The Emperor's Edge 3: Deadly Games

The Emperor's Edge 3: Chapter 3 Part 3

“This way.” Amaranthe headed for the bridge. “He’s in the attic of a factory over on Sankel Street.”

The enforcers followed without comment. Her heart lurched into double time as she considered the escape. She might very well get herself shot. Or she might break a leg jumping off the bridge. Or they might simply follow her and capture her. This was foolish. She should wait for a better opportunity. But there might not be one.

They started up the bridge as the keelboat approached.

A harsh smell wafted through the air. She sniffed, trying to identify it. Varnish.

She eyed the houseboats tied on either side of the canal. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but she spotted something that may have been brushes, drop cloths, and a tin of varnish on the deck of a floating home.

Between one step and the next her plan changed.

Amaranthe slipped a hand into one of the bags, hoping Maldynado had been complete with his shopping. What good were stamina-promoting candles without matches to light them?

As they reached the apex of the bridge, the sergeant moved a step closer, a shrewd gaze upon her. He must have noticed the keelboat and guessed at her plan.

Well, she had a new plan now. Down at the bottom of the bag, past the vegetables, wine bottles, and candles, she found what she sought—a couple of sturdy wooden matches. While thanking Maldynado for overly thorough shopping, she slid them out.

When they passed the apex without Amaranthe attempting to leap onto the keelboat, the sergeant’s attention shifted forward again.

She found a round tin can in the bag. Some fancy spread? It didn’t matter. As they neared the bottom of the bridge, and the floating home in the process of being refinished, Amaranthe tossed the item down the slope.

“Oops,” she said, “dropped something.”

She bent, as if to try to catch it before it could roll away, and launched a backward kick into the enforcer who had been walking on her right. At the same time, she jabbed an elbow into the sergeant’s gut. Without waiting for them to gather their thoughts, she vaulted over the railing.

Though she anticipated the drop, it stole her breath. With the water low this time of year, she fell twelve or fifteen feet before hitting the roof. She rolled to keep from breaking an ankle, but got tangled up with the shopping bags, and an ill-placed stove vent made the landing even more painful.

Shouts sounded above. A crossbow quarrel thudded into the roof.

Amaranthe scrambled over the side, landing on the deck near the finishing equipment. She found the varnish and unscrewed the tin.

Thumps came from the roof—the enforcers following her down.

“Over here!” one shouted.

She dumped the varnish all about and struck a match. She dropped it in the liquid and darted around the corner of the house. Flames flared to life behind her.

“Wait, don’t go down!”

“She started a cursed fire!”

Amaranthe hurled a deck chair into the water under the bridge, hoping the enforcers would think the splash resulted from her diving in. As she eased around another corner, she silently apologized to the poor homeowner whose house she was vandalizing. Maybe she could send money later.

“Did she go overboard?”

“I heard a splash. There!”

“Somebody get a bucket! This fire is—” The order broke off in a round of coughing.