CHAPTER 11

Books adjusted his rucksack and sword as the lorry drove away, gravel crunching beneath the wheels. Amaranthe, Basilard, Akstyr, and Sicarius were driving off to investigate the suspicious lot while Books headed in—unannounced—to the Spearcrest estate.

A hand thumped Books on the shoulder.

“Thanks for requesting me for this side trip, Booksie.” Maldynado carried a rifle and ammunition in addition to his usual gear, all overshadowed by his ridiculous hat. He pointed the weapon toward a stone-and-timber home at the end of the driveway. It and a carriage house overlooked the wide river as well as the main road through the pass. This early in the morning, the craggy valley walls cast shadows over the homestead.

“Requesting you?” Books asked.

“Sure, the boss told me how you thought my family connections could get us a friendly welcome and a warm bed.” He tilted his head back and yawned. “And that sounds particularly fine after last night’s interrupted snooze.”

“Amaranthe told you that, did she?” She might be right, but Books wondered at her claiming the words had come from him. Did she think to ingratiate him to Maldynado? “I hope the fact that you’re disowned doesn’t get us turned away.”

“Nah, these remote, rural Crests haven’t an inkling of what goes on in the capital. Look over there. Do you see that?” Maldynado pointed at a tiny shack downhill from the house.

“An outhouse?” Books asked.

Maldynado shuddered. “This place is as antiquated as the pyramid in the city.”

“Not quite.”

A rustic home did not mean these people could not get news from the capital, but Books shrugged and followed as Maldynado headed up the driveway.

Snowy peaks scraped the sky behind the rocky valley. Giant boulders had fallen in eons past and lay in jumbled heaps along the river’s banks. Upstream, a mill perched with an old waterwheel turning in the current, its wooden frame gray with age. A pretty landscape, though nothing suggested the sort of wealth one associated with the empire’s aristocracy. A garden and greenhouse waited for the sun to peep over the crags, though they did not likely provide enough vegetables for more than a couple of people. Even timber was scarce on this side of the river; it must have been cleared in the previous generation.

On the way to the front porch, Books and Maldynado drew even with the carriage house. The doors stood open, revealing two steam vehicles. A couple of young men labored beside one, shoveling coal into the furnace.

Books halted. Not just “young men.” Soldiers. And the red-and-silver vehicle was the one that had passed the team on the road.

A pair of dogs raced around from the back of the house. They bayed as they ran toward Books and Maldynado.

“Maybe we should have kept the others with us longer.” Books tensed, hoping the hounds were simply announcing visitors. At least their eyes weren’t glowing.

Maldynado squatted and spread his arms. “Hullo, puppies!”

“You’re going to be missing a throat in a second,” Books said.

“Nah.”

The dogs sniffed around Maldynado. He ruffled one’s ears. The other kept its distance, huffing and grumbling, but it did nothing more threatening. The friendlier one leaned against Maldynado’s leg and cocked its head for the ear rub.

“Must be female.” Books muttered.

He doubted the soldiers would be so easily won over. The two young men came out of the carriage house, brushing coal dust from their hands. Suspicious frowns darkened their faces.

“Howdy, lads,” Maldynado said, still petting the dog. “Is the lord of the manor home?”

The front door opened. Thirty soldiers streamed out, rifles in their hands. Three enforcers, including the female, followed.

“We’re in trouble,” Books murmured.

A bald, bow-legged man stepped onto the porch. He was missing one arm. A white-haired woman stood in the doorway, fingers touching her lips. She emanated apprehension. Books probably did too. He held his hands away from his weapons, expecting the soldiers to arrest—or shoot—them, especially now that his face adorned wanted posters.

The soldiers marched past, scarcely glancing his way as they headed for the back of the lorry with their gear.

“Think they spent the night?” Books relaxed slightly as the last man passed him.

“Probably,” Maldynado said. “If you’re warrior caste, you’re obligated to help the emperor’s troops if they pass by your land.”

Further tension ebbed from Books’s muscles as the last soldiers climbed into the lorry. But he relaxed too soon. The enforcers were not so quick to pass, and the woman stopped before him.

The top of her head came to Books’s nose—tall lady. Hair clipped close to her skull accented angular cheekbones and a strong, square jaw. Sergeant’s pins glinted on her lapels, making her the highest ranking enforcer there. Her hard brown eyes shifted from Books to Maldynado and back again.

