The Emperor's Edge 3: Deadly Games

The Emperor's Edge 3: Chapter 10 Part 2

A sleek black steam carriage trundled up the hill, coming their direction. It was a street model, not one for the railways, but it had a similar style to the other one. A chauffeur perched on the bench of the carriage, hood drawn to shield him from the rain. Face forward, he avoided looking their direction. Lamps burned inside the carriage, but dark curtains hid the contents.

“Crash into them,” Amaranthe said.

“What?” Maldynado blurted.

“Nobody who lives around here can afford a personal vehicle, and somebody started that fire.” The carriage was drawing even with them, and it would be too late to stop them soon. “Crash into them!” Amaranthe reached toward the controls.

“All right, all right.” Maldynado jerked the vehicle to the left.

The garbage truck rammed into the side of the carriage. Metal crunched, and the impact threw Amaranthe against the back of the cab. That did not keep her from scrambling out, pistol in hand.

She had expected the crash to force the carriage to stop, but the chauffeur only turned his vehicle away, trying to extricate himself from the garbage truck. The curtains stirred, and Amaranthe caught a glimpse of red hair. Her heart leaped. Their foreign woman.

Maldynado kept mashing the garbage truck into the carriage, trying to pin it against the brick wall of the closest building.

“What are you doing, idiot?” the chauffeur shouted.

Amaranthe sprinted around the garbage truck and jumped onto the driving bench. The carriage lurched and wobbled, rattling the perch like a steam hammer. The chauffeur spun toward Amaranthe, his hand darting for a weapon.

She pressed the pistol against his temple. “I don’t recommend that tactic. Why don’t you stop the carriage?”

He snarled at her and did not obey. She shoved his hood back with her free hand. He had the olive skin and brown hair of a Turgonian. A scar ran from his ear to his jaw, a mark that would have been memorable if she had seen it before, but she had not. He did have the short hairstyle soldiers favored.

“Stop the vehicle,” Amaranthe repeated, putting more pressure on the muzzle pressed against his temple.

“Very well.” The man grabbed a lever.

Steam brakes squealed, and the abrupt halt nearly threw Amaranthe from the bench. She gripped the frame and would have been fine, but the chauffeur took advantage. He launched a kick at her ribs. She dodged, avoiding the majority of the blow, but it upset her balance. Before she toppled off, she grabbed his leg and took him over the edge with her.

They tumbled toward the street. Amaranthe twisted in the air and landed on top of him. She caught his wrist, yanked it behind him, and slammed his face into the wet cement. He groaned and ceased struggling. With her knee in the chauffeur’s back, she patted him down and found the weapon he had been reaching for, also a pistol. She stuffed it inside her belt.

Steel squealed behind them.

Amaranthe rolled to the side and jumped to her feet, afraid someone had started the carriage again. Getting run over was never a good plan.

Neither it nor Maldynado’s vehicle was moving though. The noise came from one of the garbage truck’s articulating arms. It had latched onto a flue on the carriage and was lifting the back end of the vehicle into the air.

“They’re not going anywhere now,” Maldynado called, leaning out of the cab and grinning.

A carriage door opened. Something glinted.