“And what’s in it for you?”
Ricard managed a sly smile despite his disheveled state. “Someone has to head up the union, don’t they?”
“Ah. I see.” Adamat shook his head, knowing even as he did that he’d had little faith in Ricard’s ventures before, and a surprising number of them had worked. He sobered his tone. “I can’t promise anything. I don’t want to get your hopes up.”
“The very fact that you’re here to help gets my hopes up.”
Adamat grinned. “I was afraid you’d say something like that. Nothing like a little pressure to make working easier.”
Ricard grasped Adamat’s hand. “Really. Thank you so much. This means a lot to me. I’ll be in your debt forever.”
Adamat called for the jailer, wishing he had more time to spend with his friend, and that they could be meeting over better circumstances. As annoying as Ricard’s optimism could be, he was a good man. Why had Adamat avoided him?
“And Adamat,” Ricard said as the jailer unlocked the door.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry about Cora. I really am.”
Adamat felt his jaw tighten. Oh yes. That was why. He gave a brisk nod, not trusting himself to speak, and stepped out into the hallway. He reached in his pocket to feel the paper with the names of Ricard’s enemies, and slowly went over them in his mind. These were powerful businessmen and nobles. People with fortunes and connections and some even with private armies.
And the only thing keeping them from sending Ricard’s head tumbling from a guillotine was him.
“One last thing,” Adamat said, returning to Ricard’s side and handing him the paper. “Who among these people would have the money and guts to hire a powder mage so close to the Adran Royal Cabal?”
Ricard seemed to think about this for a minute then circled four names. Adamat eyed them for a moment. “Good,” he said quietly. “I’ll do what I can.”
He was on the main floor, reaching for his pocketbook to give the jailer something to ease Ricard’s stay in Sablethorn, when his hand came up empty. His pocketbook was gone. He sent the jailer up to Ricard’s cell to look for it but the man came back five minutes later shaking his head.
Adamat left the jail and stepped out into the public square, where he leaned on his cane and replayed the last several hours in his head. He had paid off Teef. And the driver that brought him to the city center. After that he had not touched his pocketbook. He thought through the brushes he had with a dozen different people as he moved through afternoon foot traffic. One of them must have snatched his wallet, but none stood out in his memory.
He swore under his breath and lifted his eyes to look for his cab.
It was just were he’d left it, the driver huddled at the reins. And standing beside it, her eyes lacking that disturbing smile, was Constable White. Adamat swallowed hard and approached the cab.
“Employment records?” White said. “In the Public Archives?”
“They’re legally required to have them,” Adamat said.
“And you and I both know that employment records are as reliable as the rain. You wanted to get rid of me so you could visit the accused from that murder case.”
Adamat looked around. This conversation seemed to beg privacy, but he didn’t think he wanted to be alone with White. Then again, she could probably smell his hesitance. He climbed inside the cab.
She followed him in and closed the door, folding her hands serenely in her lap. Adamat remembered the quiet, almost sensual voice she had used on Teef, calmly explaining how to remove a man’s face with a straight razor. He positioned his cane where he could bring it to bare easily, but didn’t think it would help much if she attacked him.
“The powder mage was hired to frame Ricard,” Adamat said, “And finding the powder mage could very well depend on finding out who hired him. I simply went to visit Mr. Tumblar to get a list of his enemies.”
“And did you?” White asked coldly.
Adamat produced the list that Ricard had given him and handed it to White. “These are the people and families whose interests are threatened by Mr. Tumblar’s push to unionize. The names he circled are the ones he suspects would risk the wrath of the cabal to hire a powder mage. Note the second name from the bottom.”
White’s eyes skimmed the list. “This includes some of the most powerful noble and merchant families in Adro.” Her eyes reached the end. “Kemptin. Walis Kemptin.”
“He’s a na-baron,” Adamat said. “A member of the Kemptin family and, if I’m not mistaken, he’s in charge of the Kemptin mines in the north.”
