Out loud, Sicarius said, “Very well. I will not mention it again.”
“Thank you,” Sespian said. “Do we go tonight?”
Sicarius gazed out the window, back toward the city. As much as he’d like to return to the factory-to Amaranthe-he doubted it would happen soon. “The night is already half-spent, and many will be alert still. We’ll go tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“As will I,” Sicarius said and pulled out the sharpening kit for his knives.
Chapter 11
Evening approached as Amaranthe strode down the nicest part of Waterfront Street with Books and Akstyr at her side, though, thanks to the gray sky and snow, it had never truly felt like daylight. She’d spent the afternoon studying Suan Curlev’s book and watching the windows, hoping Sicarius and Sespian would walk into the factory. With the news of Fort Urgot being surrounded, she wasn’t surprised they hadn’t returned, but she’d hoped anyway, wanting to see Sicarius again before her mission. If things didn’t go well…
No thinking like that, she told herself. Things would go well.
With her shoulders back and her head lifted, Amaranthe was trying to appear confident as they walked, or at least like someone who believed her plan had a chance to work. But every time one of her newly blonde locks flopped into her line of sight, it gave her a start-and reminded her that she wore a costume, a costume that was nothing better than a guess at what a woman returning from Kendor might look like. A tintype in the back of Suan’s book had shown her wearing half-frame reading glasses, often pushed up into her shoulder-length hair, but the rest of the outfit was a guess.
The brown and tan pattern of the dress swirling about Amaranthe’s ankles had a desert feel, though the leggings and fur boots beneath were purely Turgonian and designed for winter weather. Maldynado had picked out a pair of suede wedge sandals, complete with skin-tickling tassels, to complement the dress, but she did not wish to invite frostbite to visit her toes. Nor could she imagine fighting in footgear that hoisted her heels three inches into the air and threatened to tip her nose-first onto the ground every time she took a step. Much to Sergeant Yara’s amusement, Amaranthe was wearing the string lingerie, if only because there’d been no time to shop for more practical underwear. Her regular cold-weather undergarments would have shown through the low-cut dress. Not the sexy look of an exotic globe-exploring woman, Maldynado had informed her. He refused to accept the idea that someone who explored the world could do so without being sexy. The final piece of the costume lay beneath a mink jacket, the slit-eyed medallion dangling on its silver chain.
Books was lecturing on Kendorian economics as they walked, and Amaranthe turned her attention back to his words, knowing she might need the information. Since Suan had last been traveling there, and the Forge people all had business interests, it might come up in an early conversation.
“…relatively meager gross domestic product in comparison with the empire,” Books was saying. “It’s not surprising given how much of the population is nomadic. Kendor is, however, known for a few niche industries, such as wool, copper, and sartorial crafts with their lizard-skin products being recognized all over the world. Some of the tribes also lease land to foreigners for ranching and mining, though Turgonians are not allowed, so an interested imperial entity must find a creative workaround, typically by engaging a third-party representative, to tread upon Kendorian soil.”
Books continued to speak, needing amazingly few breaths or breaks to rest his lips. He ignored Akstyr’s pronounced yawns and muttered asides. Only when Akstyr raised his voice and said, “Enforcers,” did Books pause.
A pair of patrollers had walked out of one of the steep side streets and rounded the corner onto the waterfront.
“Up the alley?” Akstyr asked.
“No.” Amaranthe touched her prosthetic nose, one that added length and a slight hawkish aspect to her face, to assure herself it was still attached; the rest of her makeup was cosmetic, and she didn’t worry so much about it, but if the nose happened to fall off at an inopportune time… She dropped her hand. It was fine and would, no doubt, be more likely to stay so if she stopped prodding it. “Let’s see how well our costumes work.”
“Looking for trouble before we reach the yacht club?” Books asked.
“If we can’t pass as non-outlaws in front of a couple of rookies, there’s no point in attending this meeting.”
“Very well.”
Books and Akstyr also wore costumes designed to make them appear traveled. Books’s long legs were clothed in sedate brown corduroy trousers, but the apricot and yellow silk “scholar’s robe” definitely bespoke Nurian origins. The lizard-skin satchel slung over his shoulder was out of Kendor, but, according to Maldynado, catching on in the capital, much like the boots she’d had so much time to study from beneath the clothes rack.
Akstyr had painted shamanic tattoos on the backs of his hand, one of which covered up his gang brand. For clothing, he wore a white shepherd’s robe, a winter-thick version of the ones the southern Kendorian nomads favored for tending bighorn desert sheep. Predictably, none of the Stumps clothiers had carried shamanic robes, but it would have been dangerous to put him in them anyway. Akstyr’s only comment had been to say that robes were stupid and his “pickaxe and diamonds” were freezing.
The enforcers traveled down the street toward Amaranthe and the others, using the same sidewalk. Once, she would have lifted a hand in a comradely wave. Lately, her instincts were to flee down alleys. This time… she kept her chin up and strode straight toward them. Books and Akstyr eased in behind her, ostensibly to make room for the enforcers to pass, but they didn’t wear any face-altering makeup or prosthetics, so they wouldn’t want to test their costumes quite as rigorously. They’d altered their hairstyles-poor Akstyr had had little choice-allowing her to clip their formerly longish locks closer to their heads. They didn’t look much like their bounty posters, but she couldn’t blame them for not wanting to test the enforcers’ observation skills. Few in Forge should be that familiar with her team’s visages, especially for the lesser known members.
Engrossed in their own conversation, the enforcers walked past without giving them more than a glance.
Amaranthe exhaled slowly and said, “A good beginning,” when Books came up to her side again.
“All you’ve proven is that you don’t look like a notorious outlaw any more.”
“That’s not a bad place to start.”
“Do you truly believe you can pass as this Suan?” Books asked. “Someone you’ve never met?”
“We went to the same school, and I’ve read her book. Also, I have met her, sort of, through the mind link I shared with her sister.”
“Isn’t the girl supposed to be a genius though?”
Amaranthe stepped closer to a building to avoid a delivery boy slipping and skidding down the sidewalk on a bicycle laden with boxes. “What are you implying, Books? That I’m too dim for the position?”
He brushed dirty snow from his trousers, courtesy of the bicycle’s wheels and the surrounding slush. “What are the chief industries that comprise the Kendorian economy?”
“Leased land, wool, copper, and sexy lizard-skin purses, boots, and lingerie,” Amaranthe said, relieved he’d asked a question about the part of the lecture she’d actually been listening to.
“Hm.”
Maybe she should have quoted him directly instead of adding flair in regard to the lizard-skin items. Still, he’d have to know she’d been listening and passed his test. “Hm? That’s it? I get more enthusiastic praise from Sicarius.”
Books missed a step. “Truly?”