The Autumn Republic

Chapter 47

Tamas gazed up at the doors to the manor, then down at the two uniformed guards who had stopped snoozing on the front step and now stood at attention before him. They were city policemen, who seemed to know who he was.

“As you were,” he said. “I’m not officially here.”

The two guards exchanged glances and seemed to relax.

“Just having a look around.” Tamas dismounted and handed his reins to one of the guards, while Olem handed his to the other. “Probably best not to mention my presence to anyone.”

“Yes sir,” one of the guards said.

Tamas slipped in through the front door and stood in the foyer, soaking in the eerie silence. Olem came in behind him, holding up a lantern, which threw shadows across the marble floors.

“You seem pensive, sir,” Olem said.

“The last time I was here, I almost died. That kind of thing makes a man pensive. In fact, shouldn’t you be just as pensive?”

“I just think this place is in bad taste.”

“It belonged to Charlemund,” Tamas said. “He was more concerned with opulence than with good taste. At least his damned bust isn’t here staring me in the face anymore.”

“You broke it, sir.”

“Ah. That’s right. Come on.”

They left the foyer and took a right, heading down one of the great hallways toward the kitchen per Adamat’s instructions. As they drew closer, Tamas could hear a distinct humming and felt his step quicken involuntarily. They reached the end of the hall and he gestured for Olem to wait for him, then stepped inside.

Unlike the rest of the empty manor, the kitchen was full of warmth and light. Two of the ovens burned brightly, and Tamas was hit by the smell of warm bread, roasting mutton, and squash soup. His mouth watered and his fingers twitched in anticipation.

The main baking table was clean at one end and set with silver tableware for two.

“Good morning, Field Marshal.”

It was a shock to see Charlemund in a chef’s apron, white hat on his head, and for a moment Tamas reached for his sword. Charlemund had put on at least two stone since Tamas had shot the Arch-Diocel in the gut and then thrown him under guard until he could figure out what to do with him. His face was broader, and he wore a grin that Tamas had never seen on Charlemund before.

He let his hand fall away from his sword. “It’s really you? Mihali?”

“Mihali is dead.” The grin faltered for a moment. “Unfortunate to say. I am Adom, in my purest form.” He looked down at himself. “Well, I never looked quite like this. I’ll admit that Charlemund was a little handsomer than me, in my original body.”

“How?” Tamas asked.

Adom tugged at the strings of his apron and swept it to one side. “Come! Break bread with me. I can hear your stomach from here and I haven’t eaten in at least a couple of hours.”

There were no chairs, and the table was too high for them anyway, so Tamas stood opposite Adom while the god ladled him a bowl of squash soup. A few minutes later, Tamas was asking for another, which Adom happily supplied, before serving the main meal of mutton, sliced thin on toasted bread.

“Your son,” Adom finally said, breaking the silence.

Tamas stopped chewing for a moment, having forgotten he’d even asked a question. “What about him?”

“After he shot Kresimir, the counterstroke almost killed him. It would have killed anyone else instantly, but Ka-poel’s wards were tight enough to block even Kresimir’s fury. It put him right on the brink, and even I couldn’t bring him back. But that darling girl.” Adom shook his head. “I’ve never seen anyone learn so quickly. Not even Kresimir himself.”

“What does that have to do with you?”

“I’m getting there. She figured out that Taniel’s coma would require a life. So she took Charlemund’s. She stripped his essence from him, leaving his body nothing more than a husk.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“Yes. Yes it is, and I have lived hundreds of lives over thousands of years. I know terrifying.”

“But how do you know all this?”

“She told me. While you were in Kez.”

“She can’t speak.”

“She’s a very good communicator. Anyway, I stole the body, and when Kresimir killed Mihali, I transferred myself into it.” He slapped his belly happily. “It was a crude transfer. I usually put myself into a brand-new vessel, an infant still growing inside a mother’s womb, one that might otherwise be stillborn. But this method worked just as well!”

Tamas looked down at his meal to find it almost gone. He reached for the platter between them, but Adom was faster, slicing off several pieces of mutton and depositing them on Tamas’s plate.

“Why didn’t you come back?” Tamas asked.

Adom chuckled. “Well, I’m in the body of the most hated public figure in Adro, so that would have been inconvenient.”

“Brude,” Tamas said.

Adom sobered. “Brude,” he confirmed.

“Did you know he was involved?”

