The Emperor's Edge 3: Deadly Games

The Emperor's Edge 3: Chapter 6 Part 3

Amaranthe stuck her foot into the gap, lest the woman’s first instinct be to slam the door shut and lock it. The woman stepped back, but bumped against one of the piles of furniture, boxes, and clutter that were used to delineate separate spaces in the single room.

“Peaceful evening,” Amaranthe greeted. “I’m Corporal Lokdon.” The name was sewn on her name tag, so she dared not change it, but she said it quickly on the chance the woman read the newspapers. Amaranthe nodded to Sicarius. “And this is Corporal Jev.” Or so his uniform said. “We have a few questions for your husband, ma’am.”

“Who is it, Pella?” a man, presumably Raydevk, asked. “One of the boys? They weren’t supposed to come until nine.” He snickered. “Or is it old Ms. Derya complaining that the fire escape isn’t a suitable place for sex play? Again.”

Since the woman—Pella—seemed stunned with indecision, Amaranthe pushed the door open. The smirk on the miner’s face dropped. He held a book—a journal?—in his hands, and he hid it behind his back. Yes, the guilt hung in the air like smog around a factory. Though that meant it was probably good that she had come, it also made her fairly certain these weren’t the masterminds behind...anything.

“Mister Raydevk?” Amaranthe asked. “We have a few questions for you.”

“I’ve done nothing illegal,” he said.

“Good.” She smiled. “Then we’ll be able to finish quickly.”

“Uh, right.” Raydevk eyed several of the cabinets and clothing-draped stacks. Seeking somewhere to stash his journal?

“Mind if we come in?” Amaranthe asked.

Sicarius invited himself in, slipping past Amaranthe to stand inside the doorway. Pella stepped, no, stumbled backward. Hm, Amaranthe might find Sicarius’s appearance heroic in the uniform, but he still intimidated others. The cold unwavering stare perhaps.

“Thanks,” Amaranthe said brightly. She strolled in and displayed her warrant oh-so briefly to Pella. “Corporal Jev has orders to search the premises. I hope this won’t inconvenience you terribly.”

“Search?” Raydevk’s voice squeaked. “What for?” His eyes darted about in his head, searching again. Still trying to get rid of that journal? He focused on a credenza in a corner by a cook stove. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thanks,” Amaranthe said.

Regardless, he darted for the credenza, opened a door, and withdrew glasses and a bottle of applejack. “I’ll just have a taste, if you don’t mind.”

Loosening one’s tongue was not a particularly good idea for a liar—a possibly criminal liar—faced with enforcers, but Amaranthe saw no reason to object. Raydevk met his wife’s eyes, widening his own in some signal.

“Why are you folks here?” Pella asked.

“A group of miners has been implicated in a conspiracy against the athletes at the Imperial Games,” Amaranthe said, trying to surprise reactions out of Pella and Raydevk. She did not truly expect these people to have much—if anything—to do with the kidnappings, but one never knew. “The missing athletes, to be precise.”

Pella glanced at her husband and rushed to say, “We don’t know anything about that.”

Raydevk had his back to everyone, ostensibly preparing a drink, but he froze at Amaranthe’s words. He jerked his head at Pella and she burbled on, giving some story about the men winning time off at a company lottery and simply going to the Games to relax.

Amaranthe barely listened. She was watching Raydevk. Still fiddling with his drink, he tried to hide his actions as he set the journal on the credenza and opened it. He coughed to cover the noise he made ripping the top sheet off. He used the movement of returning the bottle to a shelf to slip that page into his pocket.