The Crimson Campaign

He was mobbed by all the children crowding around him with hugs and kisses. He made sure to give each one a kiss, saying each of their names — except for the twins. He could never tell them apart, and he wasn’t about to admit it.

Adamat wrestled on the floor with his children for several minutes before he was able to extract himself. He bid them return to their play, and joined Sergeant Oldrich at the table in the corner of the room.

“Coffee?” the sergeant offered, chewing absently at the tobacco tucked in his cheek.

“Tea, if you have it.”

Oldrich called over to one of his men. “Tea!” He fixed Adamat with a frown. “You look awful. You got rolled, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Adamat found himself watching his children. They were beautiful kids. They really were. The thought of anything happening to them made his blood begin to boil and he forced himself to look away. “Got out of it fine, and I’ve found Vetas’s headquarters.”

“I didn’t think you could.” Oldrich lifted his coffee cup in a salute. “I figured the bastard would be in the wind after what you did to his boys in Offendale.”

Adamat sniffed. “He’s not afraid of me,” Adamat said. “I don’t think he’s afraid of anything. You ever seen a machine powered by steam? They’ve got looms, hammers, printing presses…” Adamat was briefly reminded of his own failed foray into publishing but managed to push the thought away.

“Yeah,” Oldrich said. “They have them in ships now, too.”

“Exactly. He’s like a steam engine. Just keeps going. No feeling, no thought. Just a task to do and he’s going to do it.”

Oldrich sipped his coffee. “Damn. Almost makes you feel bad for him.”

“No,” Adamat said. “I’ll still rip his heart out when I find him.”

“And I hope you get your chance. Shall we go get him?”

“How many men do you have again?” Adamat asked, though he knew well enough.

“Fifteen,” Oldrich said. “Two to guard the children…”

“Five.”

“Five to guard the children, that leaves us with twelve, counting you and me.”

“Not enough.”

“He’s got enough goons to take on a squad of the field marshal’s best?”

“He’s got at least sixty enforcers and a Privileged.”

Oldrich whistled. “Ah. I don’t think there’s anything we can do about that.”

“Pit. Thank you,” Adamat said as a cup of tea was set in front of him. He added two lumps of sugar and stirred it to cool. “Have you seen the morning paper?”

“No. You want one? Oi! Someone get the investigator a paper!”

Adamat cringed inwardly. He was hoping to find out that Oldrich hadn’t seen a paper today. Not draw attention to one. Oh well. “Do you remember a Privileged by the name of Borbador?” Adamat changed the subject.

“I do,” Oldrich said. His normally pleasant face was suddenly guarded.

“I think he’d do it for us. Borbador was one of the cabal’s best and brightest. He held Shouldercrown against the Kez Cabal virtually by himself. I know Tamas left him alive and has him stashed in the city. If we could — ”

“No,” Oldrich said.

“‘No’ what?”

“Privileged Borbador has a gaes to compel him to kill the field marshal.”

“I know. I’m the one who told Tamas about the gaes.”

“Then why would you ask me that? Releasing him would endanger Tamas and I won’t do it.”

Adamat held his head in his hands. He felt like he was doing that a lot lately. “It’s our only chance against a Privileged under Lord Vetas.”

“You could ask Taniel Two-Shot,” Oldrich said. “He kills Privilegeds as a hobby, and rumor has it he’s in the city.”

“Newspaper said this morning he left for the front.” Adamat realized his mistake as the words left his mouth.

“So you have seen a paper?” Oldrich nudged a spittoon from beneath the table with one toe, leaning over to spit into it. “Was there something in it you wanted me to see?”

“Sir,” one of Oldrich’s men called from the doorway. He was a young man, probably not much older than Adamat’s son Josep. “Sir, you should see this.” He rushed over to Oldrich and dropped a paper into his lap.

Oldrich lifted the paper. The headline read, “Budwiel Sacked, Field Marshal Tamas Dead.” Oldrich was silent for several minutes as he read the article. The young soldier stayed by his side the whole time. When Oldrich finished, he handed the newspaper back to the soldier.

“You weren’t going to tell me?”

Adamat felt like a child who’d been caught robbing the pantry. “I was,” Adamat said. “After I figured out how to convince you to stay and help me.” Adamat swallowed hard. He was about to lose the last bit of help he had to get Faye back. Once Oldrich was gone, it would be just Adamat with eight children to look after, and a wife and son still in his enemy’s hands.

“There’s no convincing,” Oldrich said. “I was given an order. Tamas is my commanding officer and an old friend. He told me to see this thing through to the end regardless of whether he lived through the war.”

“And you will?”

“Yes.”

Adamat couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. He dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, realizing that he’d been sweating. “Thank you.” He paused. “You seem to be taking this awfully well.”