Basilard signed, In?
“Yes, you two go ahead,” Amaranthe said. “I’ll wait to see if Sicarius shows up.”
A dog barked in another part of the train yard.
“Maybe you should wait inside with us,” Maldynado said. “Station security will likely be along, banging on the doors and making sure there aren’t too many train-hopping vagrants weighing down the cars.”
Like us? Basilard signed.
“No, we’re vigilantes, not vagrants. They ought to feel lucky to have us along. I bet if highway men jump the train, the boss’ll insist we do something heroic like save the engineer’s life.”
Who would rob a train full of potatoes?
“Someone without my charisma and good looks,” Maldynado said. “In other words, poor saps who have to pay full price for groceries.”
“Get inside, you two,” Amaranthe said.
She wondered if leading these men was good practice for having children someday. If she kept herself alive long enough for that eventuality to come to pass.
Gravel crunched, someone jogging. The noise meant it wasn’t Sicarius.
Amaranthe pressed her back against the train to hide in its shadows and peered into the predawn gloom. Two figures were running her way. Before she could worry that it might be security, she recognized the familiar, long-legged gait of one. Books, and that must be Akstyr at his side.
Amaranthe stepped out of the shadows. “Here.”
Books jumped and Akstyr skidded to a stop, arms flailing for balance.
“Emperor’s bunions,” Akstyr whispered. “Don’t scare a man.”
He was out of breath. Books swiped sweat out of his eyes.
“News?” Amaranthe asked.
“News,” Books said.
“Good or bad?”
“When is it ever good?” A newspaper crinkled as Books pulled it out from his waistband and handed it to Amaranthe.
“It’s a little dark for-”
Akstyr waved a hand, and a small globe of light flared to life.
“-reading without an Akstyr around,” Amaranthe finished.
He smirked. The light did not reveal a hint of humor on Books’s flushed face. He simply pointed at the front-page headline.
ASSASSIN STRIKES: TWENTY-ONE PROMINENT ENTREPRENEURS FOUND MURDERED.
“I didn’t spend months putting that list together so your thrice-cursed assassin could kill everybody on it,” Books whispered, his voice cracking on the word kill.
Amaranthe sagged against the rail car and used the excuse of reading the story to avoid Books’s stare.
“That’s the tally as of last night when the paper was prepared.” Books started pacing back and forth, gravel crunching beneath his feet. “Only his dead ancestors know how many more he killed under the stars. Those people may all have been aligned with Forge, perhaps working toward a goal that’s at cross-purposes with ours, but you know they’re not all responsible for the threats to the city, to the empire. I’m sure some of them were just joining the coalition because they thought it was better to be with Forge than against them. Some of those names-” Books thrust a hand toward the paper, his movements stiff and jerky, “-weren’t even confirmed members. They were just people loosely associated with the organization. Dear emperor, I wasn’t sure on some of them. I put them on the list because they were suspects, people to research in more depth later. I-” Books sank into a crouch and buried his face in his hands.
“I’m sorry, Books,” Amaranthe said, wishing she could say something less inane. “That’s not the reason I had you collect the names. I never would have-”
“Oh, I know you’re not that callous. Or thoughtless.” Books jumped to his feet and resumed pacing, hands clenched at his sides. “He’s just declared war on Forge, that’s what he’s done. Did you read the article? They were all killed the same way, slit throats. It’s not going to take an enforcer detective to guess who was responsible. And what’s it gotten him? However many he’s slain, it’s not going to be all of them. It won’t be the ones that have the most power, the people like Larocka Myll and Arbitan Losk who could afford magical protection, and it won’t be the people who are in the Imperial Barracks, strong-arming the emperor. No, he’s out there killing journeymen and apprentices. All he’s going to do is make the higher powers angry. He may be able to dodge their wrath, but what about us?”
Akstyr stirred. Behind Amaranthe, Basilard and Maldynado came to the edge of the open freight car.
“Everybody knows we’re working with him,” Books said. “People will think… I don’t know what they’ll think. I don’t even know what he was thinking.”
Amaranthe knew exactly what Sicarius had been thinking. He’d learned that Sespian had one of those nodules in his neck, and he’d gone into a reckless place where parents went when their children were threatened.
Books’s pacing ended and he pressed his palms against the rail car. “Amaranthe, I put that list together,” he whispered. “I abetted a murderer.”
“If it helps,” Maldynado said, “we’ve decided we’re vigilantes, not murderers.”
Books launched a glare so fierce that Amaranthe thought he might leap into the train and pummel Maldynado. She put a hand on Books’s arm, lest he be tempted. He rammed his other hand against the wall of the rail car, but, after that, he let her guide him away from the others.
“I won’t say I know how you feel,” Amaranthe said quietly, “but…”
“You do. I know.” Books’s shoulders slumped, and the rage seemed to bleed out of him, though perhaps not the disappointment in himself. “I remember talking to you that night outside of the cannery. I don’t know how you could ever forgive him for killing your enforcer colleagues.”
“I… realized I’d chosen to work with him, knowing what he was, so the responsibility was mine. That doesn’t make it easier, I know.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
“But I’d also be dead by now, a dozen times dead, if not for him,” Amaranthe said.
“Though I’m glad you are still among the living, does one saved life make up for countless others taken?”
“I don’t know.” Amaranthe liked to think that what she was doing for Sespian, and for the empire, put her life above that of business people trying to strong-arm the government, but she was undoubtedly biased when it came to her own subsistence. And the Strat Tiles had yet to all be played, so she didn’t know how history would see her in the end. As a hero? Or some fool who’d tried to fight on the wrong side and had done more harm than good? Or maybe it wouldn’t remember her at all. Depressing thought, that.
“Amaranthe.” Books gripped her arm and lowered his voice. Akstyr had joined the others in the car, so they’d lost their light, but Amaranthe had little trouble reading the earnestness on Books’s face and in his voice. “I make this request, not as your colleague or team member, but as your friend, as someone who cares about your soul. Get rid of him. Please. I know he means something to you, and he has skills that are valuable, but those aren’t good enough reasons to keep a murderer around, especially not if he’s going to turn into an Akstyr, someone who runs around doing random things that can have consequences without thinking about the welfare of the group.”
“Books…” Amaranthe wanted to tell him that Sicarius’s actions weren’t random, that she could predict them, indeed had predicted this, but she couldn’t, not without betraying secrets that she had sworn never to voice to anyone.
“Just think about it.” Books released her arm, took a deep breath, and straightened his spine. “I’ll collect Akstyr, and we’ll do our part to help the emperor.”
“Thank you, Books. Maybe helping Sespian here… maybe this can be the beginning of the end.” Amaranthe added, “In a good way,” when she realized the former might have negative connotations.
“Let’s hope.”
A steam whistle screeched.
“We have to go.” Amaranthe stuck her head inside the car. “Akstyr, Books is waiting for you.”