Conspiracy (10 page)

“
There is no lock.”
Sicarius responded in his usual monotone, with no hint that he
appreciated her teasing or knew it for what it was.

Business, right. Amaranthe squeezed past
Sicarius to find the bottom. They could stand shoulder-to-shoulder,
looking at the door opposite of the ladder, but not without
pressing against the walls and each other.

“
Not quite as cozy as the
Imperial Gardens, eh?” Amaranthe murmured, not wanting Books to
hear.

Sicarius ignored her and probed around the
door with his fingers.

Under the light of the lantern, Amaranthe
decided “door” might be an optimistic term for the flat cement wall
before them. Vertical cracks at the corners were the only
indication that the gray slab might be movable. It seemed to be
designed to slide to the side somehow, but there was no lock, knob,
or latch to be seen.

She put a hand on the cool cement and tried
to push it. Not only did it not move, but Sicarius gave her a flat
look.

“
You already tried that,
eh?” Amaranthe shrugged and shuffled in a circle to face the
ladder. She tried twisting the rungs—they were the only
ornamentation in the confining space—but nothing budged.

After a pat down of everything around the
door and on the floor, Sicarius reached over her head and climbed
up the ladder.

“
That man never wants to
linger in dark nooks with me,” Amaranthe muttered. “Or explain
where he’s going when he rushes off. It’s enough to damage a girl’s
self-esteem. And cause her to start talking to herself.”

Up top, Books asked a soft question, but
Sicarius didn’t explain anything to him either.

Left alone, Amaranthe reapplied herself to
the task of finding a latch or trigger. She would love to locate
one when Sicarius had failed to, but she wouldn’t hold her breath
waiting for that to happen.

Amaranthe laid an ear against the cement,
thinking she might hear some machinery ticking inside. The Imperial
Barracks had doors controlled by steam engines that opened
automatically when someone approached. One didn’t expect such
sophistication from the basement of a farm’s carriage house, but
maybe—

The door rumbled to the side.

Amaranthe skittered backward, clunking her
shoulders on the ladder. Her first silly thought was that her ear
had somehow triggered the door to open, but Sicarius soon
reappeared.

“
There’s a hoe on the wall
that opens it,” he said, climbing down.

“
Ah, how’d you find it so
quickly?” Amaranthe told herself it wasn’t important that he’d
located the trigger first. “There must be fifty farm tools hanging
on the walls.”

“
Closer to a hundred, but
only one had all the sawdust worn away beneath it.”

“
You saw which one he
pulled, Books?” Amaranthe called up as Sicarius slipped past her,
stepping onto a dark threshold.

“
Yes,” Books
said.

Sicarius removed his rucksack and withdrew a
lantern of his own.

“
If the door closes behind
us,” Amaranthe said, “and we’re not out in fifteen minutes, open it
again, please.”

“
Yes, of course.
Understood.”

Amaranthe followed Sicarius inside. He had
only gone a couple of steps. His lit lantern rested on the floor
while he crouched beside it, eying the room’s contents thoroughly
before moving forward. When Amaranthe looked around herself, she
decided “room” was a weak word to describe what stretched before
them.

The small flame illuminated only their
corner of the space, but it revealed rows of racks filled with
rifles, shotguns, and other firearms Amaranthe couldn’t name. The
underground chamber’s boundaries stretched well beyond the walls of
the carriage house above. Beyond the rows of racks, at the far end
of the rectangular space, dark blocky shapes—machinery?—loomed.
Bland gray cement comprised the walls, floor, and a high ceiling,
and Amaranthe decided no woman had been involved with designing the
facility. It would take someone like Sicarius to choose such a
monochromatic palate. He probably thought it was practical.

The door rasped behind them, cement rubbing
against cement as it slid closed. Amaranthe stifled a surge of
panic over the idea of being trapped inside. There ought to be a
switch on a nearby wall—surely the workers had to be able to leave
to pee whenever they wished—and, even if there wasn’t, Books waited
up top.

“
Shall we explore?”
Amaranthe asked.

