Deadly Games (34 page)

“Get the gear and run to the dock!” she
ordered.

A tentacle thicker than a man’s body reared
out of the water ten feet away. It stretched high, towering over
the tugboat. The tentacle waved menacingly against the starry
backdrop, then plummeted. It slammed onto the deck at the front of
the ship.

Metal groaned under the assault. A wooden
ship might have been destroyed right there. As it was, the tentacle
wrapped around the base of the crane and snapped the metal support,
as if it were breaking a pencil.

Amaranthe ripped her gaze away. The men were
already scrambling across the rocking deck, slipping and flailing
in the water streaming past. She grabbed the lone remaining helmet
to go with the suit, groaning at the combined weight of the two
items. On hands and knees, she clawed her away across the heaving
deck after the men.

The tentacle lifted the crane into the air
and flung it with an irritable flick.

The forty-foot metal arm flew out of sight,
though Amaranthe heard it land. Wood smashed and cracked, and she
feared another docked ship had been turned into a victim.

The tentacle reared for another attack.

She hustled faster. Fifteen feet to the
railing and the dock beyond. Maldynado and Akstyr were already
there, hurling their suits off the ship.

The tentacle smashed into the main cabin this
time. Wood shattered, and shards flew everywhere, pelting
Amaranthe’s back as she continued to drag the heavy suit toward the
rail. The tentacle thrashed. The roof caved in, and more waves
rocked the ship. Beneath Amaranthe’s hands, the deck trembled under
the stress, and the hull quaked.

In seconds, the cabin was destroyed. The
tentacle lifted from the wreckage and swept sideways across the
deck.

Amaranthe flattened. It came so close, the
breeze ruffled her hair and cold water droplets rained onto the
back of her neck. As soon as it passed over her, she sprang to her
feet and sprinted the last couple of paces.

Akstyr grabbed her helmet and tossed it onto
the dock. “What
is
that thing?”

She winced when the helmet nearly bounced off
and into the water on the other side. “I’ll tell you about it when
we’re safe.” She heaved the suit over the railing and gestured for
Books and Akstyr to follow.

“Whatever it is,” Maldynado said to Akstyr,
voice muffled, “I’ll pay you a thousand ranmyas if you can
incinerate it with your mind.” He was
wearing
his
helmet.

Akstyr paused, his foot on the railing.
“Really?”

“No.” Amaranthe shoved him from the boat and
nodded toward Books. “You next.”

The tentacle grabbed the rail on the opposite
side of the ship and pulled. The deck tilted thirty degrees,
lifting Amaranthe’s side high in the air.

She hooked her elbow over the railing, even
as her feet skidded out from beneath her. Books was not as quick to
grab hold. He hit the deck and started to slide away. Amaranthe
thrust a foot out, and he caught it.

The jolt popped something in her hip, but she
gritted her teeth and hung on to the rail. She caught it with her
other hand and anchored herself, so Books could crawl up her leg
and find purchase again.

The dock, previously ten feet below the deck,
lay twenty feet down now.

“Go,” Amaranthe told Books.

Without pause, he flung himself over the
side. The deck rocked. The kraken seemed to know Amaranthe and
Maldynado were still on board, and it was trying to shake them
free. They pushed the last of the gear over the side.

“You go first,” Maldynado said.

A new tentacle shot up between the dock and
the ship, the gleaming purple skin not five feet from Amaranthe and
Maldynado. Water sprayed everywhere and spattered her in the
eye.

“Both of us,” she said. The tentacle swept
down toward them. “Now!”

They leaped over the railing just as the
kraken smashed through it. A chunk of wood hammered Amaranthe on
the back as she fell. Air whistled past her ears.

In the dim lighting, she struggled to judge
the distance to the dock. Through luck more than skill she landed
with a roll that kept her from breaking legs, but her momentum
threatened to send her tumbling into the water on the far side.

A hand clamped about her collar, hauling her
back before she flew over the edge.

“Thanks,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” Maldynado said, head still
ensconced in the helmet.

“
I
caught her, you dolt,” Books said.
“You’re lucky you didn’t land headfirst wearing that thing.”

