There were times, he decided as he drained the last of his tea, that discretion wouldn’t get the job done.
This might be the stupidest idea he’d ever considered. This might end his career, or even get him killed. But then what was one man’s career against the life of another? Or against justice for a slain woman?
He held his hand up to attract the waiter. “A pencil and paper, please.”
“What the pit do you think you’re doing?”
Captain Hewi had intercepted Adamat as he came into the precinct building the next morning and hurried him into her office, slamming the door behind her.
“I’m not sure what you mean, ma’am,” Adamat said, giving her his best blank look.
Hewi slapped his chest with a handbill and rounded her desk, where she quickly packed a pipe and began smoking up a storm. Adamat looked down at the handbill. It was a single sheet of paper, the kind that newsies handed out on the street corners once they were out of proper newspapers. They often contained advertisements for plays or local businesses.
This particular handbill belonged to the Yellow Caller, the publication of a disreputable and widely despised printer that specialized in sensational and misleading headlines.
“Police of the First Precinct cover up murder committed by mad powder mage,” Adamat read aloud. “Local businessman takes fall. Powder mage still at large, quite dangerous.”
“This was your doing, wasn’t it?” Hewi demanded.
Adamat held the handbill at length to examine it. Cheap quality paper. Several words misspelled. Typical of the Yellow Caller. “I know nothing about it.”
Hewi glared at him. “I’m certain you don’t, and you better stick to that story when the commissioner gets here. He’ll arrive any minute, and he wants your head.”
“Why my head?” Adamat asked. He tried to keep his breathing steady. He wanted attention and this was not unexpected. But he’d hoped to attract a different kind of attention first.
“Don’t patronize me,” Hewi said, pointing her pipe at the handbill. “Officers are forbidden from speaking to the newspaper about an existing case without permission from their superior.”
“They do it all the time,” Adamat said.
“Just because no one follows a rule doesn’t mean that the commissioner won’t enforce it at his leisure.”
Adamat gripped the head of his cane, not looking the captain in the eye. “Well,” he said quietly, “It’s a good thing the Yellow Caller isn’t a newspaper.”
Hewi seemed to consider this then shook her head. “You’re too clever by half, Adamat. The commissioner can still ruin your career.”
“Everyone knows the Yellow Caller is rubbish. This handbill will be forgotten by the end of the week.”
Hewi threw her arms wide. “Then why bother at all?”
Adamat opened his mouth to answer but closed it again as the door to Hewi’s office burst open. Commissioner Aleksandre strode into the small room, his face red, his chest heaving. Adamat took an involuntary step backwards and reflected on the resemblance between Aleksandre and Lieutenant Dorry.
“What,” Aleksandre said, throwing a handbill identical to the one Adamat still held down on Hewi’s desk, “is that?”
Adamat considered informing him that it was a cheap handbill, but one look at Hewi and he swallowed the quip.
“I was just discussing that with the special constable here,” Hewi said. She stared Adamat in the eye as she said it, and her face clearly said, This is your problem. You deal with it.
“Oh?” Aleksandre whirled on Adamat. “Would you like to explain it to me, then?”
Adamat pretended to examine the handbill in his hand. “It appears that my investigation yesterday was leaked to someone at the Yellow Caller and they’ve printed a gross misinterpretation of my conclusions.”
“A gross … “ Aleksandre sputtered, his face growing even more red.
“I can start an internal investigation immediately if you’d like the culprit found,” Adamat continued, “but I think it’s better to ignore this entirely. After all, you’ve instructed us to disregard the powder mage theory and focus on Ricard Tumblar. It’s just the Yellow Caller, sir. No one will remember this within days.”
Hewi made a strangled sound in the back of her throat and began coughing pipe smoke.
Aleksandre’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’m a fool? You think I don’t know you did this?” He snatched the handbill out of Adamat’s hands and tore it in two, letting the pieces flutter to the floor. “What do you hope to accomplish, aside from the complete destruction of your career?”
Adamat glanced at Hewi, who gave the slightest shake of her head.
“Sir,” Adamat said, “I swear I had nothing to do with this. I’m not even on this investigation anymore. I have no interest in the proceedings.” He prayed that Hewi had not mentioned Adamat’s previous relationship with Ricard.
“The constable has an impeccable record,” Hewi said. “That’s why I brought him with me from the Twelfth. He’s honest to a fault.”
Adamat felt the sweat beading and rolling down the small of his back. Hewi had just put her head on the block next to his, and now all he could do was hope that Aleksandre chose to ignore the entire debacle until it went away. Based on the quality of police work at this precinct, it wasn’t out of the question.
Aleksandre slowly let his smoldering gaze fall then began to pace the length of the room. He continued to do this in silence for almost a full moment before turning on Adamat once more.
“You are going to the newspaper this instant. The Adopest Daily. The owner is a friend of mine. You’re going to give an interview that will be on the front page first thing tomorrow morning, in which you state that your theory of a powder mage assassination was a foolish, silly proposition, and you have no idea what came over you. You’ll tell the newspaper that you’ve gladly handed the investigation off to Lieutenant Dorry, who will no doubt close the case in a matter of days.”
