The Emperor's Edge (a high fantasy mystery in an era of steam) by Lindsay Buroker
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Amaranthe’s group arrived at the Oak Iron Smelter a half hour before midnight. The huge plant lay dormant, its massive smokestack black against a starry sky. Carts on railroad tracks walled in one side of a huge scrapyard that stretched for a block around the central building. Mountains of raw ore, scrap metal, and coal created snow-covered hills, and she led Books, Akstyr, and Maldynado into the valleys. All four of them carried swords, and Akstyr and Books toted the repeating crossbows taken from the enforcers. Sicarius had disappeared with the remaining crossbow before they arrived.
Amaranthe had left the majority of the counterfeit bills behind, stored amongst the rafters in the ice house. She carried a knapsack with a sample of their work, enough—she hoped—to give her adversaries cause for alarm.
As they walked, her kerosene lamp created a yellow sphere that wobbled along the ground litter. Silvery splashes of hardened metal glinted on a discarded mold. She stepped over food wrappers, scattered ore, and spilled slag. What snow melted during the day had frozen into ridges of icy slush that made the footing capricious. A cold breeze scraped at her cheeks, and her breath fogged the air.
“Maldynado, you’ll come with me to the meeting, where I need you to look big and imposing,” Amaranthe said.
“And dangerous?” Maldynado asked. “Like someone deserving a huge bounty on his head?”
“Precisely so. Books and Akstyr, I want you on top of the mountains of junk where you can see us and shoot at troublemakers if you need to. I’m hoping this won’t devolve into a fight, but if it does, be ready.”
“What’s Sicarius doing?” Akstyr asked.
“Being independent,” she said.
“How new for him.” Books lifted a finger. “May I speak with you for a moment, Amaranthe?”
They stepped away from the others and into the shadow of a warped flywheel.
She gave him a frank look. “If you’re going to tell me that I’d be better off with Sicarius by my side, I already tried to talk him into that. He has his own reasons for being here, but that’s fine. I know what I’m doing.” I think.
Books held out a fist full of crossbow quarrels. “I merely need to know how to load this contraption.”
“Oh.”
She plunked the quarrels into the magazine and showed him how use the lever to chamber new bolts. Books thanked her and jogged between two rubble heaps. Before disappearing from sight, he slipped on a frozen puddle and rammed his shoulder against a junk pile. Shards of metal rained down around him. He staggered to his feet, acknowledged his survival with a wave, and continued into the maze.
It’ll be a miracle if I walk out of here tonight without being shot by my own team.
Akstyr, too, disappeared into the scrapyard. Amaranthe and Maldynado resumed walking.
“If this doesn’t work out tonight...” he started.
“I’ve enjoyed working with you, too, Maldynado. You’ve been a tremendous help, and it’s been an honor knowing you.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Isn’t that the sort of thing you were going to say?” she asked.
“I just wanted to ask...” Maldynado cleared his throat. “If I get porcupined full of arrows tonight, could you tell my mother I died a hero?”
“Of course. And if this does work out, you never know, you could be a hero.”
“Like with a statue?”
“Sure, why not? The emperor is an artist. Maybe he’d design it himself.”
“That’d be a step up from a wanted poster,” Maldynado said. “As long as it isn’t a small statue.”
“Still miffed about the meagerness of your bounty?”
“Two hundred and fifty lousy ranmyas.” He kicked a rusted doorknob into a pile of equally rusted scrap metal.
The silver light of a quarter moon easing over the smelter made maneuvering through the metal heaps easier, so Amaranthe dimmed her lantern. They reached the center of the yard, a rubble-free area with a steam shovel quiescent on one side. Against the night sky, its tall silhouette reminded her of a skeleton she had seen in the Stumps Museum as a girl, the bones of a giant carnivorous reptile from a southern rainforest.
She deemed the clearing the most likely meeting place and tugged Maldynado into a shadowy nook where they could observe.
