“Isn’t it enough that Si-someone hacked it all off?” Akstyr whispered back.
“Apparently not.”
“I don’t suppose we can wait inside?” Amaranthe asked the guard amiably, as if the answer didn’t matter one way or another. “It’s getting colder out here.”
The guard was glowering at the dinghy and didn’t response. He strode three paces to the end of the dock, puffed out his chest, and rested a hand on his sword. This new view of the man revealed a throwing knife holder on the back of his belt, three flat steel hilts protruding from the compact sheaths. “You sewer mutts get out of here. This is private property.”
“You can’t own the lake.” Gold Cloak sneered, flinging up a hand in an old gesture once used as a command for castrating irresponsible servants. “We’ll go wherever we want.”
“Ignorant thugs, you can too own water rights. These docks, those beaches, and the lake out to those buoys belong to the yacht club.”
“Come make us leave, why don’t you?”
Almost fast enough to impress Sicarius, the guard pulled out a throwing knife and hurled it. The path of the blade was hard to track in the dim lighting, but Amaranthe heard the thunk of it landing and the cry of pain that followed. The knife had sunk into one of the wooden benches, pinning the gold cloak-and the hand that made the rude gesture.
The display of accuracy didn’t surprise Amaranthe-after all, wouldn’t Forge hire the best in private security? — but it did make her decide not to irk the guards. She didn’t want to pick a fight with them.
Much cursing arose as the gang members hastily rowed beneath the docks and out of the guard’s line of sight-and blade hurling.
“Thanks for the knife, Fatty!” the youngest called when they’d rowed far enough away that they thought they were safe.
Obnoxious laughter followed, even from the injured man. The street-raised youths probably would think such a fine blade a worthwhile trade for a little pain.
“Sorry you lost your knife,” Amaranthe told the guard.
He shrugged and returned to his station at the door, his glower no different than it had been before. “My employers will compensate me.”
Akstyr wasn’t paying any attention to the conversation; his gaze remained to the south, the direction the gang members had been heading when they rowed beneath the docks. They hadn’t reappeared. They might have continued south, using the docks for cover, but they could be plotting nearby too. The value of that knife was minuscule compared to the bounty the gangs had placed on Akstyr’s head.
“So, no waiting inside?” Amaranthe tried again. The guard had been distracted before.
“Sorry, no.”
On the waterfront street, at the head of the dock, couples started arriving in steam carriages. Dressed in furs, jewelry, and displaying the latest fashions-Amaranthe smirked when she spotted a lizard-skin purse-they strolled toward the eating house. A woman in city worker’s overalls walked onto the dock with a lantern and tools for lighting the lamps along the way. She must have veered too close to some of the wealthy diners for their tastes, for someone in a group of well-dressed women snapped at her. The worker scurried away, chin ducked to her chest.
Amaranthe couldn’t know for certain if the diners were warrior-caste or part of the successful business class, but the fact that she couldn’t tell the difference said much. Forge simply wanted to replace the aristocracy with another group of power-caressing snobs. In the end, nothing would change. Forge spoke of merit-based wealth, but all of their scheming and blackmailing proclaimed they wanted special privileges to ensure they were at the top of this merit-based system. Sespian was still the best bet for a better world. If Books were one of his advisers, they could work together to implement a more egalitarian system.
The door swung inward, and the first guard reappeared. “Need you for a minute, Lors.”
“What about us?” Amaranthe asked at the same time as the second guard asked, “What about them?”
“We’ve got to do that special… procedure. It’ll just take a minute.” The first guard lifted a hand toward Amaranthe. “My lady, the people who can verify the validity of your claim will be here shortly. Please continue to wait outside.”
“Very well,” Amaranthe said, letting a hint of haughty exasperation into her voice.
The guards disappeared inside, and a solid thunk sounded as the lock turned.
“It sounds like their underwater conveyance is docking,” Books murmured. “It must come up under the building. If those hooligans are still down there somewhere, they might get an interesting show.”
“They’re not still down there.” Akstyr’s eyes had that faraway look that meant he was practicing his Science.
“Where are they?” Amaranthe asked.
He waved toward the dock behind the headquarters building. “Get ready for a fight.”
“A fight?” Books whispered. “I’m not properly geared for a fight. I was told to look academic and interestingly exotic. All I have with me is a dagger.”
“I know. We have the same weapons.” Amaranthe carried a satchel with some of Sicarius’s dried meat bars and a few other supplies, but she hadn’t known if it would be searched, so she hadn’t dared bring a pile of weapons. There hadn’t been any thoughts of Suan participating in dueling or wrestling classes in Retta’s memories.
Though he must have heard the lock turning, too, Books tried the door. The knob didn’t turn.
The hinges and wood had a sturdy mien, not that Amaranthe was ready to try breaking down the door. “Sicarius would be disappointed in us if we couldn’t handle ourselves against four untrained street youths.”
“Eight,” Akstyr said, eyes half-lidded. “They have friends.”
Wonderful.
“I’d like to sear them into lumps of charcoal,” Akstyr growled. “That one boy with the droopy eye, that’s Edge. We used to run together until he turned on me. He was one of the ugly sock stuffers who attacked me and handed me over to the enforcers right before you came along last year.”
“Sock stuffers?” Books murmured.
“Don’t ask,” Amaranthe said. “Please.”
Books grunted in agreement. “Shall we look for a more amenable place to make a stand? We’re at a dead end here, and I don’t fancy taking a swim if we’re forced back. Also, if they’re bright, however unlikely that is, they may think to come at us from water as well as land. Er, dock.”
“Not a bad idea, but we’d have to run back to the street before we’d find such a spot, and I’d hate to miss our appointment.” It’d be handy if the door opened then, and they were invited in before they had to fight anyone.
“They’re climbing up the back of the building,” Akstyr said. “Bet they’re going up on the roof to try and jump on us.”
“All the reason to move.” Books stepped toward the intersection of docks.
Amaranthe caught his arm. “Wait. Akstyr, how would you like a chance to deal with them in your way?”
His ears perked up. “By searing them into charcoal lumps with my mind?”
“No,” Books said, then, with concern in his voice, added, “You can’t actually do that, can you?”
Akstyr shrugged. “Maybe. Partially.”
Erg, that would be an unappealing way to die. And an unappealing way to watch someone die.
“Perhaps you can use a more imaginative method and simply scare them away,” Amaranthe said. “The yacht club is in an upscale neighborhood after all. Finding charcoal-lump corpses on the docks might alarm the clientele.”
“I should hope so,” Books said.
“I guess I could try something else.” Akstyr grinned. “It’d be ball-licking righteous if I could get them back.” He leaned around the corner of the building. “I bet those sludge suckers don’t even know they’ll be in full view of the eating house if they get up on the roof.”
“Is it my imagination,” Books murmured, “or has his vernacular grown more colorful since those hoodlums approached?”
“I could embarrass them good.” Akstyr nodded to himself.