Conspiracy (18 page)

“
They say you’re good, but
you’re not nearly as well known as Sicarius.”

“
Irrelevant,” Khaalid said,
his eyebrows descending. “I hunt villains. I don’t assassinate
honorable citizens.”

“
He’s a villain, right? Why
don’t you hunt him?”

Khaalid’s lips thinned.

“
The villains you’re
hunting would fear you more if you could say you’d taken him down,”
Akstyr pointed out. “Think what it would do for your reputation.
Think of the prices you could command then.”

Khaalid leaned back in his
chair. “I’ve decided. You’re fearless
and
stupid. You’d betray someone you
run with, someone exceedingly dangerous, and for what? You want me
to kill him and give you a cut of the money?”

“
Look, he’s as mean and
cruel as they get.” Not really, Akstyr thought, but he did catch
himself rubbing his neck and remembering the time Sicarius had
threatened him if he didn’t do what Amaranthe said. “Somebody’s got
to rid the world of him.”

“
And you want it to
be
somebody
else,
somebody who will take the risk and share the bounty with
you.”

“
I don’t want a share of
the bounty, and I wouldn’t openly go against him. But someone like
you... If you’re as good as they say, maybe you could do it. All
I’m asking is a finder’s fee for pointing you in the right
direction. I’ll tell you where he is and what I know about him.
Including... his one weakness.”

Khaalid drank some of his
green juice, though he took longer consuming and contemplating the
beverage than normal. Akstyr hoped he was thinking things over. As
far as Akstyr knew, Sicarius
had
no weaknesses, but he could make something up to
entice this man. All he had to do was capture Khaalid’s interest,
arrange to collect the finder’s fee, and send him off in the wrong
direction. A part of him couldn’t help but think that he’d never
have to worry about Sicarius again if he sent Khaalid in the
right
direction, but
this man probably couldn’t do the job. And if Sicarius found out
Akstyr had been behind the setup...

“
How much of a finder’s fee
are you looking for?” Khaalid asked.

Akstyr leaned back and crossed his leg over
his knee, trying to appear indifferent over the conversation’s
outcome, but inside he was jumping up and down and clenching his
fist. Khaalid was interested.

“
Fifty thousand ranmyas,”
Akstyr said, expecting to negotiate. Twenty-five thousand ought to
get him out of the empire and into a good school.

“
You don’t want much, do
you?” Khaalid asked.

“
I want to make sure the
only people who try are serious and honestly believe they can
succeed. It’s a big risk for me. If you fall at Sicarius’s feet,
and he questions you before he kills you...” Akstyr twitched a
shoulder. “I want that ugly lizard out of the world, but I’m not
looking to die in the process.”

“
Hence why you’re trying to
get someone else to risk dying.”

“
Someone else who’s capable
of killing Sicarius. I know I lack the skills.”

“
You flatter me, but I
imagine you flatter everyone you’re trying to talk to their
deaths.”

“
You’re supposed to be
good.”

“
What’s Sicarius’s one
weakness?” Khaalid asked. From the abrupt way he shifted the topic,
Akstyr guessed the man was trying to catch him off guard so he’d
let the information slip.

“
I’ll need to see your
payment before I give you such a key detail.”

“
Uh huh.” Khaalid finished
his juice, left a coin on the table, and stood. “I
am
good. And
intelligent. That’s why I’m not touching your offer.” He buckled on
his sword harness.

Akstyr cursed to himself. He’d thought he
had enticed the man. “I’ll tell you everything I know for
twenty-five-thousand ranmyas.”

Khaalid tossed the folded wanted poster onto
the table. “No, and if I were you, I’d get out of town unless
Sicarius likes you enough to protect you from the money-hungry
gangsters who are going to be wrestling with each other for a
chance to get your head first. Given what you’re trying to do to
him, I doubt that’s the case.”