At midnight, voices sounded, accompanied by the clanking of mail armor. Amaranthe tried to count the people based on the sounds of their footfalls, but there were too many. Sicarius would know. He would probably know not only the numbers but the height and weight of each man. She wished she had him at her side, stern and dangerous as he glared at her foes.
Before she could decide whose troops approached, another collection of voices and clanking armor arose from the other side of the yard.
“You weren’t supposed to tell them to bring armies,” Maldynado whispered in her ear.
“I didn’t. Considering they’re both committing treason, I didn’t think they’d want to involve many people. Seems they’re more paranoid of each other than of revealing their secrets.”
The two parties entered Amaranthe’s vision. They met in the cleared space and faced off, Hollowcrest on one side, Larocka and Arbitan on the other. Fifteen to twenty armed fighters backed each party. They bristled with swords, muskets, and pistols. Apparently, neither side was concerned about the legality of the weapons choices. Several men carried lanterns as well, which illuminated the clearing but left the junk piles in the shadows.
“Sorry, Hollow,” Arbitan said with none of the respect the office of Commander of the Armies required. “You weren’t willing to put into place any of our reasonable requests, and we’ve decided the emperor must die. The Strat Tiles have already been laid, so it’s too late for whatever scheme you’ve thought up.”
“What are you talking about, you power-hungry commoner?” Hollowcrest glared. “You’re the one who wanted a meeting.”
The two men fell silent, staring at each other, gazes more frigid than the surrounding air. Larocka, arm-in-arm with Arbitan, whispered something in his ear.
A howl sounded in the distance. Amaranthe recognized it immediately. Arbitan’s lips curved into a disconcerting smile.
Amaranthe nudged Maldynado, cleared her throat, and approached the circle of light.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” She wanted to surprise no one, especially not the nervous guards with firearms, so she kept her movements slow. “I’m the one who sent the messages, Amaranthe Lokdon. Please forgive my presumptuousness, but I needed to speak with all three of you together.”
She paused at the edge of the light, making the third point of a triangle between herself, Hollowcrest, and the Forge duo. Sword drawn, Maldynado guarded her back.
“Aren’t you dead yet?” Hollowcrest asked, sounding far more annoyed than intrigued by her declaration.
“Indeed, I thought the enforcers I tipped off had slain you.” Arbitan sniffed and added, “What do you want that you didn’t find snooping around our house?”
A flicker of surprise crossed Larocka’s face at Arbitan’s words, but she recovered quickly and joined the two men in glaring at Amaranthe.
“I don’t think they like you,” Maldynado whispered.
Amaranthe waved him to silence. She had to lay out her proposition quickly, before one of the guards decided to fire a musket ball into her chest.
“I want the emperor to live—free of drugs—and be permitted to do the job the people depend on him to do. In order to ensure my wishes are fulfilled, I’ve printed five million ranmyas in counterfeit bills.” Closer to two million. “If you do not cease your manipulations—” she looked at Hollowcrest, “—and drop your assassination plans—” a look at Arbitan and Larocka, “—I will flood Stumps with this fake currency, and I will continue to make more until the entire monetary system of the empire is devalued. Hyperinflation will destroy the economy. If you kill me tonight, it will change nothing. My team will carry on.” Doubtful. “Even now, men are guarding the money.
Would any of them believe her?
A furrow between Hollowcrest’s lowered eyebrows suggested concern. Larocka wore an open-mouthed, appalled expression. The smug condescending smile on Arbitan’s face never wavered.
Amaranthe shrugged her knapsack off her shoulder and tossed it between the two parties. “To prove what I say is true, I’ve brought a small sample of my work. The paper isn’t quite the same, but every time we’ve used the bills, they’ve passed easily.” Well, Akstyr managed to buy pastries once.
Hollowcrest eyed the bag as if it writhed with live snakes. “You crawled out of my dungeon half-dead—no, dying—less than two weeks ago. You haven’t had time.”
“It’s amazing what a good team can accomplish,” Amaranthe said.
