Deadly Games (15 page)

At the base of the stairs, she stopped near
one of the working lamps, intending to check Sicarius’s uniform.
She trusted him to get the details right, but she needed to know if
he had any rank pins or badges that would mark him her superior. If
so, she would have to amend her spiel to pretend she was taking
orders from him. But, when she saw him in the light, she froze and
stared.

Clad in the crisp, clean lines of a gray
enforcer uniform, he looked...good. Handsome, yes, but heroic, too.
Not like some assassin who lurked in the shadows, ready to jab a
dagger into someone’s back, but like someone noble who helped
people.

It’s just fabric, girl, she told herself, but
the thoughts brought a lump to her throat nonetheless. What might
he have been had his childhood been different? Normal.

“Something inaccurate?” Sicarius asked.

“No.” Amaranthe cleared her throat. “No,
you’ve got it right.” She lifted a foot and placed it on the first
stair, but paused again. “Do you—or
did
you ever want to be
something else? For an…occupation? When you were a child
maybe?”

Anyone else would have given her a perplexed
frown over such a random question. He...gazed at her without a hint
of his thoughts. Floorboards creaked in a room nearby. A muffled
conversation went on behind a door. In the hallway, he neither
moved nor spoke. She searched his eyes. Did he spend even half as
much time wondering what she was thinking as she did wondering what
he was thinking?

“Never mind,” Amaranthe said. “I just meant
you’d be...believable as an enforcer.”

She headed up the stairs.

“A soldier,” Sicarius said quietly.

Amaranthe halted. “You daydreamed of being a
soldier?”

“When it was necessary for my focus to be
elsewhere, I thought of it occasionally.”

He caught up with her and kept climbing,
perhaps considering the conversation over.
Focus to be
elsewhere.
As in to block out the pain of some torturous
childhood training session? He did not expound, and she did not
ask. She matched him, and they ascended the steps side by side.

“Like Berkhorth the Brazen?” she asked,
wanting to leave him with better thoughts than of some past need to
will his mind elsewhere. “The third century general who was so
gifted with a blade that an entire city surrendered en masse when
they saw him walk up with a single squad of soldiers?” They rounded
the second-story landing, and she kept talking, warming to the idea
of Sicarius as the legendary hero. “The man so fearsome that none
of the soldiers guarding that city realized his squad was covered
in blood and wounds and had only a single, battered sword between
them because they’d just escaped capture and torture?”

Sicarius slanted her a faintly bemused look.
“Starcrest.”

Her toe bumped a step, and she caught herself
on the railing. “Fleet Admiral Starcrest? Really? I picture you
more as a warrior general than a brilliant naval strategist.”

They reached the third floor and another
empty hallway.

“You believe I lack intelligence?” Sicarius
asked.

Amaranthe jerked a hand up. “No, no.” It had
been some time since he had thrown a knife at her, and she did not
want to give him a reason to consider it again. “It’s just
that...ah, you lose to me three out of four times when we play
Strat Tiles.”

“Because you cheat.”

“How do I cheat?” she asked, trying to read
his face to see if he was irked or merely giving her a hard time.
She never should have given him permission to tease her.

“You talk,” Sicarius said.

“Talking isn’t cheating.”

“It is when you seek to wheedle my strategy
from me under the guise of learning from my greater
experience.”

She blushed. She hadn’t realized he saw
through that so easily. Though it had worked.… Several times.

“I should be flogged, no doubt,” Amaranthe
said.

A rare gleam of humor entered his eyes.
“Perhaps.”

Amaranthe counted doors until they reached
the flat she had been observing, the one she hoped belonged to
Raydevk and his wife. The building could very well house other
families with two young sons.

She pressed an ear against the door before
knocking; she did not wish to interrupt a second round of
lovemaking. Voices murmured, male and female, the words too low to
make out. They did not sound ardor-filled.

She knocked. Out of habit, she straightened
her uniform and patted down her bun. Looking the part of a
professional enforcer might no longer be a requirement, but some
tics failed to die.

The door opened, and a moon-faced woman
leaned into the gap. When she spotted the uniforms, her eyes
bulged. Even a rookie could have interpreted the guilty
we’re-caught expression.

