The Autumn Republic

Chapter 44

Adamat accompanied Police Commissioner Hewi and six officers to arrest Lady Cheris.

Hers was a beautiful manor on the outskirts of the Routs in Adopest, not far from Ondraus the Reeve’s home. It stood three stories tall and overlooked one of the largest private gardens in the city. Adamat waited in the foyer, allowing the cool autumn air to blow over him from the open door while a pair of constables spoke with the butler.

“This is most unusual,” the butler said, raising his voice. “Lady Cheris is an upstanding member of society and will not be treated like a common criminal.”

Commissioner Hewi cleared her throat, interrupting a response from one of her constables. “My good man, I am the commissioner of the Adran police force. My presence here clearly indicates that Lady Cheris is a most uncommon criminal. Now, tell me where she is, or you’ll spend the next six months in Sablethorn.”

The butler looked as if he would protest further, but a glance at the stone-faced constables seemed to convince him otherwise. He appeared to deflate. “She’s in the sitting room. But Commissioner, she has guests. Surely this could wait for another time.”

Hewi moved the man to one side with her cane and strode past him. Adamat followed.

A constable opened the door to the sitting room and Hewi walked in as if she owned the home. Two men sat in armchairs by the windows, while the two sofas were occupied by four women, one of whom was Lady Cheris. Their conversation stopped midstride and they all looked in surprise at Commissioner Hewi, while Adamat stood in the corner with his hat in one hand.

This particular arrest was one that he had no interest in doing himself. Everything, including Ricard’s own word, indicated that Lady Cheris would be as hard to pin down as an eel.

“Commissioner Hewi!” Lady Cheris said, standing. “I wasn’t expecting you today. May I introduce Lord Elmore of the Novi National Bank? I believe you know everyone else in the room.”

“Charmed, Lord Elmore. Lady Cheris. Would you like to do this here, or see your guests out first?”

Cheris’s face clouded and she blinked rapidly. “Whatever could you mean?”

Adamat cleared his throat and glanced significantly at the constables guarding the door, though he knew Cheris was only playing the fool.

“Ah.” Cheris swallowed hard. “Lord Elmore. My friends. Would you be willing to resume this conversation tomorrow?”

The gentlemen and ladies all stood and Lord Elmore shook Cheris’s hand while casting dark glances at the commissioner. “Of course. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.” They filed out the door and Adamat listened to be sure they had left the house. Once they were gone, Lady Cheris dropped onto one of the sofas.

“What is this all about, Hewi?” she asked.

“That’s ‘Commissioner,’ my lady. And please remain standing. You are under arrest for the attempted murder of Ricard Tumblar. We can dispense with the wrist irons, I think, as long as you’ll come along willingly.”

Cheris’s nostrils flared. “Attempted murder? I nearly died in that bombing! What are you talking about?”

“We have strong reason to believe you masterminded the bombing of the headquarters of the Holy Warriors of Labor.”

Stronger reason than even Hewi would let on, Adamat reflected. Denni of Rhodigas had confessed in front of Commissioner Hewi’s Knacked – the one who could determine a liar upon hearing. Lady Cheris had personally hired him for the job.

“Me? My arm was broken by a falling beam!” Cheris waggled the elbow of the arm she still held in a sling. “You have a damned lot of gall to accuse me of such things.”

Hewi sighed. “We have ample evidence, my lady.”

“Evidence? What evidence? There’s nothing at all to tie me to such a crime! I was about to have dinner with Ricard tonight. Do you think I’d dine with a man I tried to kill? You, sir. Inspector Adamat, wasn’t it? You’re friends with Ricard. Does he think I’ve done such a thing?”

Adamat glanced at Hewi, who gave him the most imperceptible of nods. “He does, madam. As do I.”

Cheris stood up straight. “I demand that you tell me the evidence you claim you hold against me.”

Adamat scoffed. Surely she didn’t think they would?

“I can’t do that, my lady,” Hewi said.

