The Autumn Republic

Chapter 45

Adamat wound his way through the thick crowd gathered in Laughlin Square on the north side of the city.

It was a gorgeous autumn day with barely a cloud in the sky and although the wind had picked up, Lord Claremonte’s Privileged had used their sorcery to create an umbrella of calm around the entire square for his biggest public appearance since his arrival in the city. It looked to Adamat’s eye that over five thousand people had turned out for Claremonte’s speech – and the promised announcement of his newest and reportedly most groundbreaking endorsement.

He’d already been going on for almost an hour when Adamat arrived. From the rapt attention of the crowd and the frequent cheering, Adamat guessed it was going quite well for the head of the Brudania-Gurla Trading Company.

Claremonte himself stood upon a wooden podium erected at the south end of the square. Adamat had to admit that he made a dashing figure dressed in the finest suit and tails, gesturing for emphasis as he promised inheritance tax reform, more public services, and the establishment of a national museum in Skyline Palace.

Adamat gave up trying to get closer to the podium after twenty minutes of working his way forward and receiving dozens of elbows in his ribs. He retreated to the next best place – a raised walk along the east side of the square that was mostly filled with schoolchildren and shoppers, who had forgotten about the row of stores behind them and now watched Claremonte speak.

It gave Adamat a clear view of the podium and, more interestingly, of the tent behind the podium. No doubt it doubled as a shaded location for Claremonte’s most prominent supporters, who would also give speeches after the main address, and as a hiding place for Claremonte’s new endorsement.

Adamat wondered if he could slip around the back and glance inside, but dismissed the notion immediately. Claremonte’s security was tight – Brudanian soldiers were stationed at every possible approach.

He watched as one such soldier sternly rebuked a young boy who had gotten near the tent, likely with the same aim in mind as Adamat.

This promise of a public-figure endorsement had been the buzz of the city for weeks.

The speech itself held little interest for Adamat. He half listened for the big announcement as he let his eyes wander over the crowd, trying to get a sense for Claremonte’s supporters. There were the fervent believers near the front, applauding at every small thing. These could have been either paid performers or the real thing.

There were the wealthy donors, who had rented balcony rooms in the town houses along the north side of the square behind Claremonte. Most of the crowd seemed to be working-class men and women of all walks.

Adamat judged Claremonte to have a rather good spread of supporters, with a definite leaning toward the common man, which was more the pity. It meant that Ricard’s command of the union was giving him less traction than one might think.

Adamat’s eyes caught more than a few familiar faces. Government employees. A couple of soldiers. A large number of the lesser nobility who had avoided Tamas’s cull. His eyes continued to roam until they stopped on one particularly interesting figure.

It was a woman with dark hair and a narrow face, dressed in black pants and a matching jacket. She stood stoically in the crowd, ignoring her fellow listeners when they cheered, her hands clasped behind her back. Her name was Riplas, and since the eunuch’s death several months ago she had taken over as the Proprietor’s second-in-command. The rumors were that it was not a permanent position. Yet.

Adamat didn’t have time to wonder at her presence. Claremonte shushed the crowd after a particularly long round of applause and said, “Ladies and gentleman, I am pleased – no, I am honored – to receive the endorsement of one of Adro’s leading citizens and one of the architects of this new government: Ondraus, the Reeve of Adopest!”

Some members of the audience gasped audibly. Adamat felt his mouth fall open, and sure enough, Ondraus the Reeve emerged from the tent behind Claremonte. He wore the very best finery and sported a gold chain at his breast pocket. He approached the podium while Claremonte stepped to the side, and held his hands up for quiet.

Ondraus removed the glasses from his pocket and what looked like a ledger from beneath his arm, setting it on the podium. He examined the crowd for a few moments.

Adamat’s mind churned. What was Ondraus up to? Ondraus was one, no two of the remaining members of Tamas’s council. Didn’t he know that Tamas would wring his neck once he found out? Adamat looked through the crowd until he found Riplas once again. He was one of the only men in the Nine to know that Ondraus and the Proprietor were one and the same, but he couldn’t come up with a connection in this situation.

Surely there had to be one.

