The Emperor's Edge 3: Deadly Games

The Emperor's Edge 3: Chapter 15 Part 3

Amaranthe tugged at the thick water-repellent material pooled around her boots, boots two inches too large. If there were such things as diving suits for women, she had not encountered them yet. Maybe it would not matter. In the water, the material ought to float, right? Or it would cause her to become hopelessly tangled in seaweed where she would be an easy-to-catch snack for a kraken.

“Less pessimism, girl,” she muttered, then raised her voice for Maldynado and Akstyr. “How are your suits fitting?”

They were gearing up around the trapdoor in Ms. Setjareth’s warehouse. Amaranthe had agreed to give the woman a discount on future work in exchange for the use of her building for a couple of hours—a deal to which Setjareth had magnanimously agreed, possibly because no shipments had been due in that morning. Fortunately, she was not around to see the pile of harpoons and hand-held launchers sitting next to her trapdoor. The tub labeled Skelith Poison was probably not a typical warehouse store either. Books promised the tar-like substance, which they had smeared on the harpoon tips, would survive the water, at least for a couple of hours.

“This thing weighs a thousand pounds.” Akstyr tugged at the collar.

“Only one-eighty, including the helmet,” Amaranthe said, “or so Books tells me.” Saying his name prompted a glance toward the door. They were waiting on him to return with another weapon to use against the kraken. He had rushed off before sharing the details, and Amaranthe had a hard time not worrying. Six months later, she still had nightmares of that printing press careening down the icy street with Maldynado riding it like a contestant in a log rolling competition. That had been one of Books’s ideas, too.

“My helmet is fabulous,” Maldynado said, “but the suit binds across the chest. Whatever runty treasure hunter commissioned this piece lacked my substantial musculature.”

“And your ego, too, I’d imagine,” Amaranthe said.

Wearing everything but the helmet, she shuffled over to a high window facing the lake. She had to clamber atop a crate to push open the shutters and peer outside.

Early morning sun glittered on the calm lake water. A few fishing boats meandered away from the docks, heading out for the day’s work. Given what was going on below, Amaranthe thought the scene should be less idyllic.

She stuck her head out, twisting her neck for the view she wanted. Dozens of docks away, the Saberfist floated in its berth. Plumes of smoke rose from its twin stacks and a thrum of excitement ran through her. Had Mancrest done it? Convinced them to send divers down to investigate? Marines bustled about on the deck, and the activity had doubled since the last time she took a look.

“Books is back,” Maldynado called. “And he didn’t bring anything useful.”

Amaranthe hopped down in time to catch the scowl Books sent Maldynado’s direction. Books was carrying a wooden keg labeled SALT into the building. Amaranthe’s earlier excitement faded. Harpoon launchers might harm a kraken, but salt? There had to be more to it than that.

“That’s your secret weapon?” she asked, joining the men. “Salt?”

“Actually, it’s empty,” Books said.

“So you brought a wooden keg?” Maldynado asked. “Genius strategy, professor.”

Amaranthe frowned, aware that this might be their only chance to retrieve Sicarius and Basilard. If the Saberfist was en route, and it found and attacked the underwater structure, the kidnappers would flee. She couldn’t imagine them sticking around once they knew they had been discovered. And who knew where they would go after that?

“Tell us,” she prompted Books, who was scowling at Maldynado.

“As it turns out,” Books said, “krakens are quite difficult to kill. There are more stories of them sinking ships than there are of people slaying them.”

“How comforting,” Maldynado said.

“My idea is to fill this keg with poison,” Books said. “I tinkered with the design, so it’ll implode when squeezed. There are also razor-sharp caltrops inside to cut the kraken’s flesh to ensure the poison enters its bloodstream.”

“How do we convince the creature to grab it?” Amaranthe asked. “And will a little poison injected at the end of a tentacle really incapacitate it? It’s quite...large.”

“Ah, but we won’t target the tentacle. Squids, and presumably krakens, travel by sucking water into their mantel cavity, then streaming it out behind them in a jet, much like a fireman’s hose. Perhaps if we could propel this keg toward its mantle, the creature would inhale it, so to speak, and it’d be like getting pepper up your nose.”

“Couldn’t we just use pepper?” Maldynado asked.

“Do you want it to sneeze or to die?” Books asked.

“Maybe if it sneezed hard enough, it’d go flying into the air, land on the Saberfist, and the marines could hack it to pieces with their swords.”

Books threw Amaranthe an exasperated look. “Is it necessary to have these louts present during planning?”

“This mantle cavity,” she said, trying to imagine Books’s scenario, “is up under all the tentacles? I can’t imagine anyone being able to get close without getting killed.”

“We could send in someone expendable,” Books said, eyeing Maldynado.

“Oh, no,” Maldynado said. “When I get my statue, I don’t want it to be an image of me going up a squid’s butt.”

“All right, gentlemen.” Amaranthe lifted her hands, struggling not to snap at them for being silly. It must be the lack of sleep stealing some of her patience. “We’ll go down with the keg and harpoons. With luck, the marines will figure out a way to kill the kraken through attrition, and we won’t need to implement any of this.”

“When have we ever had that kind of luck?” Books asked.

“I don’t remember any,” Amaranthe said, “but we ought to be due, eh?”

The men traded skeptical looks. She forced a smile. Someone had to be optimistic after all.