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  A boot thumped against her backside. “Getgoing.”

  She picked up the bags one at a time,watching the approach of the vessel. That should do it.

  “This way.” Amaranthe headed for the bridge.“He’s in the attic of a factory over on Sankel Street.”

  The enforcers followed without comment. Herheart lurched into double time as she considered the escape. Shemight very well get herself shot. Or she might break a leg jumpingoff the bridge. Or they might simply follow her and capture her.This was foolish. She should wait for a better opportunity. Butthere might not be one.

  They started up the bridge as the keelboatapproached.

  A harsh smell wafted through the air. Shesniffed, trying to identify it. Varnish.

  She eyed the houseboats tied on either sideof the canal. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but she spottedsomething that may have been brushes, drop cloths, and a tin ofvarnish on the deck of a floating home.

  Between one step and the next her planchanged.

  Amaranthe slipped a hand into one of thebags, hoping Maldynado had been complete with his shopping. Whatgood were stamina-promoting candles without matches to lightthem?

  As they reached the apex of the bridge, thesergeant moved a step closer, a shrewd gaze upon her. He must havenoticed the keelboat and guessed at her plan.

  Well, she had a new plan now. Down at thebottom of the bag, past the vegetables, wine bottles, and candles,she found what she sought-a couple of sturdy wooden matches. Whilethanking Maldynado for overly thorough shopping, she slid themout.

  When they passed the apex without Amarantheattempting to leap onto the keelboat, the sergeant’s attentionshifted forward again.

  She found a round tin can in the bag. Somefancy spread? It didn’t matter. As they neared the bottom of thebridge, and the floating home in the process of being refinished,Amaranthe tossed the item down the slope.

  “Oops,” she said, “dropped something.”

  She bent, as if to try to catch it before itcould roll away, and launched a backward kick into the enforcer whohad been walking on her right. At the same time, she jabbed anelbow into the sergeant’s gut. Without waiting for them to gathertheir thoughts, she vaulted over the railing.

  Though she anticipated the drop, it stole herbreath. With the water low this time of year, she fell twelve orfifteen feet before hitting the roof. She rolled to keep frombreaking an ankle, but got tangled up with the shopping bags, andan ill-placed stove vent made the landing even more painful.

  Shouts sounded above. A crossbow quarrelthudded into the roof.

  Amaranthe scrambled over the side, landing onthe deck near the finishing equipment. She found the varnish andunscrewed the tin.

  Thumps came from the roof-the enforcersfollowing her down.

  “Over here!” one shouted.

  She dumped the varnish all about and struck amatch. She dropped it in the liquid and darted around the corner ofthe house. Flames flared to life behind her.

  “Wait, don’t go down!”

  “She started a cursed fire!”

  Amaranthe hurled a deck chair into the waterunder the bridge, hoping the enforcers would think the splashresulted from her diving in. As she eased around another corner,she silently apologized to the poor homeowner whose house she wasvandalizing. Maybe she could send money later.

  “Did she go overboard?”

  “I heard a splash. There!”

  “Somebody get a bucket! This fire is-” Theorder broke off in a round of coughing.

  Hoping they were all peering into the waterunder the bridge, Amaranthe slipped up a ladder leading to theledge along the canal. She skimmed through the shadows to thegrate. It remained unlocked. She eased over the side and alightedin the tunnel.

  When she leaned out to pull the grate shut,she glimpsed the fire she had started, and she gaped. The flameshad spread to the wall and roof of the home. The intensity of thelight illuminated the canal and turned the water a burnishedorange. People on the street were gathering. If the enforcers didnot give up their search and send someone to alert the ImperialFire Brigade, the owners of that house would lose everything.

  She pulled the grate shut, pausing to leanher head against the cold bars. “Dumb move,” she whispered. Yes,she had escaped, but at what cost? She didn’t have the kind ofmoney it would take to reimburse the homeowners.

  Amaranthe straightened, and a wine bottle inthe bag clunked against the iron bars. How she had managed to keepthe silly groceries with her she did not know.

  She turned her back on the canal, and thedevastation she had wrought, and ran up the tunnel.

