Lindsay Buroker - Forged in Blood I

“That’s the impression I got. When I confronted him… we argued. With fists. He reminded me he owned the paper and sent me home. That was that, or so I hoped he’d think. I brought some of my workers in late that night, intending to change the typeset and print a lengthy story about everything that’s been going on in secret, at least that I’m aware of-thanks in part to you. I included that there’d been no evidence whatsoever to verify Sespian’s death and that anyone attempting to take the throne was doing so illegally.”

“I haven’t seen that edition of the paper.” Thanks to their travels, Amaranthe hadn’t seen a lot of editions, but she doubted anyone had seen that one.

“Nor will you. My father guessed my intentions and barged in on me. He was furious. My basement internment was the result.” Deret backed away from his improvised ink-based explosive. “Time to light the fuse.”

“Are we sure we want to light another one?” Maldynado asked, poking his head inside the tunnel again. “Things don’t sound too structurally stable out here.” A crash punctuated his last word.

“Do we have a choice?” Amaranthe asked. “Sounds like company is coming.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Deret grumbled and grabbed the lantern.

Since he was leaning on his swordstick, his movements were awkward as he bent toward the fuse. Amaranthe wondered if his earlier near miss, as evinced by his soot-covered face and clothing, had come because he’d misjudged how much time he’d need to give himself to get out of range, thinking of how fast he’d once been able to move instead of how fast he moved today.

“Want me to light it?” she offered.

Deret’s glower could have withered daisies on a warm spring day.

“Or… I’ll just wait outside,” she amended.

“Do that.”

Amaranthe scooted out of the tunnel, almost colliding with Maldynado who was loitering at the mouth.

“We need to take cover,” she said.

Maldynado started to jog away, but she added, “Them too,” and waved at the prisoners.

Maldynado huffed a sigh and grabbed the men, propelling them before him. Amaranthe could understand the sentiment. At least they went along without making trouble. Nobody wanted to get caught in an explosion.

She joined them behind a couple of desks, ducking under one with a solid slab top.

The ceiling creaked ominously above their heads. She hoped the next explosion, which was outside of the building’s walls, wouldn’t affect the structure or supports.

More bangs sounded-crates being shoved off the pile Maldynado had erected up front. The soldiers must have broken down the door or found a way to remove it from its hinges.

“Deret,” a man bellowed. “Are you responsible for this ruckus, boy? I’m going to tie you down range at Fort Urgot for the privates to use for shooting practice.”

Deret skidded around the corner of Amaranthe’s hiding spot and dropped to the floor. There wasn’t room for him to squeeze under the desk beside her, but he pressed himself close and buried his head under his arms.

The thunderous boom that followed wasn’t as loud as the first had been, not with the wall blocking some of the noise, but that didn’t keep the floor from trembling beneath them. Cracks sounded, this time not in the wood but in the bricks, and more dust flooded the air.

“By great grandmother’s funeral pyre, what are you doing, boy?” came the senior Lord Mancrest’s voice.

Amaranthe touched Deret’s shoulder and climbed out past him. They had better get out of the basement before something important gave way-or the soldiers swarmed inside to capture them. Maldynado had already leaped to his feet, and he reached the opening in the wall first, a lantern in hand.

He stuck the light inside. “It worked.”

He’d neglected to grab the prisoners, and they looked like they meant to flee toward Deret’s father. Amaranthe was tempted to let them go so they wouldn’t have to deal with them any more, but she grabbed their arms. “This way. He won’t be happy with you for not capturing us in the first place.”

“I don’t care any more,” one muttered. “So long as we get out of here before-”

Wood snapped above them. A beam bowed down, boards cracking and giving way with each inch it drooped.

Deret grabbed Amaranthe’s arm. “Run!”

She needed no further urging and sprinted for the tunnel hole.

“Get back, get back,” came a cry from the other entrance.

Just as Amaranthe crossed the threshold, the beam gave away completely. Light fell into the basement as a huge chunk of the floor above collapsed. Steel screeched, then a cacophonous crash filled the space as one of the massive presses tumbled through the opening. Parts flew off, pelting the walls and landing on old machinery, leaving a twisted metal wreck that would never print again.

One of the massive paper rolls was flung across the room toward Amaranthe. She dove, somersaulting down the tunnel to put distance between herself and the machine’s attack. Brick crunched as the roller struck the outer wall. A curtain of dust and mortar sprayed the inside of the passage.

Amaranthe climbed to her feet, saw that Maldynado and Deret had both made it inside, and started to release a relieved breath, but a cry of pain came from beyond the entrance. Her first thought was that Deret’s father, or some of his men, had been crossing the basement and had been pinned by flying pieces of machinery. Then she remembered the prisoners.

“Maldynado,” she whispered, “help me,” and headed back.

“Are you crazy?” Deret held the only remaining lantern, and he stood at the far end of the passage, one foot already through the ragged hole leading to the storm tunnel.

“We brought them down here. Maldynado,” Amaranthe repeated, knowing she’d need his brawn if someone was pinned.

A hand patted her back. “I’m with you, boss.”

Amaranthe stuck her head back into the basement as a metal filing cabinet tumbled through the hole from above, landing on the cage Deret had been confined in before. More wood snapped overhead. Before long, the whole ceiling would drop.

“Help,” someone whimpered from a few feet away.

Amaranthe swatted at the dust in the air. Fine particles slipped through her shirt and assailed her nostrils and throat. She stifled a cough. She doubted the soldiers would come streaming into this mess, but she didn’t want to let them know where she was. Who knew if they had rifles?

A long arm of machinery had fallen on one of the prisoners. The other man was trying to pull his comrade free, though the wrist ties made it impossible. Amaranthe slid out her dagger and slashed through the bindings, instantly raising her estimation of the soldier for not leaving his colleague. He gave her a quick nod, then bent to grab the end of the beam.

The pinned man groaned, his teeth clenched so hard she could almost hear them grinding above the noise of falling debris. Maldynado grabbed the beam as well. Amaranthe glanced about and found a pole sticking out of the wreckage. She joined the men, thrusting it beneath the beam to use as a lever. Those printing presses must weigh tons, for even this broken section took all three of them to lift.

More pieces of the ceiling cracked and fell as they heaved. The beam inched up.

“Go, Rudev,” the pinned man’s comrade urged.

As the weight lifted, the prone fellow groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. For a moment, Amaranthe thought he would pass out, but he stretched his hands across the floor, grabbed the corner of a crate and started clawing his way free.

“There they are!” someone yelled from the other side of the basement.

A shot rang out. Instinctively, Amaranthe ducked, though it was probably the haze that saved her, rather than her reflexes. The pistol ball pounded into the brick wall.