Amaranthe hustled to her feet and grabbed one
of the sets of gear. “Let’s chat later.”

The dock lacked any sort of comforting
sturdiness, and she ran for the street as quickly as she could
while dragging the suit and helmet. The men raced after her. Wood
cracked behind them, and the dock shuddered. She did not look back.
Only when they reached land and the solid cobblestone of the
waterfront street did Amaranthe feel safe enough to check.

“Emperor’s warts,” she breathed at the sight.
Or the
lack
of a sight.

The
Tuggle
was missing, along with
half of the dock. A ship that had been moored opposite the tugboat
was tilted on its side, its wooden masts broken, with water flowing
through a hole in its hull. Tangled sails smothered the deck. In
the water, boards, rope, and other jetsam floated, the only remains
of the salvage ship.

The tentacles were gone.

“That was a kraken?” Books shook his head.
“That can
not
be here. The Aracknis Kraken is a
deep-sea-dwelling relative of the giant squid that’s native to the
Trechara Trench, two thousand miles away. It feeds on large fish,
squids, and other species found only in that environment. It’s
physiologically adapted to a saltwater habitat, and it
can
not
be here.”

“Thank you, professor.” Maldynado removed his
helmet, and his damp curls stuck out, creating a silhouette
reminiscent of a dandelion gone to seed. “Perhaps you should swim
into the lake and tell that to Lord Tentacles out there.”

“That was brilliant,” Akstyr said. “My first
sea monster.”

“Sea monsters can’t be in freshwater lakes,”
Books muttered.

“They can if they’re guarding a submerged
magical fortress full of kidnappers,” Amaranthe said.

“A fortress?” Books frowned.

“That’s what I’d call it, yes.”

He groaned.

“Does this mean we’re not going diving
tonight?” Akstyr asked.

Books groaned again.

Though darkness had fallen hours earlier,
light crept beneath the door of Deret Mancrest’s flat. No lamps
burned in the hallway outside.

“He stays up late for a respectable newspaper
man,” Amaranthe said.

“Maybe he’s entertaining,” Maldynado said.
“Though I’d expect more thumping and moaning if that were the
case.”

Books was not there to glare at him.
Amaranthe had sent him and Akstyr to slip into the library and
research krakens—specifically how to kill them—and check for
information on underwater habitations as well, though she doubted
they would find anything there. She did not think the technology
existed to create something like that without the mental sciences,
and the curators of the imperial libraries would never put books
discussing otherworldly construction on the shelves. Not if they
valued their necks.

“Be ready. He answers the door with a sword
stick.” Amaranthe knocked.

“Naturally,” Maldynado said.

Shuffling sounds came from within, along with
a noisy yawn that could have woken half of the building. A moment
later, the door opened. Mancrest stood inside, leaning on his sword
stick, his tall form limned by candlelight coming from behind him.
Papers scattered a desk, as well as a couple of quills and an
old-fashioned ink jar.

Mancrest gaped at them, though he dismissed
Maldynado with a glance and focused on Amaranthe. She tensed,
expecting a barrage of imprecations.

“Ms. Lokdon!” he blurted.

“Yes....” She tried to judge his tone, but
could only read the surprise. Given the hour, that was hardly
shocking.

“Hello. I didn’t expect you.” Mancrest
winced. “That’s obvious, isn’t it? What time is it? After
midnight?” He peered at a clock perched on a fireplace mantle. “It
is. Huh.”

“Does he seem scattered to you?” Amaranthe
whispered to Maldynado.

“His shirt buttons aren’t in the wrong holes,
so I don’t think he’s been entertaining,” Maldynado whispered back,
then he raised his voice. “Have you been drinking, Deret?”

“What? No?” Mancrest rubbed his eyes and
yawned again. “Just been up. Thinking.”

Amaranthe fought back a yawn of her own.

“Come in, come in.” Mancrest shuffled to the
table in sandals that slapped the wood floor with each step. The
neighbors below probably loved that. “Since you’re here,” he said,
“I might as well...” He poked through papers. Some were empty, some
had a line or two on them, and some had more. A few crumpled balls
occupied a nearby waste bin. “No, that’s awful. Ugh, what was I
thinking there?” He discarded those two pages and surveyed others.
“No, I was closer on a previous draft. Uhm...this one isn’t
entirely horrible. It’ll have to do.”