Ondraus cleared his throat and Privileged sorcery made his voice boom. “My friends and neighbors. I am here today to tell you that I endorse Lord Claremonte for First Minister of Adro. I am not a public man, as surely you may all know, but I thought this campaign important enough to not just show my face but to lend my voice to Lord Claremonte.”

Adamat was flabbergasted. For Ondraus to say he was not a public man was an understatement. His likeness had never once appeared in any newspaper, even though he was one of the richest and most influential men in Adro. Adamat knew it was because of his double life as a crime lord, but most people assumed he was just reclusive. If anything in Claremonte’s campaign was going to get attention, it would be this.

Ricard would be furious.

“I have done the numbers,” Ondraus said. “I have projected the financial future of Adro, and Lord Claremonte’s proposed reforms and laws are the best course for this country, and believe me, I am not unfamiliar with the ebb and flow of coin.” Behind Ondraus, Lord Claremonte stood beaming, hands held high as he led the applause.

What’s his game? Adamat asked himself. Had Ondraus really changed sides in the campaign?

There was a commotion in the crowd and Adamat looked for the source of it but could find nothing as a round of applause erupted at Ondraus’s words.

“If Lord Claremonte is elected, I give you my word that–”

Ondraus was suddenly cut off as a man threw himself up on the podium. A couple of soldiers rushed forward as the man got to his feet, and a gasp flew through the audience as he suddenly brandished a pistol.

Three things happened at once: the gun went off, the bullet flying over Ondraus’s and Claremonte’s heads and striking the building behind the podium. Second, one of Claremonte’s Privileged leapt forward, his fingers dancing, sorcery slicing the assailant to bloody ribbons. And third, a gunshot went off somewhere over Adamat’s head.

Lord Claremonte went down in a spray of blood just as the screaming began. Sorcery lashed out, destroying the roof off the building behind Adamat and forcing him to leap from the raised walkway to get away from the rain of wood and stone.

Crouching, eyes on the sky, Adamat began to run, forcing himself against the suddenly panicked crowd. The frightened stampede began almost immediately. He felt himself jostled and thrown, and he stopped to help an old woman to her feet. Then forced himself against the crowd once more.

Everyone was yelling. It was a chaotic mess. There were more gunshots, and Adamat heard the concussion of sorcery blasts and had no way of knowing if they were attacks upon the podium or reprisal from Claremonte’s men.

He managed to reach the spot where he last saw Riplas. He forced himself through the throng, cursing and shouting and elbowing. Where was she? Had she fled? If so, where to? Adamat had the immediate feeling that something had been engineered by the Proprietor. If Riplas had been going with the flow of the crowd, she would be up ahead.

He plowed onward until he reached the main street, and threw himself into the nearest alleyway to get out of the chaos. Catching his breath, he worked his way down the sidewalk until he spotted a familiar black coat. Crossing the street was a chore, but he made it only a moment later to find Riplas strolling along, letting the fleeing crowd pass her by.

Adamat snatched her by the elbow and was startled to find himself suddenly pressed up against a shop window, her forearm across his throat and something sharp jabbing him in the ribs.

Her eyes searched his for a moment.

“Riplas,” he said. “It’s me, Inspector Adamat.”

“I know who you are, Inspector.” She slowly released him.

He dusted off the front of his jacket. She had begun to walk again, and he jogged to catch up. “I need to see him,” he said.

“Him?” she asked innocently.

“Him,” he repeated.

“Well then.” She scratched at her chin. “That’s harder than you’d think. My lord is pretty busy these days and–”

“Now, Riplas! This is a matter of national security! Or would he rather I make a house call?”

Riplas stopped suddenly and turned. “You be careful, Inspector.”

“I am being careful. He’ll want to know what I have to tell him, and you know enough about me to realize I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”

“I hope you don’t regret it. Come with me.”

Adamat was carted around the city for almost two hours by a pair of the Proprietor’s goons, and he was not allowed to take off his blindfold until he was standing in the foyer of the Proprietor’s headquarters.

He brushed off his arm as he was unhanded, removing his blindfold and tossing it to one of the men. “That’s no way to run a business,” he said.

“Sorry, Inspector. Riplas’s orders.”

“Does everyone have to be blindfolded?” he asked. “How the pit do you get anything done around here?”

“Not everyone,” the man answered. “But you’re an inspector, Inspector. Be glad we didn’t give you ether.”

