Chapter 12

Fever flushed Sespian’s face, tremors coursed through his body, and nausea writhed in his stomach. At least he could think straight—when he wasn’t hunched over in the water closet. Fortunately, the doctor had declared his illness the flu, rather than guessing drug withdrawal, and that was the diagnosis Sespian gave to the parade of faces passing through to check on him, each offering condolences, sincerity levels varying. Not sure who he could trust, he viewed everyone with suspicion.

As night darkened the windows, the most suspicious of them all strolled in with a tray. Hollowcrest held a single cup of apple herb tea.

Fear replaced the nausea in Sespian’s belly, even as saliva filled his mouth. Steam wafted from the cup, carrying the scent of cloves and cinnamon. Feeling betrayed that his body should want the drugged tea, he struggled to mask his expression.

Had Hollowcrest simply come to ensure Sespian received his nightly dose? Or did the old curmudgeon suspect what was really behind this “flu?”

Hollowcrest pulled a chair to the bedside and perched his lean frame on the edge. Hawk eyes peered from behind those glasses.

“How are you feeling, Sire?” He held out the cup.

“Horrible.” Sespian accepted it and set it on the table next to the bed.

“It’s a good idea to drink your liquids when you’re ill.”

“I know. I will.”

Hollowcrest’s eyes narrowed. Yes, that was suspicion. Sespian picked the cup up with a weak smile. He drew his knees up and held it in his lap. Hollowcrest watched him intently. Sespian pretended to take a sip.

Hollowcrest relaxed an iota, but he made no move to leave. Worse, he settled back in the chair. “You’ve missed a couple days of meetings. Let me apprise you of the latest imperial news.”

As he launched into a monotonous spiel, Sespian slumped against the pillows. He’s going to stay until I’ve finished the cup.

What could Sespian do? If he drank it and his symptoms suddenly disappeared, Hollowcrest would know Sespian knew about the drug. If he did not drink it, Hollowcrest would also know.

Minutes ticked past. Hollowcrest droned on. Sespian pretended to take another sip.

He drew his knees up further, blocking the view of his lap from Hollowcrest. With one hand, he edged the blankets up. Careful to hide his movements, he slid the cup under the sheets and poured it onto the mattress. Moisture dampened his pajamas, but he kept his face blank. The staff would think him incontinent, but as long as it fooled Hollowcrest….

He feigned several more sips, then set the empty cup on the table. Hollowcrest’s eyes tracked the motion. His update of imperial affairs soon ended.

Hollowcrest stood and leaned over the cup. Once he saw it was empty, he plucked it up and smiled. “Good night, Sire.”

Sespian glared after the old man, waiting until the door snicked shut to move to the dry side of the bed. He slipped a folder out from under the pillows, ensuring it had not been damaged. He flipped open the roster of men working downstairs in Imperial Intelligence. It was time to find some allies and get rid of Hollowcrest.

• • • • •

The final rasp of the paper cutter sent a nervous quiver through Amaranthe’s stomach. She and Books stared down at the culmination of their work. Elsewhere in the cannery, Akstyr was hanging paper on lines. Outside, Maldynado stood watch. Newly nailed boards across the broken windows shut out the night’s chill and, more importantly, denied prying eyes.

Amaranthe pushed a kerosene lamp closer, and Books inspected both sides of their first completed twenty ranmya bill. A legitimate bill rested beside it for comparison.

“It looks real,” she breathed.

“An accurate facsimile.” Books held the fake bill up to the light. “The image is perfect. The paper is…well, we can wash the bills and crinkle them up. I think they’ll pass all but a thorough inspection.”

Though this had been Amaranthe’s plan all along, and their success should have elated her, misgivings tangled her mind. Even if she meant her scheme to save the emperor, counterfeiting was high treason—punishable by death—whether she intended to circulate the bills or not. Nobody had been hurt yet, but how long could her luck hold? Did she have the right to risk these men’s lives? Even if their sacrifices might save Sespian? And if luck favored her, and the counterfeiting succeeded, could she actually bluff Hollowcrest and Larocka Myll into succumbing to her demands with these bills?