Amaranthe exchanged eyebrow raises with
Maldynado while Mancrest folded the selected page with care. He
placed it in an envelope, melted the end of a wax stick over a
candle, and sealed the missive with a smudge. He tugged on a golden
chain around his neck, pulling a flat, oval signet out. Mancrest
pressed it into the wax, leaving the image of a soldier holding a
sword aloft—his family’s crest.

Amaranthe was about to interrupt
letter-crafting time—they had important matters to discuss—when
Mancrest straightened, marched the envelope over, and handed it to
her.

“Er, what’s this?” she asked.

“It’s in the letter.”

“Did you...want me to read it now?”

Mancrest glanced at Maldynado. “Maybe later.
When my ego isn’t around to watch.”

“Definitely drinking,” Maldynado
whispered.

Mancrest
was
acting strangely, or at
least not in accordance to what she expected from him based on
previous meetings, but no scent of alcohol lingered about him.

“All right.” Amaranthe considered the creamy
envelope. It was too large to stick into a pocket without folding,
and she feared it was rude to treat a missive stamped with
someone’s warrior-caste seal so cavalierly. “Can we talk, Lord
Mancrest? It’s about your brother’s ship, the
Saberfist
. And
the missing people.”

Mancrest’s forehead crinkled—had he thought
she’d come about something besides business? No, he was probably
surprised to have his brother brought into things. He recovered and
waved them to seats around a gaming table.

“No soldiers waiting to jump out?” Maldynado
slid open the door of a credenza, as if a squad might be hiding
inside.

“Not this time.” Mancrest smiled. “I wasn’t
expecting you.”

Amaranthe slid into a seat and launched into
the story, sharing not only the information on the underwater
structure, but everything that had led them to discover it. When
she admitted to the garbage vehicle destruction, Maldynado choked
and thrust an accusing finger her direction, claiming she
“practically forced me to drive at knife point.” Amaranthe swatted
his finger away and continued on. She wanted to be honest since the
head of
The Gazette
would have the resources to tease out
any truths she left untold—especially truths that involved arsons
and collisions. Mancrest merely stared at her through the
recitation.

When she finished, he leaned forward, peering
into her eyes from different angles.

“I believe,” Maldynado said, “he’s now
wondering if
you’ve
been drinking. Or worse.”

“No.” Mancrest leaned back. “I just wasn’t
sure... Well, I don’t know you that well, so I don’t know when
you’re joking.”

Amaranthe resisted the urge to tell him that
he would know her better by now if he had not been so insistent on
trying to apprehend her.

“No joke,” she said. “I don’t know if they’ll
attack the
Saberfist
or not, but this is a threat to Stumps
either way, and your brother’s ship is best equipped to deal with
it.”

Maldynado leaned close to her and whispered,
“If
they
deal with it, what will
we
do? We’re
supposed to solve the problems and get credit, right?” Whisper or
not, his aside was loud enough for Mancrest to hear.

“What’s important,” Amaranthe said, lifting
her chin and meeting Mancrest’s eyes, “is that the threat to the
empire is vanquished. Who gets credit is immaterial.”

Besides, her plan should let her team come
out as heroes to people who mattered—those trapped in the submerged
structure. She brushed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear,
using the movement to hide a covert wink for Maldynado.

“The good of the empire,” Maldynado said.
“Right, right.”

Mancrest stroked his jaw. “I’m not sure who
would believe this story, but my older brother was a young
lieutenant during the Western Sea Conflict, and he’s seen magic
being used. He knows the imperial stance is propaganda. But, you
might not get a chance to tell your story. He and all his marines
would be duty-bound to apprehend you as soon as you stepped aboard
his ship.”

“
I
wasn’t planning to talk to him.”
She smiled at Mancrest. “I was hoping you would.”

“Oh. Yes, of course. I should have realized
more prompted this late night visit than an interest in sharing a
tip for the paper.”

“I wouldn’t interrupt your sleep—” Amaranthe
glanced at the envelope, “—or midnight scrivener aspirations for
something that wasn’t important.”