  In the alley behind the newspaper building,she checked both directions before crawling out of the passage.Careful to do it quietly, she eased the manhole cover back intoplace. She stood, then jumped with surprise when she found a shadowlooming next to her.

  “It’s me,” Sicarius said before she couldthink of flinging a shopping bag at him.

  “Thank the emperor,” she breathed. “We needto go.” She trotted to the nearest street.

  “Yes.” He fell into step beside her, and theyheaded away from the canal. Shouts rang out behind them-peopleyelling at others to help or run for the fire brigade. “I saw theenforcers,” he said.

  Great. Another witness to her arson, thoughhe would probably approve of such tactics. That didn’t make herfeel better.

  They jogged past rows of factories, dormantfor the night, and crossed into a residential neighborhood. Severalblocks into it, on the edge of a park, Amaranthe dared to stop tocatch her breath and collect herself. She dropped the canvas bags,hardly caring if she damaged something. The bottle of wine rolledout and bumped to a stop against a tree root.

  “What happened after I left?” she asked. “Didyou follow Mancrest?”

  “Yes. An army lorry rolled into the alley andpicked up two squads of soldiers. The Mancrests left out the front.They parted ways, and I followed the journalist to his house.”Sicarius eyed the shopping bags. “You still wish to speak withhim?”

  “Yes.” Amaranthe snorted. More than ever sheneeded to make friends with Mancrest. “I need someone to squash thefront-page headline I foresee hitting the papers tomorrow: Notorious Criminal Amaranthe Lokdon Commits Arson on the 17thStreet Canal.”

  “That can be arranged,” Sicarius said, thoughhe hesitated before saying it, as if he was not certain they werethinking of the same way that deed could be done. Good guess.

  “Not with threats of pain,” Amaranthe said.“Or actual pain.”

  He said nothing.

  She crouched, putting her back to an oak, andlooked up at him. Streetlights burned at both ends of the park, butfull night had fallen, and darkness hid Sicarius’s face. His blackclothing made it hard to pick him out, even a few feet away.

  “Out of all the enforcers you’ve…killed…”She had a hard time saying that. Whatever happened, she had stillbeen an enforcer for nearly seven years, and it was painful tothink of harm coming to her old colleagues. “Out of all of them,did you ever start the fight? Or was it all just a matter of themtrying to kill you?”

  “If I perceived them as a threat, Ieliminated them.”

  “But you never saw a couple of patrollersstrolling down the street and decided, oh, yes, there need to befewer enforcers in the world, so I’m going to leave the shadows andstick a knife in their backs?”

  “You know I did not,” Sicarius said, a hintof reproach in his normally emotionless voice.

  “I know. Sorry. I’m just trying to figurethis out.” She dropped her head in her hands and dug her fingersinto her scalp. She liked to think she was bright, but maybe shewas just delusional. She ought to have been able to escape withoutwreaking havoc. If she truly were smart, she would not have beencaptured in the first place. But as long as they worked in thecity, and went out and about to pursue missions, it seemed unlikelyshe could successfully avoid the enforcers every minute of everyday. She needed them to look the other way, but her stomachclenched at the idea of
blackmail or any strong-arming. “How can Imake them understand that I’m on their side and they don’t need totry to capture me, no matter what the bounty says? I feel like wemade some progress with that water scheme, but again so few peopleknow we were involved. And every time something like this happens-”she waved back toward the canal, “-it’s a step backward. I’m notsure they’ll ever forgive me for what happened to Wholt and thoseother enforcers.” She thought of her discussion with Basilard andwondered if she was delusional for believing she could find a placein the history books as a hero. “Maybe I should give up on heroicsand become a villain. The money’s better, I hear, and you’re a fineexample of how easy it is to become notorious. You’reprobably guaranteed a place in the history books.”

  She sighed and dropped to her knees to grabthe wine bottle and shove it back in the bag. “All right, I’m donewhining. Thank you for listening.”

  In the dim lighting, she did not at firstnotice when Sicarius grabbed one bag and extended a hand for thesecond. She gave it to him. She was cursed tired of carrying thethings anyway. Maybe he knew that. He surprised her by offering hishand again, this time to grip her arm and help her up.

  “Hm,” she said. “If I’d known it would resultin you carrying things for me, I’d have moaned and complained toyou more often.”

