Ice Cracker II Read online

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  The wardroom might have been a decent place to spend time, if Amaranthe's wrist was not shackled to a post. She sat in the one chair she could reach, tracing the whorls on a teak table, the only piece of wood in sight. Brass kerosene lamps hung on the walls, casting yellow reflections on the ubiquitous bland steel surrounding her. The scent of lye soap added to the sterile feel.

  The main hatch creaked open. Two bulky grunts strode in and assumed guard positions to either side of the entrance. A graying man with gold bar-and-sail pins on his collar followed. He had a cleft chin, intense brown eyes, and a nose sharp enough to break ice without the aid of his ship.

  Amaranthe stood. "Greetings, Captain. I came to discuss—"

  He slid a sheet of paper onto the table before her. Her wanted poster. The guards murmured to each other, and one eyed her with calculation.

  "—something of more importance than that," she finished.

  "I'll bet." Though chilly, the captain's voice was not hostile, and his dark eyes seemed to be weighing her. "We found the bodies you mentioned. There was no sign of any Kendorian."

  Amaranthe's stomach went for a swim amongst the table legs. The second Kendorian must have circled back and hidden his comrade's body. That was bad, very bad. That meant—

  "My XO thinks we should shoot you outright. He suspects you of slaying the men yourself, especially since your wanted poster says you traffic with that cur-licking soldier-slaying assassin, Sicarius." The captain glowered at her, brow furrowed.

  She kept her chin up and met his eyes. "But you know I wouldn't have been foolish enough to turn myself over to your guards if that were the case."

  The captain snorted. "Perhaps you are a diversion while Sicarius sneaks aboard my ship to attempt some sabotage." He thrust a finger toward her nose. "If my commanders learned that fiend was within a mile of my ship and I didn't shoot him, I could be accused of treason and booted out of the service. I'd lose my warrior caste title, my military rank, my home, my land, everything." A flash of real fear haunted his eyes.

  Amaranthe grimaced in sympathy. "Sicarius isn't the one you need to be worried about. I'm here because I don't want to see some scheming Kendorian sink this ship. I believe one may be aboard even now."

  "The Ice Cracker II is unsinkable," the captain growled. "Its reversible steam piston engine has redundant screw repellers in case of failure, and the reinforced steel hull can smash through ice over two meters thick. It can withstand more than two thousand pounds of pressure per square inch along the waterline. If we ran into a rock, the rock would be pulverized, and there wouldn't be a scratch on the bottom of my girl."

  "It sounds like a significant upgrade to the Ice Cracker I." Amaranthe leaned against the pole, attempting to look casual. She had chanced upon his passion, and nobody liked to talk as much as someone discussing his passion.

  "Drastically. That moldy tub was made of wood with only the bottom reinforced with iron. It's a wonder it didn't sink years ago. Though only that drunk lout, Captain Mekam, could ram his ship into a cliff on a lake."

  "Cliff? The newspapers said the ship was decommissioned."

  "The papers don't—" The captain frowned at her, eyes narrowed.

  "Was it an accident? Ineptitude?" Amaranthe knew the captain had realized he was saying too much, but hoped she might squeeze another drop out regardless. "Or maybe the Kendorians were at work even then."

  "Or maybe you're about to spend the night in the brig." The captain gestured for the guards to take her and stalked out.

  Amaranthe barely noticed as the soldiers unlocked her and marched her out the hatch, her arms clamped in their hands. Her mind dwelled on that new information. The Ice Cracker I, not decommissioned, but destroyed. What if—

  "How're we going to do this?" one of her escorts asked, voice low.

  "We'll split it. Gotta make it look like she tried to escape."

  Emperor's eternal warts, her soldiers were going to get greedy instead of taking her to the brig. She eyed the bleak gray corridors, textured flooring, hanging lanterns, and intermittent ladders and hatches. Sicarius would be aboard by now, but he would be hunting for the Kendorian, not looking to rescue her in some random passageway.

