"You won't change anyone's mind by shouting," Ricard said. "Believe me. I'm the head of the union . I've tried."
"Then what can I do?"
"Convince them. Show them what kind of a man you are and then, only when they trust you, tell them the truth."
"That seems … dishonest."
Ricard spread his hands. "That's up to your own moral judgment. But me, I think a man who sees it like that is a fool."
Taniel clenched his fists. How could they not believe him? How could they not know what happened up there? Hadn't Tamas told the newspapers? Did even Tamas not believe what had happened? Taniel didn't know where Tamas was. Budwiel, according to the soldiers who had been watching him when he awoke. Was Tamas even still there?
"Do you know where Bo is?" Taniel asked.
"Bo?"
"Privileged Borbador. Is he still alive?"
Ricard spread his hands. "I can't help you."
"You're not much good, Tumblar, are you?" Taniel wanted to punch something. He leapt to his feet and stalked back and forth the length of the room. No friends. No family. What could he do now? "Who was that woman?" he asked.
"Cheris? The head of the bankers' union ."
"I thought you were the head of the union ."
"The Noble Warriors of Labor has many subdivisions. I speak for the group as a whole, but each trade has their own union boss."
"You said I was more important than her."
Ricard nodded. "I did."
"How so?"
"How much do you know about politics in Adro?" Ricard countered with his own question.
"The power used to be with the king. Now?" Taniel shrugged. "No idea."
"No one knows where the power is now," Ricard said. "The people assume it's with Tamas. Tamas thinks it's with his council when in fact the council is all but fractured. Lady Winceslav is in seclusion after her scandal with a traitorous brigadier, the Arch Diocel has been arrested, and Prime Lektor is in the east, studying the remains of South Pike for some sign of the god Kresimir."
"So who is running Adro?"
Ricard chuckled. "That leaves myself, the Proprietor, and Ondraus the Reeve. Not exactly a noble group. The truth is, Adro is doing fine for now. Tamas and his men keep the peace. But that will only last so long. We need to continue with our plans. Since the beginning of all this, the council decided that as soon as Manhouch was out of the way, we'd set up a democracy: a system of government that was voted upon by the people. The country would be divided into principalities, each with its own elected governor, and those men would meet in Adro and vote upon policy for the country."
"Much like a ministry without the king at the head."
"Indeed," Ricard said. "Of course there must be someone to stand as the king."
Taniel narrowed his eyes. "I can't imagine Tamas taking that well."
"We won't call him a king, of course. And he would have little real power. He would serve as a figurehead. A single man the country can look to for leadership and guidance, even if the policy is determined by the governors – we are going to call him the First Minister of the People."
"I remember Tamas striking down an idea just like this that the royalists presented him with."
"Tamas approved this," Ricard said. "Believe me. None of us on the council has any interest in crossing him, especially not in such a public way. The key is that, like the governors, this new First Minister of the People will be replaced every three years. We've set the mechanism in place. It just needs to be carried out."
Taniel could easily tell where this was going. "And you intend to put yourself forward as a candidate."
"Of course."
"Why?"
Ricard sucked hard on his cigar and let the smoke curl out through his nostrils. It reminded Taniel of the smoke of his mala pipe. He could feel the lure of that blissful smoke pulling at him.
"The First Minister of the People will have little power of his own, but he'll have the eyes of all the Nine directed at him. His name will go down in the history books forever." Ricard sighed. "I don't have any children. I've been left by" – he stopped to count – "six wives, and deserved it every time. All I have left is my name. And I want it taught to every Adran schoolchild for the rest of time."
Taniel drained the last of his ale. The dregs of the hops at the bottom of the glass were bitter. It reminded him of Fatrasta, of hunting down Kez Privileged in the wilds. "Where do I fit into all of this? I'm just a soldier who killed a god that no one believes even returned."
"You?" Ricard threw his head back and laughed. Taniel didn't see what was so funny.
"I'm sorry," Ricard said as he wiped his eyes. "You're Taniel Two-Shot! You're the hero of two continents. A soldier who's killed more Privileged than any man in the history of the Nine. The way the newspapers tell it, you held Shouldercrown Fortress against half a million Kez all by yourself."
"Wasn't just me," Taniel muttered, thinking of the men and women he'd watched die on that mountain.
"But the common people think so. They adore you. They love you more than they love Tamas, and he's been the darling of Adro since he single-handedly saved the Gurlish Campaign decades ago."
"So what do you want from me? A sponsorship?"
"Pit, no," Ricard said, passing his empty ale mug to the barkeep. "I want you to be my Second Minister. You'll be one of the most famous men in the world."
CHAPTER
7
In northeastern Adopest there was a small section of the Samalian District that hadn't been burned when Field Marshal Tamas allowed the pillage of the nobility's property after Manhouch's execution. It was a commercial area, filled with goods and service shops that catered to the nobility. Rumor had it that during the riots the owners of these shops set up their own barricades and held off the rioters themselves.
Now, five months after the riots, the former emporium of the rich had been transformed into a marketplace for the middle class. Prices had been lowered, but not quality, and people traveled halfway across the city to wait in line for cobblers, tailors, bakers, and jewelers.
Adamat came early in the morning, before the larger crowds arrived, and found the tailor who had purchased Vetas's warehouse. Adamat sat down in a small café across the street from the tailor's and ordered breakfast, keeping an eye out for expected company. It wasn't long until he spotted it.
Adamat rose from his seat and crossed the street. He discreetly sidled up beside SouSmith and said, "Were you followed?"
To his credit, SouSmith barely started. "Bloody pit," SouSmith said. "Didn't recognize ya."
"That's the idea." Adamat had dyed his hair gray. A dry dusting of powder on his face made his skin appear cracked, making him look twenty years older, and he affected a limp. He leaned heavily on a new, silver-headed cane. His jacket and pants were the finest money could by – he'd had to call in favors just to procure them. But he needed to look the part of a wealthy gentleman.
SouSmith shook his head. "Wasn't followed," he said. "Been staying low."
"Good," Adamat said. "How do you feel?"
"Like pit. Bloody healing Knacked."
Despite what he said, SouSmith looked better. Just five weeks ago he'd been shot twice and stabbed, and had barely made it through alive. It would have been a long recovery without Ricard's largesse.
"Go to that café over there," Adamat said, "and get breakfast. Take a seat facing that store there." He indicated the tailor's shop. "I'm going in to make some inquiries."
As much as he wanted SouSmith to come inside the tailor shop with him in case it was merely a front for Vetas and Vetas had men stationed inside, SouSmith was too memorable of a man, and there was no disguising a boxer of his size. No sense in bringing him in until needed.
Adamat crossed the street and entered the shop. A quick perusal told him that this tailor specialized in high-end jackets. Mannequins were placed around the edges of the room, wearing everything from smoking and evening jackets to the kind a duke might wear to a ball. The shop smelled strongly of peppermint oil that the owner used to mask the scent of stored cloth.
"May I help you?"
The tailor came in from the back room. He was a dark-skinned Deliv; a small man with long, steady fingers. He wore a pair of thin-rimmed spectacles and a vest with protruding lapels stuck through with a variety of needles and pins.
"Haime?" Adamat said, affecting an accent common in Adopest's southern suburbs.
"I am he," the tailor said with a short bow. "Jackets and suits. May I take your measurements for a new jacket today?"
"I haven't come in search of clothing," Adamat said. He looked down the end of his nose and made a show of perusing the mannequins. "At least, not today."
Haime clasped his hands behind his back. "Some other business?"
Adamat pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket and unfolded it. "My employers are looking to purchase a piece of property," he said. "Records show that you are the owner."