Forged in Blood I (43 page)

“You’re Sircareius,” one of the men said.

“Sicarius,” the second corrected, nudging his comrade with an elbow.

“Yes.” In other circumstances, Sicarius might not have responded to a statement of the obvious, but if they knew of his reputation, they might be less inclined to offer resistance and more inclined to follow his orders. Swiftly.

“You helped the boss last winter,” the second speaker said. “You and that girl. Lokdon, wasn’t it? She was nice.”

“Isn’t he an assassin?”

“Yes, but he was on our side that night when… well, the boss said not to talk about it, but we all would have died if not for him and his friend.” He wiped his rough coal-smeared hands on his trousers and stuck one out toward Sicarius. “I’m Wodic. This is Mederak.”

Sicarius walked to the closest workbench while keeping the men in his peripheral vision. He believed them innocuous, but one didn’t survive years of having a million-ranmya bounty on one’s head by putting beliefs ahead of vigilance. For men like these, such money would change their lives.

“I require a steel trap approximately eight by eight by eight feet joined with the strongest welds possible. It will have two hatches, one on the top and a smaller one on the bottom or side. The walls must be thick enough to withstand the pressure of—” Sicarius noticed the men staring blankly at him. One, Wodic, still had his hand out. “Here. I will draw it.”

Wodic looked down at his hand, shrugged, and walked over to the table.

“He wants us to use the boss’s materials for her new holding warehouse?” Mederak whispered to his comrade while Sicarius was drawing.

“Ssh, it’ll be all right. We’ll tell her it’s for Ms. Lokdon. She won’t object. Not after the…” Wodic lowered his voice. “Not after the mare-cats and that… that evil spirit thing. Did you hear about that?”

“Just stories.”

“They’re true,” Wodic said.

Sicarius finished his drawing without comment. It seemed odd that these men were willing to help him without the application of threats, but he was not surprised Amaranthe had left that feeling of indebtedness behind. She certainly had a knack for winning over allies. Not all of them remembered her so fondly later on, when the heat of the moment passed, but the situation had turned out in these people’s favor.

“Here.” Sicarius pushed the sketch in front of the two men. “It must be assembled outside, so it can be moved.”

“Moved where?”

“Into the lake.”

Wodic and Mederak scratched their heads. “The lake?”

“The obvious trap does not catch the fox.” Sicarius realized he’d quoted one of Basilard’s grandfather’s sayings. In this case, it was apt. “It must be assembled today.”

“
Today
?” Mederak blurted.

Still rubbing his head, Wodic stared at the sketch. “I don’t know if that’s possible, Mr. Sicarius. There’s just us two and our driver out here this week. Until the ice freezes—”

“It will be done today,” Sicarius repeated. “I will assist you.”

They looked him over. Yes, his black clothing was adorned with knifes rather than smith’s tools, but he was a capable worker.

“All of our lives depend on it,” Sicarius said.

They considered the sketch again, perhaps for the first time considering
why
Sicarius might need such a trap.

“Today’s good,” Mederak said at the same time as Wodic said, “We can do today.”

Chapter 17

A
maranthe alternated between yawning and nibbling on her pinkie nail while Akstyr paced around the section of floor that hid the lift. She’d lost all sense of time, but they’d been locked in the control room long enough to share some of Sicarius’s travel bars. Retta had known where to find potable water, though the secret cabinets could not, alas, supply more appealing meals. Amaranthe was too anxious to digest properly anyway.

Retta, her shoulder healed, was moving from floating map to schematic to knot of runes, portions of the three-dimensional images brightening or pulsing when she touched them. Hands clasped behind his back, Books walked behind her, watching her every finger swipe. The knocks and clunks had stopped emanating from below, but every now and then Amaranthe heard a scrape or a thump; people were moving around down there, probably with their weapons drawn as they waited for the assistant to figure out a way to let them charge inside.

“How long will it take to get the
Behe
—the
Ortarh Ortak
moving?” Amaranthe asked.

“We’re getting close,” Retta said. “Perhaps an hour now.”

“An
hour
?” Akstyr asked. “Hasn’t it already been four or five days?”

“Not quite
that
long,” Amaranthe said, though she commiserated with the sentiment.

