Chapter
13
Tamas climbed out of his tent and finished buttoning up the front of his uniform. He adjusted the gold epaulets on his shoulders and he wondered if they’d have rain that day. The sky over the Adran Mountains to the east had just barely taken on a light halo, while the rest of the world slept on in darkness.
Tamas gazed at that slight brightening and wondered how things went on the other side of the mountains. Budwiel had fallen. The Kez were no doubt pushing their way up Surkov’s Alley. Tamas hoped that his generals could handle the defense. He grimaced to himself. With Budwiel gone, the fight could only go in Kez’s favor. His men needed him. His country needed him. His son needed him. He had to get across these damned mountains.
“We can beat them to the forest if we leave now. I’ve not spoken with my northern outriders.”
“Vlora just came from the north. We’re sixteen miles from Hune Dora.”
Gavril accepted an offered canteen from Olem and took a swig, then poured the rest over his head. His body steamed. “We won’t have time to sack the city.”
“She says it’s abandoned. I’ll have some men take a look, but we’ll probably head right past it.”
“Abandoned, eh?” Gavril scratched his bearded chin. “We could make a stand there.”
Tamas cast an anxious glance to the south. He couldn’t see the Kez cavalry, but it seemed to him he could sense them. “Maybe.”
Olem stood and held out a pewter plate. On it was a steaming cut of elk.
“Burned on the edges and raw in the middle, but it’s delicious,” Olem said with a grin.
Tamas heard his stomach growl. There must have been two pounds of meat on that plate.
“Share it with Gavril,” Tamas said. “I’m not hungry.”
Olem cocked an eyebrow. “I can hear your stomach making bear calls from here, sir. You have to keep up your strength.”
“Really, I’m fine.”
Gavril grabbed the meat with his bare hands. “Suit yourself.” He tore it in half and plopped one half back on the plate. He began to cram the rest into his mouth. Around bites, he yelled out to another rider who’d just come into camp.
“Sir,” Olem said as Gavril strode off, “you need to eat.”
“Get the men on their feet,” Tamas said. A sudden urgency rose within him as a gust of wind nearly tore off his hat. “Have the advance column marching out of the camp in twenty minutes.” He stared south until Olem was gone.
Sixteen thousand Kez cavalry. His two brigades of infantry would be ridden down. They’d die hungry, exhausted, and in a foreign land while the Kez burned their homes.
He couldn’t let that happen.
He wouldn’t let that happen.
Tamas strode toward the nearest tents. “Companies,” he shouted. “Prepare for march!”
Sergeant Oldrich and his squad of Riflejacks were staying at a retired barracks on the southeast side of the Ad River, not far from the Lighthouse of Gostaun. The barracks was a big building, abandoned and empty but for the odd feral dog. The front doors were barred and chained, but one of the many side entries had been left unlocked.
Adamat entered the barracks through that door and crossed two empty parade grounds before he found the small mess hall where the captain and his squad were watching Adamat’s four youngest children put on a play in the center of the mess.
Adamat stood in the door quietly, unable to keep the smile from his face as Astrit absently played with her black curls while she tried to remember the lines of the princess trapped in a tall tower by the evil Privileged who, judging by the costumes composed of robes and bedsheets, was being played by one of the twins.
“Daddy!” Astrit cried, catching sight of him.
He was mobbed by all the children crowding around him with hugs and kisses. He made sure to give each one a kiss, saying each of their names – except for the twins. He could never tell them apart, and he wasn’t about to admit it.
Adamat wrestled on the floor with his children for several minutes before he was able to extract himself. He bid them return to their play, and joined Sergeant Oldrich at the table in the corner of the room.
“Coffee?” the sergeant offered, chewing absently at the tobacco tucked in his cheek.
“Tea, if you have it.”
Oldrich called over to one of his men. “Tea!” He fixed Adamat with a frown. “You look awful. You got rolled, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.” Adamat found himself watching his children. They were beautiful kids. They really were. The thought of anything happening to them made his blood begin to boil and he forced himself to look away. “Got out of it fine, and I’ve found Vetas’s headquarters.”
“I didn’t think you could.” Oldrich lifted his coffee cup in a salute. “I figured the bastard would be in the wind after what you did to his boys in Offendale.”
Adamat sniffed. “He’s not afraid of me,” Adamat said. “I don’t think he’s afraid of anything. You ever seen a machine powered by steam? They’ve got looms, hammers, printing presses…” Adamat was briefly reminded of his own failed foray into publishing but managed to push the thought away.
