She led the men along the street, pausing ateach sign to read the numbers. One might assume Pier 173 wouldfollow Pier 172, but some docks had sunk over the years whileothers had expanded and branched out. They passed 169, 169B, and169C, followed by a skip to 171.
Clothing rustled ahead of them, near awarehouse on the far side of the street. Five or six peopleloitered in the shadows, slouching degenerately against thewall.
“Friends of yours?” Amaranthe murmured toAkstyr, knowing this was the Black Arrows territory.
“Ain’t got no friends left in the gang,”Akstyr said.
“Your rosy personality didn’t endear you tothem?” Books asked.
“Ssh,” Amaranthe whispered.
Though she could not see the eyes of thosewho lurked ahead, she felt the intensity of their attention. Nodoubt, they were calculating odds, deciding if she and her menlooked like easy targets. She doubted it-Maldynado, Books, andAkstyr wore their swords openly-but, then, superior numbers anddesperation could make a group brave.
A few muttered words reached her ears.
“…take them.”
“That one’s got an expensive…”
“…brandy for months.”
Amaranthe shook her head at Maldynado,knowing he was the only one with something “expensive” that wouldtempt thugs.
“Looks like another fight,” Books murmured, aresigned slump to his shoulders.
“Not necessarily,” she whispered, amischievous thought sauntering through her mind. “It’s notcontagious, is it?” she asked loudly.
“Huh?” Maldynado blurted.
“I touched you. We all did,” Amaranthe said.“I just want to know how contagious it is. You should have knownbetter than to sleep with that girl. Fresh out of the tropics withemperor knows what disease plaguing her.”
“How was I supposed to know?” Maldynadoplayed along, but he glared at her. “She looked all right tome.”
“Thank my ancestors I’m not male,” Amaranthewent on. “Did you hear what one of the customers said? Rumor issomeone’s peeper rotted up and fell right off after seeingher.”
Murmurs and the sound of shuffling feet camefrom the posse across the street.
“I bet it’s terribly contagious,” Amaranthesaid.
“Yes,” Books said. “A new strain of pizzlerot out of the Gesh Islands. Coitus isn’t required fortransmission. I expect we’re all doomed just from walking besidethis lout.”
The dark figures in the shadows pushed pasteach other in an effort to be the first to sprint away. One trippedand fell in his haste to round a corner. Nobody stopped to help himup. Cursing, he scrambled to his feet and ran after hiscomrades.
“That’s one way to deter bandits,” Bookssaid, a grin in his voice.
“You would approve,” Maldynado said.“Boss, it’s not right to joke around about a man’s… Did you callit a peeper?”
“Too sanitized?” She pointed down a ricketydock with missing and broken boards. A sign magnanimously called itPier 173.
“Not if your next job will be teaching smallchildren.”
“Will they be less vexatious than you?”Amaranthe led the way down the dock.
“Doubtful,” Books said.
Three ships lined the dock, none with lightsburning on the decks. She started to check the first one, butpaused. The skeletal frame of a crane rose from the deck of thelast ship, a steamer. It possessed a metal hull instead of wood andhad the sturdy look of a tug. Other equipment bristled from thedeck like quills on a porcupine, creating a strange silhouetteagainst the moonlit sky. Gear for pulling treasures off the lake orsea floor, Amaranthe guessed.
She turned off her lantern, and darknessengulfed the dock. She padded toward the salvage vessel, steppinglightly on the warped, creaking wood. In the still night, she grewaware of the sound of her own breathing and a breeze flapping aloose sail a few docks away. The air stirred the omnipresent fishyscent of the waterfront, and for a moment Amaranthe thought shesmelled something else. Something rotten. The breeze shifted, andthe scent disappeared. Maybe it was nothing-a dead fish washed upto a nearby beach.
The starlight did not offer enoughillumination to read the name on the bow, but she could not imaginethis being anything except the ship they sought, theTuggle.
“Must not be any treasure on there now,”Maldynado said. “Nobody’s on guard.”
“Some of the crew might be sleeping belowdecks,” she whispered.
They stopped beside the ship. No gangplankoffered easy access, but Amaranthe had come prepared. She unwound alength of thin rope she had looped around her waist several timesand dug out a collapsible grappling hook. She fastened it and swungthe tool, releasing it toward the ship’s railing. The hook clinkedsoftly and caught on the first try.
“You’re turning into a proficient burglar,”Books said.
“Is that a compliment or a condemnation?”Amaranthe tested the secureness of the rope.
“It depends on whether we’ll be leavingmonetary compensation for the suits we’re stealing.”
Maldynado groaned. “You’re wholesome enoughto teach toddlers right alongside her.”
“I was hoping to return the suits withoutdoing any damage,” Amaranthe said.
“Such as with the trash vehicle?” Booksasked.
She winced. “When we have our men back, I’llsee what I can do about compensating those we’ve wronged.”
“I know,” Maldynado said in response to amuttered comment from Akstyr. “They are the worst outlawsyou’ll ever meet. What criminals worry about such things?”
Amaranthe shushed them, then shimmied up therope. Before climbing over the railing, she paused to listen forvoices or movement on the deck. Only the soft lapping of the wavesreached her ears.
She slipped over the railing and landed in asoundless crouch. Nothing stirred. She glided through the shadows,skirting the crane and capstans the size of huts. A single closedhatch allowed access to the lower levels. She collected the menbefore exploring further.
“Shall we light the lanterns?” Bookswhispered.
“Wait until we’re below decks,” Amaranthesaid.
At this point, she did not think anyone wasaboard, but she did not need someone on another dock noticing theirlight and coming to investigate.
Amaranthe pressed an ear to the hatch. Again,she heard nothing. She turned the latch and eased the dooropen.
A powerful stench rolled out, smelling ofrotten meat and death. Her unprepared stomach roiled, and images ofthe dam-those eviscerated men and women-washed over her. She bracedherself against the wall.
“Ugh,” Akstyr said. “It smells like ahalf-eaten possum left to bake on the street in summer.”
“Or dead people,” Books said, his voicehoarse, as if he was fighting back the urge to retch.
“Really, boss,” Maldynado said, “is itnecessary to take us to such desecrated destinations all thetime?”
“Apparently.” Amaranthe wondered if theSaberfist might have been a better bet after all. “Books, isit possible these people brought back some sort of contagiousdisease from their explorations? Something that…killed them?”
“Pizzle rot?” Maldynado asked.
“I made that up.”
“If it helps,” Akstyr said, “it smells likemore than pizzles are rotten down there.”
“How does that help?” Maldynado asked.
“I read the dock master’s report,” Bookssaid. “These fellows have been in port for a couple of weeks, andbefore that they were working Squall Lake.”
“So whatever happened…” Amaranthestarted.
“Happened after they arrived here,” Bookssaid.