  “Easy?” he said as they headed off down thetree-lined street.

  “What?”

  “You think it’s easy to becomenotorious?”

  “Well.” She managed a faint smile. “You makeit look easy.”

  “Huh.”

  CHAPTER 4

  “Top floor, eh?” Amaranthe followed Sicariusto one of only two doors in a short hallway. The one they stoppedin front of was made of stout oak and featured a hand-carved imageof a spear-toting man hunting a bear alongside a tree-linedriver.

  “Yes,” Sicarius said.

  Since Mancrest was warrior caste, it madesense that he would have the resources to own a flat that took uphalf of the floor. What surprised her was that he lived in aneighborhood full of university students and modest-incomefamilies, in a building that lacked a doorman in the lobby to keepout riffraff. Maybe as a journalist, he favored being in the heartof the city.

  Amaranthe took the grocery bags fromSicarius. “Thank you. Do you want to wait outside while I-”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “He may have a limp, but he’s a formerofficer. He’ll be a dangerous opponent.”

  “No doubt,” Amaranthe said, “but I’m notplanning to fight him. Also, I find it difficult to…sway peopleto my way of thinking when you’re holding knives to their throats.That tends to render one unwilling to believe my entreaties offriendship.”

  Sicarius’s only response was to knock on thedoor.

  “You have an amazing knack for being almostpersonable one moment and, er, yourself the next.”

  He said nothing.

  Uneven footsteps and the rhythmic thump of acane on a hard floor sounded on the other side of the door.Sicarius took up a position against the wall. She wanted to tellhim not to jump out and put a knife to Mancrest’s throat, but thedoor opened too soon.

  Amaranthe had a glimpse of short, wavy brownhair, a strong jaw, and spectacles before Mancrest realized who shewas and reacted.

  He jumped back, whipping his cane up. A clicksounded, and the wood flew away from the handle. Amaranthe droppedthe groceries and flung an arm up to block the projectile, butSicarius blurred past her.

  He caught the flying cane and tackledMancrest. Something-steel? — clattered to the floor.

  In the half a second it took Amaranthe torealize she could lower her arms, the skirmish was over. Mancrestlay sprawled face-first on the floor with Sicarius on top, pinninghim. She cringed. At least knives were not involved. Yet.

  “Good evening, Lord Mancrest.” Amaranthepicked up her bags and the hollow husk of the cane. She spotted thehandle attached to a rapier on the floor inside the threshold.Sword stick. “I thought we had a dinner date. Was my invitationreceived in error?”

  Having his face pressed into the floormuffled his response.

  “Pardon?” Amaranthe stepped inside, closingthe door behind her. “Sicarius, would you mind letting him up,please?”

  Sicarius yanked him to his feet, keepingMancrest’s arms pinned behind his back. A pained grimace twistedMancrest’s face, and his spectacles dangled from one ear.

  Amaranthe waved for Sicarius to loosen thehold. He did not.

  “I apologize for being tardy at your proposedmeeting place,” Amaranthe said, “but there appeared to be a squadof soldiers lurking inside. What do you suppose they were doingthere?”

  Mancrest glowered and said nothing.

  “Maldynado seems to think you’re an honorablefellow,” Amaranthe said, “and even knowing that you arranged tohave me captured, or killed I suppose, he still thinks I shouldtalk to you.” Actually, according to Maldynado’s candle selection,he thought they should do more than talk.

  “I am honorable,” Mancrest said, voicestrained as he fought to stifle grimaces of pain that flashedacross his face. “That’s why I tried to arrange your capture.”

  Sicarius stood a couple of inches shorterthan Mancrest, but Amaranthe had no trouble meeting his eyes overthe bigger man’s shoulder. “Let go,” she mouthed.

  At first he did not, but she held his gazefor a long moment, and he finally searched Mancrest for otherweapons and released him. Mancrest took a couple of careful stepsaway from them, trying to hide his limp, but the stiffness of hismovements gave it away. He positioned himself so his back was nolonger to Sicarius.

  Amaranthe assembled his sword stick andextended it toward him. Mancrest considered it-and her-for severallong seconds before accepting it. He rested the tip on the floor,though he did not lean on it.

