The Crimson Campaign

Adamat stood up straight and leveled his cane sword at Kale. “She’s still alive?”

Kale didn’t respond.

“And Josep? My boy?”

“Get me a doctor,” Kale said. “Do it now and I’ll tell you about your boy.”

“My next-door neighbor is a doctor. Tell me and I’ll fetch him.”

Kale let out a long, anguished sigh. “Your boy… your boy is gone. They took… I don’t know where, but he’s gone. Your wife is there… she…”

“She what?”

“Get me a doctor.”

“Tell me.” The pain in Adamat’s head seemed to climb to a crescendo. It was agonizing, and by the look of his soaked shirt and jacket he must have lost a great deal of blood from his nose.

“Vetas… he’ll know. He thought maybe Tamas took you in… that you were arrested, or shot… but now he’ll know you’re alive.”

Adamat gritted his teeth. “Not if they don’t find the body.” He barely trusted himself to thrust straight and true, but his cane sword went into Kale’s eye and only stopped when it hit the back of his skull. He pulled it out and waited until the body stopped twitching before he cleaned the blade on Kale’s coat.

Adamat stripped to the waist and and tossed his bloody clothes onto Kale’s body. He hunted about the house for any other sign that the coal shoveler had ever been here, then went and found his shaving mirror.

His bleary eyes and bloody face stared back at him. He barely recognized himself.

Adamat’s nose was bent nearly perpendicular to his head. Every gentle touch as he probed his face forced him to choke down a scream.

He put one hand on either side of his nose and stared at himself in the eyes. It was now or never.

He grasped his nose and straightened it.

Adamat woke up on the floor of his kitchen to the sound of someone pounding on his front door. He slowly got to his feet and glanced in the mirror. Through all the blood and grime he could tell his nose was straight again. He wondered if it was worth the excruciating pain that even now made him want to collapse.

It took him a full minute with shaking hands to reload his pistol. When it was primed, he went to the front door and peeked out the window.

It was one of his neighbors. An older woman, stooped from age and wearing a day dress with a shawl hastily thrown over her head. He didn’t think he’d ever learned her name.

Adamat cracked the door.

The woman nearly screamed at the sight of him.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Are you… are you all right?” she asked in a trembling voice. “I thought I heard a gunshot, and then not five minutes ago came the most terrible scream.”

“Gunshot? No, no gunshot. I’m terribly sorry at my appearance. I fell and broke my nose. I was just setting it. Probably the scream you heard.”

She stared at him like he was some kind of specter. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Just a broken nose,” Adamat said, gesturing at his face. “An accident, I assure you.”

“I’ll run and fetch the doctor.”

“No, please,” Adamat said. “I’ll go myself soon. No need to do that.”

“Now, now, I must insist.”

“Madame!” Adamat made his voice as firm as he could. It made his nasal passage vibrate, and the pain nearly dropped him to the floor again. “If you mind, I will attend to myself. Do not, under any circumstance, summon a doctor.”

“If you are certain…?”

Damned busybodies. “Quite, thank you, madame.” Adamat closed the door and surveyed the mess in his hallway. Blood everywhere. The rug, the floor, the walls. All over the door behind him.

It took Adamat several hours and quite a lot of Faye’s spare linens to clean up all the blood. He worked urgently — no telling if another of Vetas’s goons would arrive at any time. But he had to have the house cleaned out. There had to be no sign that he’d ever been here.

When it was done, Adamat finally cleaned himself. A full bottle of wine, and the pain in his head was a dull hum instead of a constant hammering. Night had fallen. He wrapped Kale’s body in the soiled linens and dragged it out the back door, thinking how furious Faye would be once she found out what he’d used the linens for.

In the corner of Adamat’s small garden was a toolshed, and under the toolshed an unused root cellar no larger than the inside of a small carriage. Adamat entered the root cellar and felt around in the dark for several minutes before he found what he was looking for: a rope on the cellar floor in a layer of loose dirt. He grabbed the rope and hauled, pulling free a stout wooden box.

He took the strongbox into the garden and returned to drop the body inside the root cellar. He rearranged the tools so it looked like no one had been in there for some time and closed the door behind him.

Inside the lockbox was every krana he’d saved since he first found out he owed Palagyi for the loan that had started Adamat and Friends Publishing. Adamat didn’t trust bankers anymore. Not since his loan had been sold to Palagyi.

The sum came out to a little under twenty-five thousand. Not enough. Not nearly enough.