Lord Eldaminse was dead now, his servants scattered and his home burned. Everything Nila had ever known was gone.
Here in Lord Vetas’s city manor on a side street in the middle of Adopest, the household never slept.
Somewhere in the enormous house a man was shouting. Nila couldn’t make out the words, but they were spoken in anger. Probably Dourford, the Privileged. He was one of Lord Vetas’s lieutenants, and he had a temper like Nila had never seen. He had a habit of beating the cooks. Everyone in the house feared him, even the hulking bodyguards who accompanied Lord Vetas on his errands.
Everyone feared Dourford except, of course, for Vetas.
As far as Nila could tell, Lord Vetas feared nothing.
“Jakob,” Nila said, speaking to the six-year-old boy sitting beside her on the kitchen floor, “hand me the lye.”
Jakob got to his feet and paused, frowning at her. “Where?” he asked.
“Under the washbasin,” Nila said. “The glass jar.”
Jakob rummaged around beneath the washbasin before finding the jar. He grabbed it by the lid and pulled.
“Careful!” Nila said. She was on her feet and beside him in a moment, and caught him by the shoulders as the jar came loose and he stumbled backward. She put a hand beneath the jar. “Got you,” she said, and took the jar. It wasn’t very heavy, but Jakob had never been the strongest child.
She unscrewed the lid and doled out a measure for the laundry with a spoon.
“No,” she said when Jakob reached for the open jar. “You don’t want to touch that. It’s very poisonous. It’ll eat right through your pink fingers.” She snatched him by the hand and playfully bit at his fingers. “Like an angry dog!”
Jakob giggled and retreated across the room. Nila put the lye away on a high shelf. They shouldn’t keep materials like this within reach of children. Even if Jakob was the only child in the house.
Nila wondered what life would be like if she was still in the Eldaminse manor. There would have been a party for Jakob’s sixth birthday two weeks ago. The house staff would have been given a stipend and an extra afternoon off. Duke Eldaminse would have likely made another pass at Nila—or two, or three—and Lady Eldaminse would have considered putting her out on the street.
Nila missed the quiet of the nights doing laundry for the Eldaminse house. She didn’t miss backbiting and jealousy among the serving staff, or Lord Eldaminse’s groping hands. But she’d exchanged it for something worse.
Lord Vetas’s manor.
There was a scream from somewhere in the basement, where Lord Vetas kept his… room.
“Pit,” Nila said softly to herself, eyes back on the flame of the kitchen fire.
“A lady doesn’t curse.”
Nila felt her spine stiffen. The voice was quiet, calm. Deceptively placid, like the surface of the ocean undisturbed by the sharks circling beneath.
“Lord Vetas.” She turned and curtsied to the man standing in the kitchen door.
Vetas was a Rosvelean with dusty-yellow skin. His back was straight, one hand tucked into his vest pocket and the other holding his evening glass of red wine with casual familiarity. Seen on the street, he might be mistaken for a well-dressed clerk or merchant with his white shirt, dark-blue vest, and black pants that she’d neatly pressed herself.
Nila knew that to assume anything about Vetas was a deadly mistake. He was a killer. She’d felt his hands on her throat. She’d looked into his eyes—eyes that seemed to see everything at once—and seen the dispassion with which he regarded living things.
“I’m not a lady, my lord,” Nila said.
Vetas’s eyes examined her clinically. Nila felt stripped beneath that gaze. She felt like a piece of meat on the butcher’s block. It frightened her.
And it made her angry. She wondered for a moment if Lord Vetas would look that calm and collected in his casket.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Vetas said.
“To watch over Jakob.” She cast a glance at the boy. Jakob watched Vetas curiously.
“That’s right.” A smile suddenly split Vetas’s face, warmth flooding his expression without touching his eyes. “Come here, boy,” Vetas said, kneeling. “It’s all right, Jakob. Don’t be afraid.”
Jakob’s training as a noble’s son left him no choice but to obey. He started toward Vetas, looking back to Nila for direction.
