Lindsay Buroker - Ice Cracker II

As her mind whirred with possibilities, the weariness from her run bled away. If the second man could turn himself invisible, too, he could be anywhere. It would take some lucky guessing to suss out his destination.

When they reached the ice-free channel fronting the merchant and naval docks, she slowed. Could one of the trade vessels be a target? Most ships sat dark. The gathering night and the snowfall had sent folks home for the day. Only one pier was lit up, its great steel steamship sending a few black wisps from its stacks. The Ice Cracker II must be heating the boilers in preparation to leave in the morning. Soldiers paced the dock. Crewmen strode about the deck, stowing cargo, and-

Amaranthe halted so abruptly she almost tripped. “That’s it.”

Sicarius turned, watching her face.

“The ice-breaking ship,” she explained.

“You think that’s the target?”

“What else would a Kendorian be after at this time of year on the waterfront? The snow’s already too high in the passes for the locomotives to plow the rail tracks. If the shipping lanes freeze over, the capital city goes without imports for the rest of the winter. Not to mention we’d be unable to get more troops in if something happened to the city. It’d be especially bad this year, since the Ice Cracker I was decommissioned last month. There aren’t any other ships in the Seven Lakes that can break ice.” She hammered a fist into her open palm. “That’s it, it has to be.”

Sicarius pulled her into the shadows of a dark warehouse. “You have no evidence.”

“No, but I have this lovely hunch, and it’d be downright uncivil to ignore it.”

“We have no way of knowing the Kendorian is on board,” Sicarius said. “We do know there are a hundred soldiers and sailors. Maybe more. Men who would be duty-bound to shoot us if they saw us.”

“I know.”

“Even if the Kendorian is in there, he can turn invisible. We can’t.”

“I know that, too.”

Two soldiers marched along the street, rifles balanced on their shoulders. Amaranthe put her hand on Sicarius’s forearm and guided him into an alley.

“I know this is dangerous,” she said, “probably more dangerous for you than for me-my poster just says wanted, yours says shoot on sight-but this could be a chance for both of us.”

For years, he had assassinated politicians, warrior-caste scions, and wealthy entrepreneurs, never for the money, always for the challenge. While she had won many victories in her adventures, her greatest might have been in convincing him the most worthy challenge was in becoming a man the emperor might one day be proud to know.

“But,” Amaranthe continued, “you’re going to have to be seen doing some empire-saving heroics before the emperor will consider lifting that mountain-sized bounty on your head.”

“Heroics aren’t my specialty,” Sicarius said.

“No, but I’m partial to them.” She squeezed his arm. “And I know when the current’s too strong for my swimming level. I need your help for this.”

A trolley clanged in the distance. A clump of snow fell from the gutters. Pale flakes gathered on Sicarius’s dark shoulders.

“What’s the plan?” he finally asked.

She rubbed her hands together. “I’ll get on the ship, get some information, and get the crew hunting for intruders. You start looking for the Kendorian.”

“How do we get on?”

“I’ll go my way, you go the assassinly way.”

“Assassinly?”

“You know, skulk under the docks to the ship, climb the dark side of the hull without so much as a rope, slip unnoticed onto the deck, ghost through the shadows without a sound, and surprise the enemy in the act.” Amaranthe quirked a smile at him. “Isn’t that your usual method?”

“I might use a rope,” he said mildly.

“You didn’t bring one. Also, make sure to come find me before you leave. I’m guessing getting on board will be easier than getting back off again.”

“Likely.”

“One more thing,” Amaranthe said before Sicarius could disappear into the shadows. “You can’t kill anyone.”

A moment passed before he looked back at her, and she imagined an inward sigh despite the lack of expression on his face.

“Heroes don’t leave trails of dead soldiers behind, no matter how practical it may be to dispose of anyone who wishes to harm you.”

When he had disappeared into the shadows, Amaranthe shook the tension out of her limbs and strode toward the Ice Cracker II . On this section of the waterfront, frequent lampposts drove the shadows away, and soldiers spotted her long before she turned down the dock. The two privates standing guard at the base of the gangplank watched her coolly, rifles cradled in their arms, cutlasses hanging in their sheaths.

As she neared them, Amaranthe held her hands well away from her own blade. “I need to report an incident. Is your captain available?”

“He’s busy.”

“Would the knowledge that two soldiers were murdered on the trail a couple miles down un-busy him?” she asked. “Oh, and there’s a dead Kendorian, too. Looks like he might have done the murdering.”

The two men exchanged concerned looks, but the speaker merely said, “You’d need to report that to someone at Fort Urgot. We’re detached to the Ice Cracker and don’t patrol the city.”

“It’s snowing and dark. I’m not running five miles to the fort. I just thought I’d try to help you boys out. It looks like someone inimical is around causing trouble.”

Amaranthe turned to walk away, but a hand clamped onto her shoulder.

“Who are you and what were you doing out there in the first place?”

“I was jogging,” she said, intentionally ignoring the first question. She doubted anyone was going to recognize her through the snow and wan lighting, but her name might set their steam clocks to whistling.

“With a sword?”

“One never knows when one might have to defend against…” Bounty hunters? Soldiers? Enforcers? “Opossums.”

Judging from the matching scowls that blossomed on their faces, they did not appreciate her humor. The soldier who had grabbed her arm shoved her toward the other.

“Remove her sword and take her to the LT. She’s all kinds of suspicious.”

Amaranthe tamped down a smile as she was marched up the gangplank. Step one, get on the ship, was complete.

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-