"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.
CHAPTER
14
Taniel rubbed at his eyes and tried to remember what it felt like to sleep.
Five times in three days he'd fought in a bloody melee on the front lines. Five times he'd been the last one to leave the earthen defenses when the Kez proved too strong. Five times he'd been forced to make the long trek across the corpse-strewn fields dragging the wounded and dying, furious that they'd once again let the front fall beneath a Kez onslaught.
How many times could they retreat before the army was nothing but dead and wounded?
Taniel paused to look to the south. Budwiel was getting farther away every day. The front – or what had been the front until half an hour ago – was about a quarter mile away and obscured in powder smoke. The Kez soldiers were already leveling the earthworks and carting away their dead.
This last offensive had been a bad one. The infantry from the Seventeenth Brigade was mostly green and they'd broken and run before the retreat was even sounded. Taniel wondered if there was a single man unharmed after that mess. The groaning of the wounded in the surgeons' tents made his skin crawl.
He found Ka-poel sitting by the fire next to their tent. She stared at the coals, absently cleaning beneath her fingernails with the tip of one of her long needles. A pot of water boiled over the flames. She looked Taniel over once, then stared back at the fire.
Taniel dropped to the ground next to her. His whole body hurt. He was covered in countless cuts and bruises. A particularly nasty Warden had almost done him in, and he had a clean slice across the side of his stomach to show for it.
Ka-poel stood silently and moved around behind him, where she began to pull him out of the jacket. He didn't like when she undressed him – well, he liked it, but he'd heard officers muttering about the impropriety of their relationship already – but tonight he was far too tired to argue. She unbuttoned his shirt and cleaned his neck and torso with a hot, wet washcloth.
He lay on his side while she stitched the wound on his stomach, wincing every time the needle went in.
"Pole," he said while he lay there, "do you remember something being mentioned about Tamas putting together a school for powder mages in Adopest?"
She drummed two fingers on his arm. Yes.
"I think Sabon was in charge of it. I wonder if he's still up there. Pit, I could use his help." Taniel paused to think. Sabon's face floated in front of him, perfect teeth standing out against his black skin. Sabon was the only one Tamas ever listened to. He'd taught Taniel to shoot. A good soldier; a good man. "Damn it, I should have asked Ricard. Even if Sabon is with Tamas, there had to be a couple other powder mages left in Adopest. We need them on the front."
Ka-poel finished the stitching and Taniel climbed to his feet. His shirt was nearly black, stiff with dried blood. He smelled like a slaughterhouse. He left it on the ground. Ka-poel would find someone to wash it for him. He fetched his one spare shirt from the tent and buttoned it up.