“But it’s not just information. It’s the Behemoth. You told me what it did to that swamp, to your dirigible. Am I wrong in believing it’s very likely the most powerful weapon in the world?”
“No,” he admitted.
“It has to be nullified somehow. Otherwise… as long as they have it, they could kill us all. If things don’t go as planned for them, maybe they can simply wipe out the entire city and start from scratch.”
Sicarius understood the power of the technology perfectly. It was why Starcrest had worked against him all those years ago, to keep Emperor Raumesys from acquiring it; the admiral had known it’d give one man the tools needed to rule the world. What was harder to understand was why it had to be their fight. Sespian wasn’t the rightful emperor, so what obligation did he have to the people now? And Amaranthe. Would this clear her name? Probably not. It was possible nothing would at this point. They ought to walk away from Stumps, all of them, and leave this battle for others. He was on the verge of voicing his thoughts when Amaranthe spoke again.
She gripped his arm and gazed into his eyes, her own eyes liquid brown and imploring. “Someone has to stop them, Sicarius, or they’ll own the world before long, a world that we might not like living in very much, one that our children won’t like living in.”
It was as if she’d thrown a wrench into the workings of his mind. His mental machinery ground to a halt, locking onto that single word. Children. She’d never mentioned wanting any. Was she now implying she did? With him? Or had it been figurative?
Now who’s thinking too much, he asked himself with a silent snort.
“Nobody else knows that thing is out there in the lake,” Amaranthe went on. “Nobody else is in a position to stop them.”
But was she? Amaranthe was capable of much, he knew that, but this sounded like too much. Yet he wasn’t going to be able to talk her out of it; he could see that.
“At least take Maldynado and Basilard, not Books and Akstyr,” Sicarius said. “You’ll need fighters at your back.”
“I… think I’ll need brains at my back to navigate around in there. It’s a confusing warren. Even the doors don’t look like doors. I’m hoping one of them can figure things out.”
“Take all four of them then.”
“I’ll be lucky if I can get myself invited down,” Amaranthe pointed out. “I’m sure Suan doesn’t travel around with an army of mercenaries.”
The doorknob rattled.
She let her hand fall away from Sicarius’s arm. Akstyr poked his head inside, his lopsided hair sticking out all over like a topiary shrub abandoned in the aftermath of a war.
Amaranthe’s fingers twitched and pointed. “Do you want me to… cut that today? Trim it up so it’s even?”
“I guess.”
“That,” Amaranthe said, eyeing Sicarius, “is the response you’re supposed to give when a woman offers to cut your hair. An enthusiastic ‘yes’ is also acceptable.”
Sicarius did not respond, though he knew what she referred to-she’d been offering to cut his hair all year, as if such things mattered beyond social conventions. All he required was for it to be short so it couldn’t be grabbed in a fight and didn’t fall into his eyes when he worked.
“Is there any food in this place?” Akstyr asked.
“No,” Amaranthe said, “but I’ll take Maldynado shopping later.”
“I thought he might have gone this morning. I’m starving. And tired. Some idiot has been up here moving furniture around for hours. Who could sleep through that?” Akstyr glowered around the room, as if Amaranthe might have been responsible for the disturbance.
“Moving… furniture,” she said. “I believe that was Maldynado. Perhaps you can ask him to do it more quietly next time.”
“He’s going to do it again?”
Sicarius listened to the exchange impassively, though Amaranthe seemed amused. Given Akstyr’s forays into the Pirates’ Plunder and other brothels, he was more naive than expected in this regard.
“Oh, I think that’s a given.” Amaranthe pointed toward the roof. “Was there any sign of the-”
“Nah, I checked right off,” Akstyr said. “The soul construct left before dawn,” Akstyr said.
“Good,” Amaranthe said.
“You knew about the soul construct?” Sicarius asked her.
“Last night after you left, it visited our factory, doing a good long stalking-about.”
The statement chilled him. Sicarius remembered the creature’s focus on him that morning, but what if the Nurians had found out Sespian was alive, and they’d sent it for him? They’d have no more use for Sespian than they would for Ravido Marblecrest, not if they had some other candidate in mind for the throne. It might have been Sespian and Sicarius’s shared blood that confused the soul construct, making it veer from its path to chase Sicarius up a tree. Had it mistaken him for Sespian? If it was after him…
Amaranthe had been right; Sicarius couldn’t leave Sespian, not now.
Chapter 7
A squad of soldiers marched down the street, white armbands taut about their biceps, their sleek repeating rifles held diagonally in front of them. Amaranthe eased deeper between two clothes racks, ensuring the hat stand blocked her from the view of anyone looking in the window. Though she wore a costume-and, yes, she found it ironic that she was wearing a costume to go costume shopping-she didn’t trust the cap, ruffle-laden dress, and artistically arranged ringlets of hair to withstand close scrutiny. A lamppost at the entrance to Millinery Square had shown off her and Sicarius’s wanted posters.
“Oh, there you are, Ruffles,” Maldynado drawled, strolling into view.
He’d been calling her that all afternoon, since she found and donned the frumpy dress, one of a handful of garments in the boss’s closet in the molasses factory. She hadn’t thought anyone over twelve wore such clothing and wondered if the manager’s fashion taste had anything to do with the business’s failure to thrive. Maldynado had made matters worse-he’d called it “flowing with the natural ripples of the ensemble”-by curling her hair into tight ringlets that bounced around her face like trampoline springs.
“Here’s the first and most important item.” Maldynado held up some sort of garment comprised mostly of string. “A foundation piece, if you will.”
“A foundation for what?”
A broad smirk stretched across his face, and Amaranthe started to get the idea. She imagined Maldynado making bets with the men as to whether he could convince her to don such an item or not.
“Underwear?” she asked. “It had better be for you.”
Maldynado extended his arm, the strings dangling on his fingers. “Would you like to try it on?”
Amaranthe blushed at the idea of wearing nothing except that beneath her clothing. Especially during winter. It wasn’t practical at all. “Maldynado, nobody’s going to be checking out my underwear. I need to look like a world-traveling woman from a well-to-do family, preferably with lots of exotic clothing to suggest recent trips to Kendor, Nuria, and the like. What’s underneath that clothing is irrelevant.”
“Of course it’s not.” Maldynado twirled the skimpy garment around his index finger. “What if you find out this woman you’re impersonating has a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend? And you’re expected to get amorous?”
“That’s not going to happen. She’s been out of the empire for ten years.”
“I’ve reconnected with all sorts of former bedmates after years apart,” Maldynado said.
Yara stepped out of a nearby aisle. “Is that a fact?”
After proclaiming all the garments in the office closet too small, Yara wore her usual trousers and sweater, her only concession to a costume being a hat with a broad brim that hid her face. Her homespun clothing had caused a few eyebrows to rise as the three of them walked through the upscale neighborhood-her response had been to either ignore or glower at the pretentious eyebrow-raiser.