“It’s unlikely they’ll breech the walls quickly,” Sicarius said. “If they start shooting, duck. Faster than you did with the cannonball.”
Sespian propped a fist on his hip. “I knew that cannonball wasn’t aimed at me.”
“You may find it easier to go in through the front gate. I’ll disappear before light comes.” Sicarius took a few steps along the beam, intending to check on the soldiers-he didn’t think they’d blow up their own water tower in an attempt to kill him, but he wouldn’t be dumbfounded if they were discussing the repercussions now.
But they weren’t discussing anything. Most of the men who’d been lined up along the parapet, pointing rifles or manning artillery, had disappeared. Only the soldiers in the watchtower remained, and one of them was facing the door.
“What happened?” Sespian peered around the opposite side of the tank. “Something more interesting going on inside?”
Sicarius couldn’t imagine what, though he did detect a number of distant shouts coming from the fort. Was it possible the tunnel borer had already plowed through the earth and come up inside? He had little experience with such machines, but it seemed too soon.
“Is that smoke?” Sespian asked.
There were furnaces and stoves burning inside numerous houses and buildings within the fort walls, so smoke was natural, but there did seem to be a thicker plume rising from one side. It was difficult to tell against the cloudy night sky, but Sicarius caught the scent of burning wood. The furnaces and stoves would be burning coal.
Two more figures strode into view on the parapet, both wearing military fatigues. They had familiar forms and gaits.
“Uhm, that soldier’s hair is too long,” Sespian said. “And that one’s awfully short for a Turgonian. Those wouldn’t be your friends, by chance, would they?”
Maldynado and Basilard strolled up to the corner guard tower and knocked on the door. It opened. Maldynado pointed at the water tower and said something. When the soldier stuck his head out to look, Basilard grabbed his wrist and pulled him off balance at the same time as Maldynado kicked the back of his knees. While Basilard finished subduing him, Maldynado rushed inside. The second soldier’s head disappeared from the window.
“Yes, those must be friends of yours,” Sespian said dryly.
Basilard faced the water tower and waved. It was too far to read hand signs, but Sicarius understood. They’d cleared the way. They’d probably lit one of the officer’s houses on fire. Not Ridgecrest’s, one hoped.
Sespian was already climbing to the top of the tank. He had the harpoon launcher in hand by the time Sicarius joined him. Sespian tied off the end of the cable, then, with surprising accuracy, shot the weapon, sending the harpoon sailing around a lightning rod on the top of the guard tower.
“Funambulating time,” he said with a wink.
“You go.” Again, Sicarius eyed the trail in the snow. “Stay with Maldynado and Basilard. They’ll protect you.”
The harpoon launcher drooped in Sespian’s hands. He looked like he might argue, make another objection, but Sicarius lifted his hand to forestall it. They’d discussed this enough. He gripped Sespian’s arm briefly, then slid down the ladder to the beam, and finally down a post to the ground. He headed into the night to track the soul construct.
Chapter 15
As Amaranthe headed for the submarine hatch and the voluminous black chamber beyond Retta, she second-guessed herself. Maybe she shouldn’t have let Books and Akstyr change into the guard uniforms. Not only did they fit poorly-Akstyr and Books were both tall and lanky, rather than thick and burly-but surely any guards they encountered down here would be familiar with all of their colleagues working this gig. On the other hand, they wouldn’t have known that the woman above had vetoed Amaranthe/Suan’s attempt to bring her comrades along. Amaranthe might have walked in with them in their original costumes. Of course, disallowing visitors might be a Forge-wide policy. Maybe she would get lucky, and there wouldn’t be any guards on duty. It was getting late after all, wasn’t it?
The submarine hadn’t docked so much as been sucked all the way into a cargo bay, the “wall” closing behind it, and now it dripped water from its hull, forming puddles. When Amaranthe ducked through the hatchway and stepped into the chamber, she had to squint and blink at the day-bright light emanating from the walls and from a ceiling thirty feet above her head. More than the light disconcerted her. Those featureless inky walls and the disproportionate architecture-they brought back memories. Walking through corridors, being smashed into a wall by Pike, being picked up by a mechanical claw and locked onto that table, spending hours under the man’s knife, being helpless to escape any of it…
A hand gripped her shoulder. Books.
Amaranthe licked her lips and tried to draw strength from his presence. She wasn’t alone this time, and Pike was dead.
The rest of the men on the Behemoth hadn’t shared his fate, however, and a number of guards were waiting. So much for her hope that there wouldn’t be any. Not only were they there, but there were more than Retta had led her to expect. Ten men, lined up in two squads, stood a couple of meters away from the submarine hatch, their hands clasped behind their backs, crossbows slung over their shoulders and swords at their belts.
Amaranthe’s fingers itched. Books and Akstyr carried the subdued guards’ rifles, but she still had nothing more than a knife.
“Uh, hello?” Retta lifted a hand toward the waiting squads. No, she hadn’t lied; she truly hadn’t expected this many men.
Amaranthe stood in front of the hatchway, trying to block the men’s views of Books and Akstyr’s faces. Difficult given that they were almost a foot taller than she. Wisely, they hung back in the shadows of the hatchway, keeping their heads ducked.
“We’ve two days off,” the highest-ranking guard said. “Captain Wricket said you might be able to take us back up, ma’am.”
Amaranthe barely heard him. She was staring at a pair of men in black fatigues standing by a wide cargo door on the far side of the chamber. They clasped repeating rifles in their arms, making the guards with crossbows seem lackluster in comparison. Stolid, humorless expressions stamped their faces, faces that she recognized. They were two of Pike’s people. She feared they’d see through her flimsy costume and recognize her straight away.
“I certainly can,” Retta said, “but I was going to show my sister around first. We’ve been waiting a long time for her to join us.”
Every set of eyes in the chamber swiveled toward Amaranthe. It was all she could do not to bare her teeth at Retta for drawing their attention. Were those two guards by the door squinting at her with suspicion? Or did they naturally look that constipated? She didn’t know if she should say something-would Suan deign to speak to the hired help?
“Where’s Neeth?” someone asked from the side.
The submarine body had blocked the view of a control station set into the wall and the person who sat at it. The woman stood and joined them, peering at Reeta, then studying Amaranthe. Tight gray curls cupped her head, and spectacles thicker than bottle bottoms framed inquiring brown eyes. She must have been in her seventies, but her step was springy, her curiosity almost palpable.
“We waited for her, but she hadn’t arrived yet, so I decided to make two trips,” Retta said. “Ah, Suan? This is Mia, my assistant.”
“Your assistant?”
Mia’s lips quirked with wry amusement. “You retire from your old career and begin a new one, and they make you start all over at the bottom. I do not, however, fetch her tea or flatcakes.”
“I’ll remember that,” Amaranthe said, instantly liking the woman and hoping she wouldn’t be forced to do anything untoward to her.
“She’s a fast learner and is almost as adept as deciphering the runes as I am.” Retta sighed, and Amaranthe sensed more bitterness than fondness in the exhalation.