The Crimson Campaign

Everything was just as it had been left: the bloodstains on the sofa and carpet from one of Lord Vetas’s men, a bullet hole in the ceiling. Another in the hall and one in the floor, along with the rest of the unrepaired damage done in the fight with the Black Street Barbers.

Pistol in one hand, cane in the other, Adamat climbed the stairs to the second floor. Here was where the Barbers had attacked him. There was SouSmith’s blood, almost black on the dark hickory stairs.

No one upstairs. No sign anyone had gone through his belongings or searched the house.

Adamat sighed and lowered the pistol. He was almost disappointed. It was as if Lord Vetas had forgotten him entirely.

He put his cane in the umbrella stand by the front door and headed to the kitchen. There might be some canned beans or something to eat in the pantry. Get some food, then find his shovel, and then…

Adamat was not nearly fast enough to react as something swung around the corner and took him full in the nose. Pain blossomed all over his face and he was suddenly blinking up at the ceiling through tears.

Someone towered over him. He was grasped by the lapels of his jacket and lifted off the ground and a moment later slammed into the wall. Adamat swallowed a mouthful of his own blood and tried to breathe through his nose, only to utter a whimper.

Adamat was held against the wall by two strong arms. He batted at them to no effect, then lifted his hand to wipe his eyes. He looked into the face of a man with coal stains on his cheeks and shirt. Adamat recognized this man — one of Lord Vetas’s goons.

Adamat cleared his throat and tried to sound casual. “Kale, was it?”

“That’s right.” The coal shoveler’s mouth twisted. “Been waiting for you for a long time.”

Adamat’s whole head hurt. His nose had to be broken. He probably looked an absolute mess. The second set of clothes ruined in a week.

“Lord Vetas wants a word with you,” Kale said. “You come along quietly now, or I start breaking your teeth.”

Where the pit had he come from? Adamat had checked the whole house. Man must have been hiding in the cellar. And what on earth had he hit Adamat with? A cudgel?

“Right,” Adamat said.

Kale’s grip loosened. Adamat felt himself slide down the wall until his feet were touching the ground. This man was fast. And strong. Pit, what Adamat would have given to have SouSmith here now.

“Clean yourself up,” Kale said. He let go of Adamat’s jacket.

Adamat felt his knees give out from beneath him and he collapsed to the floor. He’d landed on something. Just under his chest — his pistol. He wrapped his fingers around the butt blindly.

He felt a strong hand on his back. “I’m all right,” Adamat said. “Just. Hurts. I’ll get another shirt from my bedroom and then I’ll come, no fight.” His words were gurgled and nasal.

He pushed himself to his feet with some struggle. Pit, the pain in his face. It would take more than three fingers of whiskey to dull this. Adamat took three steps down the hall and turned, lifting the pistol, and pulled the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot made his head — somehow — hurt even more.

Kale regarded the pistol, then looked at Adamat.

Adamat looked at the pistol, then at Kale. Then at the floor.

The bullet was on the ground. It must have fallen out of the barrel when Adamat dropped the pistol.

Kale crossed the space between them in two long strides, knocking the pistol out of Adamat’s hand and grabbing Adamat by the throat, lifting him into the air and slamming him against the front door. The walls rattled from the impact.

Adamat struggled to breathe. He kicked. He punched. Nothing he could do would loosen Kale’s grip.

“That’s going to cost you a thumb,” Kale said.

Adamat flailed around with his right hand. He had to do something, he had to… he felt his hand touch the head of his cane where it sat in the umbrella stand. He gripped the cane as far down as he could, lifted it, and slammed it into Kale’s temple.

Kale staggered to one side, letting up on his grip. Adamat shoved him away with one arm and brought the cane down as hard as he could.

The coal shoveler caught the blow with one hand even as he stumbled away from Adamat. He grabbed the end of the cane and jerked.

Adamat found himself in a sudden tug-of-war. Kale jerked again, almost pulling Adamat over. Adamat could see the coal shoveler’s eyes tighten at the corners and knew he’d not keep ahold of the cane the next time.

So Adamat twisted the head of the cane. There was a quiet click.

Kale yanked hard on the cane. He tumbled to the ground and looked with some surprise at the end of the cane in his hand.

Adamat threw himself forward, cane-sword-first, ramming the short blade into Kale’s stomach. He pulled back and rammed again, then again. Adamat stumbled to one side after the final thrust, staring at Kale.

The coal shoveler stared back. He held both arms across his stomach, whimpering from the pain.

“He’ll know,” Kale said. “Lord Vetas will know you’re back, and he’ll kill your wife.”