  "This is good. Nobody's around." The men slowed. "Get your sword out. We'll—"

  "Are you really intending to risk your careers for a chance at my meager 10,000 ranmya bounty?" Amaranthe asked, hoping a little chitchat might distract them.

  An alcove ahead held a bucket of sand, an axe, and a hand pump. Though she wondered what there was that could possibly burn on the metal ship, the firefighting station offered hope.

  "Hush, woman."

  "10,000 is a lot. And ain't nobody going to object to your death."

  "10,000 isn't enough to live on for more than a couple years, and you have to split it, right? A mere 5,000 each." She stopped to trade looks with them. In truth, she just wanted to take a break in front of that axe. "What you really need to do is get Sicarius. He's worth millions."

  "Naw, too dangerous. He's a sincere killer."

  "He's on the ship. It wouldn't be hard to set something up."

  She had their full attention now. The axe was in reach, if she could just get a hand free.

  "He trusts me," she said. "I could easily set a trap. I wouldn't dare go against him alone, but with help...”

  "Maybe we could—" one of the soldiers started.

  "No, don't be stupid," his comrade said. "Sicarius would kill us easier than spit."

  She twisted her neck to look behind them. "Then you'll be concerned that he's standing behind you."

  The soldiers' eyes bulged, and they whirled about. She yanked her arms free. She grabbed the bucket and threw the sand just as they turned back and reached for her. Their arms flailed. They cursed as grit pelted their eyes.

  Amaranthe snatched the axe and swung at the closest soldier. She turned her wrists and struck with the flat of the blade. It thudded against the man's head. As he dropped, she tore his cutlass free. He struck the floor and clutched at his head, oblivious. She released the axe in favor of the lighter weapon.

  The other soldier recovered from the sand barrage and unsheathed his own blade as well as his pistol. He opened his mouth, but she did not have time for conversation now. She sidestepped and kicked the pistol out of his grip.

  Cutlass leading, she lunged and slashed, hoping to catch him by surprise. As a soldier, he would have had hours of drills pounded into him, though, and he parried easily. Reluctantly, she settled in for the obligatory exchange where they gauged each other's strengths and weaknesses. Someone could turn down the corridor any moment, and now that she was armed, soldiers would not be her allies.

  His cutlass flashed toward her head. She recognized the feint—even with his greater arm length, his lunge would not bring him close—and only dropped her own blade in anticipation of a second attack. Steel screeched as cutlasses met before her thigh.

  She used the momentum of the rebound to riposte, flicking at his wrist. A line of blood appeared in his flesh.

  Though the small wound could not have hurt much, his eyes flickered with surprise. It was too small a victory to celebrate triumph, but first blood was often enough to rattle an opponent.

  Attacking with more care, the soldier pressed her with additional strikes. He had reach and strength, but she had sparred often with Sicarius. Parrying his lightning strikes made everyone else's blade thrusts seem molasses-like.

  The soldier was careful not to leave himself open, and she parried and gave ground, studying him, waiting for an advantage. He cycled through a handful of combination attacks, and they soon became predictable.

  Someone moved behind him, and she winced. Amaranthe had to finish this before the second soldier got back into the fray.

  When the high slash toward her head came again, she was ready before he fully launched it. She ducked, tossing out a parry in case his blade came down, and darted in close. She sliced her
cutlass against his ribcage, even as she continued past and came out behind him.

  He grunted with pain and started to turn toward her, but she launched a sidekick that could have busted down a door. His boots left the ground as he sailed backward. His head struck one of the hanging lanterns. It broke, and he went down amongst shattering glass.

  Amaranthe whirled, expecting the second soldier. The black-clad figure standing before her was no soldier though.

  "I trust you, and you could easily set a trap for me?" Sicarius held out her short sword, eyebrows arched.

  She grinned. "Even these two shrubs weren't buying that. They must know you sleep with your knives."

  She dropped the cutlass, belted on the familiar blade, and glanced around him at the second soldier. The prone man was more unconscious than she had left him; she hoped he was not dead.