“Yeah,” Oldrich said. “They have them in ships now, too.”
“Exactly. He’s like a steam engine. Just keeps going. No feeling, no thought. Just a task to do and he’s going to do it.”
Oldrich sipped his coffee. “Damn. Almost makes you feel bad for him.”
“No,” Adamat said. “I’ll still rip his heart out when I find him.”
“And I hope you get your chance. Shall we go get him?”
“How many men do you have again?” Adamat asked, though he knew well enough.
“Fifteen,” Oldrich said. “Two to guard the children…”
“Five.”
“Five to guard the children, that leaves us with twelve, counting you and me.”
“Not enough.”
“He’s got enough goons to take on a squad of the field marshal’s best?”
“He’s got at least sixty enforcers and a Privileged.”
Oldrich whistled. “Ah. I don’t think there’s anything we can do about that.”
“Pit. Thank you,” Adamat said as a cup of tea was set in front of him. He added two lumps of sugar and stirred it to cool. “Have you seen the morning paper?”
“No. You want one? Oi! Someone get the investigator a paper!”
Adamat cringed inwardly. He was hoping to find out that Oldrich hadn’t seen a paper today. Not draw attention to one. Oh well. “Do you remember a Privileged by the name of Borbador?” Adamat changed the subject.
“I do,” Oldrich said. His normally pleasant face was suddenly guarded.
“I think he’d do it for us. Borbador was one of the cabal’s best and brightest. He held Shouldercrown against the Kez Cabal virtually by himself. I know Tamas left him alive and has him stashed in the city. If we could —”
“No,” Oldrich said.
“‘No’ what?”
“Privileged Borbador has a gaes to compel him to kill the field marshal.”
“I know. I’m the one who told Tamas about the gaes.”
“Then why would you ask me that? Releasing him would endanger Tamas and I won’t do it.”
Adamat held his head in his hands. He felt like he was doing that a lot lately. “It’s our only chance against a Privileged under Lord Vetas.”
“You could ask Taniel Two-Shot,” Oldrich said. “He kills Privilegeds as a hobby, and rumor has it he’s in the city.”
“Newspaper said this morning he left for the front.” Adamat realized his mistake as the words left his mouth.
“So you have seen a paper?” Oldrich nudged a spittoon from beneath the table with one toe, leaning over to spit into it. “Was there something in it you wanted me to see?”
“Sir,” one of Oldrich’s men called from the doorway. He was a young man, probably not much older than Adamat’s son Josep. “Sir, you should see this.” He rushed over to Oldrich and dropped a paper into his lap.
Oldrich lifted the paper. The headline read, “Budwiel Sacked, Field Marshal Tamas Dead.” Oldrich was silent for several minutes as he read the article. The young soldier stayed by his side the whole time. When Oldrich finished, he handed the newspaper back to the soldier.
“You weren’t going to tell me?”
Adamat felt like a child who’d been caught robbing the pantry. “I was,” Adamat said. “After I figured out how to convince you to stay and help me.” Adamat swallowed hard. He was about to lose the last bit of help he had to get Faye back. Once Oldrich was gone, it would be just Adamat with eight children to look after, and a wife and son still in his enemy’s hands.
“There’s no convincing,” Oldrich said. “I was given an order. Tamas is my commanding officer and an old friend. He told me to see this thing through to the end regardless of whether he lived through the war.”
“And you will?”
“Yes.”
Adamat couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. He dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, realizing that he’d been sweating. “Thank you.” He paused. “You seem to be taking this awfully well.”
“The headline is sensational,” Oldrich said, pointing to the paper. “It’s actually ‘presumed dead.’ Tamas went behind enemy lines with the Seventh and Ninth and hasn’t been seen since. Those are the two hard-as-nails brigades in the Adran army. Until I see a body, I’m going to believe that Tamas is in Kez, chewing up their army and spitting them out like toothpicks.”
“So I won’t be able to convince you to release Privileged Borbador with Tamas dead?”
“Sorry. You’ll have to think of something else. And do it quick, because I can only help you take down Vetas until there’s an army knocking on Adopest’s front door.”
Adamat stood. “I’ll think of something.”
“Also,” Oldrich said, “with Tamas presumed dead, that means the clerks will tighten the noose on the checkbook he gave you. We’ll need money for bribes or supplies sooner rather than later. If you’ve got some money stashed away…”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Adamat said. He reluctantly said good-bye to his children and headed for the door, only to have Oldrich join him in the hallway. “Sergeant?”
