“Vetas’s pet Privileged is there,” Bo said. “Right now. She’s not some hired fool, either. She’s got cabal-level stuff at her beck and call.”
A bird burst from the bells above their heads, causing Adamat to jump. He noticed that he was the only one to do so and smoothed the front of his coat. A powerful Privileged? That wasn’t good. Not at all. He was depending on Bo to be able to neutralize Vetas’s Privileged even as Adamat’s men seized the place.
Bo must have sensed the unasked question. “I’ll kill her. Don’t worry about that.”
“If it turns into any kind of a fight between you two, we’re all dead men,” the eunuch said.
“Well, you’re not exactly a man,” Bo said with a smirk. He nodded to Riplas. “And she’s not.” His smirk suddenly turned to a frown. “And she’s definitely not.”
Adamat turned to see Fell standing on the bell tower stairs. The Fontain Academy graduate wore a fitted waistcoat, sans tails, and a pair of tight men’s pants tucked into her boots.
“Ricard can’t spare any men right now,” Fell said, “but he sent me.”
The eunuch turned toward her with a look of disgust. “Does he know the resources the Proprietor is shifting for this operation?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact,” Fell said, cocking her eyebrow, “he doesn’t. I’m sure he’ll be interested to know.”
Adamat stepped between them. “It’s more help than you realize,” he said to the eunuch. For Ricard to send his ten-million-krana servant into harm’s way meant a great deal.
“Bah,” the eunuch sneered. His fingers tapped rapidly against the side of his leg. He seemed on edge—not the quiet, thoughtful killer Adamat had met months ago.
Adamat stepped back to the window and took the looking glass from Riplas. “Any more lookouts?” he asked.
“None.”
“Then take the final assignments down.”
Riplas left the room. She had the positions and descriptions of all of Lord Vetas’s lookouts. She’d hand them over to the eunuch’s goons, and they’d do the rest.
Everything was in place. Now Adamat just had to wait.
He lifted the looking glass to his eye and returned his gaze to Vetas’s headquarters. Over an hour passed, and he watched from his vantage point as the eunuch’s goons took care of Vetas’s lookouts. He felt the sweat roll down the back of his neck as he waited. So much could go wrong. The slightest slip, and Faye was dead.
“What if he doesn’t come outside today?” Bo asked.
The front door to Vetas’s headquarters opened, and a familiar figure stepped outside. He wore his sharp black coat, top hat, and carried a cane in one hand. Adamat felt his heart jump at the sight.
“That’s not going to be a problem,” Adamat said. “He’s leaving now.”
Lord Vetas checked the street with the smallest twitches of his head. Probably receiving signals from his lookouts—the closest of whom Adamat had left undisturbed.
Vetas gave an almost imperceptible nod. A woman came through the door—the same one he’d seen in the red dress weeks ago, with the auburn curls—and together they headed south down the avenue. They were followed two steps back by a pair of well-dressed and well-muscled men. A few seconds later a third came out the door, waited for a moment, then followed.
“I’ll keep on his trail,” Fell said, disappearing down the stairs.
“Take his tail,” Adamat said to the eunuch, “and then meet us at the house. Bo?”
Bo stood up, stretching his gloved fingers. “I’ll get a little closer and unravel the Privileged’s wards. It’ll take me some time, but I’ll be ready when you get back.”
Sergeant Oldrich was waiting for Adamat in the chapel beneath the bell tower. He sat in a pew, legs up, a wad of tobacco in one cheek. He tipped his hat back, watching as Bo slid out one exit.
“So,” Oldrich said, turning to Adamat, “you got yourself a Privileged.”
Adamat steeled himself. He couldn’t be sure how Oldrich would react after having specifically stated he wouldn’t help Adamat rescue Bo. “I did.”
“I heard Verundish dismissed her men and left town yesterday. I thought that might have been the cause.”
“I did what I needed to. He’s freed of his gaes, if that makes a difference.”
“Oh?”
“He killed the guillotine operator who took off Manhouch’s head.”
“Huh,” Oldrich said. “Well, I’m sure the field marshal will be delighted. You ready?”
