The Emperor's Edge

The Emperor's Edge Ch. 20 Pt. 1

 The basement had changed little since Amaranthe’s first visit. She had feared the remodeling project might be completed as she raced down flights of stairs, her men thundering behind. Thus she was relieved to see the mess: the freshly-dug pit, a tarp-draped pallet of bricks next to it, coils of rope, and, yes, the concrete mixer was still parked against the wall. The four-wheeled machine with its vertical boiler, cylindrical mixer, and driver’s cab looked to be operable—all she needed was time to start it up.

Amaranthe ran through the arena, lighting lanterns and barking orders. “Books, figure out a way to drop that pallet in the pit on command.”

Books gawked at the bricks. “They must weigh a ton. There’s no time.”

“You’ve got ten minutes. Akstyr and Basilard will help you. Maldynado, we need to get this engine started.”

She checked the level in the boiler, then added water from barrels standing by for that purpose. She threw open the grate to the engine’s firebox and shoveled coal in. The wood handle rubbed against her palm, which was raw from grabbing the burning brand, but she gritted her teeth against the pain.

“Uhm,” Maldynado said, “I think you need to start with kindling before—”

“Just jump into the cab and figure out how to drive this thing.”

Amaranthe lit a piece of cloth with her lamp, then shattered the kerosene oil cache on the coals. She dropped the burning cloth on top. Flames surged to life.

She bounced from foot to foot and watched the others while waiting for the fire to grow and produce enough heat to power the engine. Books and Akstyr took the tarp from the top of the stack of bricks and wrapped it around the side facing the pit. Basilard tied ropes from the corners to the overhead beam. Books found a jack and wedged it under the far side of the pallet after reinforcing the bottom with a sheet of metal. Laboriously, he cranked the lever up and down. Amaranthe ran over to help.

Despite the leverage the jack provided, sweat soon ran down both their faces. As one side of the pallet lifted higher than the other, the bricks shifted toward the pit. A few fell in, but the makeshift sling held the rest back. Basilard sat astride the beam, knife drawn, ready to cut the ropes restraining the bricks.

Amaranthe threw another rope up to him. “For Sicarius.”

Basilard tied one end around the beam and let the other dangle into the pit.

“I think it’s ready,” Maldynado called, voice vibrating along with the machine.

The mixer quivered under the pressure of pent up steam. Amaranthe called Books and Akstyr over to help. They lifted barrels containing dry aggregates and dumped them into the churning cylinder. A trough of water followed. With little construction experience, she could only guess at the ratio. There was no time to experiment.

With Amaranthe guiding him, Maldynado backed the concrete mixer to the pit opposite the bricks.

And then they waited.

The mixer rumbled, its cylinder spinning. Maldynado sat with his hand on the lever that would pour the wet concrete. Above, Basilard waited on the beam. The others stood on the far side of the pit, gazes transfixed on the stairs. Amaranthe chewed on her pinky nail—the only finger with more than a nub available.

“This is too obvious,” she said. “It’s not going to work.”

“The beast threw itself out a window,” Books said. “It’s not bright.”

“I’ve thrown myself out a window recently,” Amaranthe said, remembering her fall from Hollowcrest’s office.

“Oh.”