from obsidian, and when he brushed an edge with his thumb, it drew blood.
“Reinforced and sharpened with magic?” he wondered.
Akstyr would have known if he were around, but Professor Komitopis might know as well. Also, she should be able to translate the rest of the note.
The steam by the changing rooms stirred, and Sespian tensed, ready to use the arrow for a weapon if he had to. But it was Maldynado jogging back toward him, grimacing and grabbing at his foot every few steps. His hand came away bloody. He hadn’t stopped to put on any clothes or even grab a towel.
“Didn’t get him,” Maldynado said, “sorry.”
“Did you see who made the shot?” Sespian held up the arrow.
“Sort of. Not when he made it though. It was too steamy back there. But I heard the back door clang when I ran into the changing room, and I sprinted out into the alley. I wouldn’t have seen a thing if I hadn’t had a hunch and looked up. Someone lean and fast and dressed all in white with a bow on his back was climbing over the lip of the five-story building next door. I scrambled up the wall, but by the time I reached the roof, that white figure was five buildings away. He glanced back, saw me, then jumped down into the next alley. How he could have heard me following, I don’t know, because I’m not an amateur at such things, even if I wasn’t—ahem!—properly clothed. Anyway, he must have had a rope or something I couldn’t see, because nobody jumps off a five-story building.”
“All in white, you say?” Sespian asked. “I guess it wasn’t Sicarius then.”
Maldynado snorted. “I thought you’d gotten over the notion that he might try to kill you someday.”
“I have, but your description... that just sounds like him.”
Maldynado scraped wet hair out of his eyes. “Yes, I guess it does. Isn’t that just what we need? Another Sicarius in the world.”
Sespian stared at the arrow for another moment, but it didn’t offer further enlightenment. Not to his eyes anyway. He hoped the weapon would tell a different tale to Professor Komitopis.
“That meeting with Starcrest you wanted,” Sespian said, “are you available tonight?”
“I can go right now.” Maldynado peered down at himself. “I might put on clothes first.”
“Yes... I believe the president’s office may have a dress code.”
Chapter 4
T he night air smelled of jungle foliage, a strange scent for a lake bordering a city of a million people, and in a climate zone more suitable for oak and maple trees. Sicarius crouched on the hull of the submarine, the raised hatch at his back. Down below, Amaranthe was piloting the craft toward the docks. A niggling feeling made him want to tell her to veer toward another port. Though spring had come and the lake ice had melted, meaning berths on the waterfront should be accessible, dozens of ships were anchored a quarter mile or more from the shoreline, their masts and steam stacks creating a noticeable skyline against the flat, barren remains of Fort Urgot to the north.
Clouds obscured the stars, and Sicarius had only the gas streetlights of the city to rely upon to make out the waterfront. Interestingly, lamps that should have been lit along its main street were dark. The shadows held... he wasn’t sure, but more than pilings and docks rose up from the lake. Whatever lay over there, it might be the reason Starcrest had requested the return of the submarine.
“Amaranthe,” he called down. “We may want to dock to the north of the city.”
“Uhm, just a minute.”
Sicarius ducked his head through the hatchway. Amaranthe wasn’t at the controls.
“Are you cleaning again?” he asked.
“No.” A cupboard door clanged shut, the cupboard in the back—his ears told him—that contained a mop, broom, and various scrubbing implements. “Tidying perhaps.”
“The Explorer is sufficiently clean.”
“I know. But I want to return it in good order.” Amaranthe trotted past, heading for
“Reinforced and sharpened with magic?” he wondered.
Akstyr would have known if he were around, but Professor Komitopis might know as well. Also, she should be able to translate the rest of the note.
The steam by the changing rooms stirred, and Sespian tensed, ready to use the arrow for a weapon if he had to. But it was Maldynado jogging back toward him, grimacing and grabbing at his foot every few steps. His hand came away bloody. He hadn’t stopped to put on any clothes or even grab a towel.
“Didn’t get him,” Maldynado said, “sorry.”
“Did you see who made the shot?” Sespian held up the arrow.
“Sort of. Not when he made it though. It was too steamy back there. But I heard the back door clang when I ran into the changing room, and I sprinted out into the alley. I wouldn’t have seen a thing if I hadn’t had a hunch and looked up. Someone lean and fast and dressed all in white with a bow on his back was climbing over the lip of the five-story building next door. I scrambled up the wall, but by the time I reached the roof, that white figure was five buildings away. He glanced back, saw me, then jumped down into the next alley. How he could have heard me following, I don’t know, because I’m not an amateur at such things, even if I wasn’t—ahem!—properly clothed. Anyway, he must have had a rope or something I couldn’t see, because nobody jumps off a five-story building.”
“All in white, you say?” Sespian asked. “I guess it wasn’t Sicarius then.”
Maldynado snorted. “I thought you’d gotten over the notion that he might try to kill you someday.”
“I have, but your description... that just sounds like him.”
Maldynado scraped wet hair out of his eyes. “Yes, I guess it does. Isn’t that just what we need? Another Sicarius in the world.”
Sespian stared at the arrow for another moment, but it didn’t offer further enlightenment. Not to his eyes anyway. He hoped the weapon would tell a different tale to Professor Komitopis.
“That meeting with Starcrest you wanted,” Sespian said, “are you available tonight?”
“I can go right now.” Maldynado peered down at himself. “I might put on clothes first.”
“Yes... I believe the president’s office may have a dress code.”
Chapter 4
T he night air smelled of jungle foliage, a strange scent for a lake bordering a city of a million people, and in a climate zone more suitable for oak and maple trees. Sicarius crouched on the hull of the submarine, the raised hatch at his back. Down below, Amaranthe was piloting the craft toward the docks. A niggling feeling made him want to tell her to veer toward another port. Though spring had come and the lake ice had melted, meaning berths on the waterfront should be accessible, dozens of ships were anchored a quarter mile or more from the shoreline, their masts and steam stacks creating a noticeable skyline against the flat, barren remains of Fort Urgot to the north.
Clouds obscured the stars, and Sicarius had only the gas streetlights of the city to rely upon to make out the waterfront. Interestingly, lamps that should have been lit along its main street were dark. The shadows held... he wasn’t sure, but more than pilings and docks rose up from the lake. Whatever lay over there, it might be the reason Starcrest had requested the return of the submarine.
“Amaranthe,” he called down. “We may want to dock to the north of the city.”
“Uhm, just a minute.”
Sicarius ducked his head through the hatchway. Amaranthe wasn’t at the controls.
“Are you cleaning again?” he asked.
“No.” A cupboard door clanged shut, the cupboard in the back—his ears told him—that contained a mop, broom, and various scrubbing implements. “Tidying perhaps.”
“The Explorer is sufficiently clean.”
“I know. But I want to return it in good order.” Amaranthe trotted past, heading for
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