Adamat swallowed. This was not what he’d expected at all. The commissioner’s anger? Absolutely. An attack on his credentials and his career? Certainly. But for the commissioner to order Adamat to debase himself publically?
“Those aren’t the facts of the case, sir,” he said, ignoring Hewi’s furious hand signals to shut up.
“This is the First, constable,” Aleksandre said, “and the facts are what I say they are.”
Adamat’s hands were trembling. He was furious now, and he knew there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it but bite his tongue and head to the Adopest Daily where he would sully his own name and be glad to do it.
There was a knock at the door.
“Tell me,” Aleksandre said, “that you understand me perfectly.”
Adamat looked at Hewi, then at his hands. The knock came again, more insistent.
“Oh, what is it?” Aleksandre snapped.
The door opened to reveal a woman in her fifties. Of medium height, with long bony fingers and a gaunt, pockmarked face, she wore a frayed brown suit that had seen many years of use and held a matching bowler hat in her left hand. Her hair was short and gray, cut just above the ear. She was the type of person who looked like she had somewhere particular to be but you couldn’t quite put your finger on where.
“Constable White reporting for duty, sir,” the woman said to Commissioner Aleksandre. “I’m here to help Special Detective Adamat in his investigation.”
Aleksandre looked at Hewi, then back at White. “I don’t know who the bloody pit you think you are, but I’m going to give you until I finish this sentence to get out of this room.”
There was something peculiar about White’s eyes. They had a vibrancy that defied her dour, pockmarked appearance, and they seemed to smile when the rest of her face appeared to not know the meaning of the word. White’s long fingers rolled gently and she produced a small slip of paper as if from thin air. “My card,” she said.
Aleksandre’s chest puffed out as he
drew himself up, taking a step toward White. “You will damn well leave when I … “ the rest of his sentence disappeared in a wheeze when White turned the card to face him so he could see the front of it.
It was stamped with the high mountain flanked by two lesser peaks over the teardrop of the Adsea. It was a common symbol, found on the Adran flag and most everything associated with the government. Beneath the symbol was the title Attaché White, monogrammed in gold. A government employee of some kind. Certainly not a common constable.
“Step into the hallway with me for a moment, commissioner,” White said in a quiet, confident voice.
Aleksandre followed White without a word, and White pulled the door closed, leaving Adamat alone with Captain Hewi. Adamat glanced at the captain, feeling like he’d missed something entirely.
Hewi slowly lowered herself into her seat, tapping one finger thoughtfully on the side of her pipe.
Whatever White was saying to the commissioner, their voices were too quiet for Adamat to make out through the door. He rocked back on his heels, trying to decide what, exactly, was happening. Answers, or at least theories, came to him so easily that it always left him feeling a bit disconcerted when they didn’t.
“What,” he finally asked Hewi, “is happening?”
Hewi’s eyes were half-lidded, fixed on the door. For a moment Adamat thought she hadn’t heard him, then she said softly, “I’ve seen one of those cards before.”
“I haven’t.”
“No, I suspect you haven’t. They’re very rare.”
“Looks like a card any government employee might carry.”
“No,” Hewi said, “not just any.”
“Then who?”
“What do you know about the Adran Royal Cabal?”
Adamat knew that his note to the Yellow Caller last night had been in the hope of attracting the cabal’s attention. But that woman out there, Attaché White, was not a Privileged. She didn’t have the gloves or the telltale mismatched skin discoloration from her hands to her wrists that indicated someone who wore gloves for most of their lives. “As much as anyone else. Elemental sorcerers who serve the king.”
“Who do the king’s dirty work, more like,” Hewi said. “Well they have people that do their own dirty work and I very much suspect that White is one of them.”
The door opened as Hewi finished speaking. White returned without the commissioner and closed the door behind her. “Detective constable.”
“Yes, ma’am?” Adamat said.
“I’m just a constable,” White said with that smile that touched her eyes but not her lips. “White will do.”
Adamat swallowed, wondering if perhaps he hadn’t thought his idea out entirely. He’d expected a Privileged to sweep into the precinct building with their bodyguards and take over Ricard’s case, overruling the commissioner and tracking down the real killer as a matter of public security. He hadn’t expected … whatever White was.
“Yes, Constable White?”
“I’m here to assist you in tracking and apprehending a powder mage. You have the lead on this case. I will be junior constable.”
Adamat glanced at Hewi. “Does this mean I’m back on the murder at the Kinnen Hotel?”
“The murder does not concern me,” White said. “That will be left in the hands of Lieutenant Dorry. Our mission, our only mission, is to find the powder mage. Do you understand?”
Adamat was sweating now. This had gone so suddenly and horribly wrong. Ricard would be left to the guillotine, justice would not be served to Melany, and now he was going to be working with a servant of the royal cabal hunting down a rogue powder mage?
He wondered if a very swift career change was a possibility before saying, in a croaking voice, “Yes, Constable White.”
“Good. Does this work for you, Captain Hewi?”
Hewi nodded.