Nila felt her chest go cold. She wanted to throw herself between them, to take a hot iron from the fire and beat Vetas back. The false smile on his face was far more frightening to her than his customary stoic gaze.
“Go ahead,” she heard herself say in a small voice.
“I brought you a candy.” Vetas handed Jakob a treat wrapped in colored paper.
“Jakob, don’t…” Nila started.
Vetas fixed her with his eyes. There was no threat behind them, no emotion. Just a cold glance.
“You can have it,” Nila said, “but you should save it for tomorrow, after breakfast.”
Vetas gave Jakob the candy and tousled his hair.
Don’t touch him, Nila screamed inside. She forced herself to smile at Vetas.
“Why is Jakob here, my lord?” Nila said, pushing the question through her fear.
Vetas got to his feet. “That’s no concern of yours. Do you know how to behave like a lady, Nila?” he asked.
“I… I suppose. I’m just a laundress.”
“I think you’re more than that,” Vetas said. “Everyone has the ability to rise above their station. You survived the royalist barricades, then infiltrated Field Marshal Tamas’s headquarters with the aim of rescuing young Jakob here. And you’re pretty. No one ever looks past beauty, if it’s dressed right.”
Nila wondered how Vetas could possibly have known about the royalist barricades. She’d told him about Tamas’s headquarters, but… what exactly did he mean about beauty?
“I may have further use for you than just”—he made a gesture toward Jakob and the laundry—“this.”
Jakob was too busy trying to nibble at his candy as discreetly as possible to notice the disdain in Vetas’s voice. Nila wasn’t. And she feared what he meant by “further use.”
“My lord.” She curtsied again, and tried not to let her hatred show on her face. She might be able to kill him in the bath. Like she’d read in those mystery novels she’d borrowed from the butler’s son at the Eldaminse house.
“In the meantime,” Vetas said. He stepped into the hall outside the kitchen, keeping the door open with one foot. “Bring her in here,” he called.
Someone cursed. A woman screamed in anger—an angry-wildcat yell. There was a struggle in the hall and two of Vetas’s bodyguards dragged a woman into the kitchen. She was in her forties perhaps, her body sagging in all the wrong places from having had too many children, her skin wrinkled from work but unweathered by the sun. Her curly black hair was tucked back behind her head in a bun and the bags beneath her eyes spoke of little sleep.
The woman stopped when she caught sight of Nila and Jakob.
“Where is my son?” she spat at Vetas.
“In the basement,” Vetas said, “and he won’t be harmed as long as you cooperate.”
“Liar!”
A patronizing smile touched Vetas’s lips. “Nila, Jakob. This is Faye. She is unwell and must be watched at all times, lest she hurt herself. She’s going to share your room, Jakob. Can you help watch her, my boy?”
Jakob nodded solemnly.
“Good lad.”
“I’ll kill you,” Faye said to Vetas.
Vetas stepped to Faye and whispered something in her ear. She stiffened, the color draining from her face.
“Now,” Vetas said, “Faye is going to take over your responsibilities, Nila. She’ll do the laundry, and help with Jakob.”
Nila exchanged a glance with the woman. She felt the knot of fear in her belly reflected on Faye’s face.
“And me?” Nila knew what Vetas would do with someone who didn’t
have a use. She still remembered Jakob’s dead nurse—the one who’d refused to go along with Vetas’s schemes.
Vetas suddenly crossed the room. He took Nila by the chin, turning her face one way and then another. He forced his thumb into her mouth and she had to keep herself from biting down as he examined her teeth. He stepped away suddenly, and wiped his hands on a kitchen towel as if he’d just handled an animal.
“Your hands show very little wear from the laundering. Remarkably little, to be honest. I’ll give you some lotion in the morning and you’ll apply it every hour. We’ll have those hands looking soft, like a noblewoman’s, in no time.” He patted her on the cheek.
Nila resisted the urge to spit in his eye.
Vetas leaned forward and spoke quietly so that Jakob could not hear. “This woman,” Vetas said, pointing to Faye, “is your responsibility, Nila. If she displeases me, you’ll suffer for it. Jakob will suffer for it. And believe me, I know how to make people suffer.”