Yes, the answer had to be yes, or she might as well give up now. But she could not do that. Sespian deserved a chance to rule as he envisioned, and after seven hundred years of war and conquering, the empire needed someone who’d rather wield a pen than a blade. And, philosophical factors aside, she needed her name cleared. Sicarius might be able to walk the streets with a million ranmya bounty on his head, but she wasn’t the fighter he was, and she wouldn’t live long with people hunting her.

“I am uncomfortable with this.” Books set down the counterfeit and reached for a pungent bottle of apple brandy.

“As am I, but what choice do we have?”

“The choice to do nothing and let events unfold as they will.”

“That’s unacceptable,” Amaranthe said.

Books considered the two inches of liquid left, removed and replaced the cork a couple times, but ultimately set the bottle back down without taking a swig.

“Saving the rest for later?” she asked.

“I haven’t had a drink today. I was thinking of quitting.”

“Oh?” Normally, Amaranthe would applaud the resolution, but having one of her few resources incapacitated for days with the shakes would not be convenient. Still, she could hardly encourage him to drink. “An admirable goal.”

Books shrugged and looked away. “How do you know your boy emperor will be any better than Hollowcrest or whatever lackey Forge would put forth?”

“He’s better. I’ve met him. He’s a good man.” She tried to forget she was basing her beliefs on a couple of three minute conversations.

“I hope you’re right.”

Akstyr sauntered over. Paperclips hung from his ear lobes, his nostrils, and the hem of a threadbare shirt several sizes too big for him. “Is that a finished one?”

“Indeed,” Books said.

“Let me see.” Akstyr reached for it.

Books jerked the bill away. “Careful, you’ll damage it.”

“I’m not a three year old.”

“No, you only dress like one.”

“Gentlemen.” Amaranthe plucked the bill from Books’s grip and handed it to Akstyr. “I’m sure there will be no damage done, but if there were, we do have plenty more.”

After a quick sneer at Books, Akstyr surveyed both sides. “Want me to try spending it?”

“No,” Amaranthe said and Books shouted.

If not for the gust of cold air blowing snow through the back door, Amaranthe would not have noticed Sicarius’s entrance. He glided to their counter, white flakes dusting his hair and shoulders. They had finished researching Larocka’s long list of properties that morning. She did not know where he had been since then.

Books returned to the press to prepare the next batch.

Wordlessly, Amaranthe gestured for Akstyr to let Sicarius see the bill.

Sicarius studied it briefly. “Sufficient.”

“Ready for a mission?” Amaranthe asked him. “You too, Akstyr.”

“Huh?” Akstyr glanced at Sicarius. “With him?”

“You wanted someone who could watch your back while you worked your science, didn’t you?” She smiled, willing Akstyr to forget that Sicarius had threatened to break his neck a couple days earlier. “There isn’t anyone better.”

“Uhm.” Akstyr didn’t look sold.

“What mission?” Sicarius asked.

“I would like a chance to observe Larocka Myll. We’ve got a long list of businesses and properties she owns, but if we have to visit each personally, hoping to catch her there…it’ll be fool’s luck if we run into her before the emperor’s birthday. Someone with as many apple tarts in the oven as she has won’t be personally overseeing any of her businesses. Our best bet will be to catch her at home.”

“Which is likely warded,” Sicarius said.

Akstyr’s eyes twitched; he recognized the term. Good. While she doubted someone so young would have much of a magic arsenal, if he could identify it being used, that alone would be worth a lot.

“Maybe,” Amaranthe said. “That’s what we need to verify. We can’t assume that just because Hollowcrest’s assassin had trouble getting in means there isn’t a way. That fellow didn’t have Akstyr’s help investigating. And he was an unprofessional lout.”

“So, we scout the house.” Sicarius nodded.

