The Autumn Republic

“Because of the eunuch’s death?” An event that had occurred during Vetas’s capture. In fact, Vetas himself had killed the eunuch during Faye’s rescue.

“Still looking for a new second,” SouSmith said.

“I see.” The Proprietor was the head of the criminal underworld in Adro, and the eunuch had been the face of his operations for at least eighteen years. It had to be stirring up plenty with the eunuch gone. After all, only five people in the world knew the Proprietor’s true identity, counting the Proprietor himself.

And Adamat.

Adamat cleared his throat. “I might have some work for you soon,” he said, though he immediately regretted it. Hiring SouSmith meant that he needed a bodyguard. And needing a bodyguard meant he was going to get involved with things he knew he shouldn’t. But someone had tried to kill Ricard.

SouSmith raised one eyebrow. “Hmm.”

For the tight-lipped boxer, it was an enthusiastic response.

Night had fallen, the street lanterns were being lit, and most of the shops were closed by the time they neared Ricard’s headquarters. The evening traffic was blocked, so Adamat paid the driver, and he and SouSmith walked the rest of the way. Adamat peered into the hazy darkness to try to see what damage Ricard’s old warehouse had taken.

Two of the windows high up on the second floor had blown out, and the front door had been taken off its hinges in order to maneuver stretchers through. The brickwork appeared unhurt, and in fact the new mural on the side of the building with Ricard’s face and election slogan of “Unity and Labor” was barely scratched. A prison carriage-empty-blocked traffic in the street, and a dozen police officers milled about, speaking with onlookers and each other. Torches had been posted to supplement the light from the streetlamps.

One of the officers stepped up to Adamat. “Sorry, sir, no one’s allowed in or out, on the commissioner’s orders.”

“I’m Inspector Adamat. Is Ricard all right?”

Another officer looked up from his interview of a scantily clad serving girl-one of Ricard’s hostesses. “Hey, Picadal, you can let Adamat through. The commissioner will want to see him.”

“The commissioner is here in person?”

“Yes. Says it’s a high-profile attack, what with Ricard being a candidate for First Minister.”

Adamat was waved past. When he turned to SouSmith, he found the big boxer lagging behind. “Come on,” Adamat said.

“I’ll wait here.”

“What is it? Oh, never mind. Suit yourself.” Adamat headed inside, where he paused to take in the building for a moment, logging every detail in his perfect memory for future perusal.

While the building was, indeed, an old warehouse, Ricard had gutted the entire thing and improved it with paint, red curtains, gold candelabras, crystal chandeliers, and busts of philosophers. The headquarters of the Noble Warriors of Labor had enough gold trim to make a duke blush. Most of the building was one large room, with offices for business in the very back.

It didn’t take an experienced investigator to see that the explosion had come from the back of the warehouse. For one thing, the offices no longer existed. Blackened wreckage was all that remained of those rooms and, in fact, the better part of the rear wall of the warehouse. The parts of the interior that hadn’t been caught in the explosion had been subsequently damaged by fire. Only the very front of the great room had escaped the worst of the blast.

Adamat was stunned by the destruction. There could easily have been a full barrel of gunpowder hidden inside one of those rooms, or beneath them, in order to cause such damage. No mean feat in a building with this much traffic during all times of day.

Policemen picked through the wreckage alongside some of the union men, trying to save scraps of important documents and pieces of furniture. There was no sign of Ricard. Adamat suppressed his rising panic and turned to one of the policemen.

“Have you seen Ricard Tumblar?”

“Around the side.”

A side door, completely intact despite the damage to the rest of the building, led out into an alleyway, where Adamat was relieved to find Ricard sitting with his back to the building next door. The union boss had his head in his hands. A little farther down the alleyway, Fell was talking quietly with the commissioner of police. The whole alley was lit by a pair of large lanterns outside the side door.

“Ricard,” Adamat said gently, squatting next to his friend.

Ricard looked up, his eyes a little distant. “Eh?” he asked, far too loudly. “Oh, Adamat, thank Adom you’re here.”

“Are you all right?”

“What? Oh, I can’t hear a damned word in this ear. Here, come around over here.”

Adamat moved to Ricard’s other side. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes. Just a little frazzled, that’s all.” He made a vague gesture toward the warehouse. “I’ve lost… well, everything. Thousands of documents gone. Millions in banknotes. Darilo.”

“Please tell me you’re insured.”

“For some of it. Not enough.”

“Union documents.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve made copies? Please tell me you’ve made copies.”