The Autumn Republic

Located just a few blocks from Elections Square, the Kinnen Hotel was one of the few buildings in the center of the city that had escaped looting by the riots after Manhouch’s execution, damage in the royalist uprising, as well as severe structural harm from the earthquake in the spring. It was a squat fortress of a building only three stories tall, but with a footprint that encompassed an entire city block.

It also belonged to Ricard Tumblar, a fact that Adamat thought had something to do with why it had not been harmed by the riots-it would have been very well guarded by union muscle.

And it was still well guarded, it seemed. Each of the entrances was watched by no fewer than four union men. There were marksmen on the roof and armed laborers in the street. Adamat had to show his credentials three times before he reached the grand foyer of the hotel, and even then he could feel eyes on his back as he made his way to the east wing of the second floor.

He was admitted in to see Ricard after showing his papers yet again.

The union boss sat with his feet on his desk, chair tilted back, a cigar clenched between his teeth and a cold compress against his left temple. “No, I don’t care how much it costs,” Ricard was saying to a clerk, his voice just a little too loud. “Buy up every bolt of silk in the city and… oh, Adamat!” Ricard waved cigar smoke from his face and shooed the clerk out of the room with a single jerk of his chin.

“You’re buying silk, now?”

“A little economic warfare,” Ricard said, relishing his cigar smoke. “We’ve word that Claremonte has already promised the textile union he’ll lower the import price of raw silk if elected. And he can’t do that if I control everything in the city stores and keep an eye on what he brings in over the mountains.”

“The textile union?” Adamat slid into a chair, feeling far too grateful to be sitting for a man his age. “Isn’t that your territory?”

“The union head was killed in the blast last night,” Ricard said. “We’ll be fighting over a new one for months, and in the meantime Claremonte is going to try to sway their support. And yes, it is my territory. I won’t let him take it.”

“I still think you should use your emergency powers to appoint a new textile union head right away.” The voice startled Adamat and he stood, looking toward where the voice seemed to come from-a window, where a woman perched beside the curtain with her arm in a sling and a glass of wine in her right hand. She was staring down at the street outside.

She was about fifty with rounded cheeks and severe, almond-shaped eyes. She wore a purple dress with black trim. She gave Adamat a quick look up and down.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t see you there.” He ran through the catalog of names and faces in his memory.

She raised her wineglass slightly. “Cheris, the-”

“Head of the bankers’ union,” Adamat finished. “We met briefly a couple of months ago.”

“I apologize, I don’t remember.” She set her wineglass down just long enough to adjust the strap on her sling.

“I’m Inspector Adamat.”

“Oh, yes! The Knacked who can’t forget. Ricard has spoken of you a great deal over the years. I should have remembered you. I do apologize. The things you’ve gone through in the last few months…” She trailed off, clucking her tongue sadly.

Adamat shot Ricard a glance. What was he doing telling this woman-or anyone, for that matter-about his problems?

Ricard gave him an apologetic shrug. “Do you have any leads on the bombing yesterday?”

“Should we talk about that in private?”

“Cheris was with me last night. A beam from the ceiling fell and broke her arm right after the explosion. She’ll want to know about this as much as I.”

But can she be trusted? “You look awfully well for having survived such a catastrophe,” Adamat said.

Cheris blushed slightly. “If you must know, I’ve had a little mala today-for the pain-and more than a little wine.” She gave what Adamat suspected had been meant to be a soft laugh, but it came out as a loud giggle.

“Of course. It’s to be expected.” Adamat returned to his seat.

“Did you go with the police yesterday?” Ricard asked.

“Yes.”

“And? Do you think it was Claremonte? It was Claremonte, wasn’t it? The bastard. I’ll tear him limb from limb, I’ll-”

“It wasn’t Claremonte,” Adamat said.

Ricard leapt to his feet and instantly began to pace. “What do you mean? Can you be sure?”

“I’m quite certain,” Adamat said.

Lady Cheris interjected, “But how?”

“Believe me, ma’am. It wasn’t Claremonte.”

“I’ll believe you when I know how you can be certain,” Cheris said. “He has the means and the motive. He almost certainly ordered it done.”

“Bah.” Ricard stopped his pacing just long enough to fetch and light another cigar. “If Adamat says it’s not Claremonte, then it’s not Claremonte. But who?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ve only just begun my investigation. You have enemies, don’t you?”

“No,” Ricard said, sounding somewhat offended. “I make friends. It’s what I do best. Friends are far more useful than enemies.”