His hands shook as he tried to turn the doorknob, but it was locked. He reached into his pocket for the key, only to have it drop from his stiff fingers.
He bent to retrieve the key and heard the scrape of the lock, and the door opened. He looked up.
“Adamat? You’re home, how wonderful!”
Adamat breathed a sigh of relief, feeling his knees wobble. “Hello, Margy.”
The foreman of the biggest textile mill in Adro was a strong woman in her forties with graying hair and a pair of spectacles perched on her thin nose. “Do come in, I was just keeping Faye company for the afternoon. She said she didn’t expect you for… well, for some time.”
“Who’s there?” Adamat heard Faye call from the sitting room.
“I am,” Adamat responded weakly.
“Oh, hold on!”
Adamat came inside and put down his bag and hung his hat and cane by the door. Faye came out of the sitting room and put her hands on Adamat’s shoulders. He leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek, and he couldn’t help but see the look of hope as she smiled at him, and then the cloud that passed over her face when he closed the door behind him.
He gave a slight shake of his head.
“Margy,” Faye said, “I’m so sorry to do this, but…”
“Oh, now, don’t be like that. I should get home to my girls anyway. You should be with your husband.”
“I’ll stop the cab,” Adamat said. He went back out into the street and shouted for his carriage to return. A few minutes later and Margy was climbing inside with her umbrella.
Adamat forced a smile and waved as the carriage drove off. Beside him, Faye did the same, and he wondered at her ability to face the world with a stiff spine after all she had been through. They went back inside.
“Margy was telling me she’s going to run for treasurer of her district in the new elections this fall.”
“Where are the children?” Adamat asked.
Faye let herself fall against the wall in the hallway. Adamat touched the plaster beside her, noting how it didn’t match the rest. She’d had someone come and fix the hole there, from where SouSmith had put an assassin’s head through plaster and brick.
“Ricard offered to hire a governess for them full-time,” Faye said. “I took him up on it. They’re off for a walk in the park right now and they’ll be back for dinner in a couple of hours.”
“Is that safe?”
Faye made a quiet noise that seemed halfway between a sigh and a sob, but did not respond.
“That was very kind of him,” Adamat added. They stood in the hallway in silence for several minutes. “I should never have answered that bloody summons,” he finally said. “I would never have gotten involved with this entire thing and—”
“Is Josep dead?” Faye asked.
Adamat tried to work moisture into his mouth. When that failed, he gave a small nod. Better that she not know. It would break her. To know Josep dead was one thing, but to know that he had been twisted by hideous Privileged sorcery into some… creature…
Better that no one ever know.
Faye stared at the floor. She went back into the sitting room and a moment later Adamat heard her muffled sobs. He closed his eyes. How had his life come to this?
He took two steps up the stairs, bag in hand, when he turned and went into the sitting room. Faye perched on the edge of one of the chairs, a half-empty cup of tea on the table beside her. Adamat knelt on the floor behind her and put his hands on her arms. He soon found himself weeping as well.
Adamat wept until the collar of his shirt was wet and he felt like he had no more tears to give. His legs were both asleep and Faye had composed herself some time ago and now stared unseeing at the far wall of the sitting room. He kissed her on the forehead and extricated himself from her desperate embrace, brushing the dampness from his face with one sleeve and clearing his throat.
She looked up at him, a sad smile on her lips, and he again wondered at her strength to deal with all of this. To hide her own fears and sorrow and anger, to put on a happy face for him and the children just a handful of weeks after the end of her own ordeals—it was incredible.
“I worry for you,” he said.
“I’m stronger than you think.”
“I know. But I still worry.”
She took his hand and kissed his knuckles. “Worry for yourself.”
“Field Marshal Tamas has returned. He won a great victory against the Kez.” Without even being there, though I don’t think Tamas wants that to be common knowledge.
Faye scowled. “And he’s asked you to do something more for him, hasn’t he?”
“He did,” Adamat admitted.
“No! You are done with that man and his revolution!”
“Be still,” Adamat said. “I told him I would not help him any further.”
“Good.”
“I did…”
“You did what? What? You stupid oaf!”
“I did promise to help Ricard with his election. Not much. I won’t get too involved. I’m not doing this for Tamas, by the way. I’m doing it for Ricard. I owe it to him for helping me get you back.”
Faye stuck her chin out at him. “Owe it or not, if you even walk into his office you’ll get involved. I know him. And I know you.”
“So I shouldn’t do anything?”
“You should be here with your family. Ricard will understand.” She kissed his hand again. “Don’t take any jobs for a while. Let’s just leave the country. We can take the children and go to Novi. We have the money Borbador gave us.”
Adamat wanted to. He really did. Part of him said he would be a coward to do it—he would be running away. But another part told him it was the smart thing to do. The best thing for his family. “I can’t just abandon Ricard,” he said.
“But you can abandon your family?”
“I’m not… I…” Why couldn’t she understand? She and the children meant everything to him, but he had obligations. To Ricard. To Adro.
Faye pushed his hand away. “Fine. Do what you want. You always think you know best.”
Her next words were drowned out by a knock on the door. “Are you expecting someone?” he asked.