“Let’s go.”
Oldrich’s soldiers fell in with them as they left the chapel, and Adamat told them to stay back a hundred paces.
Adamat, in turn, trailed Fell. He saw her weaving in and out of foot traffic as they headed farther into the city. The streets were crowded just after lunch—that would make it harder for Vetas’s men to spot Adamat, but just as hard for Adamat to keep track of them.
It was a little over thirty minutes before Fell stopped and waved Adamat forward. They stood at a busy intersection, just around the corner from a flower market. Fell had her back against the wall, her shoulders slumped as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Adamat came up beside her and mimicked her body language.
“His tail is over there,” she said, slowly tilting her chin upward in one direction.
Adamat saw the man right away. He was eating a meat pie and scanning the crowd with a mistrusting leer. Not subtle, but an effective lookout. Not far behind him, Adamat spotted the eunuch.
“Vetas is inside the flower stall around the corner,” Fell said. “Leave him to me. Have your soldiers take his goons.”
“I want him alive.”
“So do I,” Fell said.
Adamat needed him alive so Vetas could tell him where Josep was. He wondered why Fell would want him breathing.
“I’m going,” Fell said. She disappeared around the corner, casual and graceful as a cat.
Adamat gave the signal to Oldrich, then tilted his hat forward to hide his face and followed Fell.
He made his way to the middle of the street and was soon joined by Oldrich and six of his men. They each examined bouquets or pretended to talk, but he couldn’t help but think they looked far too obvious.
Vetas’s two goons were standing outside of the Parkside Flower Boutique, watching the crowd, their arms crossed, not the least bit subtle. Adamat glanced toward the tail. The man was gone. Adamat hoped that meant the eunuch had taken care of him.
Adamat could feel every muscle tighten as he watched the flower shop entrance out of the corner of his eye. Maybe Vetas had already spotted them and disappeared out the side. What if his goons warned him, or Vetas was able to slip into the crowd?
His hands were beginning to shake from nervousness when Lord Vetas finally emerged from the flower shop with the woman in the red dress. She carried a bouquet of flowers. He handed a package to one of his goons and scanned the flower market.
His eyes locked onto Adamat’s. Adamat felt a cold sweat break at the corner of his brow. He tensed, ready to chase Vetas through the streets.
Fell emerged from the flower shop, strolling out like a paying customer. A stiletto dropped from her sleeve and she gracefully swung it around over Vetas’s shoulder and pressed it to his throat.
The two goons stepped back, shouting. Both drew pistols. The crowd split apart.
Adamat felt like he was in a dream. He watched himself draw his own pistol and fire it. One of the goons went down. The other took a cudgel to the back of the head from one of Oldrich’s soldiers, and the rest of the soldiers quickly fell in around Vetas, obscuring him from the crowd.
Adamat shouldered his way through the soldiers until he reached Vetas.
Lord Vetas was on his knees in front of Fell, a stiletto still to his throat. She’d relieved him of two very similar-looking daggers and a small pistol, both of which were lying on the ground behind her.
Adamat took great pleasure in the mild look of surprise on Vetas’s face. It
died quickly when Vetas saw Adamat.
Vetas smiled. “Adamat! I suspected you might still be alive.”
“Is she still alive?” Adamat pressed the hot barrel of his pistol against Vetas’s face.
“Every pain you do to me,” Vetas said, not flinching at the heat of the pistol barrel, “I will return to you and your wife tenfold. I want you to remember that, Adamat.”
“So she is alive?”
“Quite,” Vetas said. “Though she won’t be in an hour and forty-two minutes if I haven’t returned.” He paused, looking around at the soldiers. “I suspect you know where my headquarters is. You’ve probably been watching me very closely. Bravo. But do you have enough men to get in there?”
“You mean past your Privileged?” Adamat asked. “Yes. Yes, I think I do. Where is my boy?”
Vetas gave a sickeningly self-satisfied smile. “An hour and forty-one minutes. Are you sure you have time for this?”