“And if there is a way in—”

“I’ll kill her tonight,” Sicarius said bluntly.

“Er, yes, that would preclude the need for me to observe her.” Amaranthe would have preferred a solution that did not include killing people, but she doubted Sicarius would agree and did not want to argue with him in front of the others. “Just make sure she doesn’t have accomplices with orders to carry her work on. Forge could be a large coalition.”

“I know how to question someone,” Sicarius said.

“Of course.” She lifted an apologetic hand.

Though his expressionless facade remained in place, he seemed testier than usual tonight. Did he simply taste the chance to rid the emperor of his biggest threat? Or was something else going on? Where did he go when he wasn’t with them at the cannery?

“Boy, come.” Sicarius gestured for Akstyr to lead the way out the door.

Akstyr gulped and glanced at Amaranthe before scurrying for the exit. Remembering Sicarius’s earlier admission that all these men were disposable, she hoped she wasn’t endangering Akstyr’s life. But surely Sicarius would recognize the advantage of keeping a fledgling wizard around in a city where magic was believed the stuff of myth.

“You look concerned.” Books turned the wheel to screw down the press.

“It’s my new normative state,” Amaranthe said. “Are you up to helping me with some research tomorrow? If they don’t succeed in killing anyone tonight?”

“What do you need?”

“I want more information on Larocka and her businesses. I have names for all of them, but some aren’t illuminating. Right now, we know where she lives and where her properties are located. That’s a good start, but it’d be useful to know more about her history and her connections. Maybe they could lead us to other members of the Forge group. Also, if her home is magically protected, how did that come to be? Has she traveled out of the country? Does she bring back wizards like others bring back souvenirs?”

“You suggest a trip to the library?” Books said. “Some time spent perusing the newspapers and industry publications?”

“I think it’d be an enlightening experience.”

“Enlightening enough to keep me from having to stand outside tonight, pretending I know how to pull watch duty?”

Amaranthe smiled. “Perhaps.”

• • • • •

When Amaranthe stepped outside after midnight, she caught Maldynado peeing his name in the snow. The bright, starry sky revealed a little too much and she cleared her throat as she approached.

“So much for keeping our hideout inconspicuous,” she said.

“Standing out here is about as exciting as watching cherries ripen.” Without a glimmer of embarrassment, Maldynado buttoned his pants. “I’ve got to keep myself amused and awake somehow.”

“Anything happen while you were out here?”

“Not really. A grizzled old veteran using a musket for a cane took up residence in the warehouse on the next dock, but I think he’s just squatting for the night. He built a fire and went to sleep.”

“All right, thanks,” she said. “You can go to sleep now.”

He started past her, but paused and frowned down. “Have you had any? That press was in there creaking longer and louder than…my bed most nights.”

“I’m fine.” Amaranthe stretched and jumped to ward off the chill. When he hesitated, she added, “You’re welcome to stay out here and regale me with tales of your bedroom exploits, but I assume you want some sleep.”

“Depends on whether Books is snoring again,” Maldynado muttered, but he lifted a gloved hand in parting and tramped indoors.

Amaranthe paced the perimeter of the cannery to stay warm. She alternated between yawning and shivering. If not for her mittens, she would have added fingernail nibbling into the rotation. Hours passed, and Sicarius and Akstyr did not return.

What if Sicarius had found a breach in Myll’s house defenses and gone inside? What if he had been caught? What if, even now, under the influence of some magical torture, Akstyr and Sicarius were spilling kegs full of information on the emperor’s drugged state and Amaranthe’s plans? What if—

A screech tore through the air.

Amaranthe jumped. Before her heels hit the ground, she ripped her knife out of its sheath. She knew that screech. And she knew it wasn’t far away either. A block, maybe two?

The inhuman scream had caught her on the far side of her circuit, and the cannery blocked her view of the street. She could run inside and shimmy up one of those ropes. Or she could sneak out front for a look.

