Lindsay Buroker - Deadly Games

“Less pessimism, girl,” she muttered, thenraised her voice for Maldynado and Akstyr. “How are your suitsfitting?”

They were gearing up around the trapdoor inMs. Setjareth’s warehouse. Amaranthe had agreed to give the woman adiscount on future work in exchange for the use of her building fora couple of hours-a deal to which Setjareth had magnanimouslyagreed, possibly because no shipments had been due in that morning.Fortunately, she was not around to see the pile of harpoons andhand-held launchers sitting next to her trapdoor. The tub labeledSkelith Poison was probably not a typical warehouse store either.Books promised the tar-like substance, which they had smeared onthe harpoon tips, would survive the water, at least for a couple ofhours.

“This thing weighs a thousand pounds.” Akstyrtugged at the collar.

“Only one-eighty, including the helmet,”Amaranthe said, “or so Books tells me.” Saying his name prompted aglance toward the door. They were waiting on him to return withanother weapon to use against the kraken. He had rushed off beforesharing the details, and Amaranthe had a hard time not worrying.Six months later, she still had nightmares of that printing presscareening down the icy street with Maldynado riding it like acontestant in a log rolling competition. That had been one ofBooks’s ideas, too.

“My helmet is fabulous,” Maldynado said, “butthe suit binds across the chest. Whatever runty treasure huntercommissioned this piece lacked my substantial musculature.”

“And your ego, too, I’d imagine,” Amaranthesaid.

Wearing everything but the helmet, sheshuffled over to a high window facing the lake. She had to clamberatop a crate to push open the shutters and peer outside.

Early morning sun glittered on the calm lakewater. A few fishing boats meandered away from the docks, headingout for the day’s work. Given what was going on below, Amaranthethought the scene should be less idyllic.

She stuck her head out, twisting her neck forthe view she wanted. Dozens of docks away, the Saberfist floated in its berth. Plumes of smoke rose from its twin stacks anda thrum of excitement ran through her. Had Mancrest done it?Convinced them to send divers down to investigate? Marines bustledabout on the deck, and the activity had doubled since the last timeshe took a look.

“Books is back,” Maldynado called. “And hedidn’t bring anything useful.”

Amaranthe hopped down in time to catch thescowl Books sent Maldynado’s direction. Books was carrying a woodenkeg labeled SALT into the building. Amaranthe’s earlier excitementfaded. Harpoon launchers might harm a kraken, but salt? There hadto be more to it than that.

“That’s your secret weapon?” she asked,joining the men. “Salt?”

“Actually, it’s empty,” Books said.

“So you brought a wooden keg?” Maldynadoasked. “Genius strategy, professor.”

Amaranthe frowned, aware that this might betheir only chance to retrieve Sicarius and Basilard. If the Saberfist was en route, and it found and attacked theunderwater structure, the kidnappers would flee. She couldn’timagine them sticking around once they knew they had beendiscovered. And who knew where they would go after that?

“Tell us,” she prompted Books, who wasscowling at Maldynado.

“As it turns out,” Books said, “krakens arequite difficult to kill. There are more stories of them sinkingships than there are of people slaying them.”

“How comforting,” Maldynado said.

“My idea is to fill this keg with poison,”Books said. “I tinkered with the design, so it’ll implode whensqueezed. There are also razor-sharp caltrops inside to cut thekraken’s flesh to ensure the poison enters its bloodstream.”

“How do we convince the creature to grab it?”Amaranthe asked. “And will a little poison injected at the end of atentacle really incapacitate it? It’s quite…large.”

“Ah, but we won’t target the tentacle.Squids, and presumably krakens, travel by sucking water into theirmantel cavity, then streaming it out behind them in a jet, muchlike a fireman’s hose. Perhaps if we could propel this keg towardits mantle, the creature would inhale it, so to speak, and it’d belike getting pepper up your nose.”

“Couldn’t we just use pepper?” Maldynadoasked.

“Do you want it to sneeze or to die?” Booksasked.

“Maybe if it sneezed hard enough, it’d goflying into the air, land on the Saberfist , and the marinescould hack it to pieces with their swords.”

Books threw Amaranthe an exasperated look.“Is it necessary to have these louts present during planning?”

“This mantle cavity,” she said, trying toimagine Books’s scenario, “is up under all the tentacles? I can’timagine anyone being able to get close without getting killed.”

“We could send in someone expendable,” Bookssaid, eyeing Maldynado.

“Oh, no,” Maldynado said. “When I get mystatue, I don’t want it to be an image of me going up a squid’sbutt.”

“All right, gentlemen.” Amaranthe lifted herhands, struggling not to snap at them for being silly. It must bethe lack of sleep stealing some of her patience. “We’ll go downwith the keg and harpoons. With luck, the marines will figure out away to kill the kraken through attrition, and we won’t need toimplement any of this.”

“When have we ever had that kind of luck?”Books asked.

“I don’t remember any,” Amaranthe said, “butwe ought to be due, eh?”

The men traded skeptical looks. She forced asmile. Someone had to be optimistic after all.

Basilard waited with a rag pressed to theback of his shoulder, watching as Sicarius shoved equipment againstthe hatch. Soon everything that could be moved, or torn free,blocked the only entrance. Like the pipe in the lock wheel, it didnot seem enough against wizards, but maybe they wouldn’t want torisk destroying their own engine room.

Basilard dropped his hands so he could sign, What now?

“Back up plan,” Sicarius said over thegrinding and chugging of the engine. “If we can’t steer to thesurface, we may be able to float there.”

Float? Basilard stared at him. Hecould not imagine this sprawling maze of tunnels and chambersmoving at all, much less bobbing about at the surface of thelake.

“The air you’re breathing would typicallymake us buoyant,” Sicarius said, “so this craft must have ballasttanks.”

Basilard occasionally found Books too verbosefor his tastes, but he wouldn’t have minded more of an explanationjust then. Sicarius turned his back to study symbols onpanels-writing presumably, but not in Mangdorian or Turgonian, theonly two languages Basilard could read.

He walked about, in part to see if he couldfind some way to help and in part to distract himself from themetal ball grinding against his shoulder blade.

He found a storage locker holding a pair offlintlock muskets that appeared only a model or two up from the oldmatchlocks. More weapons that would prove useless againstpractitioners who could generate shields. There were a couple ofaxes, too, and he suspected this was a supply the engineer and hismate were supposed to use to defend their station.

Which raised a question: where was theengineer?

Had he fled the room at the sound of thealarm? It still throbbed in the corridors outside, along with a fewbangs and scrapes. The practitioners up to something, no doubt.

Basilard took one of the axes-they had asatisfying heft, and he imagined smashing some of the machinerywith it. If Sicarius could not find these ballast tanks, perhapsthey could convince the structure to rise to the surface bydestroying the engines. At the least, they could make sure thisvessel never navigated into imperial waters again to harass itscitizens.