Lindsay Buroker - Dark Currents

“Fine,” Books said, “they didn’t attack you, but these people are not to be trusted. Do you know they were the ones responsible for the emperor’s kidnapping a couple of months ago? They tried to kill him.”

“I’ve little reason to care for our emperors.”

“Sespian is different. You’re warrior caste. That entitles you to an audience, doesn’t it? If you’d gone to him with information about-”

Something moved at the edge of Books’s vision: the spider, or another one, skittering up the tunnel this time. It stopped before the cell and rotated, first facing Books, then Vonsha, then continuing along its route.

“What are they?” he asked after it disappeared into the darkness.

“His security constructs. They monitor the tunnels. He’ll know, through them, if your friends come.”

Not sure if he had “friends” coming, Books chose to focus on his more immediate concern. “What’s the name of the woman you dealt with? Do you know who’s in charge of this whole scheme?”

“I know enough to keep my mouth shut,” Vonsha said. “They’re powerful. They want the emperor’s law revoked and foreigner-owned businesses out of the city, so there’ll be no competition. Owning the new dam will simply be a side perk for them.”

“So…foreigners are being framed?” Books thought of Amaranthe’s newspaper article, of the successful Kendorian turned in for supposed magic use. “If citizens think outsiders are using magic to get ahead, they might believe foreigners are responsible for the water problems?”

“You haven’t seen the latest papers. People are assuming that. With enough pressure from the populace, Sespian will be forced to rescind his policy.”

“So innocent people will be blamed instead of Forge and the Mangdorian allies they’ve won by outing Sicarius,” Books said. “I can’t say I’m sorry I broke that artifact.”

Vonsha pushed away from the wall. “It won’t matter. Tarok will fix it, and he’ll put it deeper in the lake this time. Your friends won’t be able to do anything.”

She strode up the tunnel.

“Wait,” Books called. “Can’t you at least turn that thing off?” He nodded to the device on the wall. “Let me out of here?”

“I haven’t that knowledge,” she said over her shoulder. “And even if I did, I like you enough that I wouldn’t let you out. Tarok has deadly constructs guarding these tunnels. If we’re able to get things working again, I’ll see about getting you released.”

She continued on, leaving Books in darkness again.

• • • • •

Inside the dilapidated Kaker Mines office, Amaranthe opened a dented metal cabinet. A rat scurried out. She was too tired to do more than yawn in response. Her wounds throbbed, and with each movement her clothing abraded her fevered skin. She kept her hands and her mind busy, trying to ignore the fact she was getting worse.

Beams of morning sunlight slanted through holes in the ceiling, highlighting the cracked concrete floor. She and the men had driven all night along roads made treacherous by the dark. Their stolen enforcer lorry waited out front. Thanks to an overly efficient squad of soldiers, their own vehicle had been too well guarded to recover. Necessary though it may have been, the theft made Amaranthe all too aware that their quest to win favor with the authorities was not going as well as she had hoped.

“Stop cleaning, boss,” Maldynado said from across the room. “You’re injured.”

Amaranthe caught herself wiping the dusty shelves with a rag. “I’m merely removing a layer of dirt in case a map is cowering beneath it.”

While Basilard searched rusty filing cabinets, Maldynado inspected the drawers of a desk so old and water damaged it wobbled every time someone walked past it.

“And is that also why you scraped that fungus off those shelves in the corner?” Maldynado asked.

“No, that was a health issue. Inhaling those spores can’t be wholesome.”

“There’s nothing wholesome about anything here. There’s nothing in this desk either. Your enforcer buddy told us which mine the shaman is in, right? Why do we need a map?” Maldynado thumped the lower drawer shut. Wood cracked, and it dropped onto the floor. The desk trembled, then collapsed in a heap. “Oops.”

“You’ve a knack for destruction.” Amaranthe pulled out a book on the chance it contained information about the mines. Only numbers greeted her, an accounting of the ore pulled from the mountain.

“What if we don’t find anything here, and this was a waste of time? You look horrible, and Books is probably being tortured.”

“We didn’t all need to check the mine entrance.” Amaranthe leaned the side of her head against the cool metal of the cabinet door. “If the shaman has indeed returned to his hideout, Sicarius and Akstyr can let us know. If we find a map, maybe it’ll have a backdoor into the tunnels, one the shaman isn’t guarding. And it’s worth waiting a few hours to see if the seed I planted sprouts. If the soldiers come, they’ll be the ideal distraction at the front door.”

“ If they come,” Maldynado said.

“If they don’t, I’ll think of something else.” In truth, she already had a distraction in mind. She needed to talk the shaman into healing her anyway, so she could keep him busy while the men sneaked in to rescue Books.

Maldynado pushed his hands through his hair. “I just don’t want Books getting killed because some crusty, magic-slinging Mangdorian wants revenge on Sicarius.”

Amaranthe froze. Maldynado had been close enough to hear her conversation with Sicarius.

Basilard halted his search and signed, What?

“That’s just a theory.” Amaranthe did not glare at Maldynado, not with Basilard watching, but she wanted to. “We don’t know why the shaman took Books. Keep looking for maps, please.”

She returned the accounting book to the cabinet and made a show of searching, hoping Basilard would not request clarification on Maldynado’s comment. But he joined her, face questioning.

Sicarius? His sign for Sicarius was a knife being drawn across his throat. Too apropos for the moment.

“The other shaman in the canyon recognized him.” Amaranthe spoke slowly to buy time to think. She did not want to lie to Basilard, especially not when she might be caught in that lie later, but to tell him the truth could irrevocably alienate him from Sicarius-or worse. Basilard would have been young when the Mangdorian royal family was slain, but not that young. Twenty, perhaps. He would remember the crime. “There was…loathing involved in that recognition,” she said.

Basilard nodded once, as if to say that was expected. Who didn’t feel that way about Sicarius?

“If this other shaman hates Sicarius for the same reason, maybe he wants him dead too.”

What Sicarius do? Basilard signed.

Amaranthe twitched a shoulder and forced herself to meet his eyes. “He’s irritated a lot of people in his career. He doesn’t tell me the details.” True, though she had a knack for finding those details out on her own.

Basilard watched her, and she tried not to squirm.

Before I see dead in dam, Basilard signed, I think…stay quiet…not speak of…Mangdorians. He grimaced, and Amaranthe could tell he was annoyed with the limited signs of his hand code. He held up a hand, found a paper and pencil stub, and returned. He wrote out the rest and handed it to her.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to betray my countrymen. I didn’t know what plot they were a part of, but my loyalty has never been to the empire. I have a lot of reason to hate the empire and Turgonians.

As if he knew exactly where she was on the page, Basilard touched the scar tissue at his throat. Amaranthe nodded and finished reading.