“It was a couple blocks away,” she breathed. “I ought to be…” She didn’t say safe. To investigate could be stupid, and she knew it. And yet…

The wind shifted, blowing from the north instead of in across the lake. A hint of something meaty tinged the air. Blood?

You’re imagining things, girl. You’re not a scent hound….

She had to look. Stepping toe first, as lightly as she could, she eased around the corner of the building and crept along the dock toward the street. Something crunched on the snow in front of the building. Amaranthe froze, knife ready, though she doubted her insignificant blade could do anything against that creature.

Akstyr and Sicarius trotted around the corner.

Before she could sag in relief, Sicarius said, “Inside.”

“We just passed a big bloody body in the street,” Akstyr blurted. “It was still gushing!”

“Inside is good.” Amaranthe meant to jog before them at a calm and confident pace. Nerves nipped at her heels though, and she sprinted down the side of the building and through the door.

Sicarius and Akstyr followed right behind. Sicarius shut the door.

“Think we need to be in the rafters?” Amaranthe pointed at the ropes and wondered if she should yell to wake Maldynado and Books. If that creature was nearby, yelling might attract attention.

“Perhaps not,” Sicarius said. “It’s near dawn.”

“You think the creature is nocturnal?” she asked.

“It’s been hunting at night thus far.”

“Because that’s its natural time, or because it’s trying to remain unseen?” She eyed her two male companions, wondering if she was being silly for ascribing intelligence to this creature. “Either of you have any idea what we’re dealing with?”

“I’d be guessing at this point,” Sicarius said.

“That’s allowed,” she said.

He did not extrapolate.

The screech sounded again.

“That’s it,” Amaranthe said. “Up to the beams.” She ran to the bunks and shook Maldynado and Books.

Maldynado groaned and stuffed his head under his arm. “What time is it?”

Books sat up, his beard sticking out in all directions.

“Early,” Amaranthe said. “We need to make a short trip.”

A scuffle sounded from above as a climbing Akstyr reached the top and threw himself over the beam. Books mumbled under his breath but grabbed his boots and headed for the swaying rope, apparently accepting the need to do so without a big explanation.

“Up there?” Maldynado, less accepting, stared. “Is there a reason you’re encouraging pre-dawn climbing calisthenics?”

“What’s that!” shouted a muffled male voice from the warehouse on the nearby dock.

A musket fired, and for a moment all grew still. Then a scream of pain sent a chill hurtling down Amaranthe’s spine. The sound broke off with a crunch.

“There’s a reason,” she answered Maldynado grimly.

“Uh huh, got that.” He scrambled out of his bunk, shoved Books aside, and flew up one of the ropes.

Amaranthe skimmed up after them, fear lending power to her arms and legs. In a couple heartbeats, she straddled the beam between Maldynado and Books.

Silence had returned to the waterfront, and the men’s heavy breathing mingled with her own. One of the fire barrels still burned below, casting shadows. Smoke gathered in the rafters, obscuring Sicarius, who crouched on the beam closest to the door, ten feet away.

“What are we hiding from?” Books whispered. “Nobody ever explained the ropes.”

“Remember that dead man you saw outside of the icehouse?” Amaranthe asked.

“Yes.”

“We’re hiding from the thing that killed him.”

“The bear the papers mentioned?” Books asked. “The one that’s been mauling people?”

“The papers mentioned it,” she said, “but it’s not a bear.”

“It sounds like the veteran next door shot it,” Maldynado said. “Or shot at it.”

“If it’s wizard-made, no sword or pistol ball is going to stop it,” Akstyr said.

“Wait,” Amaranthe said. “Akstyr, do you know what it is?”

He shrugged. “Haven’t seen it.”

“If you saw it, could you identify it?”

“If I say yes, are you going to push me off the beam and make me go look?”

“I won’t,” she said.

“I might.” Maldynado, who perched nearest Akstyr, patted him on the shoulder.

Akstyr slid out of reach. “I’ve read about creatures wizards can create. If I saw it, or you described it to me, then maybe I could say what it is.”