Sicarius rose from his crouch, but when she
started to step forward, he stopped her with a hand. He pointed to
the wall a couple of feet ahead of them. At first, Amaranthe saw
nothing, but when he lifted the lantern, she spotted a tiny hole in
the cement. It didn’t appear unnatural in the porous wall, until
she realized there were five such holes, all in a vertical line.
The first was at calf level while the top was over her head.

“
Interesting,” Amaranthe
said. “Booby trap?”

She drew a knife and waved it before one of
the holes, figuring anything that popped out would be deflected by
her blade.

A click sounded and shapes buzzed through
Amaranthe’s field of vision. Before she could figure out what they
were, Sicarius pulled her back and pressed her against the door
behind him. Several items clinked off the walls and floors, but
with her view smothered by Sicarius’s shoulder, it was hard to tell
what they were. She did, with the projectiles bouncing off
everything and skidding everywhere, belatedly realize that
triggering the trap hadn’t been a good idea.

Sicarius stepped away before Amaranthe’s
curiosity prompted her to try and wriggle past him. He gave her a
head-to-foot check before kneeling to pick something up. A tiny
bolt. Others lay scattered where they had landed after caroming off
the walls. Something viscous gleamed on the tips. Poison?

Amaranthe swallowed. “Booby trap number
one?”

“
Yes. That was a foolish
way to trigger it.” Sicarius slanted her a hard look.

“
I know.” She thought of
the conversation she had had a few months earlier with Books, the
one where she had resolved to pursue prudence in dealing with
enemies. She would need to adopt a policy of prudence for all
deadly situations, enemies present or not. “Sorry, that was
thoughtless.” Especially since one could have hit him.

Sicarius dropped the bolt, and Amaranthe
patted his shoulder. “I do appreciate your willingness to throw
yourself in front of ricocheting darts to protect me.”

Sicarius ignored her pat and turned his
attention back to the chamber.

“
And your ability to ignore
the human need to socialize in order to remain focused on the
mission,” Amaranthe added.

“
This is not the time for
burbling.”

A retort rose to Amaranthe’s lips, but she
stopped herself. He was right.

After another inspection of the booby trap,
Sicarius moved past it. He led the way down the first aisle,
heading for a worktable full of sketches. As he walked, his gaze
roved about, probing every inch of wall, floor, and ceiling for
signs of more traps. Though Amaranthe wanted to investigate the
racks of weapons, she followed close on his heels. If he triggered
a booby trap, he could probably avoid the consequences with those
reflexes of his. She would likely trip and fall into the path of
the poisoned dart.

When they reached the workstation, Sicarius
picked up a rifle with four barrels and examined it. Amaranthe’s
fingers strayed toward the sketches scattered on the table, but she
caught herself before her hands could rearrange the clutter into
neat piles. As the men were quick to tell her, spies weren’t
supposed to clean while they snooped.

Sicarius set the rifle
aside and pulled a crate off one of the racks. He slid his black
dagger under a lid that was nailed shut. Using it as a crowbar was
not likely to damage
that
blade. Amaranthe was still waiting for the story
of where it had come from and what the indestructible material
comprising it was.

Sicarius popped the lid off
the crate. It was filled with rectangular brown boxes that
read
Brakhork D-1 Rifle
Ammunition.

“
Brakhork?” Amaranthe
fished a notebook out of her pocket and wrote the name down.
“That’s interesting. You wouldn’t expect someone to put the family
name on something that’s going to be used for inimical purposes. Of
course, it could simply be a made-up name.”

When Sicarius glanced at her, Amaranthe
said, “I’m not burbling. I’m musing constructively.”

“
I see.”

She tried to decide if he sounded amused
while he opened one of the boxes and pulled out a long slender
cartridge wrapped in a coppery casing. It had a pointed tip and
three concentric rings circling the bottom.

Sicarius thumbed the rings. “I’ve not seen a
design like this before.”

“
How many designs have you
seen?”