Amaranthe stuck her foot into the gap, lest
the woman’s first instinct be to slam the door shut and lock it.
The woman stepped back, but bumped against one of the piles of
furniture, boxes, and clutter that were used to delineate separate
spaces in the single room.

“Peaceful evening,” Amaranthe greeted. “I’m
Corporal Lokdon.” The name was sewn on her name tag, so she dared
not change it, but she said it quickly on the chance the woman read
the newspapers. Amaranthe nodded to Sicarius. “And this is Corporal
Jev.” Or so his uniform said. “We have a few questions for your
husband, ma’am.”

“Who is it, Pella?” a man, presumably
Raydevk, asked. “One of the boys? They weren’t supposed to come
until nine.” He snickered. “Or is it old Ms. Derya complaining that
the fire escape isn’t a suitable place for sex play? Again.”

Since the woman—Pella—seemed stunned with
indecision, Amaranthe pushed the door open. The smirk on the
miner’s face dropped. He held a book—a journal?—in his hands, and
he hid it behind his back. Yes, the guilt hung in the air like smog
around a factory. Though that meant it was probably good that she
had come, it also made her fairly certain these weren’t the
masterminds behind...anything.

“Mister Raydevk?” Amaranthe asked. “We have a
few questions for you.”

“I’ve done nothing illegal,” he said.

“Good.” She smiled. “Then we’ll be able to
finish quickly.”

“Uh, right.” Raydevk eyed several of the
cabinets and clothing-draped stacks. Seeking somewhere to stash his
journal?

“Mind if we come in?” Amaranthe asked.

Sicarius invited himself in, slipping past
Amaranthe to stand inside the doorway. Pella stepped, no, stumbled
backward. Hm, Amaranthe might find Sicarius’s appearance heroic in
the uniform, but he still intimidated others. The cold unwavering
stare perhaps.

“Thanks,” Amaranthe said brightly. She
strolled in and displayed her warrant oh-so briefly to Pella.
“Corporal Jev has orders to search the premises. I hope this won’t
inconvenience you terribly.”

“Search?” Raydevk’s voice squeaked. “What
for?” His eyes darted about in his head, searching again. Still
trying to get rid of that journal? He focused on a credenza in a
corner by a cook stove. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thanks,” Amaranthe said.

Regardless, he darted for the credenza,
opened a door, and withdrew glasses and a bottle of applejack.
“I’ll just have a taste, if you don’t mind.”

Loosening one’s tongue was not a particularly
good idea for a liar—a possibly criminal liar—faced with enforcers,
but Amaranthe saw no reason to object. Raydevk met his wife’s eyes,
widening his own in some signal.

“Why are you folks here?” Pella asked.

“A group of miners has been implicated in a
conspiracy against the athletes at the Imperial Games,” Amaranthe
said, trying to surprise reactions out of Pella and Raydevk. She
did not truly expect these people to have much—if anything—to do
with the kidnappings, but one never knew. “The missing athletes, to
be precise.”

Pella glanced at her husband and rushed to
say, “We don’t know anything about that.”

Raydevk had his back to everyone, ostensibly
preparing a drink, but he froze at Amaranthe’s words. He jerked his
head at Pella and she burbled on, giving some story about the men
winning time off at a company lottery and simply going to the Games
to relax.

Amaranthe barely listened. She was watching
Raydevk. Still fiddling with his drink, he tried to hide his
actions as he set the journal on the credenza and opened it. He
coughed to cover the noise he made ripping the top sheet off. He
used the movement of returning the bottle to a shelf to slip that
page into his pocket.

“Corporal Jev,” Amaranthe said. She trusted
Sicarius had seen the inept legerdemain and hoped he interpreted
her head tilt as would-you-be-so-kind-as-to-retrieve-that-for-me.
“Begin the search.”

Sicarius gave her a hard look, no doubt
wondering why they were dickering around instead of simply taking
what they needed. She flicked her fingers, hoping he would play
along a little while longer. These people were not experienced
criminals, and they would likely give her everything they knew
without the need for force.

“You’re not going to disturb the children,
are you?” Pella asked.