“Great,” Maldynado said. “Let’s invite it in for breakfast. Who wants to volunteer to be the meal?”

“You’re beefiest,” Books said. “And most expendable.”

“There are no free meals here,” Amaranthe said before Maldynado could return the insult. She eyed the ceiling, wondering if any panels led to the roof. If she could figure out a way to get up there, maybe she could see the creature without endangering herself. Unfortunately, the dim light did not highlight any access panels, nor were the boarded windows high enough to provide a gateway to the roof.

“I believe it’s gone,” Sicarius said.

“I believe I’ll wait a little longer to hop down and find out,” Maldynado said. “Whose idea was it to set up shop in the middle of this critter’s hunting grounds, anyway?”

Amaranthe looked at Sicarius, who remained motionless, ear cocked in the direction of the last outside noise.

“An unfortunate coincidence,” she said.

“Are you sure it’s a coincidence?” Books asked.

She adjusted her weight on the narrow perch. A sliver of wood broke away and spiraled to the floor. “If it was looking for us specifically, I think it’d take a more direct route.”

“Perhaps,” Books said, “but isn’t this the second time it’s killed someone within meters of your location?”

Yes, and she could not dismiss the possibility that her research was making her a target. Could Larocka Myll somehow know about her already? The wanted posters implied Hollowcrest knew Amaranthe was still alive, but he would not have access to magical creatures, would he?

“What did you two find at Larocka’s house?” she asked. Better to spend this time working on a problem she could control.

“It’s blocked to outsiders,” Akstyr said. “The wards are invisible until you smack into them like a concrete wall. Someone powerful made them.” Excitement tinged his voice. Either the spy mission had agreed with his sense of adventure, or perhaps the proximity to real magic stirred his passion. “There were lots of folks coming and going, though. Rich street eaters with their own steam carriages and drivers.”

“And they walked through these wards?” Amaranthe rubbed her eyes. The smoke from the barrel was making them water. Several moments had passed without a sound from outside, but Sicarius had not yet climbed down.

“Sure did,” Akstyr said. “It looked like they had invitations.”

“They did,” Sicarius said. “I listened in on several conversations in the street.”

Without anyone ever knowing, Amaranthe wagered.

“Larocka and a male business partner named Arbitan Losk host events for the influential among the warrior caste and the business elite,” Sicarius said.

“Events?” she asked.

“Social balls, dinner parties. Tomorrow night’s event…” Sicarius glanced toward the hint of light seeping through the boarded windows and corrected himself. “Tonight’s event is pit fighting. It sounded like a weekly venture with high-stakes gambling over outcomes.”

“Dog or cock fights?”

“People,” Sicarius said. “Slaves chosen to fight to the death.”

Books shifted on the beam. “That’s outrageous!”

“And against the law,” Amaranthe said. Slavery hadn’t been allowed since the Revolt of 654 had threatened the imperium from within. And human pit fighting had been illegal in the capital even longer.

“An easy change once Forge puts their own puppet on the throne,” Sicarius said.

“Do you think they have that much power?” she asked. “The note I read mentioned civil war, but numerous forces would come into play if that happened.”

“We’ve reached a point where businesses may command more funds than the government or even the old warrior caste families,” Books said. “In such a war, an entity like Forge may very well come out on top.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Amaranthe vowed. “I need to get in, observe Larocka, and figure out how many people are a part of the kill-the-emperor scheme. Is it just her, or does she speak for all Forge members?” She tapped on the wood beam. “Since sneaking in won’t work, the logical route is to get an invitation. Maldynado, this is your circle. Do you know anyone who could get us in?”

Maldynado stretched and cracked his spine. “I know a man who could probably get you invitations to any event in the city. His family has been powerful since the first days of the empire, and they know everyone who’s important.”

“Can you talk to him today?”

“I can take you to talk to him. He won’t give me anything.”