“Can’t? Or won’t? Because you don’t have a damned thing. If you did, you would tell me. I know what condition the courts are in. Even with my connections, it’ll be two weeks before I can get in front of a magistrate. Until that time I’ll be rotting in Sablethorn with the gutter rats, my reputation in shambles and my–”

“We have the word of Denni of Rhodigas that you paid him to acquire blasting oil from the Flerring Chemical Company,” Hewi said, her lip curled in disgust, “And to arrange for the bombing of the headquarters of the Holy Warriors of Labor.”

“That lying cretin? Hah! As if I’d have anything to do with him. I hope you have something better than that.”

“Transfer of funds amounting to one hundred and twenty-thousand krana from your personal account to an account belonging to Denni of Rhodigas,” Adamat cut in. “We’ve already arrested and questioned your personal banker.”

Cheris’s mouth hung open for a moment, then she said quietly, “Those accounts are not open to government purview, nor are they admissible in court.”

“They are now,” Adamat said. “The law was passed a month ago. For the head of the bankers’ union, I’m surprised you weren’t aware of that. Commissioner?”

Hewi oversaw the arrest as Cheris was led out the side door by one of his constables and put into an unmarked police carriage. Adamat waited beside the carriage for the commissioner to join him. “Thank you for coming, ma’am,” he said to Hewi.

“No, thank you, Inspector. If I had a thousand more officers prowling the city right now, I’d still be short. My people couldn’t possibly have tracked all of this down. You really are one of the best.”

“That’s good of you to say, ma’am. And that law I mentioned…”

“It should be on the books by now. Backdated, of course. Not something I’d normally do, but after running Denni past our lie-Knack we have to cover our evidence.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You sure you want to ride with her?” Hewi asked.

“Yes. It’s best I question her in private.”

“Nothing official can come out of it.”

“Of course. For my own personal peace of mind.”

Adamat said farewell to the commissioner and climbed into the carriage, where Cheris sat looking out the opposite window. Her façade of a baffled, outraged businesswoman had dropped to leave behind someone who looked tired and vaguely annoyed. The carriage began to move and Adamat took several minutes to examine her before he spoke.

“Why?” Adamat asked.

Cheris glanced over as if noticing his presence in the carriage for the first time. “Because Ricard’s an idiot,” she said. “And you can tell him I said so. He’s a visionary, for certain, and that does give him something extra. But he’s a fool and he’ll be a terrible First Minister.”

“So you admit it?”

“Sounds like you already know the truth, so I might as well.” She sighed. “My resources have been stretched thin, Inspector. Having to rely on people like Denni makes my stomach turn. And you better believe that my banker will never work anywhere in the Nine again in his life.”

“You think you’ll still have that kind of power after this comes out?”

“My involvement will be forgotten in a year. Denni will go to the guillotine and I’ll pay a heavy fine and lose my position in the union, but I’ll climb back on top.”

“And make your enemies suffer, I suppose?”

“I’m not normally a murderer, Inspector. I don’t kill or maim unless I’m running out of options. But yes, I’ll make them suffer. I’ll destroy reputations if it suits me. You should know that if you’ve been investigating me.”

Adamat’s investigation had been a whirlwind that lasted only half a dozen hours between the time he took Denni in and the time he arrived at Cheris’s door. He grunted a reply.

“In fact,” Cheris added, “I’m amazed you’d allow me the knowledge of your involvement.”

“I’ve dealt with worse.” Adamat felt a bit of doubt in the back of his mind and wondered if this had been a good idea. Perhaps the commissioner’s warning had held some meaning Adamat had missed. Nothing indicated that Cheris was the kind of monster that Vetas had been, but perhaps he should have taken precautions.

A knowing smile appeared at the corner of Cheris’s mouth. Adamat narrowed his eyes, wondering if Cheris knew about Lord Vetas. Perhaps she did. With her relationship with Ricard, it was not out of the realm of possibility.