“I didn’t. Not until after Kresimir killed me. There is an instant, flashing between consciousnesses, that I am more aware than when inside a body. That’s when I felt his influence. It explains a lot, really. Him trying to keep Mihali under wraps at the asylum, for one thing. He wanted to keep an eye on me. Keep me out of the way.” Adom scowled.

Tamas leaned forward. “What does he want? He claims–”

“I know what he claims,” Adom said, waving his hand. “I’ve seen that much. But whether he’s telling the truth, I can’t tell you.”

“You’re not a lot of help.”

Adom let out a booming laugh at that, and Tamas found himself grinning. That laugh was all Mihali.

“Brude. Brude, Brude, Brude.” Adom shook his head, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “He’s the youngest of us, you know. A prankster. He had the ambition to match Kresimir, but he lived in Kresimir’s shadow. He bickered with everyone. Even the two of us had our quarrels, though none as serious as he had with the others.” Adom popped a bit of bread into his mouth. “I can’t pierce the veil he’s raised around himself, but I can tell you that he’s now far more powerful than he ever was in Kresimir’s time. That scares me.”

“Confront him with us,” Tamas said. “We can force his hand. Find out what he wants.”

“Oooooh no. Forcing his hand would be a grave mistake. I’m no match for Brude.”

Tamas leaned back, his food turning sour in his mouth. “Then what do we do?”

“You find out if he’s going to keep his word or not. Brude was always the most forward-thinking of all of us. He might actually be telling the truth. But I’ll warn you: there are always two sides to everything he says and does, just as there are two sides to Brude himself.”

“And if he doesn’t keep his word?”

Adom lifted a chestnut from his plate and popped it in his mouth. He looked up to meet Tamas’s eyes. “If he doesn’t keep his word, there’s not a lot we can do about it.”

“You’re just going to hide here, aren’t you?”

“That was my plan. I’d rather he not know that I’m still alive, to be honest.”

Tamas threw his fork away in disgust. “What happened to standing beside us? What happened to being the patron saint of Adro?”

Adom picked up Tamas’s fork and cleaned it with the corner of his apron. He set it carefully back on Tamas’s plate. “Something scares me about Brude, Tamas. Something that was never there when we were young. I can’t put my finger on it. An instinct deeper than my age or my sorcery is telling me to stay away.”

“I’ve fought too long and too hard for this country to step aside and let someone have at it. Even a god.” Tamas wiped his face with a napkin and stepped away from the table. “I don’t know why I came here.”

“For advice.”

“It was a wasted trip.”

Adom gave him a sad smile. “I’m glad you came. I worried for you.”

“Not enough to help, it seems.”

“You have so little faith that things will work out, Tamas. Here.” He held out a round metal canister.

“What’s this?”

Adom blinked back at him. “Olem’s dinner. I may be a fat coward, but do you take me for rude?”

“Am I doing the right thing, Olem?”

The moon was full and bright above them, even though daylight was only an hour or two away, and Tamas barely noticed the smell of Olem’s cigarette. They stood in a grove between two farms a few miles outside of Adopest, their presence sheltered from the casual eye by the screen of old-growth trees. It was chilly, and Tamas tightened his jacket at the collar.

“Not for me to judge, sir.”

“You’re as useless as Adom.”

“Now, that’s unfair, sir. He did give us something to eat. Pit, I miss his cooking.”

Tamas shook his head. “I was so mad he wouldn’t help that I forgot to ask his advice on this.”

“You think it would have changed your mind?”

Tamas hesitated. “No.”

“I thought not.”

“Shut up and smoke your damn cigarette. And stop looking so smug. Where’s Bo?”

“Over there.”

Tamas made his way to the edge of the grove, where Borbador and his apprentice stood just inside the trees, watching the road that led to Adopest.

“They’re late,” Tamas said.

Bo looked up from fiddling with the straps on his fake leg. “They’re out there about a mile off. Watching us as we watch them.”

“Is it a trap?” Tamas asked.

“Not enough men for it to be a trap,” Bo said. “Not unless they brought Brude with them.”

Tamas looked at Nila, who was watching the darkness silently, then back at Bo. He took a step closer to Bo. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry I sent Taniel to kill you.”

Bo looked surprised, then like he might laugh. “Don’t be. It’s in your nature. If our positions had been reversed, I would have done the same. Ow!”

Nila had kicked Bo in his one remaining shin.

“Well,” Bo said. “I would have.”

“It’s rude to say so,” Nila chided.

“Which one of you is the apprentice?” Tamas asked.

Bo sniffed. “Not another word, old man.”