Khaalid strode out of the juice cafe without
a backward glance. Not tempted by the offer after all. Maybe
Khaalid had been stringing Akstyr along to get more information.
Information he might send along to someone else?

A clank sounded on the wall above the chair
the bounty hunter had vacated. A bunch of grapes had rolled into a
glass box, and a series of alternating ceramic pestles came down,
mercilessly squishing the fruit.

Akstyr cursed again, this time out loud, and
strode out of the cafe. Worried that he’d made a huge mistake, he
forgot to pay attention to his surroundings. When a hand stretched
out from behind a vendor’s cart to clasp his forearm, he jumped two
feet.

He whirled toward the source, his own hand
scrabbling for his knife, but he stopped before drawing the blade.
A woman stood before him—a familiar woman. She was leaner than
Akstyr remembered, with a hawkish nose and knobby wrists protruding
from a clean but oft-patched dress. The long braid hanging over her
shoulder was the same, though gray strands mingled with the black
now.

Akstyr stepped back, pulling his arm from
her grasp. With stiff formality, he said, “Mother.”

She smiled, a gesture he had rarely seen,
and stepped forward, lifting her arms. She must have noticed his
stiffness, for her hands dropped. “Son.” Her smile remained.

Akstyr searched the crowded street behind
her. “Your sweet-thistle-dealing lover not around?”

“
Lokvart? No. We... We’re
not together any more.”

“
I see.” Akstyr did not
know if that made him glad or not. It’d been more than eight years
since he’d seen his mother, and time had worn the edge off his
bitterness. Sometimes he felt proud that he’d survived without her
help, that he was learning the Science, and that he might be
somebody who mattered someday.

“
Yes.” His mother took a
deep breath. “I’m sorry. I know that probably doesn’t mean anything
to you at this point, but I was wrong to... I never should have
been with someone like that. When he made me choose you
or...”

“
The sweet
thistle?”

“
You or
him
, I should have left. But I was
afraid of being alone again with no roof and no job and.. I’m
sorry,” she repeated, then found her smile again. “You look good.
You’re a man now.”

“
Why are you
here
?” Akstyr eyed the
street again. Though this wasn’t the type of neighborhood gangsters
roamed, the new bounty on his head left him uncomfortable standing
out in the open. “You haven’t looked for me for eight years. Why
now?”

“
Eight years? Has it been
that long? It’s only been since this summer that I was able to wean
myself away from the thistle.” She slipped a hand into a dress
pocket and pulled out a paper.

Akstyr tensed. Not someone else toting
around his new wanted poster.

But she unfolded a pair of newspaper
clippings. “I’d thought... I’d feared you had died on the streets
all those years ago. Then I saw your name this summer and again
last week, mentioned with those other people that are... helping
the city, is that right?” Moisture brimmed in her eyes. “I know you
won’t believe this, but I’m proud of you.”

“
Uh. All right.” If his
mother had ever shown that she cared for him, Akstyr might have
felt more at her proclamations, but all they were doing was making
him uncomfortable.

She dabbed at her eyes with a worn dress
sleeve. “I never thought a child born of the blood of a thieving
rapist could ever be anything special.”

Akstyr jammed his hands into his pockets and
resisted the urge to say that her blood wasn’t anything special
either.

“
But you’re doing something
with your life, aren’t you?” She met his eyes. “You’re not going to
be worthless like your Ma.”

What was he supposed to say
to that? All Akstyr remembered of his mother was yelling, mostly
yelling about what a burden he was and that she wished he’d never
been born. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t had to fend
for himself, stealing food and swiping clothes from lines strung
between alley walls. These tears and kind words—apologies—were
unfamiliar. A part of him wished to believe it was real, that time
had changed things, changed
her
, but most of his parts were too
busy being suspicious. To hunt him down after all these years, she
had to want something.

“
I have to go,” Akstyr
said.

His mother stepped forward, a hand
outstretched.

Akstyr stepped back again, and she dropped
it. She closed her eyes and seemed to fight to mask a hurt
expression on her face. Akstyr tried not to feel like a bastard,
but she was making it hard.