White looked at Adamat over the list. Some of the anger had gone out of her eyes, but she was still definitely annoyed. “If he’s angering all these people, I’m surprised no one has just up and killed him yet.” She folded the scrap of paper neatly and ran her fingernails along the crease before depositing it in her pocket. “I will have to get permission to proceed. Continue your search. I’ll find you in the morning.”
“Of course.”
“Adamat, do not try to sneak anything past me again. You will regret it.”
Adamat thought of White leaning in and whispering in Teef’s ear, drawing her fingernail along the boy’s throat. Yes, he imagined he would regret it deeply.
“What else do we have?”
White sat down at the cafe table across from Adamat, glancing surreptitiously at the newspaper in Adamat’s hand before raising her chin and waiting for an answer.
Adamat let her wait. It was still early in the morning, not yet eight, the sky still dark, and he was nursing a significant headache and trying to keep his eyes open enough to drink two cups of the cafe’s stoutest Fatrastan coffee. Very little sleep was a hallmark of police work. He’d managed to get used to it, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. Nor did he enjoy spending so much time away from his wife.
“Very little,” Adamat responded. He couldn’t help the spike of annoyance when White’s eyebrows rose. Cold-blooded killer or not, have a little damned decency. “I managed to find two more of my informants yesterday. Neither of them had any idea who in the Brickmen gang might be related to the powder mage. One said it wasn’t a relation at all, just someone who happened to be in the right place at the right time and was hired to kill a rival gang member. Regardless, the story is the same: as soon they found out he was a powder mage no one in the docklands would come near him.”
“Did you find out a name?”
Adamat shook his head. It was one of his greatest frustrations from the previous night. A name would let him ask more specific questions, peruse employment, prison, or even church records. It was so much more useful than “powder mage.”
“Did you find anything at all of use to us?” White drummed her fingernails on the table.
“I left the Public Archives just an hour ago,” Adamat said. “Found something curious about the Kemptin family.”
“That applies to our search?”
“I think so.” Adamat raised his eyes from his newspaper. “The Kemptin family is much larger than I thought. None of them are particularly high in the peerage, nothing more than a baron, but they have to be the most prevalent example of nepotism in the whole country. Members of their family occupy public office and high station throughout most of central and northern Adro.”
“So?”
“Commissioner Aleksandre is one of them. A second cousin of Walis Kemptin.”
“You’re looking for a conspiracy.” White narrowed her eyes at him.
Adamat almost balked at that look, but he forced himself to go on with confidence. “I’m not looking. I’m being smacked in the face with it. Ricard Tumblar was framed for murder. Tumblar is trying to get the House of Nobles to legalize his union. The Kemptins are a prevalent family who employ thousands of laborers, giving them vested interest in seeing his efforts fail. They’ve put dozens of family members in useful positions all over the country, and they would damn well make use of them. They could have hired an ass
assin to frame Ricard Tumblar, and then when someone like myself fingered the real killer, had cousin Aleksandre step in and make sure Tumblar would still take the fall.”
Adamat was out of breath by the time he finished. He leaned back, finding his heart racing. The outburst had done more to wake him up than the coffee had, but now his mouth was dry. Had he said too much? He gestured for the waiter to bring another cup.
“It could just be coincidence,” White said. “The commissioner’s relation to the Kemptin family.”
“It could be, but I very much doubt it was.”
“You’re forgetting the most important thing, Adamat,” White said. “It doesn’t matter. Tumblar will take the fall for this because my masters don’t give a damn what happens to him. All we want is the powder mage.”
Adamat slammed his fist on the table. “Are you being willfully ignorant? If the Kemptin family hired a powder mage to perform a political assassination once then they may do it again. They’re defying the cabal and by letting Ricard go to the guillotine you allow it to happen!”
