Lindsay Buroker - The Emperor's edge
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- Название:The Emperor's edge
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“Pretentious architect,” Amaranthe muttered.
“What did you say?” the guard asked.
“Such beautiful artwork.”
The guard grunted dubiously.
The gold-gilded double doors groaned open of their own accord, powered by some hidden machinery. A single hallway stretched away to a distant exit point with dozens of doors lining either side. The decorating style continued on the inside-gaudy but consistent in its reverence toward the warrior. Periodic alcoves featured more statues of ancient heroes, some naked and locked in wrestling matches, others wearing the weapons and armor of their times. They all had clunky, unrealistic features. Her people might be peerless engineers, but great artists they were not.
Weapons from different epochs perched between gas lamps on the walls. Amaranthe’s fingers twitched toward her handkerchief when she noticed one still exhibiting bloodstains. Yes, let’s erase eight hundred years of history with a swipe of a rag. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and resolutely stared straight ahead as she walked.
Her escort led her a long way before stairs branched off, one set leading up, another down. They climbed to the third floor and stopped before a guarded door. Amaranthe’s guide left her to deal with the soldier alone. Fortunately, he must have had orders to admit her, for he pushed the door open wordlessly and gestured for her to enter.
“Thank you,” Amaranthe murmured, though she hesitated before going in. A bead of sweat snaked down her ribcage.
Show some fortitude, girl.
Shoulders back, she strode into the office. Her boots thudded on a cold hardwood floor. The room’s utilitarian furniture was neatly arranged, but the crooked and curling maps papering the walls made Amaranthe want to start rearranging tacks. A coal-burning stove glowed cherry in one corner. It was the only warm thing in the room.
The white-haired man behind the desk had easily seen seventy years, but he still possessed the fit frame of a soldier. His sharp features were humorless. His black eyes glittered behind glasses that did nothing to distort their iciness.
So, this is the one who teaches the Disapproving Stare class. Amaranthe dropped her gaze to the folders and papers stacked haphazardly on his desk. She clasped her hands behind her back to keep from tidying the clutter. He probably did not approve of people touching his belongings. He probably doesn’t approve of people breathing. No wonder such gloom had draped the emperor; with this man as an adviser, there were probably not many laughs at meetings.
“Corporal Lokdon,” Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good of you to come so promptly.” Spoken by another, the words might have sounded friendly, but the man’s sarcastic edge dulled the effect.
Amaranthe shifted her weight. A floorboard creaked.
“You’re wondering why I called you here,” Hollowcrest said.
“Yes, sir.”
He shuffled papers, then opened a folder. “I’ve been looking over your records. You have a halfway decent education, though you didn’t finish the last term at the Mildawn Business School for Women.” He pushed the top page over to look at another. “That’s the year your coal miner father died of Black Lung Disease. All that money he must have scrimped to send you to that school, and you didn’t finish. Instead you lied about your age, took the enforcer entrance exam, and signed up for the academy. Have I got it right, so far?”
“I couldn’t afford to finish school, sir,” Amaranthe said stiffly. “My father was sick for months before he died, and he didn’t get any pay during that time. I worked, and took care of him, and went to school until he passed away, but I couldn’t afford to pay the tuition and rent on a flat after that.”
“I see.”
Amaranthe felt as if she were balancing on the frozen lake. Might a hole open up beneath her and suck her in? It wasn’t surprising that Hollowcrest had access to all her background information, but it alarmed her that he had bothered to look into it. What had she done to warrant such scrutiny? Surely she was not here because she had lied about her age seven years ago.
“You chose a hard road,” Hollowcrest said. “A female enforcer is rare, even if it’s allowed now. Why not work for someone in business or start your own? It seems to be the trend for educated women these days.” His last sentence came with a faint sneer.
She supposed a man of Hollowcrest’s age remembered the time when women had been free of ambition beyond birthing future soldiers. She knew their growing financial clout alarmed the conservatives, but her ambitions were not business-related. Why would he bring it up now?
“I went to that school because it was what my father wanted,” she said. “I never cared much for business.”
“No? Your marks suggest otherwise.”
“I didn’t mind the lessons. Just the ultimate goal seemed…shallow. I want to serve the throne, not my own pockets. I want to be the first female enforcer chief in the empire, sir, to be somebody that history remembers.”
Hollowcrest frowned. Wrong answer, but why? Amaranthe shifted her weight again, still struggling to gain her balance in this conversation.
The old man flipped a few more pages on his desk, tendons jumping on the backs of his creased bronze hands. Coals shifted in the stove. Surreptitiously, Amaranthe wiped moist hands on the sides of her trousers.
“Would you be interested in an independent assignment?” Hollowcrest finally asked. “Something that would challenge you?”
The breath caught in Amaranthe’s throat. Had all these questions been not an interrogation but an interview? She found herself balancing on her toes. “Sir?”
Hollowcrest leaned back in his chair. “Have you ever heard of an outlaw named Sicarius?”
“Yes, sir. He’s an assassin, wanted for crimes against the empire.”
“An understatement. In the last five years, he’s been responsible for the deaths of some three hundred imperial soldiers, two hundred enforcers from various cities around the empire, half a dozen patriarchs from the warrior caste, thirteen city officials…”
As the list continued, Amaranthe’s jaw went slack. Neither the number nor depth of these crimes were listed on the wanted bulletin. Likely it was in his enforcer record, but assassins weren’t something a patroller dealt with, and she had never been asked to look him up.
“He’s suspected of collusion with both the Kendorians and the Nurians,” Hollowcrest said. “And just two months ago, he assassinated Satrap Governor Lumous.”
“I’d heard about that death, sir. The papers said it was an accident.”
“Yes, Lumous accidentally earned someone’s wrath and had a dagger stuck in his back,” Hollowcrest said. “Our enemies read our papers. Naturally we don’t confess details that could make the Turgonian Empire appear weak.”
“Naturally, sir,” Amaranthe said, trying not to look too appalled. “What was he doing before?”
“What?” Hollowcrest asked.
“You said Sicarius had done all this in the last five years. What was he doing before then? All those nefarious accomplishments don’t sound like the work of someone young and up-and-coming.”
For a moment, Hollowcrest considered her through half-lidded eyes. Perhaps deciding if she were worthy of some secret he might have to divulge? But all he said was, “I believe he’s in his mid-thirties. His origins are unknown.”
Amaranthe opened her mouth to ask another question, but Hollowcrest cut her off.
“You may have heard he’s recently arrived in the city,” he said. “He’s known to be hirable for assassinations, so his presence here is disturbing. Sespian’s nineteenth birthday celebration is coming up in a few weeks, a massive event with guests and diplomats from all over the world. I fear it might also provide a venue for a showy assassination.”
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