Conspiracy by Lindsay Buroker Page B

bullets in backward.
    One last time, she ducked her head into the
aisle where the first sentry waited. Predictably it fired its beams
at her. She tiptoed back over to the row that held the kegs of
black powder.
    A boom shattered the stillness.
    Amaranthe winced and gripped one of the
racks for support. “What was that?”
    “ The beams will ignite
black powder,” Sicarius observed with bland detachment.
    Amaranthe snorted. That she could have
guessed, especially after seeing the first sentry melt the pole.
“Did you destroy it?”
    “ The explosion blew off an
antenna, but its armor protected it from further
damage.”
    Realizing Amaranthe had given away her
position by speaking, she decided not to head down the powder aisle
yet. She trotted across to the opposite side of the chamber,
grabbed a fancy two-barreled pistol off a rack, and tossed it down
the aisle next to the wall. It clattered hard onto the cement
floor.
    She waited around the corner to see if the
noise drew the first sentry. As she crouched there, she began to
feel silly. As far as she knew, the things had no ears. Why assume
they hunted by sound?
    Amaranthe was about to pull away when the
familiar grinding reached her own ears. It was coming. She closed
her eyes, listening. Just before she thought it would appear at the
end of the wall aisle, she eased backward and headed for the powder
row.
    “ I’ll try to get them both
to one end of the chamber,” Sicarius called from a nearby
row.
    Not wanting to give away her position,
Amaranthe didn’t respond, though she thanked him silently. He’d
have his hands full if they were both in one area with him.
    She rushed to the powder kegs, pausing only
to grab a couple of canvas sacks from a stack on a shelf. Nothing
so handy as a scooping cup rested nearby, so she shoveled powder
into the bags by hand.
    Cracks and thuds came from the front of the
chamber, cement shattering and shards being flung. Amaranthe
shoveled powder faster. When she had two full bags, she grabbed a
third, and cut it into strips. She tied the strips together into
two long lengths and fastened them around the tops of the bags.
Unfortunately, her shortsighted enforcer academy instructors hadn’t
included classes on how to make explosives. She could only hope her
handiwork would be effective—and that she wouldn’t blow herself up.
She sacrificed her light to pour the kerosene out of her lantern
and douse the fuse.
    Blackness descended upon her aisle. Up
front, a single light glowed somewhere to the side, its
illumination dulled by the cement dust clouding the air. The light
wasn’t fluctuating or moving about, and Amaranthe hoped that meant
Sicarius had set it down in a central location, not that he’d been
hit.
    “ I’ve got two done,”
Amaranthe called. “I’m going to try and put them where they’ll take
out part of the ceiling.”
    “ Understood,” came
Sicarius’s response, somehow still calm, though dodging those beams
must be frazzling.
    Amaranthe felt her way down
her aisle, deeper into the darkness. Cement cracked behind her, and
enough pieces banged to the ground that she suspected at least a
partial cave-in. Maybe the sentries would destroy enough of the
ceiling for her and Sicarius to escape without explosives.
    She found the brick forges by feel and eased
between two. With the full bags pressed against her chest, she
groped her way toward the big machine with the towering flywheel.
She had a spot in mind for placing the powder, but groaned and
halted. With her lantern out, she had no way to light the fuse.
    “ Don’t kick over that
lantern,” she called out. “I’m going to need that flame in a
moment.”
    Amaranthe pressed onward. She’d set the bag
into place first and then go for it.
    “ I see. It’s the—” The
sound of rubble raining down interrupted Sicarius’s words. He
coughed before saying again, “It’s the lantern you’re worried
about.”
    Amaranthe smiled. If he could make a joke,
he must