Emperor's Edge Republic (15 page)

The colonel made a sort of throat-strangling noise, which he covered with a cough. Odd man.

“It’s a role?” Starcrest asked.

“He
is
brighter than he lets on,” Amaranthe said.

“Very well. Go along with Mahliki’s team and lend her your assistance,” Starcrest said. “I’d also like a salvage team to try and get the sub off the bottom of the lake, so I can see if it can be repaired. The sub would be much preferable to the diving suits for underwater operations.”

Amaranthe grimaced. Even Sicarius’s emotionless face seemed to grow a touch paler.

“Dak, will you see if you can get a wrecker out there for that?” Starcrest finished.

The colonel pushed away from the railing. “I don’t know if that’s in my job description exactly—don’t you have presidential aides wandering around somewhere?—but I’ll do it if
you
promise you won’t be out there tinkering with that sub when it gets pulled up. You have more important things to handle. Like the Nurians. And those diplomats. And don’t forget my report on all those zealots in robes that are crawling out of the cracks in the mortar, trying to found some new religion, now that it’s not expressly forbidden.”

“My aides aren’t military men,” Starcrest said, “as we’re trying to incorporate more civilians into the government. You’re a better liaison for dealing with the marines.”

“Lucky me.”

Maldynado eyed the colonel more closely, wondering why he didn’t “My Lord” or “Mister President” Starcrest. Someone who had known him a long time? A relative? Even twenty years younger, he wasn’t as handsome a man as Starcrest, of course the missing eye put a maggot in the apple of his looks too. But Maldynado supposed there might be a resemblance in the jawline and build.

Starcrest must have considered the matter settled, for he nodded at Sespian and asked, “May I see that arrow?”

“Do you recognize the style?” Sicarius asked.

Starcrest accepted the arrow. “A Nurian design, albeit not their typical military issue one. One of the smaller independent sects, perhaps?” He held it up for the colonel’s perusal. “You don’t know what part of the country the assassin your men spotted is from, do you?”

“Not yet. I will.”

“You’re not thinking of going hunting, are you?” Amaranthe murmured to Sicarius, who was listening intently to the talk of assassins.

Sicarius looked into her eyes. “If Sespian is the target, I am.”

“Ah, but it seems I’m not.” Sespian pointed to the note. “Remember?”

“You may become a target if you choose not to redeem her favor.”

“That was in the note you mentioned?” Starcrest said. “May I see it?”

“Of course.” Sespian handed it to him. “That’s why I came. I thought to ask your wife for a translation.”

Starcrest studied the message. “The language is familiar, isn’t it? I might have seen it in the war, intercepting a message or two.” He stared at it, then massaged his forehead, and handed the note back. “The memory eludes me now.”

The colonel, standing behind Starcrest, frowned at this admission.

“Mahliki, take them up to see your mother, please,” Starcrest said. “And then you’d best get some rest before pursuing your mission. That plant is dangerous.”

“We saw the bodies,” Amaranthe said. “Or what was left of them. How many has it killed? Is it some wizard’s spawn? Or might this assassin have an aptitude for botany?”

“Bodies?” Starcrest glanced at the colonel again.

The man stroked his chin. “There have been several reports of missing persons, but we haven’t found any bodies. If it’s killing people, it’s doing so when nobody’s watching.”

“So long as you don’t mess with the buds,” Mahliki said, sharing a significant look with Sespian.

Maldynado wondered what he had volunteered for. He had better do some research before returning to his flat.

“There were bodies—body parts—floating among beds of seaweed in the lake,” Amaranthe said. “An unfamiliar version of seaweed. The clumps might have come off the plant.”

“I see,” Starcrest said. “Mahliki, take as many men and swords with you as you think you might need. More than you think... What are you doing?”

Mahliki had unbuttoned her jacket, lifted the flap, and had her nose to her armpit as she investigated some hidden pocket.

“Listening to you,” she said brightly, lifting her head.

Starcrest’s grunt sounded dubious.

“And finding a sample for Ms. Lokdon.” Mahliki held out a vial with a dried green husk inside.

Before she let the flap of her jacket fall shut, Maldynado glimpsed several other vials and... were those scissors? And tweezers? A scalpel? Mahliki closed the jacket before he could identify other tools.