Adamat looked at the woman in the red dress. Oldrich held her tightly by the arm. She glared at him through narrowed eyes, but he could see that her hands trembled. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“Nila,” she said.
“What do you do for him?” He pointed at Vetas.
“Nothing! I… nothing. I don’t work for him. I’m just there to watch Jakob. He’s only a boy!”
“What was Vetas buying in there?”
“Flowers!”
“For who?”
“Lady Windeldwas, or something like that.” Nila brushed the hair out of her face.
“Lady Winceslav?”
“Yes, that was it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” For all her fright, she was remarkably calm beneath the torrent of questions.
Adamat turned back to Vetas. “Why?”
“An hour and forty minutes, Adamat,” he said.
Adamat brought his pistol back and slammed the butt across Vetas’s face. “Secure them,” he said to Fell. To Oldrich, “Sergeant, give her four of your men. We need to get off the street before the police get here.”
Fell dragged Vetas to his feet, still holding the stiletto to his throat. Oldrich sent four of the men with her, along with Nila and the two wounded goons, and the rest of the soldiers followed Adamat.
They met up with the eunuch three blocks down from Vetas’s headquarters.
“My men are in position,” the eunuch said.
“Where’s Bo?” Adamat asked, wheezing from the effort of the run.
He found the Privileged around the corner, standing in the middle of the street. Bo wore black gloves over his Privileged gloves to conceal them. He was muttering to himself, his gloved fingers working silently in the air in front of him, as if he was playing an invisible piano with one hand and plucking a harp with the other. There were three or four people watching him as if he was some kind of madman. He certainly looked the part.
“We have to go in now,” Adamat said. He hunched over his pistol, trying to conceal it from view while he reloaded it.
Bo’s fingers continued to work the air. “I said I’d need time.”
“We don’t have much time,” Adamat said. “His men have orders to kill Faye if he doesn’t return at a prescribed time.”
“Unfortunate,” Bo said with a scowl. “Tell the eunuch to get his men in place.”
The order was given, and five minutes later the eunuch joined Adamat and Bo.
“We’re ready,” the eunuch said.
Bo looked him up and down, eyes lingering on the tailored suit and the bald head. “You make my skin crawl.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Adamat smoothed the front of his jacket. “Sergeant?”
Oldrich’s remaining soldiers had fetched their rifles. They were beginning to get looks from the passersby. “We’re ready,” Oldrich said.
“Let’s make it a parade, then.” Bo turned on his heel and marched down the middle of the street, heading toward Lord Vetas’s headquarters. His fingers twitched, making music that only he could hear. Adamat exchanged a look with Captain Oldrich. This was not how they’d taken the house in Offendale.
Bo didn’t slow as he rounded the corner and stepped his way toward Vetas’s house. When he reached the middle of the street directly in front of the house, he turned and faced it. He raised his hands above his head. In one of the windows, a lookout shouted a warning.
Even though Adamat couldn’t open his third eye, he could still feel it when a Privileged standing at his elbow reached into the Else. Sorcery flowed into the world, and Bo threw his arms wide, and the entire face of the building collapsed like a piece of cake sliced by a giant knife.
Adamat stared at the dust rising from the rubble. Men inside the house stared back, coughing and waving away plaster dust. The shock was plain on their faces.
Sergeant Oldrich drew his sword. “Charge!” he screamed.
All pit broke loose.
CHAPTER
24
A column of heavy cavalry appeared on the floodplain downriver, west of Tamas. The plumes on their helmets waved gently in the breeze, their mounts stepping with confidence despite the low cover of fog.
Tamas lifted his looking glass and examined the enemy.
The officers were out front with their red epaulets, shouting orders, sabers raised.
Fools.
A rifle cracked from somewhere across the river. A few moments later a Kez officer tumbled from his horse.
They advanced at a leisurely pace, as if it were nothing more than a parade drill. More rifle shots rang out from Tamas’s powder mages, and cuirassiers began to fall. The column continued to advance.
“This weather might foul our powder, sir,” Olem said, looking up at the clouds.
Tamas said, “It won’t rain.”
“It’s awfully damp, sir. Strange, this fog. Never seen it sweep down off the mountains so quickly.”
