Conspiracy, Page 3

  People came into view on a loading dock in front of the structure, and Sicarius dropped to his belly. Reluctantly, Amaranthe lay down beside him, propping up on her forearms, so less of her torso touched the icy metal. She deliberately pressed her side against Sicarius.

  He gave her a look she couldn’t decipher.

  “There are times when I’d like to know what you’re thinking,” Amaranthe said. “Right now, for example. Are you thinking, ‘Why is she touching me when she hasn’t bathed in three days?’ or is it more like, ‘Hm, that’s nice, maybe we should try cuddling some time’?”

  Sicarius withdrew a collapsible spyglass from a pocket.

  Amaranthe sighed. “I see. You were thinking, ‘Which pocket did I leave my spyglass in?’”

  She focused on the scene coming into view ahead. The prospect of a mystery usually filled her with enthusiasm—and she was curious about what was going on here—but they already had a mission to focus on. They didn’t need something new right now.

  “You smell good,” Sicarius said.

  Amaranthe’s mouth fell open. “What?”

  “What I was thinking.”

  Sicarius hadn’t lowered the spyglass, and he continued scanning while she gaped at him.

  “I do?” Amaranthe asked. They’d been on the train for three days and not only did it not have bathing facilities, it didn’t even have a latrine. She did what she could with her canteen and a washcloth, but his words were a surprise for more reasons than one.

  “Cherry blossoms and almond bark,” Sicarius said.

  Oh. That was the shampoo Amaranthe liked. Huh. She didn’t find it amazing that he could identify the scents, but that he bothered to mention it was a first. Maybe there was hope for him after all. “Thanks. You smell good too.” She winced. What an idiotic thing to say. “I mean compared to Books and Basilard anyway.” Ugh, that wasn’t any better.

  Sicarius lowered the spyglass and handed it to her without comment. Maybe it was better that he usually kept his thoughts to himself.

  Under magnification, Amaranthe could make out six men milling on the loading dock. A clock hanging from the eaves read three a.m. Lanterns burned outside, but none lit up the inside of the building. In fact, the front door was shut with a heavy lock hanging from the latch. A rusty heavy lock. Curls of peeling paint adorned the building’s wooden siding, and a hornet’s nest hung near the clock.

  “Interesting,” she murmured.

  Sicarius touched her shoulder and pointed into the dark fields. Two pairs of lights were winding through the foliage. Amaranthe peered through the spyglass, but night hid the details.

  “Lorries?” she guessed. “Coming to pick up cargo?”

  “Perhaps,” Sicarius said.

  Despite her earlier thought that they didn’t need a new mission right now, a tendril of anticipation curled through her belly. Maybe they had stumbled upon something good.

  Or, her practical side said, maybe there was nothing strange going on. This could simply be the only time of day when the train could deliver its cargo. Still, a legitimate delivery should have been on the manifest Books had copied from the train station.

  “If it looks like they’re going to remove greenhouse kits,” Amaranthe said, “we’ll have to get the men, gather our belongings, and clear out quickly.” They had packs and weapons down there, and, before bed, she had noticed more than one pair of underwear draped about to dry after a hand-washing. Wouldn’t that be a lovely thing for some farmers to find hanging from their expensive, imported equipment? At least her group was more hygienic than most.

  Amaranthe and Sicarius ducked their heads as the train glided to a stop, carrying the locomotive and their car past the loading dock. The lights in the field drew closer, bringing the rumble of steam lorries.

  Amaranthe pointed the spyglass in that direction again. Two large vehicles bumping along a rough dirt road came to a stop by the building. A man in the closest cab said something to those on the loading dock. Dusty brown canvas hid the cargo areas from view, but the vehicles did not appear to be anything more interesting than farm wagons. A sign on one door read Doranthe’s Pumpkins and Squash.

  Two men climbed out of the first truck, wearing farmers’ overalls and wool shirts. Those on the loading dock hopped down, and a couple approached the train to open the rolling door of a freight car.