Vetas stepped away, throwing a smile toward Jakob. More loudly he said, “I think you need some new clothes, Jakob. Would you like that?”
“Very much, sir,” Jakob said.
“We’ll do that tomorrow. Some toys, too.”
Vetas glanced at Nila, his eyes holding a silent warning, and he left the room with his bodyguards.
Faye adjusted her dress and took a deep breath. Her eyes traveled around the room. A mix of emotions ranged across her face: anger, panic, and fear. For a moment Nila thought she might snatch up a frying pan and attack her.
Nila wondered who she was. Why was she here? Obviously another prisoner. Another player in Vetas’s schemes. Could Nila trust her?
“I’m Nila,” she said. “And this is Jakob.”
Faye’s eyes settled on Nila and she nodded with a frown. “I’m Faye. And I’m going to kill that bastard.”
CHAPTER
5
Adamat slipped through the side door of one of the dilapidated buildings in Adopest’s dock district. He moved down hallways, brushing past secretaries and bookkeepers, always looking straight ahead. In his experience, no one questioned a man who knew where he was going.
Adamat knew that Lord Vetas was looking for him.
It wasn’t hard to surmise. Vetas still had Faye. He still had leverage, and no doubt he wanted Adamat dead or under his thumb.
So Adamat stayed low. Field Marshal Tamas’s soldiers were protecting his family—part of the bargain Adamat had struck with the field marshal in order to keep his neck from the guillotine. Adamat had to work from the shadows now, finding Lord Vetas and discovering his plans, and freeing Faye before any more harm could come to her. If she was even still alive.
He couldn’t do it alone.
The headquarters for the Noble Warriors of Labor was a squat, ugly brick building not far from the Adopest docks. It didn’t look like much, but it housed the offices of the biggest union in all the Nine. Every subdivision of the Warriors moved through this hub: bankers, steelworkers, miners, bakers, millers, and more.
But Adamat only needed to speak with one man, and he didn’t want to be noticed on his way in. He went down a low-ceilinged hallway on the third floor and paused outside an office door. He could hear voices inside.
“I don’t care what you think of the idea,” came the voice of Ricard Tumblar, head of the entire union. “I’m going to find him and persuade him. He’s the best man for the job.”
“Man?” a woman’s voice returned. “You don’t think a woman can do it?”
“Don’t start with me, Cheris,” Ricard said. “It was a turn of phrase. And don’t make this about men or women. You don’t like it because he’s a soldier.”
“And you bloody well know why.”
Ricard’s retort was lost as Adamat heard the creak of the floorboards behind him. He turned to find a woman standing behind him.
She looked to be in her midthirties, with straight blond hair tied back in a ponytail behind her head. She wore a dress uniform with loose pants and a white frilled shirt of the type that might be worn by a footman. Her hands were clasped behind her back.
A secretary. The last thing Adamat needed.
“Can I help you, sir?” she said. Her tone was brusque, and her eyes never left Adamat’s face.
“Oh, my,” Adamat said. “This must look terrible. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I just needed to speak with Ricard.”
She didn’t sound at all like she believed him. “The secretary should have kept you in the waiting room.”
“I came in the side door,” Adamat admitted. So she wasn’t the secretary?
The woman said, “Come with me to the lobby and we’ll make you an appointment. Mr. Tumblar is terribly busy.”
Adamat gave a half bow at the waist. “I’d rather not make an appointment. I just need to speak with Ricard. It’s a terribly urgent matter.”
“Please, sir.”
“I just need to speak with Ricard.”
Her voice dropped slightly—instantly more threatening. “If you do not come with me, I will have you taken to the police for trespassing.”
“Now look here!” Adamat raised his voice. The last thing he wanted to do was cause a commotion, but he desperately needed Ricard’s attention.
“Fell!” Ricard’s voice called from inside the office. “Fell! Damn it, Fell, what is that ruckus!”
Fell narrowed her eyes at Adamat. “What is your name?” she asked sternly.
“Inspector Adamat.”
