Amaranthe decided she had better let her potential new client have a moment to mull over the idea. Meanwhile, Rockjaw was stroking his mustachios and watching with an expression somewhere between bemusement and incredulity. Nothing new. Her men gave her those looks all the time.
“You are… qualified for such work?” Sarevic finally asked.
“Oh, yes,” Amaranthe said. “I’ve been inflicting, er, providing organizational paradigms for friends and relatives for years.”
“It’s true,” Books said. “You should see her work with rucksacks. Did you know underwear apparently won’t wrinkle when tucked into tight little rolls?”
Because Amaranthe’s roaming explanations had taken her from Books’s side, she couldn’t grab his arm and whisper, “Don’t help,” again. Fortunately, Ms. Sarevic threw her head back and laughed.
“You do look like a neat and prim little thing,” she said.
“She is,” Books said, before Amaranthe could decide if she wanted to encourage the new line the conversation had taken. He pointed at her. “Look, not a spec of dirt beneath her nails, nor a strand of hair gone stray from her bun. And you can probably tell she irons her fatigues. I bet you’ve never met a mercenary who does that. And look at the shine on those boots. You can view your own reflection if you gaze into them. Ask to see her sword and knife too. They’re spotless. Precisely sharpened and not a smudge on the blades. You’d think they just came from the smithy.”
Sarevic was nodding, so Amaranthe kept her mouth shut.
“Yes, yes,” Sarevic said, “you’re right. Organization would be good.” She lifted the blowtorch, propping it against her shoulder, and stuck out her free hand. “We have a pact.”
Amaranthe clasped the woman’s forearm to close the deal, and Sarevic demonstrated how to use the kerosene torch. When she pointed out the pump used to pressurize the fuel in the tank and explained the possible hazards, Amaranthe wondered if the blasting sticks might actually be the less dangerous item to tote around.
After Sarevic finished demonstrating her goods, Amaranthe helped Books cart their supplies out of the basement. She wasn’t surprised when Rockjaw followed them into the alley.
He stopped in front of them, blocking the way as he planted a hand on the brick wall and leaned against it.
“Are you certain you want to impede a man carrying a box full of blasting sticks?” Books asked.
Amaranthe simply waited to see what Rockjaw wanted.
“I’ve never seen anybody talk Ms. Sarevic down a single ranmya, much less a thousand,” he said. “Although I’d rather pay in solid gold than clean that place.”
Amaranthe knew he hadn’t stopped them to chat about her bargaining skills, so she kept her answer short. “I like to have projects like that. It gives my hands something to do while my head is worrying about things.”
And she knew her men preferred it when she had something legitimate to clean instead of trying to tidy them. Fortunately Books didn’t bring up underwear again.
“I see,” Rockjaw said. “What are you worrying about now?” His gaze flickered to the boxes Amaranthe and Books held.
“Nothing I’d care to share,” Amaranthe said.
“Not even for the right price?”
“With my deal complete, I’ve no need for extra coin right now.”
“I was thinking of information, not coin,” Rockjaw said. “I know something you’d like to know.”
“You sound positive.”
“Oh, I am. It involves your men.”
A jackrabbit hopped around in Amaranthe’s belly. Sicarius? Was he in trouble? It seemed unlikely-the only time he’d gotten in trouble had been when he was trying to do a favor for her. Somehow she doubted he had that in mind currently. Of course, if he had gone off on Sespian’s behalf… Amaranthe had no doubt that Sespian meant more to him than she did and that he would risk much on his son’s behalf.
“Is that so?” she asked, trying to keep any sign of her thoughts off her face. “What’s the price for this information?”
Rockjaw pushed away from the wall and strolled closer. Though he had put his pipe away, the scent of tobacco lingered about him. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing with knockout gas, blasting sticks, and a torch that can cut through metal?”
“Sorry, but I need to keep the details of our next mission to myself,” Amaranthe said. “I don’t suppose you’d like me to clean and organize your hideout in trade for your information?”
“I don’t believe you’d care to visit the bowels of my hideout.” Rockjaw smirked. “I’ve learned enough about you to know you’d be horrified by the conditions for my workers and… guests. A clean environment is not their primary consideration.”
Books stirred at Amaranthe’s side. Though he said nothing, she could imagine him wondering what he’d done in his life to be condemned to standing in dark alleys, conversing with such unsavory sorts.
“Shouldn’t you cackle maniacally after you say things like that?” Amaranthe asked Rockjaw.
“Do you want the information or not, Lockdon? If you’re not going to tell me what you’re up to, I need something else useful in trade.”
Amaranthe still had one of the rifle cartridges in her pocket. She withdrew it and rolled it around in her hand, debating whether to give it to Rockjaw and tell him about the weapons. That the fancy firearms had been made in secrecy for the army meant she probably shouldn’t spread the word, but that proprietary design still made her wonder if there wasn’t something fishy going on. At the moment, it was the only interesting information she could part with.
She tossed Rockjaw the bullet and told him about the farm and what was out there. At her side, Books shifted uneasily as she shared the information, but he didn’t object at any point.
“Interesting.” Rockjaw rubbed the cartridge between his fingers. “And worth the information I have to offer you.”
Amaranthe suspected she’d given Rockjaw something worth far more than what he was going to tell her, but she managed a “Thank you” that wasn’t too dry.
“Your boy, Akstyr, tried to sell information on Sicarius’s whereabouts and secret weaknesses today.”
Books sucked in a breath. He probably didn’t care one way or another about Sicarius, but someone coming after Sicarius might endanger the whole team.
“I see.” Amaranthe was disappointed, but not surprised that Akstyr had tried to betray them. The part about “secret weaknesses” disconcerted her. Had Akstyr figured out Sicarius’s relationship to Sespian? It seemed impossible, but she couldn’t think of anything else that could be used against Sicarius. “To whom?” she asked Rockjaw.
“Khaalid the Knife.”
“That’s a bounty hunter, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but he refused the offer,” Rockjaw said. “He made a point to tell me, knowing I occasionally deal with you. I think he wouldn’t mind being on Sicarius’s good side.”
“Sicarius doesn’t have a good side,” Books said.
“Khaalid would like to not be on his bad side then,” Rockjaw said. “Of course, this altruism might be due to the fact that your boy wanted twenty-five-thousand ranmyas for the information.”
“What in the empire for?” Books asked. “All he does is read and visit brothels.”
Amaranthe could guess-she’d ferreted most of last summer’s scheme to kill Sicarius out of Basilard after he gave it up, and she knew Akstyr wanted to leave the empire to pursue his studies. She’d been trying to find him a local tutor, so he could further his education without leaving the group, but maybe it’d be better to let Akstyr go. He was her least reliable team member and always had been. But then, his skills had come in useful at times. She touched her belly, thinking of the scars beneath her clothing. Maybe it was worth talking to him before making any decisions. With Sicarius off doing who knew what, she could get Akstyr alone for a frank conversation without worrying about stealthy assassins overhearing.