Promise of Blood

“Thank you,” Ricard said. “If you came to these conclusions yourself… I may have some cleaning to do, indeed. Thank you, my friend.”

Adamat watched Ricard walk into the night, finally taking that parasol from his bodyguard. His walk was more sober, quicker, as if he now had somewhere to go. SouSmith drew up quietly next to Adamat.

“Take your warning?” SouSmith asked.

“I don’t know,” Adamat said. “He didn’t try to kill me, so that’s a start. But he might have known what game I was playing. He’s not an idiot. We’ll see what he does next.”

“What now?”

“I have other suspects. I still have to see the arch-diocel, the Proprietor, and Prime Lektor.”

SouSmith gave Adamat a frown. “The Proprietor? Can’t get to him.”

“I’ll think of something.” Adamat tried to sound confident. “I suppose that means the arch-diocel is next.”

SouSmith made the sign of the Rope. “Don’t like that.”

Wiser words had rarely been spoken. “He knows I’m coming. We’ve an appointment with him in the morning.”

A young, nervous-looking priest stood on the front step of the arch-diocel’s home and watched Adamat’s carriage approach with an air of expectation. The home itself was a sprawling affair of a villa, only one story high but with a footprint to rival Skyline Palace. The style of architecture was far-eastern Gurlish with accenting white spires rising above a marble façade. There were satin drapes in onion-shaped windows. Vineyards stretched off to one side of the long cobblestone drive. On the other, grooms trained racing stallions on a horse track.

It was said, Adamat reflected as he stepped from the carriage and stretched his legs, that the arch-diocel was much more a man of pleasures than a man of Kresimir. Yet wasn’t that the way of the Church these days? Oh, there were genuine priests; men who loved Kresimir and their fellow man and toiled for peace and brotherhood. But Charlemund’s type was far more common. Their love of women and gold and power burned in them like a fever.

The young priest approached Adamat at a quick shuffle. He wore white robes down to his ankles and sandals on his feet; the clothes of an impoverished monk, despite the obvious wealth of the place.

“I am Siemone,” the priest said. He looked at his feet, his hands clasped before him as if praying.

“You serve the arch-diocel?” Adamat asked.

“I have the pleasure of serving Kresimir, sir,” Siemone responded, “by attending to his righteous servant Charlemund, arch-diocel of Adro.”

“I’ve an appointment with the arch-diocel,” Adamat said. “Are we to wait inside?” He pointed to the front door with his cane.

“Er, no, sir,” Siemone said. He wrung his hands as if he were cleaning his laundry. “The house is very full right now. His Lordship’s extended family has come to the villa to celebrate the Saint Adom’s Day festivities. Children running underfoot, shoulder to shoulder.”

Adamat glanced through a window. He could see a very big man watching him from inside the window—probably one of the arch-diocel’s bodyguards. No sign, nor sound of children. Admittedly, the villa was huge. Charlemund could put an army in there and one would see no sign of it. The curtain was drawn closed from the inside.

“I see,” he said. It was an odd way to treat one’s guests, even if Adamat was unwelcome.

Siemone cleared his throat. “Besides, the arch-diocel is a very busy man. We’ll have to go find him at the chapel. What with the orgy this morning, he’s running late for the afternoon prayer service.”

“Excuse me?” Adamat blanched. “The morning orgy?”

“Yes,” Siemone said. “Now, if you please, the arch-diocel doesn’t like to feel threatened. He’ll have to stay here.” He gestured at SouSmith, who was just climbing out of the carriage, his hair tousled from a long nap.

“This is my associate,” Adamat said. “He’s aiding me in my investigation. He is no threat to the arch-diocel.”

Siemone looked anywhere but directly at Adamat. “You mistake my meaning, sir. Your associate is a very large man, well built, and obviously a fighter of some kind. The arch-diocel doesn’t like the eyes of his servants wandering. He, ah, doesn’t like the competition, sir. His worship is very particular about which of his guests are allowed on the grounds.”

Adamat blinked at the priest. Doesn’t like the competition…? He shook his head. “You’d better stay in the carriage then,” he said to SouSmith.

The boxer grunted and climbed back inside without a word.

“You said your master is running late?” Adamat said.

The corner of Siemone’s mouth twitched. “Yes, the orgy. Now, please, come with me. We can catch him right after the prayer service, before the afternoon races start.”

Siemone raised a hand. A small buggy emerged from the vineyard, where it had been concealed a moment before, and came up next to them.