More bangs sounded-crates being shoved off the pile Maldynado had erected up front. The soldiers must have broken down the door or found a way to remove it from its hinges.
“Deret,” a man bellowed. “Are you responsible for this ruckus, boy? I’m going to tie you down range at Fort Urgot for the privates to use for shooting practice.”
Deret skidded around the corner of Amaranthe’s hiding spot and dropped to the floor. There wasn’t room for him to squeeze under the desk beside her, but he pressed himself close and buried his head under his arms.
The thunderous boom that followed wasn’t as loud as the first had been, not with the wall blocking some of the noise, but that didn’t keep the floor from trembling beneath them. Cracks sounded, this time not in the wood but in the bricks, and more dust flooded the air.
“By great grandmother’s funeral pyre, what are you doing, boy?” came the senior Lord Mancrest’s voice.
Amaranthe touched Deret’s shoulder and climbed out past him. They had better get out of the basement before something important gave way-or the soldiers swarmed inside to capture them. Maldynado had already leaped to his feet, and he reached the opening in the wall first, a lantern in hand.
He stuck the light inside. “It worked.”
He’d neglected to grab the prisoners, and they looked like they meant to flee toward Deret’s father. Amaranthe was tempted to let them go so they wouldn’t have to deal with them any more, but she grabbed their arms. “This way. He won’t be happy with you for not capturing us in the first place.”
“I don’t care any more,” one muttered. “So long as we get out of here before-”
Wood snapped above them. A beam bowed down, boards cracking and giving way with each inch it drooped.
Deret grabbed Amaranthe’s arm. “Run!”
She needed no further urging and sprinted for the tunnel hole.
“Get back, get back,” came a cry from the other entrance.
Just as Amaranthe crossed the threshold, the beam gave away completely. Light fell into the basement as a huge chunk of the floor above collapsed. Steel screeched, then a cacophonous crash filled the space as one of the massive presses tumbled through the opening. Parts flew off, pelting the walls and landing on old machinery, leaving a twisted metal wreck that would never print again.
One of the massive paper rolls was flung across the room toward Amaranthe. She dove, somersaulting down the tunnel to put distance between herself and the machine’s attack. Brick crunched as the roller struck the outer wall. A curtain of dust and mortar sprayed the inside of the passage.
Amaranthe climbed to her feet, saw that Maldynado and Deret had both made it inside, and started to release a relieved breath, but a cry of pain came from beyond the entrance. Her first thought was that Deret’s father, or some of his men, had been crossing the basement and had been pinned by flying pieces of machinery. Then she remembered the prisoners.
“Maldynado,” she whispered, “help me,” and headed back.
“Are you crazy?” Deret held the only remaining lantern, and he stood at the far end of the passage, one foot already through the ragged hole leading to the storm tunnel.
“We brought them down here. Maldynado,” Amaranthe repeated, knowing she’d need his brawn if someone was pinned.
A hand patted her back. “I’m with you, boss.”
Amaranthe stuck her head back into the basement as a metal filing cabinet tumbled through the hole from above, landing on the cage Deret had been confined in before. More wood snapped overhead. Before long, the whole ceiling would drop.
“Help,” someone whimpered from a few feet away.
Amaranthe swatted at the dust in the air. Fine particles slipped through her shirt and assailed her nostrils and throat. She stifled a cough. She doubted the soldiers would come streaming into this mess, but she didn’t want to let them know where she was. Who knew if they had rifles?
A long arm of machinery had fallen on one of the prisoners. The other man was trying to pull his comrade free, though the wrist ties made it impossible. Amaranthe slid out her dagger and slashed through the bindings, instantly raising her estimation of the soldier for not leaving his colleague. He gave her a quick nod, then bent to grab the end of the beam.
The pinned man groaned, his teeth clenched so hard she could almost hear them grinding above the noise of falling debris. Maldynado grabbed the beam as well. Amaranthe glanced about and found a pole sticking out of the wreckage. She joined the men, thrusting it beneath the beam to use as a lever. Those printing presses must weigh tons, for even this broken section took all three of them to lift.
More pieces of the ceiling cracked and fell as they heaved. The beam inched up.
“Go, Rudev,” the pinned man’s comrade urged.
As the weight lifted, the prone fellow groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. For a moment, Amaranthe thought he would pass out, but he stretched his hands across the floor, grabbed the corner of a crate and started clawing his way free.
“There they are!” someone yelled from the other side of the basement.
A shot rang out. Instinctively, Amaranthe ducked, though it was probably the haze that saved her, rather than her reflexes. The pistol ball pounded into the brick wall.
“Go, go,” she whispered and risked casting her lever aside. She grabbed the crawling man by the shoulders of his jacket and threw her weight into pulling him.
A pained stream of curses flowed from his mouth, but his legs finally cleared the beam. Maldynado and the other prisoner dropped it, hurling more dust into the air.
A second pistol fired. Amaranthe and the others dropped to the ground and scrambled for the tunnel entrance on hands and knees. This time, the shot hit the ceiling. As if it were the kernel of rice that tipped the merchant’s scales, a second ceiling beam snapped, the ear-splitting noise directly above Amaranthe. She lunged into the tunnel, grabbing the others, pulling and urging them along, though nobody needed prompting at that point.
As Maldynado flopped to the ground beside her, the basement ceiling caved in. Dust flooded into the tunnel, and an ominous groan came from the bricks above their heads as well. This time it was Maldynado who grabbed her arm, and her feet barely touched the ground as he raced toward the storm tunnel. She glanced back, ensuring their prisoners were hobbling after-she didn’t know what she was going to do with them, but she wasn’t going to lose them at that point. In the darkness behind them, it was hard to tell, but she thought the rubble had closed off their escape route.
Maldynado let go of her when they reached the storm tunnel, but she waved toward the bend that led to the river. “Let’s get all the way out of here,” Amaranthe said. “People were shooting at us at the end.”
“Think they figured out who we are?” Maldynado asked.
“Either that, or Deret’s pa is very displeased with him right now.”
Deret, leading the way toward the river, said nothing to this, though he did give the wall nearest the building a long look. The booms and thuds of equipment falling through the floor continued to emanate from the Gazette.
Chapter 4
Sicarius slithered through the warm dusty ducts, as soundless as a snake. As he approached the imperial suite, a sprawling complex of rooms large enough to accommodate a family of multiple generations, the resiny scent of Nurian rek rek teased his nostrils again. He stopped at the vent leading to the master bedroom. The grate had been removed. The screws had been knocked out from within-warping and destroying them-the culprit obviously not caring if his presence was detected after his deed was done. And the deed was what? An assassination. It had to be. If another had come to assassinate Ravido, perhaps it’d be best to let the man do his work. Sespian might object, but Sicarius refused to rescue Maldynado’s rogue relative simply so Sespian could kidnap him.