posters.”
“If your source is correct, this onedoes.”
“We’ll adjust the plan if need be,” shesaid.
“It would be far simpler to go in, grab him,and force him to answer questions.”
“Sicarius…” Amaranthe hung her head.“Sespian is never going to want to get to know someone whosesolution for every problem is torturing people. I know it’sefficient, but I don’t think he’s someone who can respect a man whoisn’t humane.”
“Humane,” Sicarius said flatly.
“Yes. At least in one’s actions. Nobody canbe judged for what’s in his thoughts, eh?”
“And the humane thing to do is todisguise ourselves as enforcers and lie to these people to obtainanswers.”
Er, she hated it when she was trying to bemorally superior and someone pointed out that her idea was onlyslightly less sketchy. “I think it’s a…humane option, yes. If allgoes well, nobody will be hurt. Is it ideal? Perhaps not, but Idon’t know of an ideal situation. I’m beginning to think ourcircumstances preclude those. But maybe it’s always been that way.If the legends are anything to go by, being a hero doesn’t meanbeing perfect. Being a hero means overcoming those imperfections todo good anyway.” There that sounded plausible. Or pompous. Was shetruly comparing the two of them to the great heroes of old?“ Anyway, I think Sespian is far more likely to admire someone whoeschews the easy solution, however efficient, in favor of the onethat does no harm. I’m sure of it.”
Sicarius said nothing at first, and shewinced in anticipation of a cold reaction. Surely thephilosophizing of a twenty-six-year-old woman could only make himsnort in derision. Inwardly anyway. He would never deign to be thatexpressive outwardly.
“I see,” Sicarius finally said. “And areyou?”
“Am I what?” she asked. Her own thoughts hadsidetracked her.
“More likely to admire someone likethat.”
Huh. Did he care what she thought ofhim? Enough that he might make a humane decision instead of apractical one? For her? She found herself reluctant to test thathypothesis, for she might be disappointed-and hurt-if it provedfalse down the road. “I know it’s the nature of women to try andchange men, but you don’t have to do anything on my behalf. I’mjust trying to help with Sespian. In my arrogance, I think I’m morelike him than you are, and I may have more insight into what wouldmake him…interested in knowing you.”
“Not arrogance. Fact. They’ve completed theircoitus. Let’s go.”
Amaranthe blinked at his abrupt switching oftopics, but she recovered and jogged after him. They skimmed downthe drainpipe, waited for a couple of locals to enter the eatinghouse, and crossed the street to the apartment building. Sheslipped past Sicarius to open one of the double doors and stepinside first.
Nobody occupied the shabby parlor, and halfof the gas lamps on the walls were out. She headed for a hallway atthe back. Doors lined both sides, and the staircase she sought roseat the far end. A faded gray runner had collected so much dirt, shebarely recognized the repeating sword pattern. She did know it hadbeen one of the early themes woven on the first steam looms, makingit a testament to the rug’s age.
At the base of the stairs, she stopped nearone of the working lamps, intending to check Sicarius’s uniform.She trusted him to get the details right, but she needed to know ifhe had any rank pins or badges that would mark him her superior. Ifso, she would have to amend her spiel to pretend she was takingorders from him. But, when she saw him in the light, she froze andstared.
Clad in the crisp, clean lines of a grayenforcer uniform, he looked…good. Handsome, yes, but heroic, too.Not like some assassin who lurked in the shadows, ready to jab adagger into someone’s back, but like someone noble who helpedpeople.
It’s just fabric, girl, she told herself, butthe thoughts brought a lump to her throat nonetheless. What mighthe have been had his childhood been different? Normal.
“Something inaccurate?” Sicarius asked.
“No.” Amaranthe cleared her throat. “No,you’ve got it right.” She lifted a foot and placed it on the firststair, but paused again. “Do you-or did you ever want to besomething else? For an…occupation? When you were a childmaybe?”
Anyone else would have given her a perplexedfrown over such a random question. He…gazed at her without a hintof his thoughts. Floorboards creaked in a room nearby. A muffledconversation went on behind a door. In the hallway, he neithermoved nor spoke. She searched his eyes. Did he spend even half asmuch time wondering what she was thinking as she did wondering whathe was thinking?
“Never mind,” Amaranthe said. “I just meantyou’d be…believable as an enforcer.”
She headed up the stairs.
“A soldier,” Sicarius said quietly.
Amaranthe halted. “You daydreamed of being asoldier?”
“When it was necessary for my focus to beelsewhere, I thought of it occasionally.”
He caught up with her and kept climbing,perhaps considering the conversation over. Focus to beelsewhere. As in to block out the pain of some torturouschildhood training session? He did not expound, and she did notask. She matched him, and they ascended the steps side by side.
“Like Berkhorth the Brazen?” she asked,wanting to leave him with better thoughts than of some past need towill his mind elsewhere. “The third century general who was sogifted with a blade that an entire city surrendered en masse whenthey saw him walk up with a single squad of soldiers?” They roundedthe second-story landing, and she kept talking, warming to the ideaof Sicarius as the legendary hero. “The man so fearsome that noneof the soldiers guarding that city realized his squad was coveredin blood and wounds and had only a single, battered sword betweenthem because they’d just escaped capture and torture?”