“Rockjaw,” Amaranthe said. “Good to see you.”
“ Good? ” Books whispered.
Rockjaw was a murderer and a rapist who ran a guild of thieves. Normally, Amaranthe would have avoided-or arrested-someone like him, but he had a talent for collecting information, and she’d found it useful to trade tidbits with him from time to time, even if she often wished she could scrub her soul with soap and water afterward.
“Good to see you, too, Ammy.” He winked and gave her a long look up and down. It wasn’t quite as long and lurid as the one he had given her the first time they met, so she decided to count that as progress.
Books growled.
“Who’s this, Ms. Lokdon?” Ms. Sarevic adjusted her spectacles and craned her neck to look Books in the eyes. “I thought you’d bring the pretty one to flirt with me and haggle for a better deal.”
Warmth blossomed behind Amaranthe’s cheeks. While that was exactly why she kept Maldynado around, she hadn’t realized others had figured it out and that he was becoming known as her dealmaker.
“Sorry, he was busy tonight,” Amaranthe said. “I hope you’re not disappointed.”
“I am a touch, yes. It’s not often that pretty young fellows flirt with me any more.”
Rockjaw withdrew a pipe and a tin of tobacco, and started preparing a smoke. Amaranthe stifled a frown. She hoped he wasn’t there to collect information on her. Though he had been the one to recommend Ms. Sarevic to her weeks before, it seemed to be too much of a coincidence that he was there at the same time as Amaranthe.
Ms. Sarevic poked into a box and headed for the drawers of a desk half-buried by scraps of leather and canvas. When she started rummaging, a tin fell to the ground and spilled washers across the floor. Ms. Sarevic ignored them, but Amaranthe watched them roll around, her fingers itching to pick them up and return them to their home.
“The blasting sticks are in that box over there.” Ms. Sarevic waved to a corner while continuing to poke through drawers. “Your man can carry them. No need to be overly careful. I created a more stable substrate than the army uses, so they’re less likely to spontaneously explode.”
“ Less likely,” Books said. “Joy.”
“Blasting sticks, hm?” Rockjaw lit his pipe. “Whatever are you planning next, Ammy?”
Amaranthe tore her gaze from the spilled washers and flicked a dismissive hand. “The usual mayhem. Ms. Sarevic, why don’t you finish waiting on Rockjaw first, so he can be on his way? I’m sure he has mayhem of his own to pursue tonight, and I wouldn’t want to delay him.” She certainly wouldn’t want him piecing together her plans based on the supplies she’d ordered.
“Oh, I’m in no hurry.” Rockjaw scraped the end of his pipe through a mustachio, using it like a pick to detangle the rope of hair.
Ms. Sarevic, rummaging in a footlocker now, didn’t seem to hear them. “And then that box on my desk is full of your smoke grenades and-”
“I’m sure it’s all there,” Amaranthe blurted. “No need to detail everything. How much do we owe you?”
Rockjaw’s eyes narrowed. The spilled washers were bothering Amaranthe anyway, so she knelt and scooped them up to avoid his scrutiny. She dumped them into their tin, then looked around for a decent place to set the tin. Finding little open shelf space, she held onto it.
“Not much for a savvy businesswoman such as yourself,” Ms. Sarevic said, voice echoing oddly because she had her head stuffed in the metal locker. “Three thousand ranmyas should cover the parts and my time.”
“Three thousand?” Amaranthe forgot the washers and stared at the woman. “You said… I mean your estimate was closer to two thousand.”
“Yes, but the knockout gas was quite difficult. You specified that the canisters had to release an inhalant upon impact, and that involved many hours of intricate work. You don’t want shoddy craftsmanship for something like that, dear.”
Amaranthe groaned at the details Sarevic was leaking while Rockjaw grinned, not trying to hide his interest in the least. Again, she wondered what he was doing there. He couldn’t know about the kidnapping plans, could he? Amaranthe wished she had Sicarius around to glare at him and convince him to leave. Of course, if Ms. Sarevic were less oblivious, she wouldn’t be giving up a client’s information, but the woman seemed to lack any sort of tact in that area.
“Ah, there it is.” Sarevic pulled out a metal device that looked like a cross between a pistol and a teakettle with a cylindrical kerosene canister attached to the underside. She displayed it to Amaranthe with a proud grin plumping her round cheeks. “You said you needed something that would cut through metal. Concentrated flame will do that at a sufficiently high temperature.”
Rockjaw’s eyes grew brighter yet at this new hint. Amaranthe merely sighed. “Yes, I’ve seen something that could do that,” she said, thinking of the torch they’d used to cut through a hatch on that underwater laboratory.
Ms. Sarevic’s grin disappeared. “You have? Someone else made something like my blowtorch?”
“Oh, no, it was… The device we glimpsed wasn’t entirely technology-based.”
“Magic!” Sarevic spat.
“Yes, quite an inferior product though.” Actually, Amaranthe wished she had thought to keep that baton. It had been more compact than Ms. Sarevic’s mundane version and would have been easier to fit in a rucksack. She made a note to hoard future useful artifacts, even if she was busy dodging attacks from krakens at the time.
“Naturally,” Sarevic grumbled. “Do you have the three thousand ranmyas?”
Maybe if Sicarius hadn’t stormed off, and she could send him to a gambling house to win a few rounds, she would. “I don’t suppose you’d accept partial payment now and the rest later?”
“Partial payment gets you partial supplies.” Sarevic propped a grease-smeared fist against her hip. “And the irritation of the woman who worked hard to complete your order on time.”
“Perhaps charging your clients half up front and half once they’ve seen if everything works would be fair,” Books said.
Sarevic’s hands dropped. She grabbed the blowtorch and stomped toward Books like a squad of enforcers approaching a barricaded door with a battering ram. “ If everything works? You doubt my skills?”
Displaying great bravery, Books stepped behind Amaranthe.
Rockjaw, watching the exchange with amusement, shook his head and lifted his eyes ceiling-ward. Amaranthe blushed, annoyed anew to have him there.
She turned, put a hand on Books’s arm, and whispered, “Don’t help,” before he could respond to Sarevic.
“Please forgive him, ma’am,” Amaranthe said, facing Sarevic again and withdrawing her purse. “Of course we know of your reputation and how skilled you are. We don’t doubt that your devices work as promised. We can pay you full price.” Amaranthe could feel Books’s gaze on the back of her head as she untied the purse strings. No doubt he was wondering if she had full price. “Although…” Amaranthe lifted her head, as if she’d just thought of a sterling idea. “Perhaps you’d be better served by partial payment and a trade.”
“A trade,” Sarevic said flatly.
“Indeed so.” Amaranthe spread an arm to encompass the basement. “It’s clear that you’re in need of a cleaning service, but I imagine the covert nature of your work makes you hesitant to invite outsiders down, outsiders who might blab about your special workshop and second set of office hours. Suppose we pay you two thousand ranmyas in cash tonight,” Amaranthe said, taking a guess at how much Sarevic had paid for parts and how much of her fee was the result of personal hours invested in the projects, “and then I come back several times over the next month or two to clean and organize everything here?”
“Organize?” Sarevic scratched her head while she considered her shop.
“Yes.” Warming to the idea, Amaranthe walked about, gesticulating as she explained. “We could do a rack over here with baskets, a shelving unit there, and all of those cogs, nuts, and bolts could have separate smaller containers that would go in a bin system. I’d put labels on everything, of course. Think how much time you could save if you didn’t have to hunt around for things.” Amaranthe went on for two or three minutes, describing her vision. By the time she finished with, “And we haven’t even talked about hooks and racks for ceiling storage,” Sarevic was gaping at her.