He crouched, removed one of the dead men’s boots, and tossed it. A curtain of crimson flames flashed across the hatchway. Heat poured out and light flared. Amaranthe stumbled back, shielding her face with her arms. The boot was incinerated.
When the flames disappeared, leaving only a border of glowing red along the bulkhead and floor, she waited for Sicarius to voice an I-told-you-so. He merely watched her. Expectantly. He must think she had an idea, for why else would she insist on racing down here? She smiled bleakly.
It took a few seconds for the crimson borders to dim and wink out, leaving the bulkhead with no signs of a trap.
“Huh,” she muttered.
Amaranthe unlaced two more boots, forcing her mind away from the grisly knowledge that she was disrobing some poor engineer who had been living but moments before. She tossed the first boot. The fire curtain burst forth. As soon as the hatchway grew dark again, she threw the second boot. It flew through and landed on the other side.
She and Sicarius exchanged significant looks.
Only when the border faded, heartbeats later, did the trap reset. Sicarius removed the last boot and nodded for her to stand beside him. He tossed it, waited for the flames to come and go, and they jumped through together.
Though she feared there would be other traps-or they would run into the invisible saboteur-she ran to the first pair of boilers. Pipes rattled, gauges quivered, and needles pushed into the red. There was no time for caution.
Steel squealed just behind her. Amaranthe spun, sword ready.
Sicarius landed in a crouch, a dagger in each hand, and a pair of buckskin fringes wafted to the floor. The Kendorian must have attacked.
“Find the blow off valves,” Sicarius yelled over the clamoring machinery. He glided into position at her back. “I’m here.”
How could one defeat-or even defend against-an invisible foe? Especially here, where noise and smell drowned out the other senses? He would have to figure it out.
She spotted the safety valve on the first boiler, and her shoulders slumped. Warped and melted metal made the handle inoperable. For a lost moment, she stared at the tangle of pipes, gauges, and wheels. Heat roared from the furnace, and sweat beaded on her forehead. Why couldn’t there be a blessed engineer alive?
Sicarius brushed her back, and someone cried out. A bevy of Kendorian curses followed. She glanced back to see Sicarius lunge. Despite his speed, he connected with nothing.
A nearby wall held another firefighting station. Amaranthe spotted the axe.
“Back in a second,” she said to Sicarius.
She sprinted over and grabbed the axe. If she couldn’t engineer a solution, brute force might work. She ran back, tool raised. As soon as she reached the boiler, she smashed the warped valve.
Steam burst free, and she barely threw herself to the side before it blistered her face. It worked, though, and the gauge’s needle dropped out of the red.
“Got one,” Amaranthe said.
She darted toward the second boiler, but tripped over something she could not see. Lightning flashed and an electrical force pounded her. Energy crackled about her. Agony tore through her body, and she dropped the axe, crumpling to her knees.
As abruptly as the pain came, it disappeared. Sicarius rolled past, grappling with their invisible assailant.
Amaranthe shook off the attack, snatched the axe, and launched herself at the second valve.
“Two of them,” Sicarius barked.
Amaranthe smashed the valve. Again, steam whooshed out, parting around an invisible figure. It lunged toward Amaranthe.
She whipped the axe across, hoping to keep the attacker at bay. The heavy blade slammed into flesh with a moist meaty thump.
A scream buffeted Amaranthe’s ears, and she released the axe. The invisibility spell flickered out. A blonde woman collapsed. She struck the floor, gasping, curling around the axe head lodged in her gut.
Movement pulled Amaranthe’s gaze to the side. A Kendorian male lay on his back, a dagger protruding from his chest.
Sicarius rolled to his feet with a second blade in his hand. He sliced the woman’s throat.
“The other boilers,” Amaranthe remembered, forcing her gaze from the dying Kendorian.
Sicarius tore the axe free and finished the task. Legs rubbery, Amaranthe walked around to each boiler, double checking gauges to make sure the threat was over. She pushed damp strands of hair out of her eyes with trembling hands. Sicarius appeared as calm as ever, though sweat dampened his hair. She tried to catch his eye to give him a nod of thanks, but he faced the other direction, a throwing knife in hand.
Amaranthe stepped around a boiler, and the hatchway came into view. “Cursed ancestors,” she groaned.
With the Kendorians’ deaths, the trap had disappeared.
The captain stood in the hatchway, pistol aimed at Sicarius. A squad of men had entered and fanned out on either side, swords ready, firearms raised. All weapons focused on Sicarius.
Though she was not sure it would stop anyone from shooting, she stepped in front of him, arms spread. She met the captain’s eyes. How much had the men seen? Did they know she and Sicarius had saved the ship? Even if they did, would it matter?
The captain closed his eyes for a long moment, then told his men, “Lower your weapons.”
“Sir?” a nervous corporal squeaked, his wide eyes toward Sicarius.
“You heard me,” the captain said. “Lower your weapons and step aside from the hatch.”
Amaranthe swallowed, emotion choking her throat. With this many witnesses, there was no way the captain’s superiors would fail to learn he had let Sicarius go.
She waved for him to sheath his weapons, and slowly, very slowly, they started for the hatch. For Sicarius to walk past armed soldiers, leaving them at his back, must have gone against every instinct ingrained in him, but he did. He and Amaranthe made it to the captain without incident.
“Thank you,” she murmured as they passed.
“Thankyou.” He looked at her, at Sicarius, and back at her. “Just don’t make me regret giving up…” A muscle jumped in his jaw.
“I’ll do my best, sir,” she said.
Snow sifted from the heavens. A pile rested atop the trolley stop sign. Amaranthe’s watch promised they were in time for the last run of the night. The flame in a nearby streetlamp sputtered and hissed.
She watched Sicarius survey their surroundings. Even with the streets empty and the city silent, he remained vigilant. He had not spoken since the fight in the boiler room, and she wondered what he thought of the night. Even his “heroics” had ruined a man’s career. Perhaps he never would escape his past. Still, they had helped the city, and she had to believe word would get back to the emperor one way or another.
To lighten his mood, or perhaps hers, she waited until his back was to her, then swept the snow off the sign and patted it into a tidy ball. She chucked it, grinning at the thought of a satisfying splat.
Just before it hit, Sicarius blurred into motion. She was barely conscious of him evading the projectile before a snowball splattered against her chest.
“I asked for that, didn’t I?” she groaned, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Cocky to think I could surprise you.”
Sicarius strolled over and leaned against the post next to her. “You do know that whether you outrun, outfight, or out-snowball-throw your men is irrelevant, correct?”
Amaranthe tilted her head toward him, eyebrows raised.
“That you concoct, and lead the way into, crazy schemes that not only succeed but make us look like better men than we are…that is why we follow you.”
She dropped her chin and brushed the snow off her sweater in order to hide the flush creeping into her cheeks. Hugging him for the compliment probably would not be professional, so she merely said, “Crazy, huh?”