  “That’s an empty one,” Sicarius said.

  “You’re sure?” From their position on top of the roof, they couldn’t see inside, but Amaranthe wouldn’t be surprised if Sicarius had inspected all of the hundred-odd cars during the days they had been on board. He had to do something while he was avoiding being social with the group. In response to her question, he gave her an are-you-truly-doubting-me look. “Yes,” she said, “of course you are.”

  The people on the ground directed the lorries to turn around, and one backed toward the open freight door. A couple of men climbed inside the rail car.

  Amaranthe looked toward the front of the train, wondering if the engineer would come out of the locomotive. As far as she knew, he and his fireman were the only crew members. But nothing stirred up there beyond the plumes of smoke wafting from the stack.

  Sicarius took the spyglass back. Men rolled up the flap on the back of the lorry, and Amaranthe blinked. It wasn’t an empty bed awaiting cargo. It was stuffed to the brim with...

  “Are those rifles?” she whispered.

  Two men climbed into the truck and started handing bundles to someone on the ground who passed the load to the men in the train. They definitely looked like rifles, shiny, new ones at that.

  “That’s not the sort of produce one expects from a pumpkin patch,” Amaranthe whispered.

  Next to her, Sicarius lay still, eye pressed to the spyglass, intent on the scene below. “Those aren’t percussion-cap or flintlock weapons.”

  “Oh?” Amaranthe remembered stumbling across new military technology during a brief mission the summer before, but she’d thought those had been prototypes, weapons that were heavily guarded behind army fortress walls, not roaming the countryside in beat-up farm lorries.

  “Cartridge-based guns where the powder and charge are self-contained in the bullet,” Sicarius said. “They appear to be able to hold multiple rounds.”

  Amaranthe thought of the repeating crossbow in the train with her gear. One of the reasons she kept it—aside from the fact that, inside the city, black-powder weapons were outlawed to all except military personnel—was that it could hold five quarrels as opposed to the single shot capability most rifles and pistols offered.

  Sicarius handed her the spyglass for a closer look. More bundles of sleek rifles went into the train, followed by crates of ammunition. Two men worked together to lift something larger out of the lorry. It resembled a cannon on a frame with two big wooden wheels, but it had multiple barrels and a hand-crank.

  “Advanced artillery weapons as well,” Amaranthe murmured. “This train is on its way back to the city after its last stop. These people will have a hard time unloading that cargo in the main train yard.”

  “Perhaps the engineer will make another detour,” Sicarius said.

  Amaranthe lowered the spyglass, amazed as more and more rifles and artillery devices were transferred into the train. “That’s a lot of weapons. You don’t think someone is... planning to occupy the city, do you?” It was hard to imagine. With Fort Urgot so close and with more soldiers stationed in the Imperial Barracks, how could anyone come up with the numbers necessary? There were a million people in the capital, half of them men. Most Turgonian men knew how to fight and were darned patriotic about doing it too.

  Of course, a force with superior firepower would have an advantage. What if this was only one of many shipments of advanced weapons heading into the city?

  “I can question the engineer,” Sicarius said.

  Amaranthe grimaced, knowing he did not differentiate between questioning and interrogation. “He’s probably just some paid-off lac
key who doesn’t know much.”

  She felt Sicarius’s gaze upon her. Was she putting feelings about torture and killing ahead of pragmatism again? Sicarius’s ways were heartless, but effective.

  “He knows where the train is going,” Sicarius said.

  “So will we, if we stay on it. Although... I’d like to know where those weapons originated, wouldn’t you? Maybe we could sneak into one of those wagons for a ride back to... wherever they came from.”

  “We already have a mission to prepare for,” Sicarius said.

  “We’ll have plenty of time to get back to the city and catch the train to Forkingrust, just as we planned. This should only be a short detour.” Amaranthe waved to the pumpkin sign on the cab door. “Those trucks look local.”

  Sicarius’s gaze grew flinty. Amaranthe doubted he was thinking about her hair this time.

