Lindsay Buroker - Ice Cracker II

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 knife 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?