The flame scorched the metal, but a hole appeared. A small hole. She moved the torch a half an inch. This might work, but it was going to take time. Maybe more time than they had.
A shot fired, this time from within the car.
“Who’s shooting?” Amaranthe demanded without taking her eyes from the torch.
“I’m not aiming to kill,” Maldynado said, “but they’ll be less eager to thrust themselves inside if they’re convinced I’m trying to shoot ’em.”
On the other side of the square she was cutting, Sicarius knelt to face Amaranthe. He hadn’t said anything about her plan. He set Sespian down, and the emperor’s head lolled to the side. With his eyes closed, soft brown hair across his brow, and his face peaceful with sleep, he appeared young, like a kid, not an emperor. Akstyr was younger, but Amaranthe doubted many people would guess on looks alone.
Her gaze slid to Sespian’s neck, and queasiness rolled into her stomach. The bump they had seen in the newspaper picture was there. Not a mole or wart or any sort of growth on top of the skin. It was definitely something burrowed beneath the flesh, leaving a bulge the size of a pencil top. It was identical to nodules they’d seen on the necks of other people who’d crossed Forge. All too well, Amaranthe remembered the thug Sicarius had been questioning in a warehouse and how the man had launched into convulsions before pitching to the floor, dead.
Sicarius caught her wrist and took the cutting torch. Amaranthe hadn’t been paying enough attention, and she’d strayed away from her line. He went to work, moving the tool along more efficiently than she had been.
“Does this mean you’re willing to try my idea?” Amaranthe asked.
Gunshots punctuated her words.
“We have few options,” Sicarius said. “I won’t surrender him.” He gave her a quick, determined look, and it sent a wave of fear over her. Not for herself, but for the soldiers shooting, chopping, and hacking their way into the car. Sespian would never forgive Sicarius for killing all of his men, and Sicarius had to know that, but maybe he was afraid that leaving Sespian here would mean his death at the hands of Forge, and he was willing to risk Sespian’s eternal hatred to save his life.
“Sicarius…”
He ignored her. The flame burning through the floor reflected off the textured metal around it and cast a wavering orange glow upon Sicarius’s face, creating a dance of shadows and light across it and showing his intense determination.
“Boss!” Maldynado called. “I almost lost my left nut with that shot. These soldiers aren’t worrying about-ouch! I mean, they’re not worrying about where they’re shooting. We can’t hold ’em back for long.”
“Light off any more smoke grenades you have,” Amaranthe yelled. “And pile up any loose furniture in front of the doors.”
Sicarius finished cutting the square in the floor. He set the torch aside and wedged his black dagger into one of the cracks.
“Be careful.” Amaranthe eyed the smoke rising from the blackened metal. “That’ll be hot.”
Sicarius flicked her a dry glance before prying open their new trapdoor without touching the edges.
“I know, I’m stating the obvious again,” Amaranthe said, “but remember, that saves you from something gooey and sentimental.”
Sicarius had stuck his head through the opening, and she didn’t know if he heard her. It was a good thing her aim had been ragged and the hole had ended up on the wide side, because there was a thick beam running beneath the right three inches.
Sicarius popped back up. “It’s doable. You go first.”
“Because this was my absurd idea?” Amaranthe joined Sicarius on the other side of the hole, so that she faced the front of the train, and dropped to her belly. She could hardly object to leading the way. It was her idea.
“Because you need to get to the engine first to figure out your plan for keeping the soldiers busy until we reach the pass.”
Amaranthe offered a bleak, “Ah.” Yes, she had promised to come up with something.
“And the farther back someone is, the more likely it is that one of the soldiers will have noticed someone going under the couplings and will be ready to shoot,” Sicarius added. “You’re not expendable. Neither is Sespian, so I’ll go after you.”
Amaranthe hoped Basilard and Maldynado weren’t listening just then. She also hoped her plan wasn’t going to condemn anyone.
She ducked her head through the hole. It was deafening down there, with the wheels grinding and clacking past each section of the tracks. There was no light either, so they’d have to go by touch. She had a vague sense of a two-foot clearance but also saw the dark bumps of beams and protuberances that would make it closer to a foot in places.
“Boss?” Maldynado was behind her, and Basilard behind him. Blood streaked both of their faces, and a bruise swelled on Basilard’s temple. “We piled up the furniture,” Maldynado said.
“We’re taking the shortcut back.” Amaranthe pointed to the hole. “You two can figure out who’s coming last.” She lifted the torch. “Last one to leave gets to light the place on fire.”
Basilard’s eyebrows flew up. Maldynado grinned and grabbed the tool.
“It’ll distract them,” Amaranthe told Basilard, “keep them from figuring out where we went at first. It might split their forces, too, if it means nobody from the back cars can get to the front.”
“Enough,” Sicarius said. “Go.”
“I’ve got the lock,” someone shouted from outside the backdoor.
Amaranthe nodded. Yes, no time to waste. She squirmed onto her back so she would be facing upward after she slid headfirst through the hole. She paused to look Sicarius in the eye.
“Are you going to be able to carry Sespian through this? There’s not much clearance.”
“I’ll figure it out.” He pointed at the hole. “If you want these soldiers to live, go now.”
“Right.” Amaranthe caught Basilard looking at her with concern in his blue eyes, and she forced a reassuring grin onto her face. “Someone told me cleaning fish doesn’t get any easier for having put the task off.” That was one of his grandfather’s sayings, as she recalled.
Basilard managed a quick grin, but the concern didn’t leave his eyes. Then a bang drew his attention, and he vaulted over the hole with his weapons in hand. Sicarius was busy with a coil of rope, figuring out a way to tie Sespian so he could carry him.
Amaranthe lowered her head below the floor, reaching her arm through the hole to grip the far side of the beam. The cold, coarse steel offered a ledge a couple of inches wide on either side, and, if it stretched the length of the car, she thought she could climb along it reasonably well. Holding on with her feet might prove more difficult, and she tried not to think about what would happen if her heels thumped down on the railroad ties at fifty miles an hour.
“Stop thinking,” Amaranthe muttered to herself. The men didn’t have time for her to stall.
She scooted forward, ready to go, when Sicarius touched her leg. Amaranthe met his eyes.
“Be careful,” he said, a slight widening of his eyes letting her know he’d been listening earlier and meant it the same way she had.
“I will.” Amaranthe slid her other hand through the hole to grip the beam. “No need to get sentimental.”
He kept a light touch on her leg as she wriggled the rest of the way through the hole, and she missed it when it was gone.
As she’d thought, gripping the beam with her hands was doable-all of Sicarius’s training had its uses, for she suspected she could hold her body weight from her hands for a long time-but when it was time to pull her legs through the hole, finding a place to put them was more of a challenge. The beam was attached to the bottom of the car, so there was nothing to wrap her limbs around. She experimented with a couple of positions and almost wished she’d left her boots behind, because it would have been easier to grab hold with her toes. She settled for turning her boots outward and propping her heels on the inside ledges of the beam. Though she couldn’t imagine a way to feel more awkward, it took some of the weight away from her fingers, and she was able to inch forward, one hand at a time, her heels sliding along behind her.