“Here’s the plan: I’ll go in and palaver while you surround them.”
“Surround them,” he said. “By myself.”
“Sicarius,” Amaranthe said quietly.
He bent low, eyes toward her face.
With the men laughing and talking up front, and the lorry clacking and chugging as the stack billowed black smoke into the air, this was scarcely a romantic spot. But maybe it did not matter. His response would not likely be to wrap her in his arms and kiss her. Whatever response he gave — if he gave one at all — she anticipated it would sting.
“I…uhm…” Amaranthe forced herself to meet his gaze. “I love you.”
A long moment passed. She did not remember breathing.
Sicarius nodded infinitesimally. “I know.”
“My father used to say some families are made by shared blood and some families are made by spilled blood”
“Just so I'm clear...you thought a brothel would be a suitable place to host a birthday party for a woman?”
“Well?” she asked.
“Well, what?”
“You’re not going to answer?”
“You didn’t ask a question.”
“I did too.”
“A question is denoted by a higher pitched tone at the end of the sentence. Your voice never did that.”
Curse him, his eyes glinted with amusement. “Sicarius! This isn’t the time for you to practice being whimsical.”
“Consider ourselves fortunate."
Maldynado's jaw slackened. "How so?"
"Amaranthe's birthday is next week and, with our limited funds, I didn't think I'd be able to find her a gift."
"So, you're getting her...dead bodies?"
"Perfect, don't you think?" Books smiled.
"Most women like jewelry and flowers."
"Do you honestly believe she would prefer jewelry over a mystery to solve?"
Maldynado jiggled the key fob thoughtfully, then nodded toward the bodies. "Can we say one is from me?”
“You’re an awful conversationalist,” Amaranthe said. “How is it possible I prefer spending time with you?”
“Most people don’t want to talk to assassins.”
“I’m a unique individual.”
“Yes,” he said, deadpan.
“I’m never quite sure if you’re complimenting me…or not.”
His eyes glinted as they passed a streetlamp. “Good.”
“Sicarius, are you ready for a hike?”
She faced him only to find he had armed himself—more so than usual. In addition to his daggers and throwing knives, he held two rifles, two pistols, two cargo belts laden with ammo pouches, and a bag of his smoke grenades.
“Or a single-handed all-out assault on the forest?”
“You never say what I wish you’d say, and you frequently say nothing at all when it’s clear you should say something, so it’s not entirely fantastical that you’d say a certain thing when you mean something else entirely.” He opened his mouth, shut it, and considered the ground briefly before responding. “I remember studying Fleet Admiral Starcrest’s Mathematical Probabilities Applied to Military Strategies as a young boy and finding that less confusing than what you just said.” Now it was her turn for a stunned pause before answering. “Sicarius?” She laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Was that a joke?” “A statement of fact.”
“We care about you.”
Books snorted. “You, I believe do. The others, less so.”
“Maldynado would be bored if he didn’t have you to trade insults with.”
“I see. And Sicarius?”
“Ah, he believes you’re progressing with your training.”
“And that’s equivalent to caring about me?” Books asked.
“Most people he ignores. Or kills.”
“True.”
“Nobody wants to be interrogated in his brothel suit”
“If trailing along with me is boring you,” she said, “you could go check on Books and Maldynado in the real estate office.”
He did not speak at first, and she thought he might be considering it, but then he said, “My presence unnerves Books.”
“Your presence unnerves everyone.”
Amaranthe grinned over her shoulder to soften the comment. “Not you,” Sicarius said.
“No, but I’m told my sanity is questionable.” She wriggled her eyebrows at him.”
“I wouldn’t go for a swim without consulting you first. But, given your past history working for Hollowcrest and skulking around dark places, I wonder if you have any insight into these tunnels.”
“Skulking?”
“Yes, is that not what assassins call it?”
“We call it working.”
“What are you doing?” Sicarius’s voice floated from his tree perch.
“The usual night-watch activities.” She tried to keep her tone light. Neither the creepy forest nor the creepy wolves were going to make her nervous, thank you very much.
