“Er, to the eating house?” She imagined himwearing his black clothing and knife collection, looming over hershoulder while she tried to woo this Lord Mancrest over dinner andwine.
“To the newspaper building. To see if it’s atrap.”
“Ah.” She supposed she could send him to thestadium after they verified Mancrest was not up to anythingduplicitous. “Very well. We’ll take Maldynado, too.”
Sicarius strode to the doorway, hopped down,and disappeared.
“No, no.” Amaranthe lifted a hand. “Youneedn’t let me know you think my idea has promise. It’s been nearlythree months since the last time I almost got myself killed, so I’mbrimming with self-confidence. I don’t need bolstering.”
Wind whistled through the boneyard, stirringdust and providing her only answer.
She finished tidying the rail car beforeclimbing out to find Maldynado had left-to put on clothes, shehoped-and Basilard had returned. He sat in the vacated chair, armsdraped over his knees, while he stared at the earth. The sungleamed against his shaven head, highlighting the briar patch ofscar tissue marring his scalp.
“Problem?” Amaranthe asked, thinking heappeared glummer than usual.
He flinched when she spoke, and she wonderedwhat he had been thinking about. He only shook his head.
Amaranthe dragged a crate over so she couldsit beside him. “I’m glad you’re here. You know that vacation Ipromised? We may need to work this week after all.”
He did not react, did not even twitch ashoulder.
“Do you mind going with Books and Akstyr todo some nocturnal investigating tonight?”
This time Basilard did shrug. If it had beenAkstyr, who had just turned eighteen, she might have understood themoody response, but Basilard usually gave people more respect andshowed interest when she discussed missions.
“I’ve heard that talking about problems makesone feel better. I can keep confidences if you want to divulge anydark secrets.” Amaranthe smiled, intending it as a joke, butBasilard studied her through narrowed eyes, as if he knew of thesecrets in her life she had failed to keep. Or perhaps the ones shehad kept and shouldn’t have. Could he have found out aboutSicarius’s past in Mangdoria?
She shifted from foot to foot until sherealized that made her look guilty. She forced herself to stop andclasped her hands behind her back.
You wouldn’t understand, Basilardsigned.
She let out a slow breath. That did not soundlike something that had to do with revenge or deep-set anger.
“Maybe not,” Amaranthe said, “but the nicething about talking to other people is they don’t have to doanything for you to feel better. They might just nod and grunt afew times. The feeling better part comes from speaking of theburdens you’ve been holding inside, things that weigh upon yoursoul.” Hm, that sounded preachy. She decided she wasn’t old enoughor wise enough to mother these men, so bowed her head and backedaway, intending to leave Basilard alone.
He stopped her and lifted a hand, swiping twofingers toward his chest.
“I don’t know that sign yet,” she said.
“Soul,” he mouthed, and she understood sinceshe’d just used the word. Turgonians believe in soul?
Amaranthe drew closer again. “Some do. Theold religion speaks of an eternal soul that lives on after you die.All of our references to spirits and fallen ancestors come fromthat. Though Mad Emperor Motash worked his entire life to declarethe old ways dead and atheism the only acceptable belief, er,disbelief, many still believe in guidance from ghosts of thepast.”
When you die, your soul goes where?
“Agormak, the Spirit Realm, supposedly.Although, through various ceremonies, dead ancestors can be calledupon for advice, and people have claimed to see them in ourrealm.”
No hell?
“Not like your people believe in, no. Thoughsome say cowardly acts, especially suicide, destroy the soul,rendering it unavailable for consultation. One wonders what thosepriests were drinking when they sat around and thought up therules.”
Basilard’s eyes widened, and Amaranthewinced. She forgot how much Mangdorians valued their religion andused its tenets to guide their lives.
“I’m sure your people’s religion makes moresense than ours,” she said by way of apology, but she worried shewas sticking her foot deeper into her mouth. A stricken expressiontwisted Basilard’s face. Yes, she was quite sure her big toe wasbrushing a tonsil. She coughed. “It’s possible I was mistaken whenI said talking to someone would make you feel better.”
He snorted. It might have been a semi-amusedsnort. She hoped so.
Basilard considered her again, and she triednot to squirm. His eyes were not narrowed this time, butwithholding Sicarius’s past crimes in Mangdoria gave her a reasonto feel guilty next to him, and she never forgot that.
Why The Emperor’s Edge? he signed,surprising her.
That surprise must have shown on her face,for he clarified, If you believe your soul safe, why risk yourlife over and over, trying to impress the emperor? Is it just for apardon?
“It’s partially about clearing my name andpartially about…trying to give happiness to someone who means agreat deal to me. Also, it’s about wanting a place in the historybooks. I used to think I could find that through being the firstfemale enforcer to reach… Well, that’s not going to happen now.Maybe it was never going to happen as long as I was followingsomeone else’s path, but now I’ve got my own path, and I believeagain that I can make history.” She chuckled. “It’s all kinds ofhubris, I know, but that’s the imperial way. You either gainimmortality through having children or you earn it by becomingsomeone history remembers. Despite Maldynado’s attempts to set meup with a man, I have a feeling my odds of achieving the latter arebetter right now.”
Basilard smiled briefly, but it did not reachhis eyes. I understand. It’s good that you are making your owntrail. I fear that’s not an option for me. I believe my destinationis chosen.
“I thought you’d decided to work to end theunderground slavery in the empire and to make things better foryour people.”
He poked a brick with his toe for a moment,shrugged, then stood. Thank you, he signed and went into thesleeping car.
Amaranthe sighed, not sure if she had helped,or that she knew how to help him.
A steam whistle blew, and workers streamedout of factories. Positioned between the industrial district andthe shops and studios of the northern waterfront area, the oldGazette building overlooked one of the canals that flowedthrough the city. From the mouth of an alley across the waterway,Amaranthe, Sicarius, and Maldynado observed men exiting, shuckingtheir single-breasted jackets and frock coats to walk home in thewarm air.
Though evening had come, the sun still shone,offering few shadows to cloak the alley. The idea of heading alongthe broad waterfront street and over the wide canal bridge madeAmaranthe uneasy. This was part of her old patrol route, and anyenforcers she ran into here would recognize her.
“It’s not going to be a trap,” Maldynadosaid. “I know this fellow. We used to fence together back before hetook a spear in the hip at Amentar. He earned a medal of valorbecause he was leading the attack to save some border town andrisked his life to save a bunch of children. He’s a good, nobleman.”
“Good, noble people are the types who feelobligated to turn in outlaws,” Amaranthe said, drawing an approvingnod from Sicarius.
“He’ll expect you to come in through thefront,” Sicarius said. “I’ll see if there’s another entrance.”
He went down the alley instead of walking outthe front, presumably choosing a route that would keep him out ofsight.
“He’ll probably find us a third-story windowto crawl through,” Maldynado muttered. “Look, I’ve had brandy withDeret twice since I became an outlaw. He hasn’t turned me in yet.And he doesn’t look down on me because I’m disowned. He’sone of the few who don’t.”