  Amaranthe knelt to truss her soldier, intending to use his bootlaces to bind ankles and wrists.

  "Don't bother," Sicarius said. "We have to go. Now."

  "Why? Did you find the—"

  "The engineers are dead, the safety valves on all four boilers have been tampered with, and the Kendorian is down there shoveling coal into the furnaces."

  Amaranthe stared. "Why didn't you—"

  "There's a trap at the door. I watched two soldiers run in and get incinerated by flames. There's no way into the boiler room right now."

  "Show me." Amaranthe started past him, heading for the closest ladder, but he gripped her elbow.

  "This isn't worth risking your life for," Sicarius said.

  She turned and looked him in the eyes. "Hundreds will die if this ship explodes. And what happens if the city can't import food for the rest of the winter? There are a million people in the capital. Local stores aren't enough to feed everyone." Again, she tried to step toward the ladder, but he did not release her. She might as well have been bound by steel.

  "We'll survive."

  A frustrated rant leapt to her lips, but, cursed ancestors, there was no time for arguing. He said so himself. Grasping for calm, she spoke evenly: "Let me go."

  Even now, his face was unreadable. Only those dark eyes held extra intensity. A heartbeat passed—it seemed like hours—and he released her.

  Amaranthe sprinted for the ladder. Ignoring the rungs, she slid down to the bottom of the ship. Heat bathed her as she stepped into the corridor. She expected to run into crew and soldiers, but the lanterns on the walls illuminated an empty passageway.

  The chugging and clanking of machinery led her to the engine room. At the hatchway, she passed the first body: a man in a gray engineer's smock, throat cut, his blood pooled on the deck.

  Nine-tenths of the crew did not know there was a problem; the other tenth was dead. Great.

  She raced through the engine room, a jungle of colored pipes, gauges, and machinery. A railing surrounded the churning pistons of the engine. More corpses clogged the twisting walkways.

  Two blackened bodies blocked the hatchway leading to the boiler room. Only the dead men's boots, which stuck out toward Amaranthe, had not been marked. Such intense fire had charred their clothing and features that little more than melted lumps remained. The smell of roasted flesh rose above the odors of machine oil and burning coal.

  A hand landed on her shoulder. She jumped, but it was only Sicarius. He did not say anything, but she would have had trouble hearing over the machinery anyway.

  He crouched, removed one of the dead men's boots, and tossed it. A curtain of crimson flames flashed across the hatchway. Heat poured out and light flared. Amaranthe stumbled back, shielding her face with her arms. The boot was incinerated.

  When the flames disappeared, leaving only a border of glowing red along the bulkhead and floor, she waited for Sicarius to voice an I-told-you-so. He merely watched her. Expectantly. He must think she had an idea, for why else would she insist on racing down here? She smiled bleakly.

  It took a few seconds for the crimson borders to dim and wink out, leaving the bulkhead with no signs of a trap.

  "Huh," she muttered.

  Amaranthe unlaced two more boots, forcing her mind away from the grisly knowledge that she was disrobing some poor engineer who had been living but moments before. She tossed the first boot. The fire curtain burst forth. As soon as the hatchway grew dark again, she threw the second boot. It flew through and landed on the other side.

  She and Sicarius exchanged significant looks.

  Only when the border faded, heartbeats later, did the trap reset. Sicarius removed the last boot and nodded for her to stand beside him. He tossed it, waited for the flames to come and go, and they jumped through together.

  Though she feared there would be other traps—or they would run into the invisible saboteur—she ran to the first pair of boilers. Pipes rattled, gauges quivered, and needles pushed into the red. There was no time for caution.

  Steel squealed just behind her. Amaranthe spun, sword ready.

  Sicarius landed in a crouch, a dagger in each hand, and a pair of buckskin fringes wafted to the floor. The Kendorian must have attacked.

  "Find the blow off valves," Sicarius yelled over the clamoring machinery. He glided into position at her back. "I'm here."

