It was hard to imagine Sicarius evenwanting a child, but he met the woman’s eyes and jerked hischin for her to approach.
Litya hesitated but leaned closer, her chestbrushing his. She tilted her head so he could whisper in herear.
The guards had stood mute through theexchange, but they tensed at this closeness.
Basilard signed, Bite her!
Nobody was watching.
Sicarius said something Basilard could nothear, and the woman leaned back.
“Interesting,” she said. “I’ll considerit.”
She snapped her fingers and the guardsclicked their heels, coming to attention.
“Fully secure the other man,” Litya said. “Wedon’t need him talking with his fingers any more, and I want to getsamples.”
The guards tromped toward Basilard. He lethis hand drop, as if in defeat, but his fingers touched the edge ofthe knife pressed behind him.
While Litya gazed speculatively at Sicarius,Metya eased past the guards and brushed her fingers across an orbnext to the head of Basilard’s table. It had been dark and dormant,but it flared to life under her touch. She considered him for amoment, judging his weight for a dosage probably. Nothing about hergaze suggested he would get a chest caress or any dealoffers.
She was close and this might be his lastchance.
A guard reached for his wrist. Basilardballed his hand into a fist and jabbed it into the man’s nose.
With half of his body secured, he did not getmuch power behind it, but his hand speed gave the blow forceenough. The guard stumbled back, grasping at his nose.
The other man raised his pistol. Knife inhand now, Basilard leaned out and slashed the blade at the guard’swrist. Though swift, the blatant attack sent the man leaping backin time to avoid it. That was all Basilard needed.
Before Metya could likewise scurry away, hegrabbed her arm. He spun her as he pulled her against his chest touse her body as a shield, and he pressed the knife against herthroat.
The guards froze, one on either side ofBasilard’s station. They raised their pistols, aiming for his head.The one with the blood streaming from his nose gritted his teeth,finger tense on the pistol. He wanted to fire. Badly.
Basilard should have been terrified, but hehad been in life-or-death situations too many times to fall apartwhen faced by one. Anyway, he did not think they would fire withMetya so close. Unfortunately, he could not bargain with his handsbusy holding the woman. Nor could he imagine one of the guardsoffering him a clipboard to scrawl a note while he held a knife totheir employer’s throat.
Sicarius watched but did nothing. Strappeddown, he could not help physically, but Basilard would haveappreciated verbal assistance. He could speak and handle thebartering. But Sicarius said nothing. Basilard lifted his eyebrowsexpectantly. Sicarius gazed back.
“What do you want, Scarred and Mute?” Lityaasked, her voice calm despite the blade at her sister’s throat.
She stepped into view behind one of theguards. Remembering the mental blast her sister had hurled atTaloncrest, Basilard tightened his grip on Metya.
“Put your weapons down,” he tried to say, butno sound came from his scarred vocal cords. Maybe the brainyscience woman could read lips.
Litya lifted her hand, palm out. Basilardwould have howled in frustration if he could. He knew what wascoming. He cut into the woman’s throat, determined to take out atleast one of them before they dropped him.
Warm blood gushed down his forearm. A wave ofenergy crashed into his head from the left, and agony ricochetedthrough his body like a lightning bolt.
The woman dropped from his hands. Dead?Alive? He didn’t know. Pain assaulted him from all directions, andhe hunched over. If not for the bindings on his lower body, hewould have fallen to the ground and curled into a ball.
With the last of his wherewithal, he threw abetrayed look at the man who should have been his ally inthis.
Sicarius’s eyebrow twitched. He knew. Even ifhe didn’t know for certain, he had to know Basilard was a threat.While Basilard had been thinking of betraying him-of lettinghim die-Sicarius must have been considering the same thing.Basilard might never wake up, and the rest of the group-hisfriends-would never know that Sicarius could have helped himand chose not to.
Darkness ended Basilard’s whirlingthoughts.
Books returned from his research trip in timefor dinner and sat down with Amaranthe and Maldynado around thefire pit of their camp. Snores wafted from the rail car whereAkstyr rested. Yawns tugged at Amaranthe’s mouth, but she focusedon Books.
“I found two possible sources for divingsuits,” he said. “A privately owned fresh-water treasure-huntingtugboat called the Tuggle has been moored in Stumps for thelast two weeks. It seems likely they’d have diving gear. Also, theImperial Saberfist is coming into port tomorrow. It’s amilitary vessel in charge of maritime rescue and salvageoperations.”
Amaranthe shook her head. Leave it to theempire to give even its rescue ships war-like names.
“During times of war,” Books continued, “theSaberfist plies the Gulf, but it’s currently stationed inthe Chain Lakes and has been working the Goldar River alongside anarchaeology team.”
“Is there a reason I should do anythingexcept dismiss the Saberfist?” she asked, surprised Bookshad bothered with all the details. Though Sicarius might findthieving from a heavily manned and well-guarded military vessel agood training exercise, she could not think of a reason to risk itwhen another option existed.
Maldynado scratched his jaw. “That shipsounds familiar.”
“The commander of the marine vessel,” Bookssaid, “is one Captain Talmuk Mancrest, elder brother of Deret.”
Maldynado snapped his fingers. “That’s right.We got a tour of it when we were children. Not much firepower-onlya couple of dozen cannons-but lots of other brilliant equipment. Wegot to swing on this crane that’s used for-”
Amaranthe cleared her throat. “Let’s savestory hour for later. This isn’t the same brother who tried toarrange my capture at the newspaper office, right?”
“No,” Maldynado said. “Talmuk’s nearly twentyyears older than Deret. Acts like he’s forty years older. Stuffyold coot. Walks around like he’s got a ramrod permanently lodged inhis-”
“Thank you, I get the picture.”
“I thought you might wish to try talking toyour Mancrest again,” Books said, “to see if he could get us onboard to requisition supplies. Perhaps, since you spared his lifein the pyramid, he’ll be more inclined to listen.”
“Depends on how long it took him to retrievethat key,” Amaranthe said.
Maldynado snorted.
“I don’t want to wait until tomorrow. Let’svisit the treasure-hunting ship. If it’s a civilian vessel, maybethere won’t be more than a guard or two on board.”
Or maybe there would be no one on board, andthey could easily borrow the suits. For once, it’d be nice ifsomething was easy and went according to plan. Somehow, she doubtedshe would be that lucky.
CHAPTER 13
No gas lamps burned near the narrow, ricketydocks at the end of the shipyard. Far south of the broad, modernpiers used for military ships and merchant vessels, these berthswere some of the oldest in the city. Moorage was relatively cheapand apparently not enough to cover the expense of public lighting.A quarter moon hanging over the lake illuminated the silhouettes ofsmaller ships, a mix of old steamers, sailboats, and combinationsof the two. Amaranthe questioned whether the vessels being tied tothe creaking docks kept them from floating away or if it might bethe other way around.