“You three, why don’t you scout the water tower and coal-filling station?” Amaranthe suggested. “I’ll meet you back there when I’m-”
Sicarius gripped her arm. “You’re not going in there alone.”
Amaranthe wasn’t sure if he was concerned for her safety or simply thought he needed to save her from another stupid decision. She didn’t like having him countermanding her wishes in front of the men, but she didn’t want to squabble in front of them either. Maldynado and Basilard were already pretending to study the nearest lamppost.
“Excellent,” Amaranthe said. “I was hoping someone would volunteer to accompany me. I fear it shouldn’t be you, however, as those blond locks are quite distinctive. Maldynado, would you like to dress up in a costume and go inside with me? Perhaps you can get a jug of that brandy cider to take with us.”
“Excellent idea, boss,” Maldynado said.
Though she had been speaking to Maldynado, Amaranthe hadn’t looked away from Sicarius, and she raised her eyebrows, silently asking him if her compromise would do.
He didn’t look pleased, but he released her arm and stepped back. “Basilard and I will be nearby if you need assistance.”
Basilard nodded at this.
“Thank you,” Amaranthe said, hoping he knew that she meant her thanks to include the fact that he was still going to support her, even though her loose lips might be the reason they had an extra obstacle to deal with.
What costumes will you use? Basilard pointed at Maldynado. His hair is too long for a soldier.
“I don’t want to beat anyone up for a uniform,” Amaranthe said, “though I have observed that warrior-caste men tend to ignore such things as army regulations.”
“We ignore anything that gets in the way of good fashion sense.” Maldynado stroked the dyed raccoon tail dangling from his fur cap.
Amaranthe refrained from comment. Barely.
“I can feel Sicarius glowering all the way over here,” Amaranthe muttered.
She and Maldynado had, courtesy of an unlocked bedroom window, acquired costumes and were getting ready to casually stroll into the train station as a couple of weary travelers. Amaranthe wore a businesswoman’s skirt, blouse, and fitted jacket, while a wig gave her a head of curly reddish brown hair. Maldynado wore workman’s togs and was still grousing that they hadn’t been able to find something suitable to his tastes-as if anything on an average person’s laundry line would do for him. She meant to pass him off as her servant, should anyone ask, though with his bumptious posture that might be difficult.
“He can hurl that glare around like a cannonball.” Maldynado adjusted an unimaginative wool cap that had replaced his raccoon-fur masterpiece. “You don’t usually get it though.”
“You’re just not around for it. Ready?” Amaranthe waved toward the front door, trying not to focus on the fact that they had to walk between two army lorries to reach it.
“You voluntarily spend time with him, so you can’t blame anyone except yourself,” Maldynado said as they started walking. “You could always spend more time with me.” He wriggled his eyebrows. “I’m fun.”
“Yes, I’ll keep that in mind.”
When they walked past two soldiers posted at the front door, Amaranthe tilted her face downward, ostensibly watching the steps. Maldynado didn’t seem to have it in him to avoid looking anyone in the eye. Though the bounty on his wanted poster had never been raised above a meager two-hundred-and-fifty ranmyas, Amaranthe wouldn’t be surprised if numerous soldiers recognized him at this point. She hoped his drab clothing would keep them from looking too closely.
As they entered the brick building, though, the soldiers weren’t paying much attention to visitors. Some patrolled along the boardwalk outside, but more simply seemed to be waiting. Quite a few had rucksacks with them and were sitting on them. She had the sense of men preparing for a trip to the borders to stave off an enemy encroachment rather than soldiers ready for an immediate brawl.
While pretending to study the blackboard listing arrivals and departures, Amaranthe eased toward a group of chatty privates. With her back to them, she listened to the conversations.
“…was going fast and hard when the call came. Can you believe it? Finest girl in town.”
“Should have seen what I was doing with that buxom woman from the eating house up the street.”
“Oh, yeah? I was with her sister. And she was way more…”
Maldynado snorted as the bragging-disguised-as-complaints continued. “Bet none of them were entertaining more than their hands.”
Amaranthe was about to give up on getting information from the group-maybe there were some officers around with more to talk about-when a familiar voice addressed her from behind.
“You’re audacious to show up here.”
Careful to keep her back to the soldiers, Amaranthe turned to face Sergeant Yara, someone else who could hurl a glare like a cannonball. Yara wasn’t wearing her enforcer uniform, but she managed to appear stern and authoritarian even in an unadorned gray wool sweater. In fact, she looked extra stern. Irked and irritated might be better words.
“Good evening, ma’am,” Maldynado drawled, giving Yara a lazy smirk. “You’re looking well.”
Amaranthe winced. She doubted Yara was in the mood for Maldynado’s charms.
“You’re looking like a buffoon,” Yara told him. “Hasn’t anyone shot you to collect on your bounty yet?”
“Any number of degenerate hoodlums have tried, but they lacked the fighting prowess to threaten me.”
Amaranthe decided not to encourage the conversation by pointing out how many of those degenerate hoodlums had been children armed with slingshots. They had more pressing matters to discuss.
“Sergeant Yara,” Amaranthe said, “I thank you for coming. Ah, you didn’t have anything to do with all of this, did you?” She waved at the soldier-filled lobby.
“No.” Yara’s hard gaze grew harder. “Reinforcements are being sent to the capital because of this.” She removed a knapsack-it clinked, probably from weapons stuffed inside-and withdrew a pair of wrinkled newspapers. She thrust them at Amaranthe.
The headline on the first one was familiar, the story of the assassinations she’d read about before they got on the train. Amaranthe flipped to the second, a Forkingrust newspaper from that morning. It updated the death tally, adding another six men and women, and posited theories as to the culprits. Sicarius’s name was mentioned more than once. A paragraph at the end implored citizens not to worry because troops from nearby garrisons were being called in to aid in finding the murderer and to protect innocent citizens.
Amaranthe slumped. All of these soldiers were on the alert because of Sicarius’s actions? That meant their presence had nothing to do with her choice to talk to Yara, but she couldn’t find it within herself to gloat. This would only make things more difficult for her team. It was odd, though, that soldiers would be called in; enforcers handled crimes in the city. A discordant twang sounded in the back of her mind. Was it possible someone was using the murders as an excuse to bring more troops to the city? Troops possibly loyal to the commanders ordering that advanced weaponry?
Yara rattled the papers, recapturing Amaranthe’s attention. “Did your man do this?”
At least she didn’t accuse the entire team. “Why don’t we go outside to discuss this?” Amaranthe asked.
“Oh, certainly. We wouldn’t want these soldiers to figure out who you are and put an end to any felonies you’re in the process of committing.” Yara’s voice wasn’t quiet.
Amaranthe kept herself from glancing about nervously-and conspicuously. At least Yara wasn’t jumping up and down, yelling and pointing at Amaranthe and Maldynado. Maybe there was hope to placate her.
Amaranthe nodded toward the front door and headed that way, hoping Yara would follow.