Promise of Blood

“Get out!” Mihali bellowed. His ladle appeared in his hand, for all the world like he was holding a sword. The large end pointed steadily at Charlemund’s nose. “I will not have you here. You false priest, you abhorrent fool! Give me a reason and I will strike you down!”

Charlemund’s face contorted with rage. “What kind of madness is this? I arrest you in the name of the Church! I don’t fear your ladle, you ungodly glutton!”

Mihali advanced suddenly upon Charlemund. The arch-diocel backpedaled a few steps, drew his sword, and lunged. Mihali caught the blade with his ladle, swung it expertly to one side, and backhanded Charlemund hard enough to throw him over the sofa.

The room was silent. Olem rushed to Charlemund’s side.

“Did you just kill the arch-diocel?” Adamat asked.

Mihali sniffed. “I should have,” he said. “Drink your broth, Field Marshal.” He left the room without another word.

“He’s alive, sir,” Olem said. “Unconscious.”

Adamat exchanged a glance with Tamas. He could see his own disbelief reflected in Tamas’s eyes. The field marshal held his leg in pain. “Olem, see that the arch-diocel is put in a room downstairs. Let it be known he had a bad fall down the stairs. Find witnesses. Inspector, I’m sure you saw it.”

Adamat smoothed the front of his jacket. “It was a very nasty fall. He tumbled two flights before we could catch him.”

“I believe that was the case,” Tamas said. “Doctor, what could you prescribe for Charlemund?”

The doctor looked down his nose at the unconscious form of the arch-diocel. “Arsenic?”

“Now, really. Something to give him a quality headache and a great deal of memory loss.”

“Cyanide.”

“Doctor!”

“I’ll find something,” the doctor mumbled.

“Olem.”

Olem paused, his arms beneath Charlemund’s shoulders as he dragged him from the room. “Sir?”

“What was that bit about the men scuffling with Charlemund’s guards?”

“I was going to tell you sir, after the surgery.”

“I’m sure you were. What happened?”

Olem paused with his hands under Charlemund’s arms. “Just that, sir. The boys don’t want to lose Mihali. Say he’s a good-luck charm, cooking or not. I had nothing to do with it. At least, not too much.”

“How the pit is he a good-luck charm? What has he done to warrant that?”

“Filled their bellies,” Olem said.

“Were there any casualties?”

“There might be next time.” A cloud passed across Olem’s face.

“And if I give a direct order?”

Olem looked down. “I’m sure the men will follow it, sir.”

Tamas closed his eyes and rubbed them. “What do you suggest, Inspector?”

Adamat started. “I’m not sure I know enough details, sir.” He felt like a fly on the wall here. This was not an event he was meant to witness. This Mihali character—Adamat would need to find out more about him.

“Pretend you do,” Tamas insisted.

“It’s a poor commander who gives in to the whims of his troops,” Adamat said. “And an even worse one who ignores their wants and needs. Yet there are mitigating factors.” He jerked his head toward the arch-diocel, whom Olem had resumed dragging out the door.

“Olem.”

The bodyguard paused once more. “He’s coming around, sir.”

“I’d rather he not yet.”

There was a sound like a hammer hitting meat. “He won’t.”

Tamas put his head in his hands. “Let it be known that Mihali has been conscripted by the seventh brigade of the Adran army. Send a note to Hassenbur, letting them know they may send a doctor to watch over him. We will cover all expenses, and Claremonte will be spared any embarrassment.”

“And the Church?”

Tamas sighed. “They can send a priest to talk to him, if they like. To convert him or some such nonsense.”

“So Mihali is the legion’s official cook now, eh?”

“Chef.”

“Right, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Tamas waited until the soldier was gone to begin eating his broth. A few moments passed, the only sound that of his satisfied slurping. He looked up. “Inspector?”

“Yes?” Adamat had found his mind wandering again.

“You’re dismissed.”

As Adamat left the room, he heard Tamas say, “Let’s get on with this, Petrik.”

He paused in the hallway. Tamas handled that well enough. The field marshal was not a man to tolerate fools questioning his orders. He was not a good man to cross. Adamat wondered again if he should tell Tamas about Lord Vetas. If Tamas discovered Adamat’s betrayal on his own, Adamat would lose any chance of rescuing his family. But if Adamat attempted a rescue, even with the help of Tamas’s soldiers, his family might die. The risk was just too great.

Chapter 28

Come on, you idiot,” Tamas said. “Prop me up. Put the pillow there.” He paused and gripped the edge of his desk as the room spun around him.

“Sir?” Olem said. He chewed on the end of his cigarette.

“I’m fine. Go on.”

Olem wedged a cushion between Tamas and his chair.

“Down farther,” Tamas said. “Perfect. Turn the chair a little. I want to look casual.”

Tamas gave a few more orders until he was satisfied. He sat behind his desk, pointed toward the office door, his back propped up straight so he looked taller. Olem stepped back.

“Do I look like an invalid?” Tamas asked.

“No.”