The Crimson Campaign

“Ricard Tumblar will ask you to help with his campaign for the new ministry. He’ll offer to pay well. I can pay better. Other than that, what role could you possibly fill? A place back on the police force? I don’t think you want to be walking the streets in uniform over the next few years.”

“What would you hire me to do?”

“That brings me around to my first question. What interest do you have in Lord Vetas?”

Adamat tilted his head to the side. The Proprietor didn’t know about Adamat’s wife. Which meant the eunuch hadn’t told him yet. It also meant either the Proprietor wasn’t working for Lord Vetas or that he was not close enough that Vetas had told him about Adamat.

“He has my wife. I’m going to find him, rescue my wife, and kill Lord Vetas.”

Adamat heard a low chuckle from behind the screen. He couldn’t help but scowl.

“Perfect,” the Proprietor said through Amber. “Just perfect.”

“Why should you care about Lord Vetas?”

“As I said, he’s been causing problems for my organization.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Ones that I can’t handle without things becoming very noisy. He has at least sixty enforcers, and one of them is a Privileged.”

Adamat’s heart jumped. A Privileged? Pit, how could he deal with something like that? “It might help if you were more specific about the problems.”

“None that concern you.”

Adamat smoothed the front of his shirt again. “A turf war, maybe? Vetas is moving in on your sources of revenue? Stirring up trouble in the underworld? Stealing your manpower, maybe?” That would explain why Roja the Fox was one of the guards holding Adamat’s children hostage — but if Roja had gone over to Vetas without the Proprietor’s blessing, it meant that Roja thought Vetas the stronger of the two.

A scary thought indeed.

“None,” the Proprietor said, Amber’s translation somewhat icy, “that concern you. This meeting is over. You may leave.”

Adamat blinked at the abruptness of it. “You don’t want to hire me?”

“Not anymore.”

“And you’re not going to kill me?”

“No. Out.”

Adamat stood and examined the room once more, careful not to focus too much on the screen. Everything here was of a very fine quality, but not handcrafted. The paneling was milled, the candelabras secondhand. Even the desk looked like the kind that were made a dozen-a-day at a large carpenter’s workshop. Nothing here that could be traced.

Except the rug. Gurlish, by the design, and even to an inexperienced eye the fibers were finely woven.

Adamat fished inside his jacket for a handkerchief. He blew his nose noisily and dropped it, then bent and snatched it from the floor, making sure to look away from the Proprietor’s desk.

When he stood, Amber still had the expectant look on her face that told him he’d overstayed his welcome. She glanced toward the door and he nodded.

Outside, the eunuch stood by the door.

“Stay here,” he said, going into the Proprietor’s office.

Adamat took the moment alone to examine the fibers in between his fingers. There were only a few, all crinkled and dry. He couldn’t tell them from the lint in his pocket. But he knew a woman who might be able to identify them.

The eunuch emerged from the office, pulling the door closed behind him with a click. He seemed troubled. “You’re free to go,” he said. “Of course, we can’t just have you walk out the front door. Keep the clothes.”

Adamat opened his mouth to respond, when someone grabbed him from behind. A rag was shoved over his mouth and nose, and the last thing he remembered was the overpowering smell of ether.

CHAPTER 11

Taniel was awakened from his half doze at the reins by the distant report of cannon fire.

Dark thoughts swirled in his mind, thick as the clouds of smoke in the mala den. He could still see the Warden eating black powder. He could still feel the powder-enhanced strength in the monster’s twisted limbs. How could the Kez have made one of those creatures out of a powder mage? From what he knew of Wardens and Privileged, that seemed impossible.

Then again, so did stabbing a Warden with its own rib after ripping it from the creature’s chest.

The sudden sensation of falling made him grip the saddle horn in a panic, startling the horse. The world seemed to spin around him. He took several deep, ragged breaths. Even once he knew that he wasn’t actually falling, his heart still raced. Five days without mala. His hands shook, his mouth was dry, and his head pounded. The heat of the sun beating down didn’t help any of it.

A cool hand suddenly touched his cheek. Ka-poel sat in the saddle behind him, arms wrapped around his waist for most of the journey, for she didn’t know the first thing about riding a horse. It should have been terribly uncomfortable to have her clinging to him in this heat, but somehow it was the only thing that gave him relief.

Not that he’d admit it to her.