“Relax, gentlemen,” Amaranthe said. “I intend to make sure we get credit and find out where Books is located.”
She waited, anticipating more of an argument. Surely, they would realize she had nothing with which to back up her promise. Sicarius, especially, would know she had not won over Sergeant Yara. Even if Amaranthe could convince her their story was true, having a rural, female enforcer on their side was hardly the fast route to a pardon. Yara would have little power or sway outside her precinct and perhaps not much more inside.
“All right, boss,” Maldynado said. “We trust you. What’s this distraction you want?”
Amaranthe smiled bleakly. Skepticism would have been easier to deal with. Instead the mantel of expectation weighed upon her shoulders.
“We could grab a couple men,” Maldynado said when she did not answer right away. “Knock ‘em out, steal their clothes, and walk in, pretending we’re soldiers.”
“They have a challenge and password system to prevent that,” Sicarius said.
Akstyr snorted. “Even gangs aren’t moronic enough that they wouldn’t recognize their own people.”
“Well, it’s dark,” Maldynado said.
Amaranthe was only half-listening to them. To one side of the camp, partially visible through the trees, the trampers and lorries idled. A soldier opened a furnace door and shoveled coal inside. Someone must fear the company would need a quick escape.
“Couldn’t we thump the password out of someone when we’re stealing his clothes?” Maldynado said.
“Depends how much damage you want done,” Sicarius said. “Soldiers are trained to resist torture.”
“Maldynado really wants to take someone’s clothes off,” Akstyr said. “Maybe he prefers men.”
Maldynado sniffed. “If I do, your homeliness will save you from ever knowing.”
“Whatever.”
“Let’s go with my idea,” Amaranthe said, watching the soldier close the grate and move onto the next vehicle in the line. “Maldynado, Basilard, and Akstyr, it’s been a while since you stole someone’s vehicle. Are you interested in reacquainting yourselves with that hobby?” She leaned, trying to find Basilard in the shadows. His inability to talk made it difficult to communicate with him in the dark. He touched her shoulder. She hoped that was an affirmative.
“You want us to march into this camp full of well-armed men,” Maldynado said, “jump into their vehicles, race off chaotically, and lead a posse of soldiers on a crazy chase?”
“Yes,” she said. “Problem?” It seemed like the type of ludicrous sport someone who had ridden a printing press down an icy hill would appreciate.
“Nope,” he said, a grin in his voice. “Just wanted to make sure I got the order right.”
“Keep them busy, and meet us up the road, where we left our lorry, when you’re done. If it’s guarded, stay hidden. We’ll find you.”
“Got it, boss.”
“And don’t get caught this time, please,” Amaranthe said. “I don’t know where the closest jail is.”
Maldynado thumped Akstyr on the back as the three men slipped away. “This’ll be fun.”
Amaranthe hoped they were careful. Soldiers would be harder to rattle than enforcers.
She shook away the worry. She needed to focus on her part of the mission.
“Think the sergeant has been good enough to locate herself in the same tent?” she asked Sicarius. “It had a lovely water view.”
“A primary tactical consideration.”
“Let’s get closer.”
Before they had gone far, two lights appeared behind them-soldiers approaching. Amaranthe stepped around a tree, hoping it would be enough to hide her. She dared not dive for cover, not when her wounds might make her cry out. Sicarius eased in front of her, guarding her. By night, his black clothing helped him blend in.
The soldiers drew even with the tree. One glanced toward Amaranthe and Sicarius, and she held her breath.
“Halt.” A man stepped from behind a tree several paces ahead. A rifle, the barrel wet from the rain, gleamed in his hands. His appearance drew the other two soldiers’ attention. “The coyote cries.”
“By night’s full moon,” one of the soldiers responded. “Archton and Bedloe. Dog Platoon.”
“Pass.”
After the soldiers went into camp, Sicarius whispered, “Stay here. I’ll nullify the sentries. They’ll be less alert now than when the commotion starts.”
Amaranthe kept herself from reminding him to choose a non-lethal nullification method. He knew what she wanted by now, and he was probably tired of her nagging.
After he disappeared, she slumped against the tree, a hand to her belly. Her scabs had flexed and torn as they walked, and she knew she was bleeding beneath the bandages. She shivered, too, and it was not that cold. She touched her forehead and tried to decide if it felt feverish. Sicarius never should have said anything about the infection. It would prey on her mind now. Either way, she feared she would be useless in a physical encounter and might prove a liability for the men. If not for Books, and her growing fear that she needed magical aid, she would be inclined to leave the shaman for someone else to confront. Though maybe that was still a possibility. She scratched her jaw. Those soldiers might be disappointed if they came all the way up the mountain for nothing.
“Look out!” someone shouted on the other side of the camp. Surprised curses followed. “They’re taking the lorry!”
“Stop them!”
“Go get-” Steam brakes squealed. “Look out!”
Amaranthe allowed herself a small grin. A tent went down amongst snapping poles and shouts of fury. If Maldynado had a skill beyond charming women, it had to be crafting mayhem.
Sicarius appeared a few feet in front of Amaranthe, limned by torchlight. He strode toward her and offered an arm.
“That’s not your usual entrance.” She shifted her weight from the tree to him. “You usually sneak up so softly I don’t know you’re there until you startle me into jumping.”
“I didn’t want you to aggravate your injuries.” He guided her toward the back of the command tent.
“That’s considerate.”
“Yes.”
She almost laughed. It was as if he wanted her to know he was going out of his way to be thoughtful.
They stepped around a pair of gagged and unconscious men tied to a tree. Two officers and a woman-Sergeant Yara-were standing in front of the tent, gesturing expansively. The noise from the vehicles and the shouts about camp made it impossible to hear the discussion.
Another tent went down. Someone fired at the cab of a second stolen lorry, and metal clanged like a bell.
Maldynado, or maybe Akstyr was driving that one, veered out of camp and up the road, though not before flattening several crates of supplies.
“Are you sure killing them wouldn’t have annoyed them less?” Sicarius asked.
“Not entirely, no.”
Sergeant Yara took a step toward the chaos, as if she meant to lead the pursuit herself.
One of the officers stopped her with an outstretched hand. “I’ll take care of it. You stay here.”
“That’s one of our vehicles,” Yara said. “I can help.”
“It’s too dangerous for a woman.”
“I doubt the makarovi are the ones stealing our vehicles.”
“You shouldn’t even be up here,” the officer said. “Stay with Lieutenant Berkvar. Sergeant Betlor’s team should report in soon. Keep updating the map.” He jogged away.
Amaranthe squeezed Sicarius’s arm. This was probably the closest they would get to finding the sergeant alone. He left her to slip around the tent. Amaranthe moved around the opposite side, carefully choosing her steps through the churned mud.
“Too dangerous for a woman,” Yara grumbled. “I’m tired of hearing that. Do I look frail and incapable, LT?”
Sicarius chose that moment to grab the lieutenant in a headlock, his arm snaking around the man’s throat, cutting off air. He dragged the officer behind the tent.
Yara ripped a sword free, but Amaranthe closed in and poked her in the back with stiff fingers to mimic a pistol. Since her men were trashing the camp, she decided pulling an actual weapon would not help matters.