Fell’s demeanor changed instantly. Gone was the severe gaze that brooked no argument. She let out a soft sigh. “Why didn’t you say so to begin with? Ricard has us looking all over the city for you.” She stepped past Adamat and opened the door. “It’s Inspector Adamat here to see you, sir.”
“Well, don’t leave him in the hallway. Send him in!”
The room was cluttered but clean—for once. Bookshelves ran the length of each wall, and an ironwood desk framed the center of the room. Ricard was sitting behind his desk, facing a woman who looked to be about fifty. Adamat could immediately tell she was wealthy. Her rings were gold, set with precious gems, and her dress made from the finest cut of muslin. She fanned her face with a fine lace handkerchief and pointedly looked away from Adamat.
“You’ll have to excuse me, Cheris,” Ricard said. “This is very important.”
The woman pushed past Adamat and left the room. Adamat heard the door slam behind him and they were alone. Adamat thought briefly to ask what that had been about—then decided against it. Ricard was just as likely to spend an hour explaining as he was to tell Adamat it was private business. Adamat removed his hat and coat and returned Ricard’s embrace.
Ricard sat back down behind his desk and gestured to the vacant chair. They spoke at the exact same moment:
“Adamat, I need your help.”
“Ricard, I need your help.”
They both fell silent, and then Ricard laughed and ran a hand across the bald spot on the front of his scalp. “You haven’t needed my help for years,” he said. He took a deep breath. “First, I want to tell you how sorry I am about the Barbers.”
The Black Street Barbers. The street gang that supposedly reported to Ricard, but that had come after Adamat in his own home. Had that really been only a month ago? It seemed like years.
“Tamas wiped them out,” Adamat said. “The survivors are rotting in Sablethorn.”
“With my blessing.”
Adamat nodded. He didn’t trust himself to say more about the topic. He didn’t precisely blame Ricard for the incident, but he now had far less faith in Ricard’s people.
“Is Faye still out of the city?” Ricard said.
Something must have showed in Adamat’s eyes. Ricard was a man who’d made his living reading facial tics and knowing what to say at the right moment. He stood up and opened the door a crack. “Fell,” he said. “I don’t want to be bothered. No people. No sound.”
He closed the door and slid the latch,
returning to his desk.
“Tell me everything,” Ricard said.
Adamat paused. He’d fought with himself for days about whether to come to Ricard at all, and what exactly to say. It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust Ricard—it was that he didn’t trust Ricard’s people. Lord Vetas had spies everywhere. But if he couldn’t trust Ricard himself, then there was no one left in his life to turn to for help.
“Faye and the children were taken by a man named Lord Vetas,” Adamat said. “They were held against their will to guarantee my cooperation. I gave Vetas information about my conversations with Tamas and my investigation.”
Ricard tensed. Whatever he’d expected, this was not it. “You crossed Tamas?” And you’re still alive? was the unspoken question.
“I’ve told Tamas all of it,” Adamat said. “He has forgiven me—for now—and sent me on a hunt for Lord Vetas. I managed to rescue some of the children, but Vetas still has Faye and Josep.”
“Can’t you use Tamas’s soldiers to go after Vetas?”
“I’d have to find him first. Once I do, I wish it were that simple. The moment Vetas finds out where I am, he will no doubt threaten me with Faye’s life. I need to find him silently, track him, and get her out of his hands before I bring down Tamas’s wrath upon him.”
Ricard nodded slowly. “So you don’t know where he is?”
“He’s like a ghost. I looked into him when he first started blackmailing me. He doesn’t even exist.”
“If you can’t find him, I doubt any of my people can.”
“I don’t need you to find him. I need information.” Adamat reached into his pocket and removed the card Vetas had left him months ago. It had an address on it. “This is the only lead I have. It’s an old warehouse not all that far from here. I need to know everything about it. Who owns it? Who owns the properties around it? When was it last sold? Everything. Your people have access to records I can’t easily get my hands on.”
The Powder Mage Trilogy: Promise of Blood, The Crimson Campaign, The Autumn Republic Page 55