“Staying awake, counting trees, throwing fire at wolves with glowing eyes.”
“He studied her, as if she were some exotic specimen of fish he’d pulled up from the lake depths and he was deciding whether to keep her or throw her back.”
“She let Sicarius lead since he had that knack for getting people to move out of his way without doing anything. Amaranthe, on the other hand, received elbows in the ribs or suggestive jostles from drunken men. Maybe she should try wearing all black and glaring more often.”
“Many people make devices that can be used for good or evil. You cannot blame the blacksmith when the swords he crafts are used to kill.”
“You’re not—” “Fast enough? Strong enough? Agile enough?” She did not necessarily disagree, but she wanted him to have faith she could do this. “Expendable,” Sicarius said.”
“A hint of annoyance hardened Sicarius’s dark eyes, and Books imagined him thinking, I can’t leave for five minutes without you getting into trouble…”
“Yes,” Sicarius said. “We must act alone. And soon. You may be dead by morning.”
“Have I mentioned how endearing your bluntness is?”
“Sure, you want me to be able to heal you if wolves attack again, right?”
“Won’t you find that hard to do if you’re here, and I’m five miles up the trail, bleeding to death?”
“Basilard, can you cover our trail?”
Basilard rubbed his head dubiously. Maldynado, Books, and Akstyr leave trail like marching army.”
“Someone's coming," Sicarius said. "They heard we have raccoon vomit for breakfast," Akstyr muttered.”
“Is that a page from the dastardly villain’s diary?” Maldynado asked. “One carelessly dropped that conveniently reveals the secret to destroying these vile artifacts?” “It’s an invoice.” “Villains get bills?”
“It’s probably unwise to clean the house you’re illegally trespassing in, assuming you don’t want the person to know you were there.” “I’ve heard that.” Amaranthe clasped her hands behind her back. “Though, if people invaded my home, I’d view the intrusion with less animosity if they dusted while they were there.”
“Decision's made?" Sicarius called over the pumping pistons of the engine. "They're closing on us quickly."
"My grandmother on a bicycle could close on us quickly," Maldynado said. "This slag heap was probably the first model ever made.”
“That came out of one of the men’s pockets, didn’t it?” “Bald and Stubby, yeah.” “Nice of you to create such respectful names for the corpses,”
“One probably should not form opinions about people based on the cleanliness of their workspace, but she promptly liked this Telnola more than Ms. Klume. Of”
“Ree needed often to inject herself with pleasant sounds, stab those sounds past the constant screeching, squalling hubbub regular life raised inside her spirit, poke the soothing sounds past that racket and down deep where her jittering soul paced on a stone slab in a gray room, agitated and endlessly provoked but yearning to hear something that might bring a moment’s rest.”
“In the fairy tales there's only one Big Bad Wolf and the little girl takes only one trip through the Dark Forest and fights only one fight for her life before the story ends in happily and ever after. But life on the Calle is real, not make-believe, and every Calle girl knows that once the My-What-Big-Paws-You-Have fall on her skin, Little Red will carry that scent no matter how hard she scrubs. From that point on, every wolf in the every forest of her very real life will recognize her and they'll do their Biggest and Baddest to get into her basket anytime she drops her guard. So be prepared. We're not out of the woods yet.”
“If the ancients had been able to see it as I see it now, Mr. Palomar thinks, they would have thought they had projected their gaze into the heaven of Plato's ideas, or in the immaterial space of the postulates of Euclid; but instead, thanks to some misdirection or other, this sight has been granted to me, who fear it is too beautiful to be true, too gratifying to my imaginary universe to belong to the real world. But perhaps it is this same distrust of our senses that prevents us from feeling comfortable in the universe. Perhaps the first rule I must impose on myself is this: stick to what I see.”
“I wanted to pull down a book, open it proper, and gobble up page after page”
“Like him, Uncle had eccentric tastes and liked old things. The difference, Silas was beginning to see, was that Uncle saw such objects as extensions of himself, of his body, essential, required, uniquely his. This thought made Silas uneasy.”
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