Amaranthe had planned to help Books research. If she was visiting Larocka’s home that night, there was more urgency than ever to learn everything possible about the Forge leader. “Are you positive you can’t do it alone? You could be underestimating your charm.”

“Trust me, I never underestimate my charm or any of my other magnificent attributes. They work great on women. Alas, men tend to see me as an unwelcome rival. You, he might listen to. You’re good at talking people into things.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because I’m perched in the rafters of a cannery, at risk from a man-slaying magical creature, and spending time with a drunk, a gangster, and an assassin at…what time is it?”

• • • • •

Amaranthe tugged at the collar of her blouse. The businesswoman’s outfit Sicarius had purloined for her was dressier than any of the clothes she had in her own closet—back when she had a closet—but she still felt grossly underdressed. She and Maldynado stood before the Onyx Lodge on a street lined with steam carriages. Chauffeurs chatted between the massive vehicles while their employers loitered inside. Replete with marble steps, gold-gilded trim, and ornate columns, the exclusive club had doubtlessly never invited an enforcer in without warrant-waving beforehand.

“Quit fidgeting,” Maldynado said.

“I’m not fidgeting; I’m adjusting.” Amaranthe adjusted the constricting collar again.

“You look fine. If you didn’t, I wouldn’t be seen with you.”

Maldynado had spent the morning arranging the meeting. Sometime during the hours he had been gone, he had also arranged attire fitting a scion of the warrior caste. Beneath his greatcoat, he wore an exquisitely-tailored black suit with a flamboyant red silk waistcoat. The cut of the clothes accentuated his broad shoulders, narrow hips, flat stomach, and all other physical characteristics men coveted and women drooled over.

“Thanks,” she said dryly. “What’s the name of the fellow we’re meeting?”

“Avery Mithsaranu Exaltuscrest the Fourth.”

“Is he as pretentious as the name makes him sound?”

“More,” Maldynado said.

Inside, a butler in clothing almost as fine as Maldynado’s took their coats. He led them to a parlor where low tables, leather sofas, and indolence-inspiring armchairs awaited. Dividers and indoor foliage made each seating area private.

They stopped at a table near a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking a courtyard where bare-chested men boxed and wrestled in rings. Though the warrior caste might appreciate the luxuries their wealth bought, few forgot their roots.

Dressed in a suit accented with leopard furs, the man waiting at the table sneered at Maldynado and did not seem to notice Amaranthe. He might have been Maldynado’s age, but the thin hair swept over his head in an attempt to camouflage a balding pate made him look older.

“Maldynado,” Avery said. “Surprised to receive your message. Last I heard you were whoring yourself out to old hags.”

Amaranthe gaped. Those were not exactly the dulcet word choices one expected from a gentleman.

“Ave, always a pleasure to hear your gentile tones,” Maldynado said. “Though I’m sure you only agreed to meet so you could get the latest gossip on my life and update all your lowly cronies.”

“Lowly? You dare call anyone lowly when you’re the one who avoided military service because you were afraid some enemy might come along and break your pretty nose?”

“As opposed to the nine months you served in that tropical resort on the gulf—that is until your medical discharge. Ankles still swollen?”

“A congenital weakness, alas.”

The two men flashed edged smiles at each other, reminding Amaranthe of circling wolves, albeit extremely well-dressed wolves. It was a bad start to the meeting. She needed to jump in.

“Introduce me,” she mouthed as Maldynado pulled out her seat.

“Ave, this is my friend, Amaranthe,” Maldynado said.

“A businesswoman, how pedestrian.”

She forced a smile. “It’s good to meet you, Lord Exaltuscrest.”

“I know. For business peons like you, it usually is.”

And I thought Maldynado had an ego. As if he heard her thoughts, a snicker escaped under Maldynado’s breath.

“Do you have an aversion to businesses?” Amaranthe asked.

“No,” Avery said. “Just the greedy money-mongers who run them. It’s disgusting the way people fawn over their coin nowadays, as if that meant more than blood.”