“If anyone asks, Detective Constable Adamat and I are on special assignment for the crown. Now then, my dear Adamat, we have not a moment to lose.”
Adamat made to follow White out of the room when Hewi rose to her feet and rounded her desk, catching him by the sleeve. Adamat met the captain’s eyes and was surprised to see worry in them.
“Adamat,” she said, “Be very, very careful. This is the type of woman who leaves behind a very large body count.”
“Do you have any questions?”
It was an innocuous inquiry, the kind that a secretary might ask after you’d filled out several pages of paperwork. Coming from Attaché—or rather, Constable—White, it seemed laced with dire undertones. Of course Adamat had questions. He had hundreds of them. But they weren’t the kind of questions you asked to a person like White.
He examined the side of her face while she stared out the window of their hackney cab. Their cab sat in front of the precinct building, going nowhere. White seemed to be staring inward, gears turning behind those vibrant eyes. She turned to him suddenly and he averted his gaze, ashamed to be caught staring.
White’s nostril’s flared. “I have no interest in playing games. You have some idea of who I am and while our mission may very well be a dangerous one, you are not in danger from me. We are both public servants in our own way. If you have questions, you may ask them candidly.”
Adamat couldn’t tell whether he should feel a wave of relief or allow his suspicion to deepen. Doublespeak was just a matter of course to a public servant. Anything he said to her could find him without a career—or pit, facing the guillotine.
“Why me?” he asked.
The smile returned to her eyes, once again avoiding her face. “That should be obvious, Adamat. May I call you Adamat?”
“Yes ma’am—er, Constable White. I apologize, but it’s not obvious to me.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t be.” She paused briefly, and Adamat suspected that if she were the type of woman to sigh she would have inserted one there. “I am a servant who has hundreds of specialties. Some of them tend toward espionage, some of them toward violence. Finding people in a crowded city is not, perhaps surprisingly, one of them.”
“I’m not well thought of in the First,” Adamat said. “In fact, I’ve barely arrived. Someone else would have been better.” He had the sneaking suspicion that fact made him disposable.
“I doubt it,” she said. “I’m familiar with the First and with their capabilities. They are far more interested—rightfully so—in maintaining the illusion of order than in actually getting things done. You, on the other hand, are a proper investigator. The police just want results, any results, while you want actual results. I need the latter.”
Adamat licked his lips. No weaseling out of this, it seemed. “How do you know so much about me?”
“Do I?” she asked. “I read your file immediately before arriving at your captain’s office, as well as your report regarding your investigation yesterday. It was enough to convince me you were the man for the job.”
“Thank you,” Adamat said. I think.
That damned smile in her eyes again. “Don’t thank me until we’ve survived an encounter with the powder mage.”
She makes it sound like a walk in the park. Maybe it’s an average day for her, but sorcery isn’t something I deal with on a regular basis. “White,” Adamat said slowly. “About the murder investigation.”
“This is not a murder investigation.”
“But it stemmed from one.”
The smile left White’s eyes. “I thought I made it clear that we are not involved with that. My masters have one concern: find the powder mage.”
“I … “ Adamat let his sentence trail off. There was no use objecting. White would not give him any leeway on this, and that left Ricard to face the guillotine—in less than a month, if the commissioner had his way.
Suspicions and half-formed theories whirled around in Adamat’s head. He tried to keep them at bay—theories grounded in suspicion, rather than fact, would help absolutely no one. He would either have to convince White that Ricard taking th
e fall for his mistress’s murder was against the Royal Cabal’s interests or figure out another way to help his friend.
“I understand,” Adamat finally said.
White gave a curt nod and pounded on the roof. The cab began to move.
“Where are we going?” Adamat asked.
“Wherever you say,” White said. “You’re the lead on this investigation. How are we going to find this powder mage?”
Adamat considered this for a moment. As much as White wanted to avoid touching upon Melany’s murder, Adamat’s whole theory started and ended there. He would have to talk to Ricard sooner rather than later. He would rather do it without White present.
“Do you have any leads of your own?” Adamat asked. “I, um, assume that you have a rather substantial network of informants at your fingertips. Has there been any sign of a powder mage on the loose in the city?”
“Powder mages are kept under the strictest watch by the cabal, but they are kept under even stricter constraints by General Tamas. He’s a powder mage himself and, though he’s the king’s favorite, he doesn’t want to attract the cabal’s attention by allowing any of his brothers in sorcery to have the run of the city. I suspect that if he or his wife were currently in the country that they would do our job for us. He is almost as efficiently brutal as we are.”
The last words were said begrudgingly, and White rolled her tongue around her mouth as if contemplating a bad taste.
“So that’s a no?” Adamat asked.
White made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. “There was a rumor a few months back that a powder mage was working for one of the gangs in the docklands. Our people could find nothing to substantiate it. That’s the best I have for you.”
“We’ll start there, then,” Adamat said. He pulled his mind away from his concerns—the myriad of dangers surrounding this investigation, as well as the uncertainty of his career once White had returned to her masters—and focused entirely on the task at hand. He stuck his head out the window. “Driver, take us to Willam’s Tavern on Seaside.”