“What team?” Hollowcrest demanded. “You had nothing. I turned the enforcers against you. We confiscated everything in your apartment. You’re lying.”
Amaranthe extended her hand toward the bag. Any satisfaction she might have felt at Hollowcrest’s disbelief was dashed by the amusement on Arbitan’s face. Larocka looked alarmed at the prospect of economic upheaval, but Arbitan...pleased. If he was bluffing, he was doing an utterly convincing job. Why do I get the feeling he’s not fighting in the same ring as the rest of us?
“Let’s see if this young lady is in earnest.” Arbitan sauntered forward and plucked up the bag. He shuffled through its contents, withdrew a bill, and examined it near a lantern. “Excellent forgeries. I’d estimate at least thirty thousand ranmyas here.”
“We can’t let this happen,” Larocka said. “My investments—most of them are in Turgonia. Even global commerce would be affected. The imperial ranmya is the world’s anchor currency!”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” Hollowcrest said. “I’ve read the woman’s record; she’s not going to do anything illegal.” He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. Good.
“You’re wrong, sir,” Amaranthe said. “It’s true you have forced me to do something I would have once never considered, but I believe in what I’m doing. Illegal or not, I am committed.”
“How noble for you,” Arbitan said.
A faint click sounded on one of the nearby junk heaps. A crossbow quarrel zipped out of the darkness and struck Arbitan’s chest.
The air in front of him shimmered, and the bolt bounced off, as if it had hit metal.
Instead of crying out in pain or being thrown back, Arbitan merely smiled.
Hollowcrest’s eyes grew round. Amaranthe grimaced; it seemed her suspicions about Arbitan being a wizard were correct. But who had fired the shot? Sicarius?
“Emperor’s blood,” Maldynado whispered. “How are we supposed to—”
“Basilard!” Arbitan called. “How progresses the hunt?”
Amaranthe glanced around. Hollowcrest, too, searched about, brow furrowed. He waved and his men gathered closer about him.
Soon a reluctant shuffling of footsteps grew audible. Books and Akstyr marched into view, their crossbows and other weapons absent. Behind them came Arbitan’s shaven-headed security man and several more guards. Amaranthe spotted the confiscated weapons in their keeping. Apparently, Arbitan’s men had not found Sicarius. She did not know how much hope to place in that fact. Her plan had failed. What use did he have for her now?
“Take her.” Arbitan jerked his head at Amaranthe.
Guards surged around her.
She tensed, then slumped. Fighting so many would gain her nothing. Except death.
“As you wish,” Amaranthe said. “May I remind you, my men who stayed behind have orders to begin releasing the counterfeits in the morning if I don’t return. Assassinating the emperor and replacing him with some obedient sycophant will do little good if the empire’s economy is suffocating in a sewer. Killing me would be a mistake.”
“Don’t worry, girl,” Arbitan said. “You’ll tell me everything you know before I kill you, certainly enough for me to take over control of your little ploy.”
She noted the words take over instead of stop.
“Boss?” Body tense, Maldynado stood with his knuckles white on the hilt of his sword as the men approached.
“Do nothing,” Amaranthe said.
Arbitan flicked a finger at her, and guards grabbed her. Invasive hands searched for and removed weapons. The guards tied her wrists. The rope bit into her skin, cold and abrasive. She stared at the knots, trying not to see her bindings as the shackles of failure, trying not to feel as if the last two weeks had been for nothing.
Toying with a bit of rope, Arbitan considered Hollowcrest through slitted eyes, as if thinking of taking him prisoner as well. Perhaps Arbitan regarded the odds too even, for he merely said, “I’d get out of the city before the emperor’s birthday, Hollow. We’ve already made arrangements for his capture. You’ll just be in the way after the boy’s death. And I’m sure you know what happens to people who get in the way.”
“Dungeons and death warrants,” Amaranthe growled.
Hollowcrest, Arbitan, and Larocka started arguing, but the guards dragged Amaranthe away before she could hear anything vital. So glad I could set up a meeting for them....