“I am, thank you. That happened last time. Now I must see your master.”

One of the goons nodded to the other, who went off down one of the halls of the immense building. As with Adamat’s last visit, he was left with the impression not of a den of iniquity, as one might expect of a crime boss, but of a place of business. The marble floors gleamed, the plaster walls were freshly painted, and the candlesticks had been shined. Bookkeepers ran to and fro, while big, no-nonsense thugs lurked in the corners.

He was about to check his watch for the third time, when the second goon reappeared and gave him a “come hither” gesture. Adamat followed him down a hall to the nondescript door on their right. The man opened the door with his back to it, eyes averted, and pulled it shut after Adamat had stepped in.

The fine wood paneling was the same as it was on Adamat’s last visit, as were the few decorations. Only the rug had been changed – a fact that he noted with interest. The desk was still covered by a screen, while the chair that the Proprietor’s “translator” had occupied was empty.

Ondraus the Reeve stepped around the screen and sat in the translator’s chair, gesturing Adamat to take a seat across from him. “I think we can dispense with the usual procedure, can’t we, Inspector?”

“I believe so.”

“Good. Secrecy is a necessity in this game, of course, but I will admit that it’s a relief to talk to someone who knows my identity. There are only three of you left, with the poor eunuch dead.”

“Riplas knows, I assume?”

“Yes. She and my translator are the only ones.” The words were spoken without menace, but Adamat wasn’t slow to note that it left very few people in the world who needed eliminating if Ondraus wanted to destroy his second life as Adro’s criminal overlord. “Now,” Ondraus continued, “what is it you needed so urgently?”

“I was at Claremonte’s speech today.”

“Were you, then?” Ondraus leaned forward, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “What did you think?”

“I thought it was an interesting career choice, what with word that Tamas has returned.”

Ondraus rolled his eyes. “You think I’m that stupid? Is that what you’re here for? You were curious about my endorsement of the late Lord Claremonte? You only have so much of my goodwill left to feed upon, Adamat. Especially after you got my eunuch killed.” There was something smug about the way Ondraus said “late,” and it gave Adamat a thought.

“ ‘Late,’ you say? He’s dead?”

“You saw the assassination, didn’t you?”

“Considering your endorsement of him, you don’t seem very broken up about it.”

“Because I ordered his death, of course.”

Adamat barked out a laugh. “You did? Why bother endorsing him, then?”

“Oh, my dear Inspector. That’s very naïve. I wasn’t just endorsing him. Claremonte named me as his Second Minister. We didn’t get to that point of the speech, I’m afraid. My men may have gotten ahead of themselves. All the paperwork is done, anyhow. It’s quite official.”

“And now that he’s out of the way, you’ll be in position to take his place.”

“It’ll be in the papers tomorrow morning, I suspect.”

“And what will Field Marshal Tamas say about this? I read that he should be here in the morning.”

“Indeed he will. And I think he’ll be far happier to hear that it is Ricard and me running against each other rather than Ricard and Claremonte.”

Adamat snorted. “I imagine he will. But you’re a private man. Why First Minister? Why now?”

“Tastes change. You know how it is. My spot as First Minister would afford many benefits to the Proprietor. Or I may enjoy it enough that the Proprietor fades into obscurity.” The Reeve shrugged. “Who knows?”

Adamat drew a book from his jacket pocket. “I think that you may have a problem there.”

“And what is that?”

He held up the book. “This is The Compendium of Gods and Saints. A very old book. Written during the Bleakening, the time after Kresimir first left our world. Supposedly. I’m told that it’s mostly superstitious nonsense, but there is one thing that caught my eye.” He cleared his throat and read, “ ‘Lord Brude, saint and god of Brudania, is unique among his siblings in one particular way in that he has no shadow. His shadow, it is said, is his other face: a unique condition of sorcery in which he occupies two separate bodies, making him not a single but rather two different gods.’ ” Adamat closed the book.

Ondraus looked impatient. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Lord Claremonte has no shadow.”

“Hah! Are you claiming that he’s the god Brude?”

“I am.”

“I’m aware that this has been a strange time in our history and that the impossible may very well be possible, but this seems to be a long leap for you, Inspector.”

“Not too much of a leap. A god told me.”

