Promise of Blood

He annoyed easily, Adamat noted. He felt another pang of pity for Siemone. “I’m here to ask you about the assassination attempt on Field Marshal Tamas last month.”

“That? Hasn’t it been cleared up yet? Bah. The races start soon, so be quick with your questions.”

Adamat bit his tongue. Arch-diocel or not, there was common decency to be observed. In a gentle tone, he said, “Your Worship, I’m conducting an investigation into treason, not an inquiry into your favorite strumpet. Now, please, I have a few questions to ask you.”

Siemone stood behind the arch-diocel, holding his robes, and the poor priest’s eyes looked about to pop from their sockets. He stared fixedly at some point off in the distance and shook his head violently.

The arch-diocel gave Adamat a second look.

“You’re perhaps the most powerful man on Tamas’s council,” Adamat said, “maybe even including the field marshal himself. You have the backing of the entire Kresim Church, an institution that dwarfs Lady Winceslav’s mercenaries, Ricard Tumblar’s union, and the Proprietor’s criminal affairs in size, wealth, and strength. It gives me reason to believe that if you wanted Tamas dead, he would indeed be dead.”

Adamat went on, “The only thing that gives me hesitation in removing your name from my list is that I can’t for the life of me discover why you supported the coup in the first place. You have motive for neither supporting Tamas nor wanting him dead… that I can discover.”

“What gives you authority to question me?” the arch-diocel asked coldly.

Adamat produced Tamas’s note from his breast pocket and held it out to the arch-diocel. Siemone stepped forward and took it with an apologetic mumble. He cleared his throat and read it out loud.

The arch-diocel threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Cooperate with you? Answer your questions? What care I if Tamas suspects me? What can he do? He needs me in this war. He needs me to keep the Church out of things.”

Adamat took the note back from Siemone and folded it into his pocket.

“I could spit on Tamas,” the arch-diocel went on, “and still have him beg for my support. You think I care about this investigation?” He shook his head. “No, not one wit. You are right about one thing, though; if I wanted Tamas dead, he’d be in a pauper’s grave right now. Tamas will deal with a higher power one day soon for the things he’s done. I have no need to get involved.”

A higher power? Adamat wanted to scoff. Charlemund wasn’t exactly the model priest. Adamat took a deep breath and leaned forward on his cane, looking the arch-diocel straight in the eye. He knew he was going to pay for this persistence.

“What,” Adamat asked, “is your interest in supporting Tamas?”

The arch-diocel met his gaze. He seemed to consider Adamat as one considers a mouse that will not get out of the pantry but is too pathetic to squash underfoot. “The Church deemed it necessary that Manhouch be removed from his position. The monarchy of Adro had pulled too far away from the people.”

Adamat bit back a comment about a holy man running a bawdy house out of his villa. “Does the Church still support Tamas?”

“That is a question Tamas may ask me,” the arch-diocel said. “Not his dog. Now, if you really want to get somewhere with your investigation you should question Ricard Tumblar, or perhaps Ondraus the Reeve. They are both untrustworthy men—men that should not be on Tamas’s council.”

“Why is that?” Adamat asked quietly.

“Neither man works for the good of Adro. Ricard is a blasphemer, hidden from justice behind his godless unions. He accepts bribes from any quarter—”

“Excuse me, how do you know that?”

Charlemund stumbled on this. His lip curled in a sneer. “Do not interrupt me.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“He has accepted bribes from the Kez, from criminals and gangs. He is a corrupt man, evil and beyond Kresimir’s love.”

“How do you know that he has accepted bribes from the Kez?”

“The Church has its sources. Do not question me.”

“And Ondraus?”

“The man tries to levy taxes against the Church,” Charlemund said. “His soul is in great peril. He fights me—a man of Kresimir!—on every topic. He does not pay his tithe, and hides his books from Church accountants. Not even the king hid his books from our censure! Look through his books and I guarantee you will find evidence of treachery.” The arch-diocel checked his pocket watch. “I will be late for the races. You may leave now, before I lose my patience.” Charlemund was off, bellowing for a carriage, before Adamat could get in another word.

Adamat watched him go. Charlemund’s opinions on Ondraus seemed to hold little weight. Simply dislike, nothing more. Yet it was the third time Adamat had heard tell that Ricard was receiving large sums of money. It did not bode well.

“I’ll have a look around the grounds now,” Adamat said to Siemone.

The priest gave a quick shake of his head. “I’m sorry, that’s not possible.” He wrung his hands.