Amaranthe had forgotten they were sleeping
behind one of the walls of clutter. She trusted Sicarius with her
life, and she resented that doubt curled into her at the idea of
sending him in to deal with a couple of kids on his own, but what
he had shared of his history did not lead her to believe he would
be good with them. Granted, the order to dump decapitated heads on
the floor with five-year-old Sespian watching had been Emperor
Raumesys’s command, but still.

“We’ll check them last,” Amaranthe said.
Together. She hoped Sicarius did not read the reason for her
hesitation in her words. She trusted him. She did. She just figured
that even at his most innocuous, he would scare children.

“Mister Raydevk, where do you work? Black
Peak?” she asked while Sicarius went through shelves and drawers in
the room.

“Yes.” He took a swig of applejack, though he
had appeared more relaxed before the alcohol touched his lips.

Yes, Amaranthe definitely wanted that paper.
“Then it’ll be easy enough to check up on this story about a
lottery and winners.”

Raydevk froze again, the amber liquid to his
lips. He recovered and shrugged. “I imagine so.”

Pella scraped her fingers through her hair
and chewed on her lip.

“You and other miners have been seen at the
Imperial Games a number of days this week,” Amaranthe said. “Care
to explain what you’re doing there?”

“Just watching the athletes and enjoying my
time off.”

Amaranthe decided to try talking about
herself instead of asking questions. It might put the man at ease
and make him more likely to slip with his comments. “It’s fortunate
you got that much time off. My father was a miner. He never
received more than a couple of days off in a month.” Though he had
once come all the way into the city to watch Amaranthe’s race even
though he had to get right back on a train to make it to work the
next morning.

“He die young, did he?” Pella asked.

“Yes,” Amaranthe said. “It’s a hard life, I
know.”

“Got that right,” Raydevk said.

“Can’t blame people for wanting to better
their lot,” Pella said.

“Is that what you’re doing at the Games?”
Amaranthe asked.

“I told you,” Raydevk said, quick to speak
over Pella, Amaranthe sensed, “I’m just down there to enjoy my time
off.”

“I’d think you’d want to spend more of that
time with your family.”

“Don’t you judge me.” Raydevk scowled and
pointed a finger at her face. “I take care of my family real
good.”

“I’m sure you do,” Amaranthe said.

“Then what exactly are you accusing me
of?”

Sicarius paused at the curtain leading to the
children’s sleeping area. His ear was cocked. Had he heard
something?

“The boys are sleeping in there,” Pella said.
“No reason to go in.”

Amaranthe could not tell if she was hiding
something, or simply did not want enforcers scaring her
children.

Sicarius pushed the curtain aside. A five- or
six-year-old boy stumbled out and collapsed at his feet. Someone
listening at the “door,” apparently. Eyes round, the boy stared up
at Sicarius.

“Are they here?” a young voice queried from
the darkened sleeping area. Soft thumps sounded—bare feet running
across a thin carpet. “Ma, you said we could come say, ‘Hello,’
when Uncle Drovar came.” A boy younger than the first charged out
of the room as he spoke, and he would have crashed into Sicarius’s
leg, but Sicarius lifted his foot, removing the obstacle.

When the boys realized they had strange
visitors, in intimidating uniforms no less, they grew quiet and
slunk over to their mother. She lifted a finger, as if she might
send them right back to bed, but Sicarius slipped into the vacated
area. A light came to life. A good time to search, but Amaranthe
wished he would get her that note first. He would be a smoother
pickpocket than she.

“Mister Raydevk,” Amaranthe said, “you’re not
accused of anything yet, but it’s clear you’re not telling the
truth. If you don’t answer my questions honestly, we’ll be
authorized to take you to the magistrate for further questioning.
Are you sure you don’t know anything about the missing
athletes?”

“I don’t know anything.”

The older of the two boys left his mother’s
side to peer into the sleeping area.

“If you
did
know something,” Amaranthe
told Raydevk, “and it led to the arrest of those who spawned the
plot, it’s possible we could work a deal where your punishment was
waived.”

Raydevk hesitated, but only for a second. He
spread his arms wide. “What would a miner have to do with
kidnappings?”

“I only said athletes were missing, not that
they were kidnapped,” Amaranthe said. “How do you know someone is
taking them?”