Maldynado hadn’t come in wearing a hat, but Amaranthe said, “That sounds like him. He’ll handle the rest. We need to meet a friend. Can we use your back door?”
The proprietor checked outside the window, no doubt noticing all the soldiers. “Your friend awaits in the… alley?”
“He doesn’t like crowds.” Amaranthe gave a cheery wave and hustled away before the woman could interrogate her further. She hoped her actions hadn’t already made her suspicious enough to report.
On the way to the back door, she passed Maldynado, who was indeed trying on hats, decidedly masculine hats designed to fit his head, not hers. Numerous feminine garments-not so feminine as the string underwear, thank his ancestors-were draped over his arm, so Amaranthe didn’t chastise him for wandering off task.
She stopped long enough to whisper, “Keep the proprietor busy, will you? She may have decided Yara and I are… suspicious.”
“You’re aware,” Maldynado said, “that it takes a special kind of female to get in trouble while clothes shopping, right? Women are supposed to be naturals at this.”
“Sorry.” Even as she apologized, Amaranthe hastened toward the door. They might not get another chance to spy upon Ravido. She didn’t intend to miss it.
Belatedly, when she was already in the alley, it occurred to her that she should have warned Maldynado his brother was next door, or at least told him that she meant to poke her nose into a pregnant badger’s den. Well, if gunshots fired and chaos broke out in the street, he’d know she’d found trouble.
Surprisingly, Yara followed her into the alley.
Amaranthe asked, “Are you coming because you’re curious, too, or because you think I’ll need someone to keep me out of trouble?”
“Yes.”
“I see you’ve been training with Sicarius.”
Amaranthe climbed three steps to the back door of the neighboring shop and tugged on the latch, relieved to find it unlocked. She slipped into a dark cubby cluttered with officers’ dress uniforms and fatigues in various stages of customization. Baskets of pincushions and spools of thread littered a workbench. Brown curtains sectioned the work area off from the rest of the shop. As soon as Yara closed the door behind her, cutting off the outside light, Amaranthe crept forward and parted the curtains an inch. She pressed her eye into the gap while listening for familiar voices.
It would have been convenient if Ravido and his chum had been chatting in front of her peephole. Alas, they were near the front of the shop, some thirty feet away. Racks and shelves filled the space between, along with several soldiers shopping for themselves. Not five feet from the curtains, a bald man in a vest adorned with as many needles as the pincushions, tutted to himself as he worked on the trousers of an officer standing before a mirror. Up front, Ravido was talking, but Amaranthe couldn’t make out a word.
She let the curtain fall shut, then leaned close to Yara’s ear to whisper, “I’m going to get closer.”
“How?”
Amaranthe mimicked Basilard’s hand gesture for a snake moving through the grass.
Yara peeped through the curtain, no doubt considering the likelihood of using the intermittent cover to remain hidden from all the shoppers. There weren’t any other women in the establishment.
“I’ll stay here,” Yara whispered. “I wouldn’t make a convincing snake.”
“Never had to slither across a field to sneak up on criminals, eh?”
“In my experience, it’s usually the criminals who partake in such actions.”
Amaranthe waved a hand in agreement, then dropped into a crouch at the side of the curtain, as far away from the tailor as possible. Working with Sicarius had given her copious practice in sneaking about. Now to see if she could employ the lessons in a clothes shop instead of in woods or alleys.
The tailor bent to examine a trouser cuff. The officer was admiring his form in the mirror. Amaranthe slipped out, forgoing the instinct to rush in favor of a less urgent move to the nearest case of shelves. Rapid movement would be more likely to draw the eye.
When no startled shouts arose, she considered herself past the first obstacle. It took another five minutes to slip around and wriggle under sweater cubbies and jacket racks, all the while making sure nobody was turned in her direction. She feared Ravido would be done talking about important things by the time she reached him and would be discussing reputable eating and drinking houses.
That’s ridiculous, she told herself. Chances were he’d never been talking about “important things” to start with, not in the middle of a busy store. Still, she held out hope that she’d overhear something worthwhile.
As she belly-crawled the last ten feet, Ravido’s voice finally grew distinguishable, though she struggled to hear all the words. He and his confidant were keeping their voices low, and the racks full of clothing muffled their words further. How irritating when the villains didn’t enunciate clearly when discussing dastardly plans. Didn’t they want everyone in the store to be impressed by the cleverness of their schemes?
With trouser cuffs swiping the top of her head, Amaranthe inched closer. Her movements stirred strands of thread and clumps of dust on the floor. The fine particles tickled her nostrils, and she crinkled her nose to keep from sneezing. It’d be hard to explain herself if someone hauled her out from beneath the garment racks.
She inched closer. The light from the storefront window highlighted two pairs of brown leather military boots, recently shined and rarely scuffed military boots.
“…Company of Lords,” Ravido said, his low baritone drifting down to her. “They’re being pests about the boy because there was no body. If I’d been running that train attack, I would have grabbed a random charred corpse and brought it back for a public funeral pyre. Cursed women.”
“You’re the one working with them.” The other officer had a gravelly voice, like someone might have tried to garrote him once.
His boots turned toward Amaranthe, and a squeak sounded as he pushed hangers across a metal bar. She scooted back, nearly cracking her head against the rack stand. More voices sounded as other customers entered through the front door. Wasn’t this a workday? Shouldn’t these officers be out ordering their soldiers to do important military things?
Conscious of someone walking by behind the rack, Amaranthe tucked her legs to her chest to make sure nothing was sticking out on the other side. Her movements stirred dust, and she pinched her nostrils shut to stave off a sneeze. What kind of self-respecting rebel leader sneezed on the usurper’s boots?
“Sorry about your wife,” the second officer added once the new shoppers had moved into another aisle.
Amaranthe grimaced. She hadn’t heard all the details when it came to Maldynado’s sister-in-law’s death, but suspected her team would get blamed for it. She pulled out a kerchief and swept up some of the dust balls.
“Yes, thank you, Horat,” Ravido said. “It’s hard to find a woman of the proper lines who’s horny and unfaithful.”
His comrade, Horat, grunted. “You’ll miss her. You’re just as horny and unfaithful. You had a good arrangement.”
“I’m more concerned about arranging things with the Company of Lords right now. Unless I’m willing to replace every dissenter in the chamber, it won’t matter how many troops I control or how much of the city I take over. If they don’t make my claim for emperor official it isn’t.”
The hangers squeaked and the men’s boots shifted again as they grunted greetings toward someone passing, then turned their backs toward the room. A couple of salutes might have been exchanged, but it was hard to tell from under the trousers.
“You can replace people,” Horat said. “It’s been done in the past.”
“I know, but killing a bunch of warrior-caste men would set a bad precedent for a new ruler. Your father’s on the Company. Talk to him, will you?”