Amaranthe accepted the vial and walked over to a gas lamp with Sicarius a step behind. They examined the specimen under the light.

“You carry plant samples around with you?” Maldynado asked.

“You haven’t noticed that she clinks when she walks?” Sespian asked.

Mahliki threw him a quick glance, perhaps wondering if this was a criticism or not, then shrugged. “I carry all manner of tools around with me. A lady must be prepared whenever she chances across an interesting specimen. I’m certain that’s not that uncommon.”

“I
have
heard other women make similar statements,” Maldynado said, “but usually the
tools
they carry around are mint candies, perfumes, and makeup kits, and the specimens they’re interested in are male.”

“Plants have male and female parts.” Mahliki withdrew a small pair of scissors. “I’ll snip a sample of anything.”

Maldynado shifted his pelvis away from her. He wondered what her father thought of her snipping male parts, but Starcrest and the colonel had moved away from the group to discuss something.

Amaranthe and Sicarius returned and handed the vial back to Mahliki.

“It is the same plant,” Sicarius said.

Amaranthe shrugged. “You’ll have to take his word for it. I was too busy being distressed by the severed limbs and the vines sticking out of the eye socket of the half-eaten skull.” She shuddered.

“It was your choice to forego the hug,” Sicarius murmured softly—Maldynado blinked because he wasn’t certain he had heard correctly.

Amaranthe smiled up at him. “Those offers of physical comfort are so rare that I figure I should save them for when I really need them.”

The look Sicarius gave her was only slightly less non-emotive than the rest of his looks, but she must have read something in it, for her smile broadened.

Maldynado could
not
imagine those two in bed. Frankly, he couldn’t imagine any woman in Sicarius’s bed—or Sicarius with a bed for that matter. During their year working together, he had seen Sicarius sleep on the ground, in tree branches, on rooftops, and on ceiling beams, but never in something so sybaritic as a bed. It took a unique woman to appreciate a man like that.

“All should be set for the morning,” Starcrest said, returning to the group. “Sespian, I forgot to mention it—” a faint wince crossed his face again, “—but congratulations on the winning design for the presidential residence. I admit I was of a mind
not
to choose your entry, lest it be construed as nepotism of a sort, but Tikaya informed me that it would be just as unfair to ignore your entry because we know you. She insisted that a blind judging was called for and brought in three art and architecture professors from the university to aid in the selection process.”

“I must give her my thanks then,” Sespian said.

“Give her the arrow and the note,” Starcrest suggested. “She’ll consider a mystery to solve an even greater reward.”

“Work over flattery?”

“Just so.” Starcrest nodded to them all. “It is good to see you. I’ll leave you to the receptionists who will find rooms for those without abodes elsewhere.”

Maldynado wondered if he should accept a room in the hotel. Evrial wasn’t treating him frostily, but she
had
accepted a number of double shifts, and he worried she was avoiding him. No, he would go home and offer love and support—and brilliant sex—thus to tempt her to remain in the city. Her rural hometown couldn’t compete with that. He hoped.

“The diplomat?” the colonel prompted.

“Oh, yes.” Starcrest had started to turn away, but he faced Amaranthe again. “Your Mangdorian friend has returned from his homeland.”

“Basilard?” Maldynado nearly bounced—he hadn’t known when he would see Basilard again, if ever.

“Yes. He’ll want to see you all, I’m certain. He’s in room... two thirty-eight.” Starcrest glanced at the colonel. For... verification? His man nodded back.

“Thank you, My Lord,” Amaranthe said. “It’ll be good to see him again.”

“Tikaya also has a letter for you from Akstyr.”

Amaranthe beamed. Maldynado couldn’t imagine anything particularly long or effusive flowing from Akstyr’s pen. Professor Komitopis’s mother—and Akstyr’s landlord, the last Maldynado had heard—had probably insisted he send the missive.

With the news delivered, and the arrow mystery still waiting to be decoded, people said their goodnights. Starcrest hugged his daughter, murmured a few words—eliciting a promise to be careful—then departed with the colonel, saying, “Alas, more work to do before bed.” Amaranthe and Sicarius went with Sespian and Mahliki to search for Professor Komitopis, promising they would stop by to see Basilard soon. Though Maldynado was curious about the assassin, he had missed Basilard, so he trotted up the stairs to the second level right away. If Evrial chose to leave the city without him... Maldynado might have more need of a comrade to drink and game with than ever.