“I wanted to tell you something,” Oldrich said in a hushed voice. He glanced into the mess. “If only to make you feel a little reassured. I don’t want you to worry about your children. The boys have taken a real shine to them. Anyone finds us, comes in here looking for those kids, my boys’ll scramble ’em good, and they won’t be kind about it.”
Adamat fought back the sudden tears in the corners of his eyes. “Thank you,” he managed. “It does… it does mean a lot. Thank you.”
Adamat got to his safe house by about one in the morning. He wearily climbed the stairs to the apartment above the landlady’s, listening to the creak of his boots on the old wooden steps. Had it really been five days since he’d been here? He’d slept on a park bench, a hospice bunk, and a chair in a bar over the days since his meeting with the Proprietor as he planned his next move on Lord Vetas.
He needed a bath.
SouSmith sat next to a low-burning lamp on the sofa. The boxer looked up from a game of cards laid out in front of him, his brow furrowed.
“Bloody worried,” SouSmith said.
Adamat closed the door with a sigh. He was hoping he’d have a good night’s sleep before having to face SouSmith. He felt like the pit. His body hurt, he’d had little sleep in ten days, and he needed a good meal. He’d felt like this only once or twice before in his life, back when Manhouch succeeded his father and the commoners were restless and all police officers were working eighteen-hour days.
He never thought he’d feel like that again. He thought he’d left it all behind.
“Sorry,” Adamat said.
SouSmith looked back at his game. He moved one card on top of another and pulled two off the table, setting them beside him on the sofa.
“Look like pit,” SouSmith said.
“Feel like it, too.”
“Where you been?” His beady eyes searched Adamat’s face.
“The Proprietor reeled me in.” Adamat limped over to a chair by the sofa and collapsed into it. “His boys worked me over all night before I got to see him. Turns out the whole thing was a big bloody mistake. Tossed me back out on the cobbles with ‘sorry.’”
“You saw the Proprietor?”
Was that worry in SouSmith’s voice?
“I came as close as one gets. Sat in the same room with him behind a black screen. Spoke to him through some knitting woman, like he’s mute or something.” Adamat frowned. Maybe the Proprietor was mute. Maybe the woman wasn’t just a security measure but an interpreter. “Do we have any food?”
SouSmith jerked his thumb to a platter next to the sofa. Underneath the cover was a sandwich. The meat and cheese were warm, but it seemed like the best thing Adamat had ever tasted as he collected it and sank back into his chair.
Adamat felt a little strength return as he finished the meal. “He wants the same thing I want, it seems,” Adamat said between the final few bites. “Lord Vetas has been causing him trouble. The Proprietor’s boys only pulled me in because we were following the same woman.” Adamat licked his fingers clean. “But now that the Proprietor knows we’re after the same thing, it seems he’s content to just step back and let me go at Vetas. Which is a bloody shame, because I need his help!” Adamat heard his own voice rise as he finished the sentence, and he grabbed the platter the sandwich was on and hurled it across the room. It clattered into one corner.
SouSmith leaned back on the sofa, his game forgotten, watching Adamat.
“I’ve never wanted to kill a man so badly as I do Lord Vetas,” Adamat whispered. “I know where he is. I found his headquarters. I have a chance, and with the Proprietor’s help I could do it, and he just pushed me back on the street.” He took a shaky breath. “I’m going to do something very foolish, SouSmith, and I think you should walk away from me. Consider this the end of your employment.”
SouSmith’s eyebrows rose. “I’ll decide that.”
“I’m going to blackmail the Proprietor.”
SouSmith began collecting his cards in one hand. A moment later he was done and he stood up. “For once,” he said, “I agree with ya.”
Adamat closed his eyes. He didn’t blame SouSmith. Not one bit. But he’d been hoping against hope that SouSmith would once again refuse to leave. That he’d stay by Adamat’s side and see this thing through.
SouSmith fetched his jacket from the rack by the door. “Sorry, friend,” he said, “I’ll die for ya, but the Proprietor won’t stop with me.”
Of course. SouSmith had his brother’s family to worry about.
They shook hands, and Adamat heard SouSmith’s heavy step down the stairs and out the front door.
Adamat fell back into his chair with his head in his hands.
SouSmith was big and powerful and he was worth five men in a fight, but he was also a friend. Adamat couldn’t afford to have friends. Not with what he was about to do.
Adamat dragged himself to his feet just long enough to go find his bed. He didn’t bother removing his clothes before he dropped into it.