Tamas watched Bo. “You haven’t called me that since you were fifteen.”

“And it’s all the more applicable now.”

“You’re still a bratty upstart.”

“Yes.” Bo grinned. “I do my best.”

“Thank you as well for convincing Taniel not to go after Ka-poel himself.”

“He was champing at the bit.” Bo looked off to the north, where Taniel now crouched in another such grove, his rifle aimed at Claremonte’s representatives still waiting down the road. “I’m hoping he doesn’t shoot one of them tonight.”

“Me too.”

“They have Privileged with them, by the way.”

“How many?”

“Six. Claremonte doesn’t particularly trust you, it seems.”

“Nor I, him. That’s why we have you and Nila here. As well as Taniel, Norrine, and Andriya in the bushes.”

Bo was tapping his wooden leg. It gave Tamas an uneasy feeling. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about revenge.”

“I really miss my leg. And she’s down there. The one who did this to me. I can tell. And I recognize her now. Her name’s Lourie. We’ve got a little bit of history.”

“Is there a woman in any of the cabals of the Nine that you don’t have a history with?” Nila asked.

“A few,” Bo replied.

Tamas swore. “You better not jeopardize this entire operation.”

Bo made a calming gesture. “Of course not. I’ll keep myself reined in, thank you. Here they come.”

Tamas put powder on his tongue to increase his trance a little, and watched as the group on the road split in two, the smaller half coming across the farmer’s field toward their hiding spot. Tamas called quietly for Olem and they walked out of the grove.

The Privileged at their head was a woman he had not met before. She had pale skin, large eyes, and hair so blond it might have been white. She was wearing her gloves, and she eyed Tamas suspiciously.

“Mage,” she said.

“Privileged.”

“You have something for us?”

“I do.”

“And we, for you.” The woman raised her hand, and a figure was brought forward. Tamas stifled a sigh of relief at the sight of Vlora. Her uniform was ripped and dirty, one cheek scraped raw and one eye bruised, but she was still alive.

“What are you trading for me?” she demanded.

“Nothing I want to keep,” Tamas said. Olem went to Vlora’s side, taking her arm and leading her away from the Privileged and back toward the grove.

The Brudanian Privileged raised one hand. “Your half of the bargain?”

“Olem! Bring it out.”

Olem disappeared into the grove with Vlora and came back a moment later, alone.

“Well?” Tamas asked.

“She’s objecting strenuously to the deal.”

“Would she rather go back with them?”

“That’s what she says.”

“I never wanted daughters, Olem. You can quote me on that.”

“I’m growing impatient, mage,” the Brudanian Privileged growled.

“I’m still here, aren’t I? Olem, go get it.”

Olem returned to the grove. A few minutes later Tamas heard the sound of wooden wheels trundling over dirt, and soon a wagon came into view from around the opposite side of the grove. It was pulled by two oxen and had a stone sarcophagus in the bed. Olem pulled it up and jumped down from the wagon.

“All yours,” Tamas said.

One of the Brudanian soldiers leapt into the wagon and opened the sarcophagus. He closed it a moment later, and nodded solemnly to his leader.

“Your Knacked can see in the dark,” Tamas said. “That’s handy.”

The Brudanian Privileged gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I should kill you right now.”

“What would your boss say to that?”

“I’m sure he’d find it in his heart to forgive me.”

Tamas took a long step forward, then leaned into the Privileged until their chests were almost touching. “Try it,” he whispered.

The Brudanian Privileged gave a low chuckle. “You think I’m scared of your powder mages hidden on the horizon? Or your pet Privileged hiding in the grove? I’ve already fought him once. He’d be dead if I hadn’t been in a hurry and feeling generous. Tell Borbador that he owes me his life.”

“I think you are afraid. Otherwise you’d have tried it already. Get out of here, Privileged dog. Take Kresimir back to your master. Remind him to keep his word.”

One of the soldiers took the reins to the wagon and the Privileged turned away. “He’ll keep whatever he desires. Even this miserable country.”

Tamas watched until the Privileged were long gone before he returned to the grove.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Vlora said.

“I’ve done a lot of things I shouldn’t. This isn’t one of them.” Tamas leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “It was worth it. Bo, that Privileged sends her regards.”

“I bet she does.”

“Bo,” Tamas continued.

“What?”

“A fight is coming. I can feel it. If you see her again, wipe the floor with her.”

Bo’s fingers flexed, his jaw clenching, and he exchanged a glance with Nila. “That would be my pleasure.”