They rode into Elections Square and watched the black spike of Sablethorn Prison grow larger over their heads. The prison was full of dissidents and particularly loud royalists, but the guards had made room in one of the nicer cells for Cheris. Ricard had insisted upon that, though Adamat didn’t know the reason. Sentiment, perhaps?

Cheris was escorted from the carriage. Adamat stepped out, wondering if he would now need to extend the length of SouSmith’s contract, and watched her be led toward Sablethorn’s doors. Cheris turned suddenly and looked back, throwing him a menacing smile.

“Have a good few weeks, Inspector. I’ll see you soon.”

The residence of Adro’s former Arch-Diocel of the Kresimir Church, Charlemund, seemed bleak and bare.

Adamat remembered his first visit to the grounds. The vineyards had been full of workers, while horses practiced on the racetrack. It had been a sickening display of wealth, but Adamat almost preferred that pomposity to the overgrown hedges, deep grass, empty orchards, and cold, lifeless façade of the immense manor.

The only occupants of the manor were the dozen watchmen the city had assigned to keep looters and squatters at bay until the government got the chance to divide up Charlemund’s wealth. His library would go to the university and Public Archives. His art collections would be sold off to private collectors or donated to the city museum. The building itself might be bought up by a wealthy merchant – Adamat had even heard Ricard express interest – or perhaps torn down and the stone recycled to help in the rebuilding of the city center.

“What you looking for?” SouSmith asked.

Adamat smoothed the front of his jacket. “I’m trying to find out what kind of man doesn’t leave a shadow,” he said.

Adamat showed his papers at a temporary guardhouse a few hundred yards from the manor and was waved on. At the front door, he remembered his second visit to the manor: during the battle in which Tamas fought and captured Charlemund. The burned-out remnants of a carriage still lay beside the gravel drive, and there were still muddy furrows where Privileged sorcery had dug up the ground.

At the front door another pair of watchmen lounged on the stoop, a game of dice between them. They stood as Adamat left his carriage and approached, with SouSmith behind him.

“They said that you would have a key,” Adamat said.

“Right. We do,” one of the watchmen said. She was a young woman, no more than twenty-five, and she held a musket and wore the light blues of the city police. “Papers?”

Adamat presented his papers once more. “Did I see smoke coming from one of the chimneys?”

“Probably,” the second watchman said, rubbing a thumb under the rim of his hat. He was an older fellow with gray in his mustache.

“I didn’t know the manor was occupied.”

“The state employs a few of the former staff in order to keep the building tidy until they can get around to selling it,” the first watchman replied, handing Adamat back his papers. “Don’t worry about them, they stay out of sight. The library is in the south wing, all the way at the end. Head inside, past the first staircase, and take a left. That hall dead-ends in the library.”

“Thank you very much,” Adamat said. He waited for them to unlock the door and then slipped inside, followed by SouSmith.

The foyer still held evidence of the fight that had taken place there many months previous. Someone had tidied up the mess Adamat remembered, but there was no hiding the chips in the marble from bullets, nor the empty pillar where a bust of Charlemund had once stood.

SouSmith paused and gave a low whistle. “One man lived here?”

Adamat had forgotten that SouSmith had never been allowed inside on their previous visit together. “Kind of off-putting, isn’t it?”

SouSmith ran his thick thumb over a chip in the marble banister. “Nah. Should have gone into the clergy.”

They left the foyer and followed the watchman’s directions toward the library.

“You said Charlemund escaped,” SouSmith asked.

“That’s what Ricard told me.”

“Think he could be here?”

“What? In hiding?”

“Yeah.”

“They’ve got watchmen and servants. He couldn’t go unnoticed.”

SouSmith stopped suddenly and looked up and down the hallway. It was over two hundred yards long, the ceilings twenty feet high, and had no less than thirty doors. He cocked an eyebrow at Adamat.

“Okay, it’s big,” Adamat conceded. “But Charlemund is… well… you’ve met him. He’s used to command. To luxury. I don’t think he could ‘hide’ anywhere if his life depended on it. My best guess is he’s already fled to Kez or Novi or someplace farther. We’ll hear about him sooner rather than later.”