“Oh?” Ondraus rolled his eyes.

“The god Adom.”

Ondraus didn’t seem convinced. “He’s supposed to be dead, isn’t he? The report is that Kresimir killed him.”

“He’s still very much alive.” Adamat leaned forward. “I think it’s far more difficult to kill a god than that.”

Ondraus scoffed. “If that were the case, Claremonte would still be alive. I’ve sent a man to the hospital to find out. I suppose we’ll discover the case soon.” There was a knock on the door, then another distinct high knock and one low. “Come,” Ondraus said.

Adamat recognized the Proprietor’s translator. She was a severe-looking woman, her knitting tucked under one arm, her face expressionless. She closed the door behind her.

“What is the news?” Ondraus asked.

“You have to go.”

“Excuse me?”

Still expressionless, the woman said, “Privileged on the street. Brudanian soldiers. You have less than thirty seconds.”

Ondraus leapt to his feet like a man half his age. “Get out of here, go!” The woman fled, leaving Adamat alone with Ondraus. “You, Inspector. Come with me.” Ondraus strode to the fireplace behind his desk and turned one of the candelabras halfway in its socket, then lifted up on the corner of what looked to be a solid mantelpiece. There was a click, and a panel beside the fireplace sprang open. “Inside.”

Adamat followed his instructions, ducking inside a low but well-used passageway. They were suddenly plunged into darkness as Ondraus closed the hidden panel behind them. “Faster!” Ondraus ordered. “The Privileged will be able to see us moving. We tarry too long here and they’ll suspect who we are. Watch your step.”

Adamat stumbled, nearly falling down a flight of stairs despite Ondraus’s warning. He followed those down almost thirty steps, the air becoming cold, close, and damp. They rushed along, splashing through puddles, and Adamat heard the unmistakable sound of a scream somewhere above them. There was a great wrenching noise and a crash, followed by more screams and the sound of gunshots.

“Quickly!” Ondraus poked Adamat hard in the back, forcing him on ahead, half-crouched, for well over a hundred yards. The passage was stoned in with an inch of water on the bottom, and Adamat could not tell in the darkness where it would end.

“Up,” Ondraus ordered suddenly.

Adamat’s foot hit a step a moment later, and his legs carried him up another flight until he could discern a source of light.

“Head,” Ondraus said.

“What – ow!” Adamat’s head hit a plank, and he reached up to push a trapdoor out of his way. They emerged into some kind of a basement that smelled of hay and the rich, grassy smell of horse manure. They went up another flight of wooden steps and emerged into a stable.

“Into my carriage,” Ondraus said quickly. “Driver!” he shouted.

A moment later and Ondraus’s carriage shot into the light, carried down the streets of Adopest and into the normal daily traffic.

Adamat leaned against the wall of the carriage, breathing a sigh of relief, his heart thundering in his ears.

“Turn here!” Ondraus shouted.

The carriage turned and they drove past a street that ended in a small but well-appointed courtyard and a three-story brick building. The courtyard was full of soldiers and the façade of the building had been ripped apart by sorcery, fire flaring into the air from the roof. Bodies were being dragged out of the building – some Brudanian soldiers, but mostly the Proprietor’s goons.

“You keep a carriage on hand at all times?” Adamat asked as they drove on past the Proprietor’s headquarters and into the anonymity of the midday streets.

“Three, actually,” Ondraus said. His eyes were glued to the window and he was grinding his teeth. “Decades of work down the shit hole. Must have caught one of my lieutenants.”

“We’re in the banking district,” Adamat said with surprise, recognizing the main thoroughfare they’d just pulled onto.

“Of course we are. I – and I mean Ondraus the Reeve – works here. I couldn’t have it on the other bloody side of town.” Ondraus pounded twice on the roof and the carriage pulled off to the side of the road. The driver got down and opened the door. “The council is meeting with Field Marshal Tamas tomorrow at four. Be there. Be ready to explain to Tamas your theory about Claremonte. And try to be more convincing than you were to me.”

Adamat stepped out and the door slammed shut behind him. He turned, mouth open, but the carriage was already rolling away.

He waited for a few moments before hailing a hackney cab. He had the distinct feeling that Tamas would more readily believe the news than Ondraus.