  “We’ll take a quick look around, that’s all,” she said. “If there’s something worth investigating further, we can save that for after we get Sespian.”

  “He must be the priority.”

  “He is,” Amaranthe said, “though I’m sure he would put the city ahead of his personal welfare.”

  Sicarius eyed the lorries, his jaw set. “If we do not finish in a timely manner, I will go get him on my own.”

  Amaranthe had no intention of letting that happen—though he might get Sespian, his way would surely involve a lot of bloodshed—but she said, “I understand. I’ll wake the others.”

  “What’s going on?” Books asked, when Amaranthe slipped back through the trapdoor.

  “An interesting development,” she whispered. “Is everyone up?”

  “I’m up,” Maldynado said, “though I’m disturbed that I woke to someone—who wasn’t a woman—massaging my chest.”

  “Not me,” Akstyr said.

  “You’re not a woman or you weren’t massaging me?” Maldynado asked.

  “That’s three people awake,” Amaranthe said. “Basilard?”

  A patting hand found her shoulder. Basilard. It must be hard on him, not being able to communicate in the dark, but she dared not light a lantern with so many men outside.

  “Good.” Amaranthe patted his hand back. “Akstyr, Maldynado, and Basilard, I want you to stay on the train. It’s taking on a secret shipment of advanced weaponry, and I want to know where it gets delivered. We’ll meet you back at the Stumps hideout as soon as possible, so we can get ready for the kidnapping mission.”

  Basilard gripped her shoulder to let her know he agreed.

  “All right,” Akstyr said. He did not sound excited, but he didn’t complain about taking on a job where payment wouldn’t be involved either. Unusual for him.

  “Back to the city is good,” Maldynado said. “Someone here needs a woman.”

  “Dolt,” Books said, “you were probably massaging yourself.”

  “Books,” Amaranthe said before their conversation could grow any more colorful. “Come with Sicarius and me, please. We’re going to sneak aboard the lorries and see where the guns came from.” She was tempted to send him with the others since stealth wasn’t his strongest skill, but his knowledge might prove useful in figuring out what was going on.

  “How delightful,” Books said. “Field work.”

  Amaranthe smiled. Though she might never get enthusiasm from him for such a project, at least he did not sound nervous or intimidated by the task. He would have once.

  Amaranthe patted around to find her and Sicarius’s rucksacks. Her hand brushed someone’s clothing laid out to dry. “It probably goes without saying, but more than ever we want to make sure the engineer doesn’t find out that we were here, so make sure to take everything with you.”

  Akstyr groaned. “We have to clean?”

  There was the complaining Amaranthe expected from him. “I’ll compensate you later.”

  She belted on her short sword, shouldered both rucksacks, and slung her crossbow across her torso. Being stealthy while laden down with all of one’s gear was always a challenge. She hoped the noise from the train and lorry engines would drown out any crunches and clunks she might make out there.

  When Amaranthe and Books joined Sicarius, he took his rucksack and led the way to the ground via the back side of the train. Nobody was working over there, but Amaranthe was careful to step lightly on the gravel.

  Darkness stretched across a harvested cornfield on the backside of the train, and the night air smelled of damp earth and freshly cut plant matter. Sicarius stopped behind the coal car and hopped onto the connector. After checking in both directions, he glided into a harvested cornfield on the opposite side, a cornfield in full view of the loading dock and the men working there.

  His willingness to stride into the open surprised Amaranthe, but nobody raised an alarm. Indeed, she soon lost sight of Sicarius herself. The moon had set, and clouds blotted out most of the stars, leaving visibility poor.

  Amaranthe gave Books a “let’s go” pat, hopped over the coupling, and eased out from between the cars. After a glance to make sure Books was following and none of the workers were looking in their direction, she took the same route Sicarius had.