Their voices carried as they spoke, giving the place a strange echo and sending a chill up Adamat’s spine, which he attributed to the autumn cold.

The hallway ended in a pair of closed double doors. Adamat jiggled one handle, finding it unlocked, and pulled. The room inside took his breath away.

Charlemund’s library was a rectangular room several times larger than Adamat’s house. Books lined every wall, sorted neatly on cherry bookshelves. There were wooden ladders on runners to reach the high shelves, and each corner had an iron spiral staircase to reach the second floor. There was a grand, marble-trimmed fireplace at either end of the room.

There weren’t as many books here as there were in the Public Archives or the university library, but this collection was nearly as big as, if not bigger than, the late king’s library. It baffled Adamat how one man could have acquired so many books. Charlemund had been far from a “man of learning.”

“I don’t have any bloody idea where to start.”

SouSmith grunted and threw himself down into one of the leather wingback chairs by the cold fireplace closest to the door. “Wake me when you’re done,” he said.

“You’re no help at all.”

By the time Adamat had a grasp of Charlemund’s indexing methods, SouSmith was already snoring loudly.

Uskan had sent him a list of a dozen books that might be of some interest. Adamat started with those, finding them and pulling them down, stacking them on a table in the middle of the library. When he had collected them all, he began to skim each book quickly, casting each page to memory in order to examine it more closely later, all while looking for words like “shadow” and “shade.”

He finished with the first dozen books by one o’clock and returned, somewhat on edge, to the rest of the library.

Adamat’s Knack allowed him to move through the library at what most would find a startling speed. To him, it was frustratingly slow. The library was sorted according to the name of the author, which was very little help. He was forced to look for titles that stood out as religious books, or for authors he recognized as scholars. He took down another stack of a dozen books and began to run through those.

He was on his third stack of books by four o’clock. SouSmith had awoken and fallen asleep again, and the lengthening shadows told Adamat he wouldn’t have much more time to read by daylight.

“SouSmith,” he said, shaking the boxer’s shoulder.

SouSmith opened one eye. “Eh?”

“Do you have a match? I need to light the lanterns. Or a fire, or something.”

“Nope.” His eye closed.

Adamat sighed. SouSmith wasn’t going to be a lot of help here. Adamat still had him working as a bodyguard for another week, but the real danger had passed, and SouSmith knew it. He also knew that Ricard was footing the bill. Adamat couldn’t bring himself to blame SouSmith for slacking off.

“I’m going to find one of the servants,” he announced.

SouSmith grunted.

Adamat remembered that the smoke had been coming from a chimney in the north wing. He envisioned the house in his mind’s eye, remembering his brief inspection after the battle with Charlemund. The north wing had a ballroom, an observatory, the dining room, the kitchens, and the servants’ quarters.

That was his best chance for a match. Maybe they’d even light the library fireplace for him.

He gathered his hat and cane and headed down the main hallway. He climbed the foyer stairs and continued down the main hall on the second floor, where he came to the servants’ quarters. This part of the house was warmer, and he found himself looking forward to the heat of a fireplace. The autumn chill was more pronounced in this place than he’d expected.

He knocked on several of the servants’ doors, but received no answer. Three of the doors were unlocked, and inside he found evidence of habitation, but there were no servants present.

Frustrated, he took the servants’ stairs down toward the kitchens. Back on the first floor, he could hear the sound of voices. Finally!

He entered the kitchen from the back. It was an immense room, some thirty paces across, and he was startled to find it rather well stocked, despite the skeleton crew of servants. Herbs hung from the ceiling, there was canned meat on the shelves – dusted, no less – and sacks of grain unmolested by rodents. A figure at the opposite end of the room, wearing a white apron and a tall white hat, was singing to himself in front of the only lit oven.

“Excuse me,” Adamat called.

