The Emperor's Edge 3: Deadly Games

The Emperor's Edge 3: Chapter 8 Part 3

The last of the competitors finished the Clank Race, and the timekeeper painted the results for all to see. 1:59. Nobody had beaten Basilard’s score. Amaranthe smiled to herself, tickled that he had done so well against younger and taller competitors, men who had trained all year for this event. Albeit, the exercise sessions they endured with Sicarius could be no less arduous than anything those athletes inflicted upon themselves.

Her smile faded at the thought of Sicarius. Guilt sat in her belly like an undigested meal; it was wrong to idly watch the Games while he was missing.

“What’s he doing down there for so long?” Amaranthe murmured.

She wanted to collect Basilard and start investigating the fountains near Raydevk’s flat. They did not have many hours before her meeting with Deret. She was tempted to cancel that, but he might have information about the kidnappings she did not. Surely a journalist had as many informants in the city as the enforcers did.

“He’s a contender for the trophy now.” Maldynado removed his hat to scratch his head and nearly poked Amaranthe in the eye with the ostrich feather. “I bet he’s getting mobbed by women who want to grease his snake tonight.”

Amaranthe gave him a sidelong look. “The way your mind works is unique.”

“Not amongst men,” Maldynado said.

“Amongst some men,” Books said.

Amaranthe fidgeted and watched the tunnel entrance through which Basilard had walked with the towel boy trailing behind. Several minutes had passed, and neither had returned to the arena.

“The towel boy hasn’t come back,” she said.

“What?” Maldynado asked.

Even if Basilard had decided to find the latrine or change out of his white togs, the boy should have returned to attend to the remaining competitors. Why had he followed Basilard, anyway? No boys had accompanied any of the other athletes.

“I think Basilard’s in trouble,” she said.

“What?” Books asked.

“He’s been gone too long.” Amaranthe wondered if it signified paranoia that neither of them seemed concerned. “Do either of you two ‘coaches’ want to try to go down there? See if you can get into that tunnel?” Amaranthe eyed a pair of enforcers stationed where they could keep spectators from wandering into the arena to bug the athletes. “I’ll go outside and see if I spot anything suspicious.”

“Which of us should—” Books started.

“Either. Both. I don’t care.” She was already maneuvering through the packed benches toward the aisle, worrying that they had wasted too much time. How long would it take to drag an unconscious man out through a back door? “Maybe I’m overreacting,” she muttered under her breath. “Maybe it’s nothing.”

Though she said the words, they did not keep her from pushing past spectators and running down the stairs. At the bottom, she reluctantly slowed down, aware that a sprinting woman might draw the enforcers’ suspicions.

Only when she reached the stadium exit did she break into a run. Maldynado caught up with her.

“Books is going in since Basilard already vouched for him today.”

“Understood,” Amaranthe said.

They ran off the path to follow the curve of the stadium’s outer wall. Twenty meters of neatly trimmed grass stretched away from the structure before trees and shrubbery started, hiding the locomotive tracks in the distance. Amaranthe scanned the leafy green canopy, searching for the telltale smoke trail of a steam-powered lorry. Anyone in the kidnapping business would need a getaway vehicle.