The ones he used to steal as a boy; yes, they had been his favorites. He’d almost lost a hand to a humorless baker who’d moved surprisingly quickly for someone so ponderous. Boys shouldn’t have to steal cookies. Yet… it meant something that she remembered his fondness for them.
“You don’t have to buy me anything,” Akstyr mumbled. “I’ll try to get to the Quay tomorrow night if you want to meet me then. We’re leaving the morning after that.”
“I’ll be there,” she said.
Akstyr strode away without looking back. He didn’t want her to think her appearance mattered in his life, though he feared he’d volunteered himself up for disappointment. Either she wouldn’t show up, and he’d wish he hadn’t wasted time going, or she would show up, and she’d probably want money or something from him.
Maybe Sicarius would find out about Akstyr’s deception and kill him before then, making the whole situation moot. Great thought that.
Amaranthe and Books climbed creaky wooden stairs leading to the attic of an old print shop owned by the university. A newer building with steam-powered presses had precluded the need for the dusty screw presses housed below, and visitors were infrequent, usually students and rogue scholars printing subversive documents on the sly. Should any of those people chance upon the outlaws living in the attic, they couldn’t very well turn anybody in when they were participating in illicit activities themselves.
Outside, beneath the noonday sun, Sicarius was finding a place to hide their stolen farm lorry. At least Amaranthe hoped he was doing so. She had asked him to, but he hadn’t acknowledged her with a word or even a look. In fact, he hadn’t spoken since they left Sergeant Yara’s village. Part of it might be that he was worried about Sespian, but she knew part of it was irritation with her.
Amaranthe pushed open the door to the attic and found Maldynado and Basilard sitting across from each other at a desk, playing Strat Tiles on the railway map Amaranthe had laid out before they left for the training exercise. Akstyr sat cross-legged on a crate a few feet away from them, a book open in his lap, though she’d caught him gazing down at the floor instead of at the pages. He flinched when Amaranthe met his eyes.
“Hullo, boss.” Maldynado waved a tile in the air.
Amaranthe gave him a friendly nod, but added, “Nobody’s keeping a watch?”
“Oh, we didn’t need to,” Maldynado said.
Basilard lifted his eyebrows.
Maldynado pointed to a bank of southern-facing windows where sunlight peeped inside, leaving bright rectangles on the whitewashed floorboards. “The dust on those sills started cowering, so we knew it was you coming up the stairs.”
Amaranthe paused, torn between coming up with a rejoinder or rushing over to the windows with a kerchief.
“Don’t do it, boss,” Maldynado said, apparently guessing her thoughts. “It’s bad enough that you cleaned the glass last week. Secret hideouts are supposed to have grimy films over the windows, the better to camouflage one’s clandestine operations.”
“Yes, speaking of clandestine operations,” Amaranthe said, “now that we’re back together, we can collect the items on my shopping list and finalize our plans.”
“ Shopping list?” Akstyr curled a lip. “I don’t want to go marketing.”
Maldynado’s lip twitched, too, perhaps because his pretty face made him the group’s designated shopper.
“Relax, gentlemen.” Amaranthe laid the list on their table. “We’re not talking about broccoli and lamb shanks here.”
Maldynado and Basilard leaned forward to read the list.
“Item number one,” Maldynado said, “blasting sticks. Two, knockout gas. Three, smoke grenades. Oh, good. Manly things.”
“Blasting sticks?” Akstyr asked. “What market has those?”
“More importantly,” Books said, “what are the blasting sticks for?”
“My plan.” Amaranthe smiled and glanced over her shoulder, wondering if Sicarius had joined them yet. She needed the blasting sticks for her kidnapping scheme, but she also hoped they could get enough of them to blow their way into the collapsed mine and the remains of Tarok’s shamanic workshop.
“Will the details of that plan be forthcoming soon?” Books asked.
“Yes,” Amaranthe said. “As some of you already know, the last train we can catch to reach Forkingrust in time to intercept the emperor leaves at dawn. We need to gather our supplies and be on it. Most of us, anyway.”
“Most?” Books asked.
Wait. Basilard pointed at Maldynado. Shouldn’t you tell her about your brother first? Might that knowledge not affect our plans?
Maldynado frowned. “I hope not.”
Amaranthe arched her eyebrows. “Brother?”
“Uhm, yes,” Maldynado said.
Also, she needs to know who got those weapons.
Amaranthe nodded. On the trip back to the city, she’d been so busy scheming ways to get that thing out of Sespian’s neck that she hadn’t thought much about what the other half of the team had been doing.
Basilard seemed to be waiting for Maldynado to start explaining, but when Maldynado merely sat there, shoulders hunched, grimace frozen on his face, Basilard started signing. His fingers flowed, explaining the details of their trip to the army fort.
Chagrin blossomed within Amaranthe as she “listened” to his words. The weapons had been for the military? Not for some coup against the government or the city? She and Sicarius had destroyed, or at least severely damaged, a weapons-making facility that shipped orders to the army?
Amaranthe found herself by the windowsill, wiping away the dust as her mind spun. Dear ancestors, she’d been worried about the kidnapping getting her team in trouble, but this would be a major blow if the authorities found out what she had done. And she’d been foolish enough to amble up and knock on that farmer lady’s door. As soon as someone questioned that woman…
Ugh, just when she’d managed to convince Deret Mancrest that her team was working for the good of the empire… Just when they’d started to see favorable stories printed in the newspapers…
“But there might still be some plot, right?” Akstyr asked.
Thoughts focused inward, Amaranthe had stopped seeing Basilard’s hand signs, but Akstyr’s words made her lift her head. “What?”
Akstyr looked from Maldynado-who was being oddly silent-to Basilard who shrugged, then nodded, then shrugged again. “On account of Maldynado’s brother not being stationed here regularly and him being with that evil-looking fellow in black,” Akstyr said.
At the mention of someone evil in black, all heads turned toward the door. This time, Sicarius was there, standing in the shadows, his face as frigid and unreadable as ever. Out of all of her mistakes over the last two days, Amaranthe was most regretting sharing their plans, however obliquely, with Yara. Sicarius hadn’t said as much, but she had a feeling he saw it as a betrayal of trust. She wasn’t sure he was wrong.
“Evil fellow in black?” Books asked.
“He looked like someone Sicarius would know,” Maldynado said, suddenly animated. Maybe he’d rather talk about anyone except this brother? “Same entirely unimaginative wardrobe, predilection for cruel weapons, and humorless face.” Maldynado draped his elbow over the back of his chair and considered Sicarius. “More scars though.”
“Describe him,” Sicarius said.
“Didn’t I just do that?”
He was an older, white-haired man with a scar, Basilard signed, then drew a semi-circle beneath his eye.
“A brand?” Sicarius asked.
“Yes,” Maldynado said at the same time as Basilard nodded. “It looked like someone stamped him with a hot iron, the way they brand sheep up in the hills.”
“Someone you know?” Amaranthe asked Sicarius. She caught a hopeful tone in her voice. She had to admit that she dearly wanted those weapons to be part of some villainous scheme, so she could justify her team’s interference.
“Major Pike,” Sicarius said.