Lindsay Buroker - Deadly Games

“I don’t know….” The sergeant scratched hisjaw.

She had him. She sensed it. A little more,and she could sway him.

“Wasn’t he seen on the Imperial Gamesgrounds?” Amaranthe asked.

The sergeant’s chin came up. “This morning,yes. What was he doing there? Do you know?”

“I’m not privy to all his whims,” Amaranthesaid, “but if he did have some mischief planned…” Sheshrugged. “I’m sure you’d feel bad if he hurt someone there, andyou knew you’d had the chance to take him down before it allhappened.”

The sergeant glowered. He had to know she wastrying to manipulate him, but her argument was persuasive-shehoped.

“If I agree to take you to the magistrate,”the sergeant said, “and to have you show us this hideout, will yougive me your word you aren’t walking us into a trap?”

“A trap?” How could she be walking them intoa trap, when they’d been the ones to ensnare her? She almostblurted, ‘Of course,’ but stopped herself. If Sicarius saw herbeing escorted by these men, he would attack them without thinkingtwice, and he might kill somebody. She frowned at her thoughts? Might? Sicarius would kill somebody.

“I’m aware of what happened to Corporal Wholtand his team when he tried to arrest you,” the sergeant saidcoolly.

The crossbowman scowled, finger tightening onthe trigger of his weapon. She wished nobody had mentioned thatincident. They would be more wary while escorting her now.

“They tried to kill me,” Amaranthe said.“That whole night was…unfortunate.”

“I’ll say,” the sergeant said. More murmurscame from the men behind her. “Your word. You’re not walking usinto a trap?”

Strange that her word meant something to him.She lifted her chin and announced loudly-loudly enough Sicariuswould hear if he was nearby, “You have my word I’m not walking youinto a trap.”

She hoped that was true. Fortunately, he hadnot made her swear she would not try to escape. That was more onher mind, and she had better do it before Sicarius showed up.Having more enforcer blood on her hands would be intolerable. Shecould not pretend she was some noble hero working for the good ofthe empire if her actions resulted in dead citizens.

“Check her bags,” the sergeant said.

“Want to carry them for me?” Amaranthe askedthe young private who came forward to rifle through them. She hopedhe would be less likely to confiscate them if she made it soundlike it would be a favor. “They’re getting heavy.”

“Carry them yourself, outlaw,” the privatesaid.

Good.

“Just food and wine, sergeant,” the privateannounced.

“Wine?” came a speculative inquiry from thecrossbowman. “Maybe we should confiscate that.”

“Focus on your duty,” the sergeant told himin a clipped tone. “Get going,” he said to Amaranthe.

With two enforcers marching behind her,crossbows trained on her back, and one man on either side,Amaranthe led the way down the street. She doubted she couldmeander through the city for long before they grew suspicious abouther ability to take them to this fictitious hideout.

She considered her surroundings, searchingfor inspiration. Couples walked past, hand in hand, enjoying thepleasant evening. Now and then, crowds of university students oroff-duty soldiers sauntered down the street, their voicesboisterous with drink. Everyone turned curious eyes toward theenforcer procession as it passed, but nobody gave Amarantheanything to work with.

She decided to stay on the street parallelingthe canal. If no better option presented itself, she might be ableto distract her captors long enough to sprint to the side and jumpin. Of course, she might also get her back peppered with quarrelsif she tried that tactic. Even if she made it in, the gas lampsfrom the street shone onto the water, creating yellow pools thatprovided enough light for a crossbowman to see a head pop up and toshoot at it.

Ahead lay the bridge her team had crossedunder earlier. She thought of the grate Sicarius had unlocked. Hehad closed it, she remembered, but nobody had bothered to re-lockit. If she could get to it, maybe she could sprint through thattunnel and out the other side, then lose the enforcers in the city.How, though? Jump into the canal, swim to the grate, open it, climbin, and run? That seemed like an eternity where she would be atarget to the crossbowmen-if she could get past them long enough tojump over the railing to start with.

Most of the boat traffic had dwindled withtwilight’s arrival, though a keelboat floated past now and then.Lanterns lit up one heading upriver, with six pole-bearers stridingalong the sides in sync, pushing the vessel with their long staves.It would float under the bridge before long. If Amaranthe slowedher pace, she might be able to time a trip over the canal at thesame time as the keelboat passed below.

“Hold up, please.” Without waiting forpermission, she lowered the bags to the ground and made a show ofshaking out her hands. “These are heavy.” She moved a couple ofitems from one bag to the other.

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.