“Morning, ma’am.” Maldynado offered a deep warrior-caste bow, arms stretched away from his weapons. “Is there trouble at the Spearcrests? I certainly hope not. We’ve—”

“I know who you are,” she said. “Both of you.”

“Erp?” Books managed.

Maldynado splayed a hand against his chest. “You do? You’ve heard about my roguish but charming personality? My daring escapades? I’ve always wanted to be famous.”

Books kicked him in the ankle. Even if he and Maldynado could defend themselves against the female enforcer and her male cohorts, the soldiers were not far away. Also, the man and woman on the front porch were probably the lord and lady of the estate. Brawling with enforcers in front of them might make the cover story Books had planned less believable.

“I don’t have time to arrest you two now,” the sergeant said.

“Darn,” Maldynado said.

Books kicked him again. “Where are you rushing off to with all those soldiers?” he asked.

The sergeant snorted and strode toward the carriage house. “If you’re around when we’re on our way back, we’ll deal with you then.”

“Looking forward to it.” Maldynado lifted his foot to avoid the third kick directed at his ankles. “How many days will we be waiting exactly?”

She did not answer or look back at them.

“Think Amaranthe was that stuffy when she was an enforcer?” Maldynado asked.

“I think,” Books said, “she’s changed a lot since she started working with us.”

“True, true. We’re a good influence.”

“Some of us perhaps,” Books said.

The lorry rumbled into the driveway, belching smoke into the crisp, mountain air. Maldynado headed for the porch.

The man who was presumably Lord Spearcrest stood watching, his single arm propped on his hip. The sleeve of his other was pinned along the side and did not quite hide the outline of a stump that extended from his shoulder. He wore a glower darker than the inside of a smokestack. The woman relaxed against the door jamb as the lorry disappeared from view.

Books jogged to catch up to Maldynado. “Let me do the talking up there. Your charms have proven ineffective this morning.”

“I don’t think one enforcer is a large enough sample size to justify statements like that.” Maldynado stepped aside, however, letting Books ascend the stairs first.

Lord Spearcrest’s glower deepened, and Books wondered if he should have let Maldynado lead—and take the brunt of the man’s displeasure—after all.

“Good morning, Lord and Lady Spearcrest.” Books offered a semblance of a bow, though he clunked his elbow on his sword hilt—no chance of these people mistaking him for warrior caste. “I’m Professor Mugdildor, and this is my patron.” He decided not to mention Maldynado’s name in case news of his disownment had reached the estate. “I work at Bartok University, and I’m researching dialectal variations in the Turgonian language across the satrapy. How much does distance from the capital, remoteness, and proximity to outlying communities affect our mother tongue?” Books ignored the fact that his “patron” was rolling his eyes. “I hope to take my studies empire-wide eventually. I was wondering if you’d—”

“Who’s here now, Father?” a feminine voice asked. A familiar feminine voice.

Vonsha.

Books’s mouth sagged open as she stepped into view behind her parents. A bandage wrapped her neck, and stitches laced a cut on her chin.

“Hello, Books,” she said.

He groped for words, and she smiled. She was a handsome woman even with the cuts and bruises.

“Should have known someone who yapped like that was a friend of yours, Vonsha,” the old man said. He stalked back into the house without a greeting, grabbing his wife with his arm. “Get rid of them. We don’t need any more overnight guests.”

“Sociable chap,” Maldynado muttered.

“When you suggested cider,” Vonsha told Books, “I thought you meant at a cafe in the city.”

“Yes, of course,” Books said. “I did. I didn’t know you’d be here. I mean, I knew this was your family’s estate because you were researching this land and you told me, and, er…” He rubbed his lips, rattled not just by her smile, but by the fact that his cover story was useless now. She would never believe coincidence had brought him here.

“He wanted to make sure you were well,” Maldynado said.

