A lot of mights and maybes, Amaranthe admitted, but it was worth checking out. Yes. If her idea proved fruitful, then, when she told Sicarius about the implant, she could also offer him a solution. That’d be the more humane choice. He wouldn’t worry as much then. And-she admitted there was a selfish component to her considerations-he wouldn’t be tempted to abandon her and go off on his own. Now she had even more reason to question Yara, though she’d have to make sure and do it without Sicarius around.
“Are you coming?” Sicarius asked from outside the cab door.
Amaranthe flinched, nearly falling off the seat. “Er, yes.” She barely kept herself from snatching the newspaper and hurling it into the furnace, where it’d burn before Sicarius could see it. Feigning calm, she told Books, “Better put that away so we can complete this errand and return to the road.”
“Hm, yes.” Books folded the paper and tucked it away with his journal. He didn’t seem to notice the desperate don’t-say-a-word-about-this-to-anyone look Amaranthe implored him with. She’d have to remember to pull him aside later and make sure he knew.
Amaranthe led the men down a side street and up a stairway to the residential entrance of the smithy. The lamp was burning behind the shutters near the door, so Amaranthe paused on the landing to listen. Footsteps sounded, someone walking into the room. She couldn’t tell if the treads were male or female.
Amaranthe knocked softly. Without hesitation, the footsteps approached the door. It swung open. A man stood there, tall, burly, and wearing enforcer grays. His uniform tag read YARA, though he bore the rank of a corporal instead of a sergeant. He had a strong, square jaw and angular face similar to that of his sister, and he regarded Amaranthe and the men with narrow suspicious eyes also reminiscent of Sergeant Yara.
“Good morning,” Amaranthe said, “sorry to disturb you so early, but we were passing through and wondered if-”
The door slammed shut in her face.
“Am I losing my knack for chatting with people?” Amaranthe wondered.
The door whipped open again. This time the corporal had a repeating crossbow pressed to his shoulder, the quarrel targeting Sicarius. Or at least it was in the process of targeting him. Between one eye blink and the next, Sicarius stepped inside and tore the crossbow from the man’s hands. The burly corporal had fifty pounds on Sicarius, but was the one to stumble back. When he launched a fist, Sicarius caught it in his hand and twisted the corporal’s wrist while spinning him to face the wall by the door.
The corporal opened his mouth to yell something, but Sicarius stopped him with a palm smashed over his lips. Amaranthe stepped through the doorway and checked to see if anyone else occupied the room, but only a worn sofa and chairs on a forest-green rug greeted her. One wall held a fireplace with a sword and a number of antique smithy tools mounted above it.
“An admirable collection,” Books remarked from behind Amaranthe’s shoulder. “That hammer on the lower left is made from copper, so it predates iron as a-”
Yara’s brother growled.
“A discussion for another time,” Amaranthe suggested.
Footsteps sounded in a nearby room. Sergeant Yara came out, also dressed in her enforcer uniform, though she had not yet buttoned her jacket over the black undershirt. She held a brush to her head and was in the process of taming her short tousled hair when she saw the scene. She dropped the brush and tore the sword from its perch above the fireplace.
“This isn’t precisely how I imagined my ‘thank you’ going,” Books said.
Before Sicarius could decide he wanted to incapacitate Sergeant Yara as well as her brother, Amaranthe stepped forward, hands spread. “Good morning. Your brother is fine. He just decided to greet my comrade with a crossbow in the face.”
“Your comrade deserves much worse than that,” Sergeant Yara said.
In their last conversation-Yara might consider it a confrontation-Amaranthe had learned the woman lost some of her vitriol if one didn’t engage in arguments with her. “Do you have a moment before work?” Amaranthe asked, keeping her voice pleasant despite Yara’s hostile scowl. “We found something going on in your district and thought you should know about it.”
“Mevlar, are you hurt?” Yara asked.
Sicarius lowered his hand, though Mevlar’s face was still smashed against the wall.
“Do you know who these people are?” Mevlar demanded, ignoring her question. “There’s a wanted poster out for them, especially him.”
“I know,” Yara said, her eyes locked onto Amaranthe. “Why are you here?”
Amaranthe waved to Sicarius, hoping he would rearrange Mevlar so the man wouldn’t feel quite so uncomfortable. Though he gave her a long look first, Sicarius turned his captive around so they both faced the room. He kept his grip on the enforcer’s arm and pulled his black dagger out, holding it so the young man could see it. Though Sicarius’s head only came to the young enforcer’s chin, Mevlar stood quietly, an eye toward that inky blade.
Amaranthe reached into a pocket for one of the cartridges from the weapons manufacturing facility and tossed it. Yara plucked it from the air with her left hand; the sword in her right never wavered.
“Were you the enforcer investigating the farm at the end of Four Pond Lane?” Amaranthe asked.
Yara glanced at her brother.
“You went back out to the farms?” Mevlar frowned at his sister. “I thought the captain told you to let that-” Mevlar seemed to remember they had company and clamped his mouth shut.
“I haven’t been back out there since last month,” Yara said, her tone snappish, and Amaranthe guessed the two had argued over the matter before.
Yara opened her fist to examine the bullet, then sucked in a quick breath.
“What is it, Evy?” Mevlar asked.
Yara held up the cartridge so her brother could see, but she addressed Amaranthe. “I chanced across some of these and a broken rifle of a strange design two months ago. I’ve been trying to locate the source and find out if there are more or if they were prototypes.”
“There are more,” Amaranthe said. “A lot more.”
“Evy.” Mevlar shifted his weight, but Sicarius’s grip tightened on his arm, holding him in place. “These are criminals. The only discussion you should be having with them is to tell them their rights and how we’re going to escort them down to headquarters.”
Before Amaranthe could point out the unlikelihood of the enforcer leading them anywhere, given his current position, Books stepped forward and lifted a finger.
“ I’m not a criminal. Thanks to your sister’s kindness, the indictment that was wrongly placed upon my head has been lifted. Would you object if I spoke to her?”
“I object to this whole situation!” Mevlar barked, his face growing red.
Yara was staring at the bullet in her hand, and Amaranthe didn’t know if she had noticed Books.
“If you go out to that farm today,” Amaranthe said, “you might be able to see some of the weapons and the remains of the manufacturing facility. I don’t know how quickly they’ll be able to clean up and hide everything again, considering…” She met Sicarius’s eyes for a moment. “Well, I think they’ll be delayed.”
“I’ll bet.” Yara’s jaw tightened and she gave Sicarius a hard stare, one utterly devoid of fear. “What’s your stake in all of this?”
Amaranthe smiled. “We’re simply concerned citizens.”
Yara snorted.
“We can leave now if you wish,” Amaranthe said, “but I believe you have a piece of knowledge that I need. Perhaps we could trade information for information? I could tell you what I know about the weapons and who might be behind them, and you could better decide if they represent a threat to your district.” Appealing to Yara’s sense of duty would be more likely to interest her than anything else. Such an offer would have swayed Amaranthe once.