  How could one defeat—or even defend against—an invisible foe? Especially here, where noise and smell drowned out the other senses? He would have to figure it out.

  She spotted the safety valve on the first boiler, and her shoulders slumped. Warped and melted metal made the handle inoperable. For a lost moment, she stared at the tangle of pipes, gauges, and wheels. Heat roared from the furnace, and sweat beaded on her forehead. Why couldn't there be a blessed engineer alive?

  Sicarius brushed her back, and someone cried out. A bevy of Kendorian curses followed. She glanced back to see Sicarius lunge. Despite his speed, he connected with nothing.

  A nearby wall held another firefighting station. Amaranthe spotted the axe.

  "Back in a second," she said to Sicarius.

  She sprinted over and grabbed the axe. If she couldn't engineer a solution, brute force might work. She ran back, tool raised. As soon as she reached the boiler, she smashed the warped valve.

  Steam burst free, and she barely threw herself to the side before it blistered her face. It worked, though, and the gauge's needle dropped out of the red.

  "Got one," Amaranthe said.

  She darted toward the second boiler, but tripped over something she could not see. Lightning flashed and an electrical force pounded her. Energy crackled about her. Agony tore through her body, and she dropped the axe, crumpling to her knees.

  As abruptly as the pain came, it disappeared. Sicarius rolled past, grappling with their invisible assailant.

  Amaranthe shook off the attack, snatched the axe, and launched herself at the second valve.

  "Two of them," Sicarius barked.

  Amaranthe smashed the valve. Again, steam whooshed out, parting around an invisible figure. It lunged toward Amaranthe.

  She whipped the axe across, hoping to keep the attacker at bay. The heavy blade slammed into flesh with a moist meaty thump.

  A scream buffeted Amaranthe's ears, and she released the axe. The invisibility spell flickered out. A blonde woman collapsed. She struck the floor, gasping, curling around the axe head lodged in her gut.

  Movement pulled Amaranthe's gaze to the side. A Kendorian male lay on his back, a dagger protruding from his chest.

  Sicarius rolled to his feet with a second blade in his hand. He sliced the woman's throat.

  "The other boilers," Amaranthe remembered, forcing her gaze from the dying Kendorian.

  Sicarius tore the axe free and finished the task. Legs rubbery, Amaranthe walked around to each boiler, double checking gauges to make sure the threat was over. She pushed damp strands of hair out of her eyes with trembling hands. Sicarius appeared as calm as ever, though sweat dampened his hair. She tried to catch his eye to give him a nod of thanks, but he faced the other direction, a throwing knif
e in hand.

  Amaranthe stepped around a boiler, and the hatchway came into view. "Cursed ancestors," she groaned.

  With the Kendorians' deaths, the trap had disappeared.

  The captain stood in the hatchway, pistol aimed at Sicarius. A squad of men had entered and fanned out on either side, swords ready, firearms raised. All weapons focused on Sicarius.

  Though she was not sure it would stop anyone from shooting, she stepped in front of him, arms spread. She met the captain's eyes. How much had the men seen? Did they know she and Sicarius had saved the ship? Even if they did, would it matter?

  The captain closed his eyes for a long moment, then told his men, "Lower your weapons."

  "Sir?" a nervous corporal squeaked, his wide eyes toward Sicarius.

  "You heard me," the captain said. "Lower your weapons and step aside from the hatch."

  Amaranthe swallowed, emotion choking her throat. With this many witnesses, there was no way the captain's superiors would fail to learn he had let Sicarius go.

  She waved for him to sheath his weapons, and slowly, very slowly, they started for the hatch. For Sicarius to walk past armed soldiers, leaving them at his back, must have gone against every instinct ingrained in him, but he did. He and Amaranthe made it to the captain without incident.

  "Thank you," she murmured as they passed.

  "Thank you." He looked at her, at Sicarius, and back at her. "Just don't make me regret giving up..." A muscle jumped in his jaw.

  "I'll do my best, sir," she said.