Promise of Blood

They pulled back past four of the redoubts before they lit the blasting cord. Taniel watched the spark of flame work its way down the mountainside. It didn’t take long for the trail to reach the tunnel. The whole mountain rumbled when the powder went off, and Taniel felt dirt slide beneath his feet. The last redoubt toppled into the remnants of the tunnel. Within minutes there were more lights in the Kez camp, and sounds of commotion rose from below.

They returned to the fortress. Taniel and the others collected more weapons and met back at the northeast gate a half hour later. The group was bigger than he’d wanted: Bo, Rina and her dogs, Fesnik, Mozes, and another eight Watchers—rough-looking men he’d seen around the camp.

“We shouldn’t take so many,” Taniel said to Gavril.

The big Watchmaster stood by the gate, clearly still torn about whether to accompany them. “You’ll need the manpower,” he said. “If you get into a fight, spread out across the hill as much as you can. If the worst happens, send someone running to let us know the pit just spewed all over Adro.”

“Will do,” Taniel said.

“Good luck.”

Preparations were finished. Taniel approached Ka-poel. She held her rucksack on one shoulder.

“Any chance of convincing you to stay here?” Taniel said.

Ka-poel planted her feet.

“I thought not.” Taniel sighed. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 33

Adamat returned to his home after nightfall, another day of questions without answers, of sifting sand and finding nothing of value. Another day of agonizing over a family he couldn’t protect and a blackmailer he had no defense against. His feet hurt and his eyes wanted to close on their own. The buzz of festivity in the city, the growing excitement for a festival that looked to be forgotten amid war and chaos, had bolstered his spirit, but there was only so much excitement a man could take before it wore him down as much as the rest. He paused at the back door, examining the lock for a moment by the light of the moon. He put his finger out, rubbing it over the area just around the keyhole. He caught a hint of some faint smell: sweetbell, a Gurlish spice.

“What is it?” SouSmith asked from behind him.

“Nothing.” Adamat unlocked the door. They’d spent the better part of the evening searching the Public Archives for the architectural plans for Charlemund’s villa. They’d succeeded, but the plans were old, and even from Adamat’s brief visit he knew that Charlemund had made significant changes to the house since it had been built. He wrestled with the decision of trying to enter the villa at night. If caught, the consequences would be severe, but he couldn’t conduct a full investigation without a thorough search.

SouSmith went straight to the guest bedroom to change, and Adamat went to his office, feeling his way through the old, familiar home without the lights on. The smell of sweetbell, still very faint, was strongest in his office. He opened the liquor cabinet, removing a bottle of brandy, and poured out three glasses. He took one of them and sat down in his chair, lighting a match and setting it to the end of his pipe. He took a few deep puffs, making sure it was lit, and breathed the smoke out through his nose. He touched the match to his lantern wick.

“I’ve had a long day,” he said. He pressed the cool glass to his forehead and examined the man in the corner through the slits of his eyelids.

The man blinked in the sudden light of the lantern, his mouth slightly open. His skin, hued with an almost reddish tint, marked him from Gurla, while his pudgy face and a body flabby around the middle and soft like a woman’s betrayed that he had been castrated sometime before puberty. His head was shaved and he had no facial hair whatsoever.

Adamat gestured to one of the glasses on his desk. “Drink?”

The eunuch had been standing in the corner, hands folded within a long-armed robe. He stepped forward slowly. “How did you know I was here?” he asked. His voice was pitched high, like a child’s.

“I’ve heard about you,” Adamat said. “The Proprietor’s silent killer. It’s said you can appear and vanish without a trace. I’ve been an investigator for a very long time. Even the very best leave scratches when they pick a lock.”

“You are being followed by a number of people,” the eunuch said. “Field Marshal Tamas, agents of Lord Claremonte. How did you know it was me?” He sounded genuinely curious.

Agents of Lord Claremonte? Adamat tried not to let surprise show on his face. So that was Lord Vetas’s employer? “I’ve been expecting a visit from you since Tamas set me after his traitor. It had to come sooner or later.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Adamat raised his glass in recognition of the question, but did not answer.

The eunuch stepped up to the desk. He examined the glass of brandy but did not drink. SouSmith entered the room in nightclothes and a dressing gown. SouSmith paused. Adamat noticed his fists tighten, but that was the only reaction he gave to the eunuch’s presence.