Lindsay Buroker - Deadly Games

“No, his son. Elder Raydevk passed on lastyear, Black Lung, same as your da.”

“I’d like to talk to Raydevk,” Amaranthesaid. It was a long shot, that off-work miners roaming around withjournals had anything to do with the kidnappings, but she had nobetter leads. “He has a place in the city, doesn’t he?”

“Not one he’d like me to direct some outlawto, I’m sure. You thieving these days, too? He’s got a wife and twosons, and he scarcely makes enough to keep them fed. He doesn’tneed any more trouble than what he’s already schemed up.”

“No thieving, ma’am. If it matters, I waswrongfully accused, and I’m trying to clear my name. But now thatyou bring it up, I think I’ve been to Raydevk’s flat. Doesn’t helive down by the railway tracks?” She was guessing, but most of thelow-income housing was down there, near the Veterans’ Quarter. “Inthat building on…” She wriggled her fingers, as if searching forthe information in her head.

“Nelview?” the old woman said.

Amaranthe snapped her fingers. “Yes, that’sit. It’s right by that eating house, isn’t it? The…”

The woman snorted. “I’d hardly call TheBrewed Puppy an eating house. If you don’t stick to drinks, you’relike to get sick in there.”

“That’s true enough,” Amaranthe said,conjuring a map of that part of the city in her head. “AndRaydevk’s flat is on the second floor, right?”

The woman opened her mouth, but snapped itshut again and gave Amaranthe a shrewd look.

“Never mind,” Amaranthe said. “I’ll find it.Thank you for your time.”

She hustled away, hoping she could escapebefore the woman shouted any parting messages, but her wordsfollowed Amaranthe anyway.

“You’d better not thieve from him, girl. Yourfather’s spirit must be twisted in knots, knowing what came ofyou.”

A pair of athletes walking past from theother direction gave Amaranthe quizzical looks. At least theyweren’t enforcers.

“Crazy old grandmother,” Amaranthe told themwith a chuckle and hustled toward the stadium.

She wanted to find the miners and see if theymight give her more information on this “scheme,” but a knot ofpeople blocked the entrance to the stadium. A bare-chested manhopped onto a bench, his oiled muscles gleaming, a wooden megaphoneheld to his lips.

“Sicarius, we know you’re out there!” heshouted.

Amaranthe tripped and almost fell over.

“I, Erton Garthcrest, challenge you,” the manwent on. “If you’re half the man the rumors say, come and prove it.Enter the wrestling and see if you’re my match!” He finished bythumping his fist against his muscled chest, which was so puffedout that he looked like he could tip over backward and fall off thebench at any moment.

The bystanders cheered at the short speech.Amaranthe wanted to go around and into the stadium, but the cheerswent on. “More,” someone hollered, “Bring out Sicarius,” and thatstarted a chant of, “Sicarius, Sicarius.” This drew more people tothe scene.

The entire episode had an orchestrated feelto it, and Amaranthe thought about creeping closer to see if shecould identify the ringleader in the crowd, but several enforcerstrotted out of the stadium and headed for the group.

Amaranthe eased off the path. With theenforcers extra alert to trouble, this wasn’t the time for her toroam about inside.

She headed for the shrubs where she had lastseen Sicarius, but did not find him. She continued on toward thegreenbelt, figuring he would have gone that way. They had beenfollowing the railways from the boneyard to the grounds the lastcouple of days.

Before she had taken more than three stepsinto the trees, Sicarius’s voice came from behind the brush.

“You found trouble,” he said.

“I had nothing to do with those peoplecalling your name,” Amaranthe said. “It seems you’re a popularfellow around these parts.”

“Too popular.”

“Yes, it’s suspicious. Think someone istrying to get you to make an appearance?”

“Unknown.” He gazed toward the stadium,though foliage hid the crowd from view. Perhaps at the enforcers’behest, the shouts of “Sicarius” had stopped.

Amaranthe summarized her conversation withthe woman for him. “I want to find this Raydevk’s flat, but let’scheck in on Books and Akstyr first. It’s hard to imagine Turgonianminers coming up with a scheme that involves magic, but I’d like abetter idea about what we’re dealing with, just in case. Unless youwant to go off and start training for the wrestling event?” sheasked, since his gaze was still toward the stadium. “Did thatfellow with the megaphone tempt you?”

Sicarius looked at her as if he suspected herof having received a brain-damaging head wound. “It would befoolish for me to go anywhere near the stadium once the ImperialGames begin, certainly not into the arena.”

He turned his back on the grounds and led herdeeper into the woods. They passed a human-sized statue of anarachnid that must have once had a head, for it was hewn off withthe granite stump now fuzzed with moss. Another victim of MadEmperor Motash’s mandate to decapitate all statues from the oldreligions.

“True,” Amaranthe said, “but some men haveegos that demand they prove themselves whenever challenged.”

“That is why they are dead, and I amnot.”

“I guess that explains your longevity.” Shegrinned. “I knew it wasn’t a matter of your amiable, warm-heartednature endearing you to people.”

That comment received no look at all, and hesaid nothing during the trip back to the boneyard. With that muchsilence surrounding Amaranthe, her mind was left to its own musing,and, not for the first time, she wondered why Sicarius’s name keptcoming up here-and why someone would risk impersonating him. Shealso wondered what had happened to Fasha to keep her from meetingAmaranthe.

“Questions,” she muttered to herself.“Nothing but questions.”

“What are you doing? I thought you were goingon two more runs before taking a break. You’re timing is still offon those swinging axes.”

Basilard flopped onto his back, hot sweatstreaming down his cheeks. Maldynado stood over him, fists proppedon his hips. The Clank Race whirred and hissed behind him. Most ofthe other athletes had left, though a young man was timing himselfon sprints up the nets.

You’re a worse taskmaster thanSicarius, Basilard signed.

“That’s because you don’t seem motivated. Youhave to win to have dinner with the emperor. I thought thatmattered to you. You want to talk to him on behalf of your peopleand slaves in the city, don’t you?”

Basilard sighed and rolled to his knees. Ifhe attacked Sicarius, he would not live long enough to winanything. Unless he succeeded. And if he did, Amaranthe would kickhim out of the group, and he’d have no one to translate his wishesto the emperor anyway.

“Why don’t you get some water?” Maldynadosaid. “Then we’ll do another round.”

Basilard stumbled to his feet with thighsrubbery from the previous twenty runs. We?

“We,” Maldynado said. “We’re a team. You runthe Clank Race, and I stand over here with the pocket watch andcheer you on. I think it works well. I’m…” His eyes shifted towatch something over Basilard’s shoulder. He frowned.

Basilard turned around to follow Maldynado’sgaze, but did not recognize the man approaching. He wore simple,but tailored clothing and a wide-brimmed beaver hat. Walking with acane made his gait uneven, but it slowed him little, and heappeared hale. Folded spectacles hung from his shirt collar, apencil protruded from the band of his hat, and he carried a pad ofpaper under his arm. He strode directly toward Maldynado andBasilard.

“What do you want, Deret?” Maldynadogrowled.