  Despite what must be a permanent injury, heappeared fit. The rolled-up sleeves of his creamy shirt revealedmuscular forearms. As Maldynado had promised, Mancrest had ahandsome face, though what might have been pain lines creased hiseyes and the corners of his mouth, making him appear a few yearsolder than he probably was.

  “I guess it’s good I didn’t dress up for youthen.” She hefted the bags. “Hungry? Mind if I find someplates?”

  “Depends.” Mancrest was spending more timewatching Sicarius than her. “Will three be dining or just two?”

  “Ah, I believe my provisions were gatheredwith a pair in mind.” She gave an apologetic shrug to Sicarius.“Maldynado did the shopping.”

  Sicarius wore his usualguess-my-thoughts-if-you-can mask, though she sensed he did notapprove. Of dinner or the entire situation? She did not know.

  “Where shall I set up?” she askedMancrest.

  Masculine leather chairs and sofas, a desk,and a gaming table occupied the main room, but nothing looked likea dining area. A half a dozen doors marked the brick and woodwalls, none of them with any enlightening ornamentation thatproclaimed, “Kitchen this way.”

  Mancrest jerked his head toward one in theback. “In there.”

  At least he was cooperating. That was a goodstart, right?

  Amaranthe headed for the door. As she passedthrough, she noticed she had picked up a shadow.

  “I don’t think he’s going to try anythingright now,” she whispered to Sicarius who was already taking up apost against the wall beside a long dining table made from a singlethick slab of wood. “He must be curious about what I have to say.He’s a journalist, after all.”

  Mancrest stepped through the door, veeringthe opposite direction from Sicarius.

  “May I get you a drink?” he asked, pointedlynot looking at Sicarius or including him in the offer.

  Amaranthe pulled out the wine bottle. “Just acorkscrew.”

  Mancrest examined the bottle. Checking thelabel to see if it met with his refined warrior-caste palette? No,she realized. He was seeing if the seal had been broken.

  “Nothing’s poisoned. If we wanted you dead,that would have happened by now.” Sh
e did not nod toward Sicarius;she didn’t figure she had to.

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure your assassin could havearranged that,” Mancrest said, “but I figured you might have alesser punishment in mind and have arranged for some gut-wrenchingvomiting or emergency movements from the other end.”

  “You must have courted some vindictivewomen,” Amaranthe said.

  Mancrest grunted, set the wine bottle down,and headed for a door that presumably led to a kitchen.

  “Plates, too,” Amaranthe suggested.

  Sicarius detached himself from the wall tofollow.

  Mancrest paused and stared at him. “Unlessyou know where I left my corkscrew, I don’t need your help.”

  Sicarius followed him into the kitchenanyway, probably thinking Mancrest might have a pistol or two onthe premises. If she ever did go out with a man fornon-work-related reasons, she would have to figure out a way toleave Sicarius home. Of course, if he’d ever deign to take her outfor non-work-related reasons, that would suffice as well.

  Amaranthe laid out Maldynado’s food choices,trying to arrange the bread and pastries in such a way that onemight not immediately notice their battered state. Given what thesegroceries had gone through to arrive here, she was happy nothingwas poisoned with varnish.

  She had forgotten Maldynado stashed anewspaper in a bag, too, and she glanced over it. Mancrest did havean article on the front page. Apparently the winners of each of theevents in the Imperial Games would be invited to dinner with theemperor.

  “Wish I could enter,” she muttered. With allthe training the team did, she was more fit than she had ever been.Though she had never been tall enough to have a chance at thesprints, where the long-legged women excelled, she had won medalsfor the middle- and long-distance races as a junior. Unfortunately,any race she ran these days would end with enforcers taking herinto custody-or worse.

  A crash sounded in the other room-a bigone.

  Amaranthe lunged around the table, a visionof Sicarius mashing Mancrest with a meat cleaver stampeding intoher head. She shoved the swinging door open. A drawer lay on thefloor beside a butcher-block island; cutlery and silverwarescattered the travertine tiles. One wicked serrated knife hadsomehow struck a cabinet door with such force that it protrudedfrom the wood, handle still quivering.