He brushed off his arm as he was unhanded, removing his blindfold and tossing it to one of the men. “That’s no way to run a business,” he said.
“Sorry, Inspector. Riplas’s orders.”
“Does everyone have to be blindfolded?” he asked. “How the pit do you get anything done around here?”
“Not everyone,” the man answered. “But you’re an inspector, Inspector. Be glad we didn’t give you ether.”
“I am, thank you. That happened last time. Now I must see your master.”
One of the goons nodded to the other, who went off down one of the halls of the immense building. As with Adamat’s last visit, he was left with the impression not of a den of iniquity, as one might expect of a crime boss, but of a place of business. The marble floors gleamed, the plaster walls were freshly painted, and the candlesticks had been shined. Bookkeepers ran to and fro, while big, no-nonsense thugs lurked in the corners.
He was about to check his watch for the third time, when the second goon reappeared and gave him a “come hither” gesture. Adamat followed him down a hall to the nondescript door on their right. The man opened the door with his back to it, eyes averted, and pulled it shut after Adamat had stepped in.
The fine wood paneling was the same as it was on Adamat’s last visit, as were the few decorations. Only the rug had been changed—a fact that he noted with interest. The desk was still covered by a screen, while the chair that the Proprietor’s “translator” had occupied was empty.
Ondraus the Reeve stepped around the screen and sat in the translator’s chair, gesturing Adamat to take a seat across from him. “I think we can dispense with the usual procedure, can’t we, Inspector?”
“I believe so.”
“Good. Secrecy is a necessity in this game, of course, but I will admit that it’s a relief to talk to someone who knows my identity. There are only three of you left, with the poor eunuch dead.”
“Riplas knows, I assume?”
“Yes. She and my translator are the only ones.” The words were spoken without menace, but Adamat wasn’t slow to note that it left very few people in the world who needed eliminating if Ondraus wanted to destroy his second life as Adro’s criminal overlord. “Now,” Ondraus continued, “what is it you needed so urgently?”
“I was at Claremonte’s speech today.”
“Were you, then?” Ondraus leaned forward, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “What did you think?”
“I thought it was an interesting career choice, what with word that Tamas has returned.”
Ondraus rolled his eyes. “You think I’m that stupid? Is that what you’re here for? You were curious about my endorsement of the late Lord Claremonte? You only have so much of my goodwill left to feed upon, Adamat. Especially after you got my eunuch killed.” There was something smug about the way Ondraus said “late,” and it gave Adamat a thought.
“‘Late,’ you say? He’s dead?”
“You saw the assassination, didn’t you?”
“Considering your endorsement of him, you don’t seem very broken up about it.”
“Because I ordered his death, of course.”
Adamat barked out a laugh. “You did? Why bother endorsing him, then?”
“Oh, my dear Inspector. That’s very naïve. I wasn’t just endorsing him. Claremonte named me as his Second Minister. We didn’t get to that point of the speech, I’m afraid. My men may have gotten ahead of themselves. All the paperwork is done, anyhow. It’s quite official.”
“And now that he’s out of the way, you’ll be in position to take his place.”
“It’ll be in the papers tomorrow morning, I suspect.”
“And what will Field Marshal Tamas say about this? I read that he should be here in the morning.”
“Indeed he will. And I think he’ll be far happier to hear that it is Ricard and me running against each other rather than Ricard and Claremonte.”
Adamat snorted. “I imagine he will. But you’re a private man. Why First Minister? Why now?”
“Tastes change. You know how it is. My spot as First Minister would afford many benefits to the Proprietor. Or I may enjoy it enough that the Proprietor fades into obscurity.” The Reeve shrugged. “Who knows?”
Adamat drew a book from his jacket pocket. “I think that you may have a problem there.”
“And what is that?”