“That’s because this is an answer to a prayer.”
Tamas heard a trumpet echo through Hune Dora Forest and looked to the south. There was movement among the trees half a mile away across the floodplain where only hours ago Tamas’s infantry had been cutting trees and dragging them to camp.
The dragoons emerged from the forest.
Tamas felt his breath catch in his throat. So many cavalry in one place.
He’d seen a force like this perhaps three times in his life. Each time, he’d been numbered among those cavalry, and the enemy had been swept before them. The horses stepped in line, well trained and fearless. Unlike the cuirassiers, someone among the dragoons had the foresight to remove the officer’s epaulets, so they would be harder to pick out for Tamas’s powder mages.
Behind him, the panic among the Seventh and Ninth Brigades seemed to rise in pitch, and Tamas worried that the act had outgrown itself. He’d witnessed hard infantry of the line break at the sight of a magnificent cavalry formation before.
And the Kez cavalry were magnificent. The armored breasts of the cuirassier warhorses seemed to form a wall of moving steel. Their plumes quivered with the movement, and the immaculate uniforms of their riders only added to their majesty.
Tamas searched the line of cuirassiers. In a powder trance, he could see the faces of each man, even at this distance. But picking out one face among so many was nearly impossible. “I wonder where Beon will position himself,” Tamas said. He pointed with his small sword to the southwest. “There, likely, so that he can sweep with his cuirassiers around the barriers we’ve set up and join his dragoons in the slaughter.” Tamas turned to his bodyguard. “Tell me we’re going to win, Olem.”
“ ‘We’re going to win, Olem,’ ” Olem said, putting his last cigarette in his mouth.
Tamas stepped onto a rocky outcropping to give himself a better view of the battlefield.
“Men,” he shouted, “take the line!”
Nila was pushed into a doorway by one of the soldiers.
She squeezed her eyes closed, fightin
g tears she knew so desperately wanted to come. To have escaped soldiers so many times and then fall into Lord Vetas’s clutches, and now this? Who were these people? What did they want?
A man grabbed her by the arm and shoved her up a narrow flight of stairs. They went up two floors, shouting and cursing the whole way. Nila fought them out of instinct more than anything else. She clawed at a soldier’s face, only for her arm to be bent around behind her and her face shoved up against the wall.
“Pit, this girl is a hellion,” the man said. She tried to twist in his grip. He put pressure on her arm and she gasped from the sudden pain. It felt as if it would snap at any moment.
She was thrown into the corner of a small, windowless room. The plaster was yellow and bare, the only furniture a squat table with a stub of candle.
They hadn’t gone far before finding this building, not more than a couple of blocks. Nila had no idea if this was planned, but there seemed some confusion among the soldiers.
Lord Vetas was pushed to the ground beside her. She stared at him—the only familiar face in this chaos. He was calm, collected. Completely unperturbed. Nila hated that she looked to him for some kind of reassurance. She knew none would come.
“Watch him,” the woman said. She was young, and could not have been more than ten years older than Nila, but her eyes were as cold as Vetas’s. Nila had heard someone call her Fell. The soldiers seemed hesitant to follow her orders, but after Fell gave them a long stare, they turned to watch Vetas.
Fell had drawn a pair of wrist irons from beneath her coat. They weren’t typical irons, even Nila could see that. Instead of a horseshoe-looking metal with a crosspiece, they were thick bands with only a single loop of chain between them. The two soldiers turned Vetas roughly onto his stomach, and the irons were snapped around his wrists. He rolled over, examining Fell.
“Drovian irons,” he said. “Very professional.”
“Turn around,” Fell said to Nila.
“No,” Nila said.
Fell grasped her by the arm and jerked her forward onto her knees. Fell stepped behind her, and Nila felt the cold metal of the wrist irons close on her skin.
There was a shout from downstairs. Fell turned to one of the soldiers. “Do not take your eyes off of him,” she said, and disappeared down the stairs.
The Powder Mage Trilogy: Promise of Blood, The Crimson Campaign, The Autumn Republic Page 82