Vonsha’s eyes widened. “You followed me all the way up here just for that?” She leaned to peer past Books. “You didn’t even bring a vehicle. How did you—”

“We got a ride,” Maldynado said. “Booksie here felt guilt-stuffed after he had to run off, leaving you in enforcer hands. But he had to on account of a tiny problem with the law, you see. Entirely a misunderstanding, but it does make it needful for him to flee when those big steam carriages roll up. And Books was oozing blood out of all sorts of unsavory cuts, so he had to tend himself as well. He felt terribly disturbed by the turn of events that interrupted your research, and he couldn’t rest until he checked up on you. I came along to keep an eye on him.” Maldynado slung an arm across Books’s shoulders. “He’s an academic, not a warrior, you know. He needs my assistance from time to time.”

Vonsha gazed up at him, listening to Maldynado’s every word.

Books’s fingernails dug into the flesh of his palms. Though Maldynado was trying to help, Books hated the way his charisma—or pretty face—seemed to be charming Vonsha. Books was supposed to be charming her.

“I see,” Vonsha said when Maldynado finished. “That was thoughtful of you to come with him. Are you two—” she eyed the arm slung over Books’s shoulders, “—a couple?”

“What?” Books gaped. “No!” He shoved Maldynado’s arm away.

“Really, Booksie,” Maldynado drawled. “You needn’t act so affronted. I’m quite a catch, you know.”

Books planted a hand on Maldynado’s chest and pushed him back. “He may be incorrect about that, but he’s right that I felt badly about abandoning you. I wanted to make sure you weren’t seriously injured, but also to talk to you about the explosion. And those men who started it. Do you know them? Is there a reason someone would be after you?”

Vonsha touched the bandage around her neck. “Don’t take this as a slight, but I was hoping they were after you, not me.”

Though that was a possibility, Books said, “I don’t think anybody knew I was going to be at the real estate library then. Besides who would want to blow me up for…” Careful, he told himself, remembering his story. “Researching retirement properties?”

Maldynado snorted.

“Hm,” Vonsha said.

She didn’t believe he was telling the truth, of that he was certain. But he doubted she was telling the whole truth either. Why would her family be concerned about the boundaries of their property at that particular moment? Dare he risk telling her more of what Amaranthe’s team had uncovered? Maybe he could make Vonsha an ally. Whoever had thrown that explosive had targeted both of them, after all.

“Why don’t you come in?” Vonsha said. “We should talk.”

•  •  •  •  •

Eyes gleaming, Akstyr grinned like a bully on the trail of a weakling as he maneuvered the lorry. The vehicle bounced and lurched, and Amaranthe had to grip the railing with both hands to keep from being hurled out. Basilard sat on the driver’s bench with Akstyr, and he pointed at the road ahead of them, but Amaranthe could not tell if it was to suggest detours around the craters in the weed-infested dirt road or to encourage Akstyr to drive through them. The old, rusty lorry groaned and squealed at the maneuvers.

“I never thought I’d miss Maldynado’s driving,” Amaranthe said.

Sicarius stood near the firebox, alternately monitoring the steam levels and surveying the rocky terrain. The road followed the river, though the hisses and clanks of the vehicle drowned the sound of rushing water. If the bumpy ride bothered him, he gave no indication of it.

The road bent around a wide stump sprouting three saplings from its decaying top. A dilapidated wood-and-rope suspension bridge came into view. The property they had come to investigate started on the other side.

Basilard and Akstyr bent their heads low, pointing and discussing.

“…can make it,” Akstyr said.

Even as Amaranthe shook her head and reached for Akstyr, Sicarius said, “No,” in a flat, hard tone that cut across the clanking machinery.

Akstyr’s shoulders slumped, but he angled the lorry off the road. Basilard offered a sheepish shrug.

“We’re enrolling you two in structural engineering classes when we get back,” Amaranthe said. “I’m not sure it’s even safe to walk across that bridge.”

Akstyr cut off the lorry. Amaranthe grabbed her rucksack and climbed out, taking a moment to appreciate the solid unmoving nature of the ground.

A pile of donkey dung adorned the entrance to the bridge, suggesting the usual mode of transportation in these parts. A rusty bicycle missing a tire leaned against a stump. Across the river, the road dwindled to a narrow, twisting path that climbed a steep hill, disappearing into new-growth forest.

“Looks like we continue on foot,” Amaranthe said.

“I’ll stay with the lorry.” Akstyr hefted his book out of the back. “I have a lot of studying to do.”

“Really,” Amaranthe said.

“Sure, you want me to be able to heal you if wolves attack again, right?”

