The Autumn Republic

“A possibility, sure,” Adamat said. “But if he’s right…”

“Not worth the risk. That man you pointed out, Will?”

“Anything?” Adamat stopped his search long enough to look hopefully toward Fell. If they’d just happened upon a conspirator, they might get a lucky break. Investigative science practically depended on lucky breaks.

“Just nervous,” Fell said. “His father worked for a powder company and was killed in a blast two years ago. Will’s terrified of explosions. I should have remembered it earlier. Poor man pissed himself when I wouldn’t let him leave the building.”

Adamat returned his attention to the wine bottles. “A pity.”

He heard a jingle of keys, and Fell said, “Mark where you are and come with me. I’ll set a man to make sure the wine isn’t disturbed. We need to search the Underhill Room.”

“Oh?” Adamat made a mental note of the wine cellar and followed Fell down the hallway to the thick door at the end of the basement. She unlocked it and pulled it open, the strain of her shoulders testifying to the weight.

Inside, Adamat was surprised to find another long corridor. He held his lantern high and glanced back at Fell.

“Go on.”

He crept down the hall slowly, still clutching his cane, and he wondered briefly how much he trusted Fell. Her loyalty was supposed to be to Ricard for the duration of her contract. But what if that was all a lie? Could she have planned the bombing? She could kill him down here without a problem, then hide the body and tell Ricard he had left. Adamat’s mind whirred through a dozen possible motives and all the reasons why he was wrong. By the time he reached the end of the hall, he was no less wary, and all the more certain that he wouldn’t stand even the faintest chance against Fell in a fight.

His lantern created eerie shadows in the large, square room at the end of the hall. Fell squeezed past him to light candelabras along all four walls until the entire room had been illuminated. It looked like any of the hundreds of gentleman’s clubs in Adopest-the walls were covered in velvet and the candelabras were polished brass. There was seating for at least a dozen people in the form of divans and couches, and the center of the room held a velvet-lined card table with room for six.

There was a dumbwaiter in one corner, likely leading up to the kitchen, and a smaller, private stock of wine as well as an untapped keg. A fireplace sat at either end of the room, though upon closer examination they appeared to be wood-burning stoves with stone façades.

“So this is the Underhill Society?”

Fell finished lighting the candelabras and blew out her lantern. “Yes.”

“Has it been here the whole time?” Adamat remembered hearing about the Underhill Society for the first time over thirteen years ago and knew it was much older than that. Ricard had owned the hotel for only six.

“Only since Ricard bought the hotel. He hasn’t told me where they met before that.”

Adamat pointed back down the hallway. “Are they…”

“They can come search the room. It shouldn’t take long. Just don’t mention the… well, you know.”

Fell’s searchers finished their assigned niches and then moved into the larger room, checked every nook and cranny thoroughly and without comment as to the room’s purpose. Adamat returned to the wine cellar, resuming his examination of the bottles.

Frustration continued to mount. Every bit of instinct told him that the blasting oil should be hidden among the wine. It was too good a spot for any henchman with half a wit, and if the perpetrator had a whole wit, the oil would have been bottled carefully and put in among the less-used wines. Adamat cursed under his breath and tried to recall the latest fashionable wines among Ricard’s friends and associates-those would be the easiest to rule out.

The searchers moved up to the next floor, and Adamat only barely noted their passing.

It must have been almost an hour later when he heard someone on the basement stairs. He noted Fell’s soft footfalls.

“Any progress upstairs?” he asked.

Fell set her lantern on a wine barrel in one corner. “None. It’s a large hotel and with only four men it’s a slow business. Progress here?”

“I’ve narrowed it down to a possibility of three dozen bottles,” Adamat said.

“Are you sure you’re putting your energy in the right place? After all, I’d think it would be obvious if any of the wine here had been uncorked.”

“Certainly. But they could have done it off-site and brought the wine here.” Adamat sighed and returned a bottle to its place. “I should have asked Ricard if any of his guests have brought him new wine recently.”

“Everyone does,” Fell said.

Adamat eyed the shelves where he’d sorted the most probable bottles. “Have him make a list for me. The only way to know for certain is to open every bottle. Or, more safely, to take the whole lot out of the city and throw it off a high cliff.”

“Ricard would be… cross. He already lost his collection beneath the old headquarters. You know how he feels about his wine.”