He held up the book. “This is The Compendium of Gods and Saints. A very old book. Written during the Bleakening, the time after Kresimir first left our world. Supposedly. I’m told that it’s mostly superstitious nonsense, but there is one thing that caught my eye.” He cleared his throat and read, “‘Lord Brude, saint and god of Brudania, is unique among his siblings in one particular way in that he has no shadow. His shadow, it is said, is his other face: a unique condition of sorcery in which he occupies two separate bodies, making him not a single but rather two different gods.’” Adamat closed the book.
Ondraus looked impatient. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Lord Claremonte has no shadow.”
“Hah! Are you claiming that he’s the god Brude?”
“I am.”
“I’m aware that this has been a strange time in our history and that the impossible may very well be possible, but this seems to be a long leap for you, Inspector.”
“Not too much of a leap. A god told me.”
“Oh?” Ondraus rolled his eyes.
“The god Adom.”
Ondraus didn’t seem convinced. “He’s supposed to be dead, isn’t he? The report is that Kresimir killed him.”
“He’s still very much alive.” Adamat leaned forward. “I think it’s far more difficult to kill a god than that.”
Ondraus scoffed. “If that were the case, Claremonte would still be alive. I’ve sent a man to the hospital to find out. I suppose we’ll discover the case soon.” There was a knock on the door, then another distinct high knock and one low. “Come,” Ondraus said.
Adamat recognized the Proprietor’s translator. She was a severe-looking woman, her knitting tucked under one arm, her face expressionless. She closed the door behind her.
“What is the news?” Ondraus asked.
“You have to go.”
“Excuse me?”
Still expressionless, the woman said, “Privileged on the street. Brudanian soldiers. You have less than thirty seconds.”
Ondraus leapt to his feet like a man half his age. “Get out of here, go!” The woman fled, leaving Adamat alone with Ondraus. “You, Inspector. Come with me.” Ondraus strode to the fireplace behind his desk and turned one of the candelabras halfway in its socket, then lifted up on the corner of what looked to be a solid mantelpiece. There was a click, and a panel beside the fireplace sprang open. “Inside.”
Adamat followed his instructions, ducking inside a low but well-used passageway. They were suddenly plunged into darkness as Ondraus closed the hidden panel behind them. “Faster!” Ondraus ordered. “The Privileged will be able to see us moving. We tarry too long here and they’ll suspect who we are. Watch your step.”
Adamat stumbled, nearly falling down a flight of stairs despite Ondraus’s warning. He followed those down almost thirty steps, the air becoming cold, close, and damp. They rushed along, splashing through puddles, and Adamat heard the unmistakable sound of a scream somewhere above them. There was a great wrenching noise and a crash, followed by more screams and the sound of gunshots.
“Quickly!” Ondraus poked Adamat hard in the back, forcing him on ahead, half-crouched, for well over a hundred yards. The passage was stoned in with an inch of water on the bottom, and Adamat could not tell in the darkness where it would end.
“Up,” Ondraus ordered suddenly.
Adamat’s foot hit a step a moment later, and his legs carried him up another flight until he could discern a source of light.
“Head,” Ondraus said.
“What—ow!” Adamat’s head hit a plank, and he reached u
p to push a trapdoor out of his way. They emerged into some kind of a basement that smelled of hay and the rich, grassy smell of horse manure. They went up another flight of wooden steps and emerged into a stable.
“Into my carriage,” Ondraus said quickly. “Driver!” he shouted.
A moment later and Ondraus’s carriage shot into the light, carried down the streets of Adopest and into the normal daily traffic.
Adamat leaned against the wall of the carriage, breathing a sigh of relief, his heart thundering in his ears.
“Turn here!” Ondraus shouted.
The carriage turned and they drove past a street that ended in a small but well-appointed courtyard and a three-story brick building. The courtyard was full of soldiers and the façade of the building had been ripped apart by sorcery, fire flaring into the air from the roof. Bodies were being dragged out of the building—some Brudanian soldiers, but mostly the Proprietor’s goons.
“You keep a carriage on hand at all times?” Adamat asked as they drove on past the Proprietor’s headquarters and into the anonymity of the midday streets.
“Three, actually,” Ondraus said. His eyes were glued to the window and he was grinding his teeth. “Decades of work down the shit hole. Must have caught one of my lieutenants.”
