Conspiracy by Lindsay Buroker Read Free Book Online Page A

existing light,
sort of like putting a mirror behind a candle to increase its
output, so it was hard to do anything in extremely dark conditions,
but he’d learned a trick or two in studying illusions.
    “ That might make more
sense,” Maldynado said, “though the boss would probably be upset if
we killed these thugs.”
    Akstyr stretched his thoughts out, bringing
the light from his head to the air in front of him. A silvery ball
the size of his fist blushed into existence. Since the trapdoor was
still open, he kept the intensity low. It provided enough light to
see Maldynado and Basilard, kneeling on the backs of the downed
men, Basilard with a knife to one’s throat, Maldynado simply
applying force to twist his foe’s arms into chicken wings. Though
the intruders’ faces were scrunched up in pain, their eyes bulged
when they spotted the otherworldly light.
    “ Nobody has to tell her,”
Akstyr said.
    Basilard frowned at him.
    “ What?” Akstyr picked up a
second rifle and admired the sleek barrel. He’d never seen anything
like the loading mechanism. He thumbed open a latch, revealing a
chamber that held a bullet, no, multiple bullets. “These are
brilliant.”
    “ I guess,” Maldynado said
in response to something Basilard signed when Akstyr wasn’t
looking. “It doesn’t make sense to risk ourselves, trying to keep
them prisoner all the way back to the city.”
    The intruders’ eyes had been riveted to the
light, but one started paying attention to Maldynado’s words, and
concern crinkled his brow. “Listen, we’re just following orders. We
wouldn’t have tossed you out at fifty miles an hour. That’s
break-your-neck speed.”
    “ Shut up, Rov,” the second
man growled.
    “ No, we like you chatty,”
Maldynado said. “While your tongue is dancing, why don’t you tell
us what you know about these weapons? Like who had them made, where
they came from, and where they’re going.”
    “ Eat street,” the more
belligerent man said.
    That drew Akstyr’s attention, and he tore
his gaze from the rifle. That saying was one common on the streets
where he had grown up. Nobody had bothered putting the oldest
section of the city on the sewer system, and people dumped piss
pots out of their windows. Akstyr checked for gang brands on the
men’s hands, but only dirt marked their skin.
    “ Easy, Motty,” the more
talkative man said. “They’ve got magic.” Some new thought must have
entered his little brain, because his eyes bugged out even more.
“They must have a witch!” Though he couldn’t move his head, not
with Basilard’s knife to his neck, his buggy eyes darted about like
marbles in a jar.
    Akstyr snorted. “There are male
practitioners, you know.”
    Maldynado roughed Motty up for a minute,
then said, “Listen, we can drop you from the train nicely, or you
can go under the wheels. Tell us about those weapons, and I’ll make
sure you live.”
    Blood trickled from Motty’s nose, but he
managed a sneer. Since the notion of magic bothered both men,
Akstyr formed an illusion, a knife similar to the solid black blade
Sicarius carried. He eyed it critically as it floated in the air,
thinking it could have appeared to be more realistic—he would have
to work on improving his artistic talents—but both men focused on
it, their belligerence fading.
    “ We don’t know who the guns
are for,” Rov blurted. “We just got hired to deliver ’em. We
weren’t told where they’re going, just to help unload them and do
whatever the bloke waiting there wants.”
    “ Who’s paying your salary?”
Maldynado asked.
    Rov hesitated. Akstyr made blood drip down
the knife and splash onto a box in front of the prisoners. Of
course, there wouldn’t be any real moisture in the drops, but
neither man was in a position to reach out and check.
    “ Jo—Jovak!” Rov nearly
swallowed his tongue in the rush to get the name out. “He’s the
foreman in the factory. I don’t know who pays him or anything