“
Many. Everything the
army’s been working on for the last ten years,” Sicarius said.
“They’ve had the technology to make repeating firearms, and there
have been experimental trials, but they haven’t rushed to get
production on line.”

“
Why not, I wonder? Surely,
these repeating firearms offer significant advantages over
flintlock and percussion-cap weapons.” Amaranthe found a rifle
labeled D-1 and pulled it off the rack. She opened the lid on the
side and peered into an empty chamber, guessing there would be room
to load six or eight cartridges.

“
With most of our enemies
still using bows and crossbows, our existing black powder weapons
already provide an advantage.”

“
So, they’ve been waiting
to upgrade until there’s a need?” Amaranthe asked.

“
There’s also the
warrior-caste mentality to deal with.”

“
Ah, yes. Turgonian honor
dictates it’s preferable to challenge the enemy to a sword fight
rather than shooting him from afar.” She slipped a finger into the
chamber, trying to figure out what role those grooves at the base
of the bullet might serve. “Want to disassemble a
rifle?”

She checked the desk for tools, but it
seemed to be the designer’s spot, and only sketches and drawing
implements occupied the drawers. Sicarius took the weapon from her
and simply used his knife to unfasten a couple of screws. He
proceeded to remove the stock from the barrel and disassemble the
loading mechanism, as if he’d done it hundreds of times.

“
How are you familiar
with
all
of the
army’s weapons developments from the last ten years?” Amaranthe
asked. “Didn’t you part ways with the throne when Raumesys died?
And then worked as an independent without any ties to the emperor?
In fact, Sespian put that bounty on your head before he even came
into legal power, right?”

Sicarius laid the pieces of the rifle out on
the desk as he continued to break it down.

“
For the record, I’m still
not burbling. I’m just...”

“
Interrogating?” Sicarius
suggested.

“
Maybe so, but I’m not
using hot irons or other torture devices, so it shouldn’t be
objectionable.” Amaranthe wriggled her eyebrows at him, though he
was focused on the rifle disassembly. “If nothing else, you could
tell me why you chose to assassinate a satrap governor and other
important lords and diplomats when you were out there working for
the highest bidder. You must have known that would give Sespian
more reason to hate and distrust you.”

Sicarius laid the last pieces of the rifle
on the table. “This isn’t the place for this discussion.”

“
No, I suppose not, but if
I’m to help argue your case when we meet Sespian—which, if things
go according to plan, will be soon— I need more of the facts at
some point. Or at least, your version of the truth.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. Maybe that
hadn’t been the most tactful word choice. Before she could fumble
an apology, Sicarius said, “They were plotting against
Sespian.”

“
What? Who?”

“
Satrap Governor Lumous,
Lord Admiral Antavak, the city officials, diplomats, and two
warrior-caste officers. Lumous and Antavak headed a scheme to have
Sespian assassinated the year after Raumesys died, before he’d even
reached his majority and come into power. I killed them first.”
Sicarius picked up the bolt and firing pin assembly to study. “It’s
what I was trained to do. In reflection, perhaps I should have
gathered evidence, so there’d be some record. Something to show to
Sespian.”

Amaranthe stared at him with wide eyes. “All
along you were acting on his behalf? Trying to protect him?”

“
The fact that he has no
heirs has always made him a target. You know that.”

“
Yes, but I thought... I
guess
everyone
thought you were just a rogue assassin available for hire by
the highest bidder.”

Sicarius gave her one of his flat looks.

“
I mean, I knew it wasn’t
money that drew you,” Amaranthe said. He’d had little money when
she met him—just enough to hire that shaman to heal her—and he
certainly didn’t seem to have any vices that would require
substantial funds. He didn’t even own more than three sets of
clothing, all identical. “I thought perhaps you might be motivated
by the challenge factor.”

“
Rarely.”

“
Sicarius, this changes
everything. Your methods trample all over the idea of justice and
having a fair say in front of the magistrate, but all this time you
were working to help Sespian? For the good of the empire? You’re
practically a hero.” She grinned at him, and, blessed ancestors,
she was tempted to hug him.