He took his cup of coffee from the waiter and raised it to his lips. Oh pit, what had he done? This time he had gone too far. His hand trembled violently and he had to set the coffee down so as not to spill it. He shrank into his seat.
White examined her fingernails. “I’ll be honest, Adamat. I find your earnestness endearing. Don’t mistake that for us being friends. You have not proven that Kemptin is even involved with this powder mage.”
“I can,” Adamat said.
“And you better. I have permission to proceed. We’re going to see Walis Kemptin in an hour. I can see,” she said slowly, “why your captain chose to bring you with her on her transfer to the First.”
“Because I’m good at my job,” Adamat said. It came out a whisper. Permission to proceed was an enormous breakthrough.
“No,” White replied. “I suspect that she grew to like you at the Twelfth, and she brought you along because without her protection you would very quickly get yourself wrapped up in something too big for yourself and get killed.”
“The cabal’s involvement is not to be mentioned,” White said as their cab pulled up in front of the Kemptin townhome. “As far as anyone is concerned, I am your junior partner.”
Adamat stopped a snide comment about White being twice his age before it could slip out of his lips. He nodded and climbed from the cab. The townhome was very similar to that belonging to the late Viscount Brezé and, in fact, was less than two blocks away. Adamat wondered how soon that poor cook was going to face the guillotine and who, exactly, was the real killer.
Nothing could be done for that. He had more than enough to focus on, and his own luck had already been more than stretched.
The butler, an aged woman in a black suit, answered the door and showed them to the sitting room, where they were left to their own devices, the door closed behind them. Adamat did a long circuit of the room. “Silk wallpaper,” he noted aloud, absently. “Recently repapered. Probably to cover the plaster repairs after they installed this gas lighting.” Adamat ran his finger over the wallpaper then tapped on a glass lamp hanging from the wall beside the door. “The coal business must be doing very well. Though I can’t imagine Kemptin would be nearly as receptive to gas if it was used for heating as well.”
Adamat stopped in front of the fireplace and looked down. “Speaking of heating,” he muttered.
White joined him. “The flames have been doused,” she said. “The logs are wet.”
“About fifteen years ago,” Adamat said with a sigh, “the Iron King ordered the nobility to be accessible to the police at our convenience. They weren’t used to having to answer to commoners, which so many of us are, so in protest they would douse their fires during a winter visit and leave the constables in the cold room for as many as several hours. It’s terribly petty.”
“I made an appointment,” White said, looking slightly annoyed.
“As a constable,” Adamat reminded her. “Not as a representative of the cabal.”
White’s nostril’s flared, but she remained silent.
Their wait, it turned out, was only about fifteen minutes. Walis Kemptin turned out to be a man in his mid-thirties. He was well kept, freshly shaven with short black hair clinging to the sides of his head while the center of his skull shone baldly. His skin was darker than most you’d find in Adro—a Deliv mother, perhaps—and his manner was easy, giving Adamat and White a friendly smile as he entered.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “By Kresimir, it’s cold in here. Let’s make this quick, shall we? I don’t want to keep you officers any longer than needed.”
Adamat glanced at White. Walis acted as if it was he that made the appointment. Despite his friendly demeanor, Walis didn’t offer them a chair or summon a maid to relight the fire. Why would he? He was a busy man and to most nobility the police were nothing more than a nuisance to be paid off or ignored.
A superior at the academy had always told Adamat not to antagonize the nobility. It was the quickest way to end your career. Smile, bow, defer to them in all things, even if they were the most vile human being you’d ever had the misfortune to meet.
Adamat bowed. “Lord Walis,” he said, “I’m Special Detective Constable Adamat. This is Constable White. I’ll make this very quick indeed.” He paused to laugh, as if what he said were of little consequence. “I don’t want to alarm you, my lord. This is more of a courtesy visit than anything else.”
Walis raised his eyebrows. “Oh? What would possibly alarm me?”
“There’s been a row going about the city involving a powder mage. You may have heard about it?”