The figure turned, giving Adamat a good look at his profile, and Adamat’s feet suddenly felt like lead. He grabbed his cane in both hands and twisted it to draw his sword. His mouth was dry, and he pointed the tip of his sword at the fugitive Arch-Diocel, Charlemund.

“You,” Adamat hissed.

Charlemund’s eyebrows rose. His apron was covered in flour, and his hands full of bread dough. “Uh, yes?”

Adamat’s mouth moved, but he wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted to say. The Arch-Diocel was a national traitor and a villain, and he had wounded Adamat twice in their last encounter. But he didn’t appear to be armed. If anything, he was more surprised to find Adamat here than Adamat was to find him.

“Put down the bread dough.”

“All right.”

“Wait! Never mind. Keep a hold of it. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Fine.” Slowly, Charlemund began to knead the dough between his fingers.

“Stop that.”

“I’d rather not ruin this loaf,” Charlemund said.

“I don’t give a damn!” The words came out a shout. Sweat poured down the small of Adamat’s back.

Charlemund squinted at him, but he didn’t stop kneading the dough. “Have we met?”

“What kind of a question is that? We have met on several occasions.” Adamat’s heart hammered in his chest, but his annoyance was beginning to overcome his nervousness. This was Charlemund, was it not? He had put on perhaps two stone since their last meeting – an awfully large amount in just a few months – but otherwise it was the same man. Unless Charlemund had employed a relative in his kitchens?

And had he been singing to himself earlier?

Charlemund seemed to grow thoughtful, and his eyes focused on something over Adamat’s shoulder. “Oh, that’s right. We have met.” He grimaced. “Not on the best of terms with this body, though. I really do apologize. Let me help you.”

“Help me?”

“With your search. You’re looking for a book. I think The Compendium of Gods and Saints should be the right thing. Mostly superstition and rubbish, but it answers your question. It’s back in the library, northwest corner. About three feet from SouSmith’s elbow, actually.”

Adamat felt his sword arm waver. “How could you possibly know any of that?”

Charlemund grinned. “Just trying to be a good host. Can I offer you something?”

“Offer me what?”

“Something to eat. I made some squash soup last night. I may have leftovers.”

Tamas stood atop the blasted ruins of the walls of Budwiel with the noonday sun in his face. His body ached and his leg throbbed, skin feeling tight against the stitches. A slash along his cheek itched and he had to remind himself not to rub at it, or the damned thing would never heal.

The Deliv army approached, a snake of Kelly-green uniforms winding down the highway and into the immense camp of Adran soldiers outside the walls. Tamas’s men lined the highway in their parade uniforms as a sign of respect for their Deliv allies. Sulem and his cabal rode at the head of his army – Tamas could see their banners from this distance even without a powder trance – and he could hear the distant beat of their drums tapping out the march.

“Sir.”

Tamas spared a glance for the young corporal who had come up to join him at the wall. “Yes?”

“Colonel Olem is here to see you.”

“Send him up right away.” He waited until the corporal was gone to sag against the fortifications and breathe a sigh of relief. Olem had survived. That was good. Too many quality men and women had died these last several weeks.

A few moments later he heard a halting step on the stone stairs behind him, and then Olem joined him at the ramparts. His face was black and blue, and he bore several visible wounds on his neck and hands. Olem stood slightly hunched, his shoulders curled inward, and Tamas could tell he was in a great deal of pain. He’d seen that stance many times in his long career. It was the look of a man who had been flogged severely. Tamas didn’t even want to know what Olem’s back looked like under the uniform.

There were several minutes of silence, and then Tamas heard a small sound like clattering coins. He looked down to see Olem’s colonel pins lying on the stones.

“Did you fail your mission?” Tamas asked.

“It didn’t go well, sir.”

“Did you fail?”

“The magebreaker is dead. His men are killed or captured.”

Tamas took the colonel’s pins and set them in front of Olem. “If you try to give these back again, I’ll shove them up your ass.”

“But…”

“That was your only warning.”