“We’re in the banking district,” Adamat said with surprise, recognizing the main thoroughfare they’d just pulled onto.
“Of course we are. I—and I mean Ondraus the Reeve—works here. I couldn’t have it on the other bloody side of town.” Ondraus pounded twice on the roof and the carriage pulled off to the side of the road. The driver got down and opened the door. “The council is meeting with Field Marshal Tamas tomorrow at four. Be there. Be ready to explain to Tamas your theory about Claremonte. And try to be more convincing than you were to me.”
Adamat stepped out and the door slammed shut behind him. He turned, mouth open, but the carriage was already rolling away.
He waited for a few moments before hailing a hackney cab. He had the distinct feeling that Tamas would more readily believe the news than Ondraus.
CHAPTER
46
Tamas’s soldiers deployed their camp two miles outside the walls of Adopest.
He watched the city through weary eyes, noting the absence of the once-prominent spires of Kresim Cathedral. The black tooth of Sablethorn Prison rose above the city and seemed to lean even more since the earthquake last spring. He made a mental note to mention it to the council. The building might have to be taken down before it could fall.
“Sometimes when we’re out on campaign,” Tamas said, “far away from the lands we love, it’s easy to forget why we go on fighting.” He gestured to the city sitting serenely at the tip of the teardrop of the Adsea. “Coming home always reminds me why I fight.”
“It’s a beautiful sight, sir,” Olem said. Olem seemed to have recovered well enough, thanks to the Deliv Privileged, but Tamas knew it would be some time before he had the spring back in his step. “You have any more orders for the boys?”
“Spread the camp wide. I don’t want a surprise attack by their Privileged to be able to wipe out more than a single brigade.”
Olem lifted his spyglass to one eye. “They don’t seem like they’re looking for a fight. Crowd’s gathering on the walls, though. Only see a few Brudanian soldiers.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. Spread the camp and post my remaining powder mages on guard duty. Any Privileged comes within a mile of the camp and they are not under a white flag, they’re to put a bullet through their eyes. And get me a guard. We’re going in.”
“Yes sir.”
Thirty minutes later Tamas was riding out of his camp and toward the southwestern gate of Adopest. His guard consisted of sixty men: Olem’s best Riflejacks as well as Nila, Bo, and Gavril. He loathed going anywhere without his powder mages at his back, but they were better suited to keeping watch over the army.
“You sent messengers?” he asked Olem as they approached the open gates. People watched him from the crowded walls and children waved flags. He could hear their cheering from a mile away.
“Yes sir. They’ll be ready for us.”
“Good.”
They rode beneath the arches and Tamas found the people lining the streets, calling his name. His messengers had been for his council alone, so this crowd would have had to gather since this morning. Not a bad welcome, he decided.
They rode through the Factory District and across the Ad, from whose bridge he could clearly see the ruins of Kresim Cathedral—cleared away but for the immense cornerstones and the footprint of the outer wall. City folk turned out to wave him past as word spread of his arrival, but Tamas paid them little mind. His eyes were on the rooftops and the alleyways, watching for Brudanian Privileged or soldiers.
None showed themselves but the few stationed upon the old walls, who simply watched him pass.
“Olem, I—”
“Sir,” Olem interrupted, tapping him on the shoulder. He pointed into one of the alleyways along the street and then tugged on his reins, dropping back behind Tamas with a hand on his pistol.
A horse emerged from the alley and fell into step beside Tamas. Tamas eyed the rider in his dark Adran blues. “Good to see you, son.”
Taniel nodded in response. He looked haggard and tired. His uniform was dirty and rumpled, but he’d managed to brush out most of the dirt and his boots were polished. Tamas noted a distinct absence of Taniel’s usual Hrusch rifle, but he did have two pistols in his belt.
“Where have you been?” Tamas asked.
“Hiding. Gavril make it to you?”
“Yes. He’s at the back of the column.”
Taniel gave a relieved sigh. “Vlora’s dead.”