“That thing from the Yellow Caller? I thought that was some kind of joke.”
Adamat chuckled into his hand. “Sorry to say, it’s not a joke. The investigation leaked to the Caller somehow, but that’s not important. What’s important is that there’s a small—a very small, I assure you—chance that you’re in danger.”
“How could I possibly be in danger?” Walis’s easy stance had changed. His body had stiffened, his eyes become more cautious. He was listening carefully now.
“We’ve reason to believe that this assassin—this powder mage—is a former pitrunner. He used to work in your mines up north. I’m sorry to be so blunt, sir, but the conditions of the northern coalmines are well known and, to be honest, we’re worried that he may target you or your family for assassination next. He already tried to kill a local businessman and barely missed, killing his mistress instead.”
“I see,” Walis said slowly. His breathing had tightened up. He wasn’t showing it, not much, but he was nervous now. Adamat had him. Now just to lay out the trap.
“We just recommend staying away from any open windows or public places over the next forty-eight hours.”
“Forty-eight hours?” Walis echoed.
“Yes, sir. We’re closing in on the bloke,” Adamat said. “We should have him captured and taken in for questioning within a day or two. Once we do we’ll send someone around to give you the all clear.” Adamat ducked his head. “That’s all we needed. Thank you so much for your time, my lord.”
“Of course. Thank you for the … warning.”
Adamat bowed his way out of the room and took his hat and coat from the butler. White followed him out to the front of the house where he stopped and took a long, shaky breath.
“That,” White said, “was not quite what I was expecting.”
“It was a bit spur of the moment I must admit,” Adamat said. His palms were sweaty, and he dried them on his pant legs.
“I’m not entirely sure what you accomplished there,” White said. “If he’s truly connected to the powder mage, Walis will make the man disappear.”
“I think not,” Adamat answered. He searched his pocket for his pipe before remembering it was back home on the windowsill where he always left it. “And I’m certain he’s connected. Did you see the way we had his attention the mo
ment the powder mage was mentioned?”
“I did,” White admitted.
“Good. Glad I didn’t imagine it.”
White made a vexed sound in the back of her throat. “And why won’t Walis make his pet powder mage go into hiding or just have him killed?”
“Because you don’t up and kill an asset like that. And he’s probably already in hiding. No,” Adamat said, “there are far easier options available to a man like Walis.”
“Like?”
“Well, he’ll check with his second cousin, the commissioner, and find out that we’re on a special assignment for the crown. He’ll panic when he thinks you’re on his trail, and then he’ll do the logical thing.”
White was growing impatient. “Which is?” she demanded.
Adamat adjusted his hat and gripped his cane by the head, walking toward their cab. “He’ll have me killed.”
Adamat and White were together in the Public Archives later that day when four constables arrived with a warrant for Adamat’s arrest.
Adamat noted that a reporter from the Adopest Daily was hanging around the front of the Archives when he was trundled out the door in irons and into the back of a police wagon. He was joined a moment later by one of the constables. He heard an interchange between White and one of the men outside.
“I’m going with him,” White said.
“This isn’t your arrest, love,” the officer said.
“He’s my partner.”
“Not my problem. You can visit him in Sablethorn if you want.”
The arresting constables had not, it seemed, been informed of White’s status. He could practically see the coldness seeping into her eyes as the man spoke just outside the wagon.
“Give me a ride back to the precinct building, then,” White said.
“Fine, fine. But you’ll have to ride inside. Nothing funny from you, hear?”
The door opened and White climbed in to sit beside Adamat.
“Interesting plan of yours,” she said as they began to move.
Adamat glanced at the arresting constable. Someone from the First that he didn’t recognize. Likely someone chosen by the commissioner. “Honestly,” Adamat said, “I’m surprised by their restraint. I expected someone to come and try to stick a knife in my back. Someone who doesn’t know about you. We’d capture them, find out who hired them, then … “ he trailed off with a shrug.