“
I’m busy,” Akstyr said.
“That’s all. We’re getting ready for a mission.” Which was true.
Amaranthe and the others might be back any hour.

“
I understand,” his mother
said. “But please tell me where I can find you again. It was chance
that I saw you today.”

“
I don’t know. We’re going
to be out of the city for a while.”

“
When do you leave? At
least let me buy you one of those dog-shaped cookies that the
bakers at West Quay make.”

The ones he used to steal as a boy; yes,
they had been his favorites. He’d almost lost a hand to a humorless
baker who’d moved surprisingly quickly for someone so ponderous.
Boys shouldn’t have to steal cookies. Yet... it meant something
that she remembered his fondness for them.

“
You don’t have to buy me
anything,” Akstyr mumbled. “I’ll try to get to the Quay tomorrow
night if you want to meet me then. We’re leaving the morning after
that.”

“
I’ll be there,” she
said.

Akstyr strode away without looking back. He
didn’t want her to think her appearance mattered in his life,
though he feared he’d volunteered himself up for disappointment.
Either she wouldn’t show up, and he’d wish he hadn’t wasted time
going, or she would show up, and she’d probably want money or
something from him.

Maybe Sicarius would find out about Akstyr’s
deception and kill him before then, making the whole situation
moot. Great thought that.

* * * * *

Amaranthe and Books climbed creaky wooden
stairs leading to the attic of an old print shop owned by the
university. A newer building with steam-powered presses had
precluded the need for the dusty screw presses housed below, and
visitors were infrequent, usually students and rogue scholars
printing subversive documents on the sly. Should any of those
people chance upon the outlaws living in the attic, they couldn’t
very well turn anybody in when they were participating in illicit
activities themselves.

Outside, beneath the noonday sun, Sicarius
was finding a place to hide their stolen farm lorry. At least
Amaranthe hoped he was doing so. She had asked him to, but he
hadn’t acknowledged her with a word or even a look. In fact, he
hadn’t spoken since they left Sergeant Yara’s village. Part of it
might be that he was worried about Sespian, but she knew part of it
was irritation with her.

Amaranthe pushed open the door to the attic
and found Maldynado and Basilard sitting across from each other at
a desk, playing Strat Tiles on the railway map Amaranthe had laid
out before they left for the training exercise. Akstyr sat
cross-legged on a crate a few feet away from them, a book open in
his lap, though she’d caught him gazing down at the floor instead
of at the pages. He flinched when Amaranthe met his eyes.

“
Hullo, boss.” Maldynado
waved a tile in the air.

Amaranthe gave him a friendly nod, but
added, “Nobody’s keeping a watch?”

“
Oh, we didn’t need to,”
Maldynado said.

Basilard lifted his eyebrows.

Maldynado pointed to a bank of
southern-facing windows where sunlight peeped inside, leaving
bright rectangles on the whitewashed floorboards. “The dust on
those sills started cowering, so we knew it was you coming up the
stairs.”

Amaranthe paused, torn between coming up
with a rejoinder or rushing over to the windows with a
kerchief.

“
Don’t do it, boss,”
Maldynado said, apparently guessing her thoughts. “It’s bad enough
that you cleaned the glass last week. Secret hideouts are
supposed
to have grimy
films over the windows, the better to camouflage one’s clandestine
operations.”

“
Yes, speaking of
clandestine operations,” Amaranthe said, “now that we’re back
together, we can collect the items on my shopping list and finalize
our plans.”

“
Shopping
list?” Akstyr curled a lip. “I don’t want to go
marketing.”

Maldynado’s lip twitched, too, perhaps
because his pretty face made him the group’s designated
shopper.

“
Relax, gentlemen.”
Amaranthe laid the list on their table. “We’re not talking about
broccoli and lamb shanks here.”

Maldynado and Basilard leaned forward to
read the list.