“Won’t you find that hard to do if you’re here, and I’m five miles up the trail, bleeding to death?” Though Amaranthe was giving him a hard time, she had already planned to leave someone behind. It would be foolish to desert the vehicle since it held all their gear and Sicarius’s gambling-house winnings. “All right, Akstyr. You stay. And Basilard, will you stay too?” She rubbed her fingers in a sign just for him: Watch the money.

He nodded.

Amaranthe strapped on a rucksack full of food, water, and spare clothing. “Sicarius, are you ready for a hike?” She faced him only to find he had armed himself—more so than usual. In addition to his daggers and throwing knives, he held two rifles, two pistols, two cargo belts laden with ammo pouches, and a bag of his smoke grenades. “Or a single-handed all-out assault on the forest?”

He gazed back without comment.

“Is any of that for me?” she asked.

Sicarius handed her a rifle, pistol, and ammo belt.

“I guess we’re prepared if any badgers look at us the wrong way,” she said.

Sicarius, of course, did not smile, but neither did Basilard or Akstyr. She was not sure if it was because they dared not laugh at Sicarius, or because they were concerned at seeing him load up with so many weapons. Maybe he knew something they did not and believed they would face something truly inimical.

Feeling weighted down, Amaranthe decided to leave her crossbow. She followed Sicarius, letting him set the pace. A brisk one, of course.

Though the suspension bridge might not support the weight of the lorry, it proved sturdy enough for two hikers. It still swayed and creaked more than Amaranthe would have preferred.

She paused in the middle to gaze upriver, wondering if she might be observing the source of the tainted water. The craggy mountains rose in the background while spring wildflowers peeped out along the banks. On a steep hillside, a mountain goat grazed between patches of snow. Everything appeared…normal.

She trotted to catch up with Sicarius, who apparently had no interest in pausing to admire the landscape.

“Basilard and Books pointed out this river would be large enough to feed the agricultural lands around the city as well as the aqueducts,” Amaranthe said as they left the bridge and started up the trail. “But there’d be a dam up here somewhere if it was servicing Stumps, right? There’d be a need to control the influx nature gives us, don’t you think?”

“It’s a long river,” Sicarius said.

“True, but this is one of the main passes to the east. It seems like it’d be hard to hide a dam anywhere around here.” Amaranthe pictured Books’s terrain map in her head. “Of course, the river and the road aren’t always side by side, and this mountainous terrain could hide a lot. I suppose if we see any mutilated bodies washed up on the shore, we’ll have a clue we’re on the right waterway. If this is the wrong waterway, we won’t find whatever killed those dead people in this valley.” She probably should not admit to being disappointed. Another thought occurred, and she snapped her fingers. “Do you suppose the water problem is what the enforcers and the soldiers are up here to investigate? Could they have figured things out and gotten a team together as quickly as we did? Or maybe the enforcers realized the bodies in the aqueducts came from someplace upstream. They could even know about that Waterton Dam. Drat, I wish we could have followed them. Say, next time a lorry full of soldiers passes on the road, you should jump onto the other vehicle as it passes, spy on them, and then report back to me.”

This earned her a long backward stare. She tried to decide if it signified amusement or annoyance.

“If you want me to stop talking so you can more efficiently monitor the wilderness, let me know,” Amaranthe said.

Sicarius did not speak right away—maybe he was mulling over her offer—so his answer, when it came, surprised her: “Sometimes useful ideas come from your burbling.”

Burbling? Hm. “Thanks, I think.”

A moss-draped wooden sign by the side of the path read: TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT. MANY TIMES.

They stopped and Amaranthe unfolded the plat map. “The owner of the property is Lord Hagcrest. Ever heard of him or his kin?”

“No.”

“Whatever emperor gave him his land must not have liked him much,” she said, perusing the map. “The only thing you could farm up here is rocks, and I doubt you could even get machinery in to log. It’d all have to be done by hand. Any special value in any of these trees, I wonder? Or ore on this mountainside? A gold or silver deposit could definitely spur interest in the land.”

While she talked—or maybe it was burbling again—Sicarius examined the trail and the surrounding area. He stopped to dig something out of a dent in the wooden sign. A musket ball.

“Guess that warning isn’t an exaggeration,” Amaranthe said.

Sicarius scraped blood off the ball.

“Not an exaggeration at all,” she murmured.