Retta had been poking images for a long time. Even a giant boiler could be heated and a steam engine brought to readiness in less time than this was taking.

“A course must be entered into the navigation system, the engines must be brought on line, the current human population density around the lake must be calculated so we can leave the area in a way that we’re least likely to be seen, and…” Retta frowned as a blue blip on the image in front of her pulsed and a couple of runes formed in the air. “The civilization that created the
Ortarh Ortak
would have had an entire crew of people working in this room. That we—
I
—have been able to get it working at all is amazing.”

“Yes, sorry, continue on, please. We’ll keep our mouths shut.” Amaranthe wasn’t going to argue about Retta’s amazingness, not at this point, though she lifted a hand to stop Books the next time he drew near. She lowered her voice to ask, “Now that you’ve been watching her, do you think you could operate the craft if something happened?” She tilted her head toward Retta.

The South Pole plan was workable, she supposed, but she’d still feel better if this thing was forever buried somewhere that people couldn’t find it, especially Forge people. With the money that organization had, arranging an expedition to the other side of the world to continue research would be entirely feasible.

“Dear ancestors, no,” Books said. “She’d have to instruct me on the language and how to operate everything. Right now, it’s a miasma of confusion. The utter alienness of it… I’m sure it’d take months, if not years. Were I to attempt to pilot it, or even open a door, I’d be like a lizard beating its tail against levers on a control panel, hoping for the best.”

Akstyr snickered, but paused mid-laugh. “Something’s happening down below. I can feel—they’re getting ready.”

At that second, a square of the floor rose.

Books and Akstyr leaped back, landing in crouches, their daggers ready. Amaranthe jumped on top of the moving square. The ceiling was so high she could barely see it up there, and she didn’t think the lift had risen that far when it delivered her team to the room.

“Retta,” Amaranthe blurted as a rifle poked through the growing opening between the top of the lift and the rest of the floor. “Door lock’s broken!”

Amaranthe dropped to her belly and snatched the barrel of the rifle. She tried to rip it from its owner’s hands, but, though obviously surprised, the man didn’t let go. She did, however, pull it far enough out to reveal the hand holding the bottom of the barrel. She swiped at it with her dagger, drawing blood. The owner cursed and let go. This time, she succeeded in pulling the rifle away, but three more took its place.

Books and Akstyr, in far more vulnerable positions, ran to the sides of the lift, trying to use them for cover. With it being open on the front and the back, that was a challenge. Gunshots rang out.

“Cursed Mia.” Retta left her work and darted for one of the image banks that displayed internal maps. The lift halted, halfway up, but it didn’t go back down.

Still on her stomach, Amaranthe risked scooting close to the edge, lining the side of her body up parallel with it. Holding the rifle in one hand, her finger curled around the trigger, she lowered the barrel and angled it to shoot inside. The long weapon was heavy and awkward to wield that way, and someone grabbed the end. She fired, and whoever had it let go. Amaranthe yanked the weapon away, rolling onto her back.

“That’s not going to work,” she muttered.

More shots were fired. Two of the men climbed out of the lift and burst into view. They knew Amaranthe was on top, and one promptly turned, a rifle raised in her direction. If she’d still been on that side of the lift, she would have been an easy target, but she’d rolled to the back edge. She lowered her head over the side and fired into the guards who remained below. Yes, gentlemen, she thought grimly. Your lift is open on two sides.

Abruptly, her perch descended. Amaranthe nearly dropped the rifle.

“Get out, get out, it’s going back down!” someone inside yelled.

Gunshots continued to fire, and more than one shout of pain arose. Amaranthe didn’t think the cries came from her men, but they were outgunned, and there was nothing to hide behind in the control room. Those translucent floating images did nothing to stop bullets.

Amaranthe moved back to the front of the lift and bashed the butt of the rifle down on a man trying to climb out. At the same time, she searched for Books and Akstyr, and the two guards who’d already leaped out. One was fighting with Books, using the rifle like a club, while Books defended with his dagger. The other had his rifle raised, pointed at Akstyr’s chest.