“I can see how that would be frustrating to you.” Amaranthe tapped a spoon and tried to think of a tactic to win over this man. Plates, tea cups, and more silverware than she knew what to do with lay before her. She nudged a slightly crooked fork into alignment with the neighboring utensils. “Maldynado tells me your family goes back hundreds of years.”

“We were on the boats that came over from Nuria. We built this empire. That’s why it’s irritating to see mixed-blood peasants, most of them descendants of people we conquered, stumbling their way into positions of power.”

A servant brought a platter of pastries. He set it on the table, then passed around mugs of steaming cider. Amaranthe debated on whether to take one of the sweets. She had not run since before her sickness. Maldynado grabbed a fat one and demolished half of it with a single bite. A smudge of creamy frosting stuck to his lip. He licked it with relish.

She grabbed a pastry. I’ll run tomorrow.

“So,” she said, meeting Avery’s eyes, “your family must have fought at some of the greatest battles in history. Frontier Hill, the Aquifer Wars, the Southern Railroad Scandals?”

“Yes, of course. There was a General Exaltuscrest at Frontier Hill who went on to become the first Commander of the Armies.”

“Truly? I confess, I know little of the origins of that title.”

Avery leaned forward. “It’s quite fascinating actually. The emperor used to personally lead troops into every battle, but as the empire increased in size, we often faced enemies on multiple fronts. The position of Commander of the Armies was created so someone with imperial authority could lead the troops when the emperor was elsewhere. Turgonia was glorious back then. We were a nation run by true warriors, not administrators. Lord General Exaltuscrest, now he was a warrior. He…”

Amaranthe was not sure she found the information as fascinating as Avery did, but at least he had an interest in the topic. She nodded and offered encouraging comments between bites of her pastry. Apple, cinnamon, and frosting danced on her taste buds. It was the best thing she had eaten in days, maybe weeks. Maldynado devoured two more.

Avery’s lecture transitioned from military heroes to stories highlighting the dangers of the early frontier days. Any time he slowed, Amaranthe prompted him with questions. The man had at least one relative in every major event in imperial history. She could only trace her lineage as far back as a grandfather who had died in a logging accident when she was three, the same year the Southern Blood Fever had taken her mother. She wondered what it would be like to have a claim to all that history. Easy to get lost in it, she guessed, watching her host.

As Avery’s stories spun into a second hour, Maldynado’s expression vacillated between boredom and bemusement—but mostly boredom.

Avery drained his third cup of cider and checked his watch. “I need to go soon. I forgot, was there something you needed?”

“I’m hoping to find a pair of invitations to Larocka Myll’s pit fights tonight,” Amaranthe said. “I hear those are good events for burgeoning businesswomen to make useful contacts. Maldynado said you were the one to see since you have connections with everyone in the city.”

“Quite, quite, the old boy actually got something right.” Avery assumed the edged smile again, this time only directed at Maldynado.

Maldynado sneered back.

“I’ll arrange the invitations,” Avery told Amaranthe. “Be careful on the Ridge at night though. There’s something hunting the streets.”

A boy with a bin came in and cleared their plates.

“Yes,” Amaranthe said, “I’ve read about it in the newspapers, but I didn’t think this neighborhood had seen any deaths.”

“It hasn’t,” Avery said, “but yesterday before dawn, Sassy Inkwatercrest said she saw a giant brown creature run across her yard and leap the ten-foot fence as if it were a street curb. Others on the Ridge have made similar claims over the last couple weeks.”

Amaranthe leaned forward. “Anyone able to identify it? Say for sure what it is?”

“Nobody knows. It’s nothing that’s been seen in the city before.”

Avery insisted on paying for the cider and pastries. Amaranthe thanked him and signaled to Maldynado it was time to go. She almost tripped over the dish boy as she left. She frowned at him, finding it strange he had lurked and listened to their conversation. After starting guiltily, he scampered into the kitchen.