Faye shook her head. “The children would come in through the back, but they shouldn’t be here for an hour yet.”
Adamat approached the front window slowly and moved the curtain aside with one finger. When he saw who it was, he ran to the door and threw it open.
SouSmith stood on his front step, hat in hand, a scowl marring his battered face. The old boxer gave Adamat a nod, then an “Evening, ma’am” to Faye.
“Come in, come in,” Adamat said. “I just arrived home. I was going to come see you tomorrow.”
SouSmith shook his head at the invitation.
“What is it?” Adamat asked.
“There’s been a bombing,” he grunted.
Adamat felt his heart skip a beat and his palms begin to sweat. “What? Where?”
“The Holy Warriors of Labor.”
Ricard’s headquarters. A flurry of questions ran through Adamat’s head and they all jumbled up, causing him to feel tongue-tied. He looked at Faye.
“Go,” Faye urged.
Adamat snatched his hat and cane and followed SouSmith out the door to the waiting carriage.
Adamat eyed the light street traffic and silently urged the carriage faster. “Is Ricard hurt?” he asked.
SouSmith shrugged.
“How about his secretary, Fell?”
Another shrug.
“Damn it, man, do you know anything?”
SouSmith shook his head. “Was in Forswitch when I heard.”
“So you weren’t there?”
“Just thought you’d want to know. Was on my way past.”
“Well, thanks for that,” Adamat said. “What were you doing in Forswitch?”
“Helping my brother.”
“The butcher?”
A nod. SouSmith cracked his knu
ckles and peered out the window. “Carrying meat. Big hogs, one on each shoulder.”
“Been boxing lately?”
SouSmith kept his gaze on the street outside. His only answer was a small shake of the head.
Adamat frowned. It had been nine weeks to the day since they attacked Lord Vetas’s lair, capturing Vetas and rescuing Faye. He had released SouSmith from his employ a few days later, what with the danger passed. It seemed strange that SouSmith had had no matches since then. He was old, sure, but he hadn’t lost his edge. Why wouldn’t the Proprietor put him in the ring? Unless…
“Has the Proprietor suspended all of the boxing?”
“Yeah.”
“Because of the eunuch’s death?” An event that had occurred during Vetas’s capture. In fact, Vetas himself had killed the eunuch during Faye’s rescue.
“Still looking for a new second,” SouSmith said.
“I see.” The Proprietor was the head of the criminal underworld in Adro, and the eunuch had been the face of his operations for at least eighteen years. It had to be stirring up plenty with the eunuch gone. After all, only five people in the world knew the Proprietor’s true identity, counting the Proprietor himself.
And Adamat.
Adamat cleared his throat. “I might have some work for you soon,” he said, though he immediately regretted it. Hiring SouSmith meant that he needed a bodyguard. And needing a bodyguard meant he was going to get involved with things he knew he shouldn’t. But someone had tried to kill Ricard.
SouSmith raised one eyebrow. “Hmm.”
For the tight-lipped boxer, it was an enthusiastic response.
Night had fallen, the street lanterns were being lit, and most of the shops were closed by the time they neared Ricard’s headquarters. The evening traffic was blocked, so Adamat paid the driver, and he and SouSmith walked the rest of the way. Adamat peered into the hazy darkness to try to see what damage Ricard’s old warehouse had taken.
Two of the windows high up on the second floor had blown out, and the front door had been taken off its hinges in order to maneuver stretchers through. The brickwork appeared unhurt, and in fact the new mural on the side of the building with Ricard’s face and election slogan of “Unity and Labor” was barely scratched. A prison carriage—empty—blocked traffic in the street, and a dozen police officers milled about, speaking with onlookers and each other. Torches had been posted to supplement the light from the streetlamps.
One of the officers stepped up to Adamat. “Sorry, sir, no one’s allowed in or out, on the commissioner’s orders.”
“I’m Inspector Adamat. Is Ricard all right?”
Another officer looked up from his interview of a scantily clad serving girl—one of Ricard’s hostesses. “Hey, Picadal, you can let Adamat through. The commissioner will want to see him.”
“The commissioner is here in person?”
“Yes. Says it’s a high-profile attack, what with Ricard being a candidate for First Minister.”
Adamat was waved past. When he turned to SouSmith, he found the big boxer lagging behind. “Come on,” Adamat said.
“I’ll wait here.”
“What is it? Oh, never mind. Suit yourself.” Adamat headed inside, where he paused to take in the building for a moment, logging every detail in his perfect memory for future perusal.
While the building was, indeed, an old warehouse, Ricard had gutted the entire thing and improved it with paint, red curtains, gold candelabras, crystal chandeliers, and busts of philosophers. The headquarters of the Noble Warriors of Labor had enough gold trim to make a duke blush. Most of the building was one large room, with offices for business in the very back.
It didn’t take an experienced investigator to see that the explosion had come from the back of the warehouse. For one thing, the offices no longer existed. Blackened wreckage was all that remained of those rooms and, in fact, the better part of the rear wall of the warehouse. The parts of the interior that hadn’t been caught in the explosion had been subsequently damaged by fire. Only the very front of the great room had escaped the worst of the blast.