Silently, Olem returned the pins to his lapels. Tamas glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Olem struggling with the pins, one of his arms in a sling. His face was one large bruise, and his brows and lips between them had dozens of stitches. The bottom of one earlobe was gone.

“You look like the pit,” Tamas said without reproach.

Olem finished putting his pins back on one-handed and managed a wan smile. “You don’t look so well yourself, sir.”

“I’ve had better days.” Tamas’s memories of the battle were a blur of blood and steel and he could not recall where he’d gotten half of his wounds, but he could remember the faces of hundreds of his men whom he watched die. He wouldn’t sleep well for some time.

“My report’s going to be a bit late, sir. I can’t write left-handed.”

“Don’t worry too much.”

“I can give it to you now if you’d like.”

“Later. Wait. How did the Privileged girl do?”

“Very well.” Olem hesitated. “I don’t know much about sorcery, sir, but Privileged Borbador said she’s going to be the strongest Adran Privileged in six hundred years.”

“Bo has been known to exaggerate.”

“She set fire to a magebreaker, sir. With sorcery. At least, that’s what Bo said.”

“That’s… remarkable.” Tamas remembered Taniel’s report of the magebreaker Gothen being slain by what turned out to be one of the Predeii. Tamas had barely believed him at the time and might not have believed this either but he felt too tired to doubt Olem. After all, he had seen things in the last ten months to shake the foundations of the Nine.

He realized with a start that Olem was still talking, and waved him off. “That’s enough. I’ll get the rest later.”

“Of course. Congratulations on the victory, sir.”

“We’re not done yet.”

“Sir?”

Tamas lowered his voice. “Ipille’s betrayal of the parley? It wasn’t him. It was Claremonte’s men in disguise.”

“We’ll feed him his own shoes, sir.” Olem’s eyes hardened, and his one good hand tightened into a fist.

Tamas turned to gaze back over the Adran camp and the incoming Deliv procession. There was a trumpeter at the front of the Deliv column now. The sound grated on his nerves. “I intend to.”

They watched the procession draw near, and Tamas guessed that Sulem had just five thousand men with him, the rest of his forces camping up north with the captured Kez brigades. He wondered how many soldiers the Deliv had lost during their battle.

“They look like conquering heroes,” Olem said, a note of bitterness in his voice.

“They should. They met the bulk of the Kez army to the north of us. Surely you passed the battlefield on your way here?”

“I saw it at a distance.”

“They provided the distraction so we could take the city.”

“To hazard a guess, they had a much easier fight. The Grand Army wasn’t hiding behind the walls with Ipille’s personal guard.”

Tamas wasn’t going to debate that. “I need them, Olem. His soldiers and his Privileged.”

“Sir?”

“We captured nearly seven thousand Kez soldiers the other day. There’s just over six thousand left alive. I can’t keep the peace, not even with my best men. Word has gotten around about the atrocities committed by the Kez in Budwiel, and vengeance is taken out upon them every night. I’m going to hand these prisoners over to Sulem as quickly as possible, or there won’t be any left.”

“I’ll do what I can to bring order among the men, sir.”

“Save your strength. We leave for Adopest in the morning.”

“You won’t stay for the treaty negotiations?”

“I have to discover what’s happening in Adopest. Claremonte is playing at some larger game and I need to find the end of it. I will make him answer for the attack that disrupted our parley, but I have to do it carefully. He’s holding my capital – he has the knife to our throat. I don’t know if it’ll take a fight to unseat him or if he wants something else.” Tamas shook his head. “I’m leaving General Arbor in charge here. The negotiations will take months at best. If Ricard Tumblar has managed to scrape together some manner of civil government, I’ll have him send a delegation to join them.”

“Very good, sir. Will the Deliv help us with Adopest?”

“Sulem has no fight with Brudania. We’re on our own.”

“Unfortunate.”

“I thought so as well.”

“Do you have orders, sir?”

“Find one of the Deliv Privileged and get yourself healed. I need you by my side. We may yet have killing to do before this is all over.”