The Autumn Republic

“Considering your endorsement of him, you don’t seem very broken up about it.”

“Because I ordered his death, of course.”

Adamat barked out a laugh. “You did? Why bother endorsing him, then?”

“Oh, my dear Inspector. That’s very naïve. I wasn’t just endorsing him. Claremonte named me as his Second Minister. We didn’t get to that point of the speech, I’m afraid. My men may have gotten ahead of themselves. All the paperwork is done, anyhow. It’s quite official.”

“And now that he’s out of the way, you’ll be in position to take his place.”

“It’ll be in the papers tomorrow morning, I suspect.”

“And what will Field Marshal Tamas say about this? I read that he should be here in the morning.”

“Indeed he will. And I think he’ll be far happier to hear that it is Ricard and me running against each other rather than Ricard and Claremonte.”

Adamat snorted. “I imagine he will. But you’re a private man. Why First Minister? Why now?”

“Tastes change. You know how it is. My spot as First Minister would afford many benefits to the Proprietor. Or I may enjoy it enough that the Proprietor fades into obscurity.” The Reeve shrugged. “Who knows?”

Adamat drew a book from his jacket pocket. “I think that you may have a problem there.”

“And what is that?”

He held up the book. “This is The Compendium of Gods and Saints. A very old book. Written during the Bleakening, the time after Kresimir first left our world. Supposedly. I’m told that it’s mostly superstitious nonsense, but there is one thing that caught my eye.” He cleared his throat and read, “ ‘Lord Brude, saint and god of Brudania, is unique among his siblings in one particular way in that he has no shadow. His shadow, it is said, is his other face: a unique condition of sorcery in which he occupies two separate bodies, making him not a single but rather two different gods.’ ” Adamat closed the book.

Ondraus looked impatient. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Lord Claremonte has no shadow.”

“Hah! Are you claiming that he’s the god Brude?”

“I am.”

“I’m aware that this has been a strange time in our history and that the impossible may very well be possible, but this seems to be a long leap for you, Inspector.”

“Not too much of a leap. A god told me.”

“Oh?” Ondraus rolled his eyes.

“The god Adom.”

Ondraus didn’t seem convinced. “He’s supposed to be dead, isn’t he? The report is that Kresimir killed him.”

“He’s still very much alive.” Adamat leaned forward. “I think it’s far more difficult to kill a god than that.”

Ondraus scoffed. “If that were the case, Claremonte would still be alive. I’ve sent a man to the hospital to find out. I suppose we’ll discover the case soon.” There was a knock on the door, then another distinct high knock and one low. “Come,” Ondraus said.

Adamat recognized the Proprietor’s translator. She was a severe-looking woman, her knitting tucked under one arm, her face expressionless. She closed the door behind her.

“What is the news?” Ondraus asked.

“You have to go.”

“Excuse me?”

Still expressionless, the woman said, “Privileged on the street. Brudanian soldiers. You have less than thirty seconds.”

Ondraus leapt to his feet like a man half his age. “Get out of here, go!” The woman fled, leaving Adamat alone with Ondraus. “You, Inspector. Come with me.” Ondraus strode to the fireplace behind his desk and turned one of the candelabras halfway in its socket, then lifted up on the corner of what looked to be a solid mantelpiece. There was a click, and a panel beside the fireplace sprang open. “Inside.”

Adamat followed his instructions, ducking inside a low but well-used passageway. They were suddenly plunged into darkness as Ondraus closed the hidden panel behind them. “Faster!” Ondraus ordered. “The Privileged will be able to see us moving. We tarry too long here and they’ll suspect who we are. Watch your step.”

Adamat stumbled, nearly falling down a flight of stairs despite Ondraus’s warning. He followed those down almost thirty steps, the air becoming cold, close, and damp. They rushed along, splashing through puddles, and Adamat heard the unmistakable sound of a scream somewhere above them. There was a great wrenching noise and a crash, followed by more screams and the sound of gunshots.

“Quickly!” Ondraus poked Adamat hard in the back, forcing him on ahead, half-crouched, for well over a hundred yards. The passage was stoned in with an inch of water on the bottom, and Adamat could not tell in the darkness where it would end.

“Up,” Ondraus ordered suddenly.

Adamat’s foot hit a step a moment later, and his legs carried him up another flight until he could discern a source of light.

“Head,” Ondraus said.

“What-ow!” Adamat’s head hit a plank, and he reached up to push a trapdoor out of his way. They emerged into some kind of a basement that smelled of hay and the rich, grassy smell of horse manure. They went up another flight of wooden steps and emerged into a stable.

“Into my carriage,” Ondraus said quickly. “Driver!” he shouted.