“What?” Tamas had to grab his saddle horn as a wave of dizziness swept over him. “No. Surely not.”
“She is. At least, I think she is. We tracked the Privileged and Ka-poel to the city and got into a fight in High Talien. Whether the Privileged had reinforcements waiting for her or we were just unlucky, I don’t know. We were trying to escape into the city drains when the building came down on her.”
“Oh, pit.” The words came out a whisper. Tamas swayed in his saddle. Another powder mage. Another friend. Pit, Vlora was family. He wanted to let out a sob, but he forced himself to fight it down, maintaining his stony demeanor. Claremonte’s men were watching. He could feel hostile eyes upon him and he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—show weakness.
“Promoting me was a bad idea.”
Tamas glanced out of the corner of his eye. Taniel’s jaw trembled and his eyes were bloodshot. He was barely holding it together. “That’s not true. That’s… Look. You tracked them this far. I’m proud of you.”
Taniel didn’t look like he believed him, and Tamas had to admit that the words were halfhearted. Taniel had gotten Vlora, two powder mages, and a dozen Riflejacks killed. He should have known better! Walking into a trap and…
No. No, no, no. Tamas could feel the grief turn to anger, could feel the corners of his mouth turn down in a scowl. He couldn’t do that. Not now. Not to Taniel.
“Have you found Ka-poel?” Tamas asked.
“Claremonte’s headquarters are in Skyline Palace. He’s renting it from the city. It’s crawling with soldiers and Privileged. I think I glimpsed her aura in the Else, but it was hard to tell at a distance. She must still be alive.”
“Or else Kresimir would have killed us all by now, I suppose.”
Taniel gave him a queer look. “Is the war over?”
“Yes. It’s in negotiations right now.”
“Do you have Kresimir’s body?”
“I do.”
Taniel nodded to himself. “Good. What about Claremonte?”
“I’m going to proceed cautiously. Are you coming to my council meeting?”
“Will Ricard be there?”
“I imagine so.”
“I probably shouldn’t, then.”
“You can’t run f
rom being Second Minister,” Tamas said. “You gave your word.”
“I was bullied into it.”
Tamas set his teeth, trying to rein in his anger. “You took advantage of what avenue of escape was available at the time. You’ll follow through on your word.”
“Or what?” There was defiance in Taniel’s eyes.
“Or no one will ever respect you.”
Taniel looked away.
“It’s part of the game,” Tamas said, trying to soften his tone. “Part of life. You think I wanted to be the Iron King’s lapdog when I was not much older than you? No. But I did what I had to do to survive. We’re here. Come upstairs.”
They had arrived at the western entrance to the People’s Court, Sablethorn looming over them from across Elections Square. Tamas dismounted, and his soldiers took their places by the doors, Gavril in command, while a core group of them followed him inside.
It had been only a few months since he last set foot in the cavernous building, but it felt like half a lifetime. He didn’t recognize most of the staff they passed in the halls, and the corridors felt vaguely alien, as if he were walking them for the first time.
They climbed to the sixth floor and approached Manhouch’s former office, and Tamas could hear shouting from a hundred paces down the hall. He doubled his pace.
He pushed open the door to find Ondraus sitting in one of the wingback chairs in the corner, looking crossly over his reading glasses at Ricard Tumblar. Ricard was red in the face, his beard unkempt as he shook his fist beneath Ondraus’s nose. Lady Winceslav stood behind Ricard with a fan in one hand, trying to look dignified.
“You damned dirty traitor!” Ricard was shouting. “You prig! You villain! I’ll kill you with my own hands!” Lady Winceslav leapt forward to grab Ricard’s arm, pulling him away from Ondraus.
“What’s going on here?” Tamas demanded.
Lady Winceslav opened her mouth, but Ricard cut her off, thrusting a finger at Ondraus. “He’s gone over to the other side! He’s put his support behind Claremonte. He’s running as Claremonte’s Second Minister!”
The Powder Mage Trilogy: Promise of Blood, The Crimson Campaign, The Autumn Republic Page 151