Nodding to himself, he knocked on the door to 238.

Naturally, no one called out with a “just a minute.” Nor did he hear footsteps, but Basilard moved about almost as silently as Sicarius, so that wasn’t unexpected, either.

The door opened, and Maldynado grinned like a mindless dandy at the familiar face. “Hullo, Bas. I heard you were in town.”

Basilard returned the grin and stepped forward for a hug. They parted, and Maldynado studied his friend. It had only been three months, but Basilard appeared... more stately than before. Maybe it was the clothing. Instead of the ill-fitting cotton and wool cast-offs he had often worn as an outlaw, he was dressed in supple suede trousers and fringed moccasins. A Mangdorian style, Maldynado assumed, though he hadn’t met many of the people besides Basilard. His tunic was suede, too, dyed a simple off-white and resting beneath a vest made from shaggy dark fur. A heavy brass chain hung around his neck with a thick rectangular medallion engraved with a hunter holding a spear and crouching beneath a sunburst.

My badge of office
, Basilard explained, his fingers flickering in the hand signs he had always used to talk to the group. His clothing might have improved, but the months had done nothing to fix the scar tissue at his throat, nor the briar patch of old gashes crisscrossing his shaven head. Those scars would always be there, and some on his heart as well.

“Yes,” Maldynado said, “I hear you’re a diplomat now. Assigned by your government, I presume? Someone high up in the rankings?”

Basilard nodded.

“How did you earn such an esteemed position?”

Nobody else wanted to deal with the Turgonians.

Maldynado grunted. There was probably a degree of truth in that, but... “There must be more than that. What about your daughter? Did you see her?”

Basilard’s hand rocked side to side in a sort-of motion.
Come in. I will explain. This room came with enough liquor to stock a bar. You are welcome to indulge, if you like.

“I shouldn’t indulge too much,” Maldynado said, ambling toward the cabinet Basilard had pointed out. “It looks like I’ll be hopping into a diving suit tomorrow. It’s been a few months since I was nearly killed by some carnivorous underwater monster, so I figured it was time again.” True, this wasn’t
quite
what he’d had in mind when he came to ask for a job... but if he helped out, something more appealing might come his way. And maybe someone would talk Sicarius and Amaranthe into coming along. That would make things safer. Or more interesting, anyway. Watching someone snip female and—he shuddered—male plant specimens all day might be tedious if nothing interesting happened.

Basilard signed,
Diving suits? To examine that plant in the harbor?

“Yes. It’s a beastly thing. I have the hat.”

Basilard blinked.
The hat?

“Yes, to prove that I survived its incursion. That’s what the merchant said anyway. I simply found it intriguing. I was going to wear it here tonight, but Sespian suggested something more sedate for a meeting with the president.” Maldynado poured two snifters of apple brandy. “I don’t know. Starcrest looked tired and grim. A vine-covered hat might have amused him.”

I did not think I would ever say—
sign
—this, but I have missed the team’s exploits.

“I bet you could come with us. Starcrest seemed concerned about letting his daughter go down there without a lot of hulking men around to protect her. Though after seeing her twirl those specimen-collecting scissors, I’m not sure how much help she needs.”

Basilard’s blue eyes twinkled.
Little, I would guess. Remember the ship?
He waved in the direction of Fort Urgot, where the ancient craft had ultimately been destroyed in the sky.

“How could I forget it? But, Bas, confession time. How’d you
really
get this gig?” Maldynado handed him one of the glasses. “Look at this room. It’s posh. Quite an upgrade from underground pumping stations and the like, eh? But how are you going to be diplomatic with anyone when so few people can understand your hand signs?”

I have an assistant.
Basilard’s smile turned smug.
She has her own room. Also posh.

“No kidding? A Mangdorian? Someone who’s learned your extra signs? And can translate? And did you say
she
? Is she sexy? Does she like you?” Maldynado faltered as a thought rushed into his mind. “Er, it’s not your daughter, is it?”