The Autumn Republic

Olem’s carbine went off, causing a ringing in Nila’s ears. A dozen other shots were fired before the Kez cavalry were suddenly upon them.

Nila felt a Kez mount ram her own, sending the creature reeling to the side. She sawed at the reins and nearly fell out of her saddle, when a sword flashed in front of her eyes. The cuff of a blue uniform sprang into her vision as Olem countered a stroke meant for her neck. She heard him grunt, swear, then he was gone.

A Kez dragoon leaned into Nila from the side, and she’d barely got her hands up before the guard of his saber cracked into the side of her head. Vision swimming, she latched onto the man’s arm, pulling him closer, and put her fingers around his throat.

She willed the fire from the Else, pouring her anger and energy in behind it, and waited for the man’s head to wither like a burned mushroom.

Nothing happened.

Panic seized her. She pushed herself closer to the dragoon, feeling his breath upon her neck, grasping for the Else. It was still there, she could still sense it at her fingertips, but nothing was happening.

The guard of his saber hit her again. She reeled, unable to grasp her sorcery, yet knowing if she let go, she would die with a split head. She dug her fingernails into his throat and tore. The man suddenly disengaged, cursing angrily in Kez and holding his bloody throat.

Nila remembered the pistol Olem had given her. She grasped for the butt, her hands shaking, and leveled it at the dragoon.

A grin flashed across his face, and the last thing she felt was a tug on the back of her head and the whole world going upside down.

CHAPTER 37

Three days,” Adamat said as he was led into Ricard’s office in the Kinnen Hotel. “It took me three days to get an appointment to see not you but your undersecretary! What the pit is going on here, Ricard? I thought you wanted me working quickly.”

Adamat came up short. Ricard sat slumped behind his desk, hair frayed, jacket discarded in one corner, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose and a newspaper in one hand.

“Pit,” Adamat said. “It looks like you haven’t slept in three days.”

Ricard stifled a yawn. “Five, I think. Well. I’ve caught some naps. Here and there. Fell,” he shouted.

“Right here, sir.” Adamat exchanged a glance with Fell, who was standing right beside him.

Ricard squinted over his glasses. “So you are. Fell, tell the boys out front to let Adamat in to see me immediately no matter what.”

Fell cleared her throat. “No matter what, sir?”

“Unless I’m indisposed. Kresimir’s balls, that’s obvious. Look, Adamat, I’m sorry. I’ve quadrupled the security since the bombing, and you know how it is with logistics like this. Orders get crossed, people can’t see me. It’s a nightmare. You should have just come by my home.”

“I did. Several times. You weren’t there.”

“Sir,” Fell said. “You haven’t left this office for two days. You haven’t been home since before the bombing.”

Ricard scratched his head. “That’s right. Oh well. Wine?”

“It’s nine o’clock in the morning.” Adamat took a seat opposite Ricard.

“Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“Fell, have someone get us coffee. And put a little whiskey in mine.”

“That’s awful, Ricard,” Adamat said.

“I’ve had worse.” Ricard hiccupped and pounded twice on his chest with one fist. “Now then, what can you tell me about the bombing?”

“The bombing was done with something called ‘blasting oil,’ ” Adamat said. “It took some time, but I was able to track down the manufacturer.”

“Who was it?”

“The Flerring Powder Company.”

“Never heard of them,” Ricard growled. “And when I’m done with them, no one ever will. I’ll see them out of business! I’ll destroy everything they-”

Adamat cut him off. “That’s quite unnecessary.”

“What do you mean?”

“I interviewed the owner and his daughter. The blasting oil wasn’t ready for sale. It’s too unstable. One of their chemists sold a sample of it behind their backs and they canned him for it.”

“I see. This chemist?”

“Blew himself up the day after they fired him.”

“Convenient.”

“Perhaps. Whether it was an accident or not, Flerring insisted that he wouldn’t have sold the stuff himself, and I believe him.”

“Where does that leave us? The owner claiming innocence and the chemist dead? I don’t like it.”

“They told me who their chemist sold the sample to.”

A young man entered the room carrying a silver platter with two cups and a pot of coffee. When the drinks were served and the man had left, Ricard leaned forward. “Who bought it?”

“The Underhill Mining Coalition.”

Ricard made a strangled noise and spit some of his coffee out down the front of his shirt. “Pardon?”

“The Underhill Mining Coalition,” Adamat repeated. “Which, if my memory serves, is a front for the Underhill Society. The name they use when one of the members wants to buy something with funds that can’t be easily traced.”

“If memory serves.” Ricard scrunched up his face and mimicked Adamat in a high voice. “Bloody Knacked and your bloody memory. You can’t be certain.”

“It’s the only lead I have.”