Yellow flames burst from the woman’s fingers, the intense light blasting the shadows from the room. Heat seared the air above Sicarius’s back, but the fire didn’t touch him as he somersaulted along the floor. He came up by the woman’s side, his elbow glancing off the invisible shield encompassing her. It sent a cold numbing tingle up his arm, but he ignored it, instead lashing toward her eyes with his dagger. The shield would protect her, he knew it, but her instincts might instruct her to retreat.
It worked. She backpedaled three steps, crossing the threshold and stumbling into the whitewashed stone corridor outside. In the ideal situation, she would have bumped the artifact off her belt-he couldn’t physically harm her so long as her shield remained in place-but she didn’t lose that much composure. Indeed, she recovered quickly, righting herself against the wall and glowering at Sicarius.
He shut the door in her face. It didn’t have a lock. He grabbed a half-empty coal bin and dragged it over, the squeal of metal scraping across stone deafening.
“That’s not going to stop a practitioner.” Akstyr stabbed a finger at the blocked door.
Sicarius gave him a flat look as he picked up his black dagger. Akstyr wasn’t doing anything better, and Books and Sespian had taken refuge from the flame-flinging woman by hiding behind the furnace door.
“A delay will be sufficient.” He jerked his head toward the open duct panel. “We’ll find another way out.”
A thunderous boom came from the hallway, and the door rattled on its hinges.
“Good idea,” Akstyr blurted and raced for the duct.
Sicarius, his dagger in hand, cut off a large clump of Akstyr’s hair as he passed. His blade-work was swift enough that the boy didn’t notice, though Sespian gawked in disbelief.
“Follow him,” Sicarius told Books and Sespian. He’d explain later if they insisted.
Books gave his jacket a final flap, stirring smoke but not more flames, and hustled after Akstyr. The fistful of hair in hand, Sicarius strode toward the furnace.
“You should go next,” Sespian told him. “They don’t know where they’re going.”
“I’ll follow and direct from behind.” Sicarius grabbed a shovel, flung open the furnace door, and used the tool to close the flue. “Go with them.”
Shouts filled the hallway outside, male and female voices raised in an argument. Sicarius sensed the Science being used again and glanced back. The door hinges glowed cherry red; they’d expand and snap soon.
Sicarius tossed the clump of hair onto the flames.
“What are you doing?” Sespian asked.
“Creating a malodorant.”
With the flue closed, smoke flowed out of the firebox and into the room. Sicarius pushed Sespian toward the duct as the stench of burning hair oozed out with the smoke. Sespian coughed and sprinted the last few paces for the opening. Finding the sulfuric scent equally unpleasant, Sicarius dove in behind him.
Sespian smothered a cough. “Well, that would keep me out of the room anyway.”
“The scent is not dissimilar to burning coal gas,” Sicarius said, watching over his shoulder as they crawled through the passage, making sure nobody was following them. “The gas table for the lighting for the Barracks is two rooms down. If we are fortuitous, they may believe there’s a rupture somewhere.”
“Ah, a rupture that would take priority over intruders, due to the flammable nature of the gas.”
Sicarius tried to decide if Sespian’s words carried a hint of approval. It had been years since someone’s approval meant anything to him-Raumesys and Hollowcrest’s had stopped mattering long before the emperor’s death-and he suspected it a sign of vulnerability on his part. Still, he acknowledged that he wanted Sespian’s approval nonetheless. Odd. Weren’t sons supposed to seek the approval of their fathers, and not the other way around?
Footfalls hammered the floor somewhere above the duct. Sicarius let his fingers brush Sespian’s boots, encouraging greater speed. Possible gas leak or not, with so many people searching the building, it would be best to escape quickly, especially given that they’d have to get past another ward due to their change in route. This one wouldn’t be deactivated. If Akstyr couldn’t equal the wizard hunter’s skill, and accomplish the same feat with the ward, they’d be in for a long night.
“I think I’m stuck,” came Akstyr’s voice from ahead, barely distinguishable from the still-clanging alarm bell.
“I told you not to go that way,” Books said.
“No, you told me to wait. I thought it’d be smart to wait out of the way.”
“Not if it involved getting your elephantine head stuck.”
“It’s not my head that’s stuck. It’s-ow.”
“Continue forward,” Sicarius said, “choosing the passage that angles to the right at approximately thirty degrees from the intersection.”
“Thirty what?” Akstyr asked.
“Degrees, you dolt,” Books said. “A degree is a unit of measurement for angles on a plane, each representing one three-sixtieth of a full rotation.”
“What does that have to do with ducts?”
“How can you possibly be our expert on the Science?” Books asked. “Or anything?”
Sicarius tapped Sespian’s boot again. They needed to keep moving. He decided not to voice his agreement on Books’s assessment of Akstyr’s brightness. Akstyr could prove his intellect on the ward. Or not.
Sespian moved forward, passing Books and Akstyr who’d squeezed into ducts on either side of the five-way intersection.
“Angles weren’t real important on the streets,” Akstyr muttered, continuing the argument as Sicarius and Sespian passed.
“Without angles, a proper understanding of geometry if you will, the buildings on those streets would have collapsed,” Books said.
“That happened sometimes.”
“Follow,” Sicarius said, letting an icy tone creep into his voice. He wondered if Amaranthe knew how much of his respect for her came from her ability to harness these lunkheads to a cart and get them all moving in the same direction. Basilard was the only one who might have lasted more than three days as a recruit in the army.
“I can’t go any farther,” Sespian said after a few moments of crawling. “The duct curves upward and stops at a vent in the floor. If my nose isn’t failing me-and it was somewhat damaged by that hair stunt-we’re near the kitchens. We don’t want to come up in such a busy area, do we?”
“No.” Sicarius pulled out his dagger again.
If he remembered his map of the Imperial Barracks correctly-and Hollowcrest had once insisted he be able to draw it from memory-the old dungeons lay below them, a section that had not been modified or modernized. Though he did not expect anyone to be down there, Sicarius pressed an ear to the warm tiles anyway. Books and Akstyr caught up, their breaths stirring the hot, dry air behind him.
Satisfied nobody awaited below, Sicarius chiseled into the bottom of the duct. The black dagger made quick work of the tile mortar and also that of the bricks below. Stale, cool air wafted up. As soon as he’d removed enough bricks, he dropped through, landing in a crouch fifteen feet below, his fingers touching down beside his foot, resting upon the porous stone floor. That floor had been carved from rock long before the original barracks building had been built. Darkness filled the space, but he could tell they were alone. The cool draft brushing his cheeks carried the scent of earth, rock, and mildew, nothing of people or other creatures.
“It’s safe,” Sicarius said. “Come.”
Clothing rubbed and a soft thump sounded as the first person dropped down-Sespian. The second came with an, “Ooophf.”
“Can’t see a thing,” Books muttered from above. “Probably fall on my-” He dropped, landing softly beside the others and making less noise than Akstyr.
“This way.” Sicarius led them out of the stone room, following the draft into a passage.