Adamat was stunned by the destruction. There could easily have been a full barrel of gunpowder hidden inside one of those rooms, or beneath them, in order to cause such damage. No mean feat in a building with this much traffic during all times of day.
Policemen picked through the wreckage alongside some of the union men, trying to save scraps of important documents and pieces of furniture. There was no sign of Ricard. Adamat suppressed his rising panic and turned to one of the policemen.
“Have you seen Ricard Tumblar?”
“Around the side.”
A side door, completely intact despite the damage to the rest of the building, led out into an alleyway, where Adamat was relieved to find Ricard sitting with his back to the building next door. The union boss had his head in his hands. A little farther down the alleyway, Fell was talking quietly with the commissioner of police. The whole alley was lit by a pair of large lanterns outside the side door.
“Ricard,” Adamat said gently, squatting next to his friend.
Ricard looked up, his eyes a little distant. “Eh?” he asked, far too loudly. “Oh, Adamat, thank Adom you’re here.”
“Are you all right?”
“What? Oh, I can’t hear a damned word in this ear. Here, come around over here.”
Adamat moved to Ricard’s other side. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes. Just a little frazzled, that’s all.” He made a vague gesture toward the warehouse. “I’ve lost… well, everything. Thousands of documents gone. Millions in banknotes. Darilo.”
“Please tell me you’re insured.”
“For some of it. Not enough.”
“Union documents.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve made copies? Please tell me you’ve made copies.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Then you haven’t lost everything. Who is Darilo?”
“My bartender. Poor man. I sent him into my office to grab a coat for Cheris, and then…” He stared absently at the wall of his warehouse. “He’s been with me for over a decade. I went to his wedding. I had to send word to his wife. I’ll go see her myself tomorrow.” He finally looked over at Adamat. “Only fourteen people were killed in the explosion and it’s a bloody miracle. There were nearly two hundred of us in there for a party. The heads of the goldsmiths’ and millers’ unions are dead. The head of the street cleaners’ union is having his leg amputated as we speak. I’ve lost half of my hearing. Cheris was hit in the shoulder by flying debris. It’s just…” He trailed off.
“You’re alive. That’s what matters.”
“But the campaign…”
“You’ll recover.”
Ricard met Adamat’s eyes for the first time and Adamat realized that Ricard was still in shock. “Several of my friends were in there. Relationships. Money. Time. Resources. All of them lost because of some damn bomb. Who the bloody pit would have done this?”
Claremonte seemed the likely answer, of course. Ricard’s competition in the campaign for First Minister was not a man to trifle with. He would not hesitate to kill hundreds, maybe thousands, to reach his goals. Adamat knew from firsthand dealing with his lackey, Lord Vetas.
“The police will find out.”
Ricard suddenly took Adamat by the collar. “I want you to find out. Bloody police. They won’t get anything done.”
“Shh!” Adamat tried making a significant glance toward the police commissioner, who was standing a dozen feet away. Ricard was talking very loudly.
“Don’t shush me! I’ll pay you anything, Adamat. Just find out who did this!”
“Calm down, Ricard. I’ll help. Of course I will.” It wasn’t even a choice. Ricard had helped him and Faye with so much over the years. And now, against his will, Adamat was being dragged back into the fray.
CHAPTER
26
Taniel and his group of Riflejacks and powder
mages entered the Black Tar Forest under the cover of darkness the next evening. Wary of ambushes, they pressed on along the road with two men out front at all times, ready to spring any traps.
Taniel felt a pressure in the depth of his chest that urged him forward. They had not yet come across a small, broken, freckled body left to rot alongside the road. Ka-poel might still be alive. She had to be. Otherwise they would have killed her during their raid on the Adran camp and been done with the whole affair. They must need her alive, and that prospect scared him almost as much as finding her dead.
When he caught these Kez dogs, he would put a bullet through every last Privileged’s brains. He would garrote the grenadiers with their own bootlaces. The rage pushed him onward, while a voice in the back of his head warned that he was pushing too hard.
He ignored it. What if the Privileged couldn’t kill her? Perhaps she shielded herself with the same sorcery that she used to shield him, and they would be forced to keep her prisoner until they managed to unwind her wards.
She was not impervious to pain. What kind of tortures would they inflict on her?
He had to get her back.
“Taniel!”
Vlora’s voice snapped through his thoughts like the sting of a wasp.
“What is it?”
“We have to stop.”
“Already?” He blinked moisture into his eyes, dry from staring into the wind as they rode. “Gavril, call the halt. We’ll rotate men.” It was their practice these last two days to ride with the two far ahead watching for traps, and to rotate those two every hour. Gavril put his fingers to his mouth and gave a shrill whistle, calling the vanguard back toward them.
“No,” Vlora said, drawing her horse closer and lowering her voice. “We have to stop for the night. It’s a miracle none of the horses have fallen in the dark. The men are exhausted.”
“Dark? There’s still plenty of light to see.”
Gavril said a few words to the men and brought his horse stepping toward them. “You’re running a damned powder trance,” he said. “And you’ve been running it too long. Can’t tell the night from the day.”