Amaranthe jerked her own rifle back up, trying to ready another round in time to help him, but even though the firearms held more ammunition than a regular muzzle-loaded weapon, she’d run out with the random shots she’d been firing. Fearing she’d be too late, she dropped the rifle and lifted her dagger to throw. But the guard hadn’t fired. He was standing there, aiming, and nothing more.

“Are you holding him, Akstyr?” Amaranthe asked.

He didn’t have his hand outstretched in the usual manner. The rifle twitched a few times, then was pulled out of the man’s grip. It floated over to Akstyr and he caught it with a firm nod. The guard never moved.

“I’ll take that for a yes,” Amaranthe said.

A clunk sounded, a rifle hitting the floor. Books had disarmed his opponent.

The lift disappeared back into the floor and Amaranthe jogged over to join her men. “Let’s tie these two up.” She waved toward the cabinet, figuring there had to be something useful in there. At the least, they might be able to close it and shut the guards inside.

“I’ve locked it again for now,” Retta said, returning to the image she’d been manipulating before the lift rose, “but I’m sure she’ll keep trying. There are other entrances to this room too.”

“Lovely.” Books eyed the distant walls, each of which probably held a door, though who could tell on those featureless facades? “What happens when they’re better prepared and split their forces, so they can charge us on multiple fronts?”

Indeed, Amaranthe thought. That last group hadn’t been prepared. After waiting so long, they might have been caught by surprise when the lift started rising.

“We have rifles and more bullets at least,” Akstyr said.

He had opted for tying the guards up with their own trousers, then shoving them into the cabinet. He’d relieved them of their belts and ammo pouches. A yawn stretched his lips, and black bags nestled beneath his eyes. Sweat dampened his shirt as well, a reminder that his mental science gifts didn’t come without effort. He was more efficient at them than he had been a year ago, but they taxed him nonetheless.

“Thank you, Akstyr.” Amaranthe nodded her approval toward him, then dropped her chin in her hand, mulling.

“We should all stand around Retta,” Books said, “and if they attempt to come in, we’ll shoot from there. Protecting her is the most important thing. If we don’t…” He frowned at Amaranthe. “You look like you’re scheming.”

“Do I? How can you tell?”

“You’re wearing your harbinger-of-trouble face.”

“Hm, Sicarius calls it that too.”

Books blinked. “He says harbinger of trouble?”

“No, he shortens it to trouble.” Amaranthe smiled. “He lacks your gift for verbosity.”

She said it to tease him, but Books nodded seriously. “Yes. Regrettable.”

“What’re we going to do?” Akstyr asked.

“I was thinking that a small sortie out of the control room might be advisable,” Amaranthe said.

“A sortie?” Books asked. “There’re only three of us. Doesn’t a sortie require more people?”

“You and I will go, and Akstyr will stay here to guard Retta.”

“That’s fewer people, not more,” Books said.

“Yes, thank you for confirming the math for me.” Amaranthe hated to disturb Retta while her fingers were flying about in preparations, but risked asking, “Is there a way to see where your assistant is located?”

“She’ll be three floors up in the auxiliary control room.” Retta sidled over to the image displaying the interior map, where blue dots floated between lines. People and walls, Amaranthe realized. At the moment, the view was focused on the knot of guards in the lift, but Retta manipulated the picture, and it enlarged, showing more of the corridors around the control room along with levels above and below it. An orange dot came into view, along with two blue ones. “That’ll be her and two guards.”

“If we can kidnap her, there’d be nobody else on board who can operate the craft, right?” Amaranthe studied the map, trying to find a route to the auxiliary room that didn’t require going past the guards in the lift. “Did you say there were other exits out of here?”

“Here and here.” Retta pointed at two perforated lines. One had a cluster of blue dots in front of it, but the other door appeared unblocked.

“I think I’ve got the route memorized,” Amaranthe said after a moment, then lifted her eyebrows to ask if Books had done the same, in case they were separated.

He sighed and muttered, “Sortie,” but nodded.

“Akstyr, you’re in charge of defenses here.” Amaranthe clapped him on the back. “If you see any blue dots wandering onto this route—” she traced the path she and Books would take, “—we’d appreciate it if you tormented them a little. Trousers around the ankles would be fine.” She guessed that took less effort than some of his other tricks.