  Fifteen meters away, the workers continued to load the weapons. Amaranthe took careful steps down a row in the harvested cornfield. Though common sense told her the workers’ eyes would be night-blind after being near the light, she felt vulnerable with nothing more than the six-inch-high stalk remains offering concealment. Sneaking should only be done in mature, un-harvested cornfields, she decided.

  Every time dry foliage crunched beneath her or Books’s boots, Amaranthe winced, but none of the workers looked their way. Whoever this group was, they seemed confident that nobody was around to witness their cargo being loaded.

  Once she had put twenty or thirty meters between her and the tracks, Amaranthe paused, looking for Sicarius.

  Books tapped her on the shoulder and, apparently of a similar mind, whispered, “Where’d he go?”

  Amaranthe could only offer a vague, “That way, probably.”

  She turned parallel to the tracks, stepping over the rows of corn stubble and heading toward the back of the depot building. They reached its protective shadow without trouble. Amaranthe poked her head around the far corner as the lorry closest to the freight cars started up. It headed straight toward her, following the road that led past the depot and into the fields from whence it had come.

  Amaranthe jumped back from the corner. The wall did not offer any alcoves or decorative architectural features that would create shadows for hiding in.

  The lorry rumbled closer, and its twin running lanterns pushed back the darkness near the road.

  “Suck it in,” Amaranthe whispered and pressed herself against the back of the building.

  “It’s sucked,” Books responded.

  She hoped the vehicle would drive past and disappear down the road, but it parked not ten feet away, the cab and the two men inside fully visible to Amaranthe. If they turned their heads in her direction...

  Worried about discovery, she almost decided to dart out of hiding and slip into the back of the lorry, hoping she’d make it before anyone noticed her. But the second vehicle was being directed into position for unloading now, and there were too many people with far too many lanterns glowing in the area.

  “Back the way we came,” Amaranthe whispered out of the side of her mouth. “Slowly.”

  With Books leading this time, they eased back toward the far side of the building.

  “Now where?” he asked when they reached the corner.

  “Out into the field.” Amaranthe pointed diagonally away from the building and away from the lorry. “We’ll go out there and angle around to the road. We’ll have to catch one of the lorries as it’s driving away.”

  “Jump onto the back of a moving vehicle?” Books asked. “That sounds perilous.”

  “We’ve been doing worse on the train all week. It’ll be easy.”

  Easy might be an optimistic w
ord, but Amaranthe had to sound confident in front of her team. Speaking of her team, where was Sicarius? Had he already slipped into one of the lorries?

  After waiting another moment to see if he would appear, Amaranthe said, “This way.”

  She led the way into the field before circling toward the road. She wished she could find a drainage ditch or a small depression that would hide them, but nothing other than the harvested rows presented itself. They would have to drop to their bellies when the lorries passed and hope nobody with keen eyes was watching the sides of the road.

  Amaranthe knelt to wait on the final stages of the loading. When Books sank down beside her, she asked, “Any idea where we are?”

  “Besides in a cold, dark field?”

  “Yes.”

  “There are a couple of possibilities for an abandoned railway stub in Agricultural District...” Books peered toward the mountains. “Is this Three?”

  “That’s what Sicarius said.”

  “Ah, then we’re within fifty miles north or south of the byway we took into the mountains last spring. This might be the old Archcrest Plantation. Several warrior-caste landowners with timber or agricultural properties had railway stubs run onto their property when the lines were first being built last century. The last Archcrest heir died in the Western Sea Conflict a generation ago, and the land reverted to the empire until such time that a distinguished soldier earns entry into the warrior caste. This being rather fertile land so close to the capital, though, it’s being reserved for someone extremely noteworthy.” Books craned his neck, peering in all sorts of directions now. “I wonder if the old Archcrest manor is still around. Did you know that family’s history goes all the way back to the Battle of Aquenerfarus when the empire routed the native civilization by the lake? The history books pretend they were primitive clans, but—”

  Amaranthe cleared her throat as loudly as she dared. “So, your answer is, ‘Yes, we’re probably on the Archcrest Plantation.’”