Adamat sat on the northern section of Adopest’s old wall, his feet dangling off the thirty-foot precipice.

He crunched into an apple, feeling the juice run down his chin as he watched the Brudanian troop transports load by the evening light. The largest oceangoing ships had already set off up the Ad River, hauled against the current by teams of twenty oxen each on their long journey to the lock system over the mountains, while the troop barges were still only half full.

“I confess,” he mused aloud, “that I’m shocked to see him leaving.”

SouSmith didn’t reply. The big boxer leaned against the battlements. He wore a butcher’s canvas pants and white shirt, the bloodstained sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He removed a pipe from his shirt pocket and lit it with a match, puffing to get it lit. A few moments later the air was full of the sweet smell of cherry tobacco.

“He hasn’t,” SouSmith finally pointed out.

“True, true. The man himself is still here. But the fact that he is keeping his word about his soldiers boggles my mind.”

“Think he’s up to somethin’?”

“Of course I do. He’s a salesman and a politician. If he’s not up to something I’ll eat my boots.” Adamat felt in his pockets for a moment before remembering that he’d left his own pipe at home. He eyed the troop transports as the Brudanians filed onboard, then looked down the Ad to the south. From this position it was impossible to see where Kresim Cathedral once stood, but he remembered its destruction as starkly as he remembered everything else.

“He left his mark,” SouSmith said.

“Yes. Yes he did.” And so many unanswered questions as well. Claremonte claimed that everything he had done was only to mitigate the damage Kresimir could do. It didn’t feel like an outright lie, but even an idiot could see that Claremonte had only his own gain in mind. The First Ministry of Adro seemed like such a pitiful goal for a god. Was there something else he wanted? Something greater?

And where was Brude’s other half? Who was Brude’s other half? He had played off of Tamas’s ambitions from the very beginning, which suggested someone inside the council. The thought sent chills up Adamat’s spine. Lady Winceslav? The Reeve? Perhaps it was Tamas himself! The thought was enough to give him a stroke, but he knew he had to dig deeper.

Lord Vetas had worked at cross-purposes to Tamas and the council. What had he once said? One hand not knowing what the other is doing? As far as Adamat knew, Vetas had done nothing to prevent Kresimir’s return. In fact, he had been working with Charlemund, who by all accounts had known about Kresimir’s return. An accident? Or on purpose?

“I have a hunch,” Adamat said.

“Huh?”

“Come with me to Sablethorn tonight. Do you have time?”

SouSmith glanced down at his clothes.

“Go get changed,” Adamat said. “Meet me at Sablethorn in two hours.”

SouSmith descended from the wall, leaving Adamat alone.

Adamat kicked his heels against the stone wall, watching as the first of the transports left, considering his options. He had to rule out the central members of the council. If Brude’s other half was one of the council, he would have done far more damage than he already had.

He waited until the last of the transports had left before he got to his feet and headed down to the main street to find a hackney cab. Thirty minutes later he arrived at Sablethorn, and the sun set over his shoulder as he went through the main doors and approached the guard station on the first floor. SouSmith sat in the stone hallway, back to the wall, hat tipped over his face.

“I’m here to see Lady Cheris,” Adamat said to the guard on duty.

SouSmith climbed to his feet, and the prison guard checked Adamat’s papers before letting them through.

“I think Claremonte has another agent in the city.”

“You think?”

“Of course he does, I’m not an idiot. But I mean another agent of the same rank or higher than Lord Vetas. Someone working autonomously. Completely apart from Vetas or Claremonte.” The other half of the god, Adamat thought silently.

“Why?”

“We interviewed Claremonte with a Knacked who could see through lies, and Claremonte didn’t know anything about the attack on Ricard’s headquarters. But no one benefits more than he with Ricard dead. If Claremonte has another agent in the city, working independently, it explains why he could truthfully say he didn’t plan the attack.”

“Lady Cheris?”

“I think that Cheris might know who it is.”

They reached a room near the top of the spire and Adamat paused to catch his breath while the jailer unlocked the ironbound door. They were admitted to a small but comfortable room with a fireplace, two lanterns, a bed, chair, and side table.

Lady Cheris stood beside the window, looking out onto Elections Square. She glanced curiously at Adamat but remained silent while the jailer lit the lanterns and then left.

“Lady Cheris,” Adamat said.

She waved her hand without looking away from the window. “I’ve told you everything you’re going to get from me,” she said.

“I don’t think you have. Who are you working for?” Adamat asked.

“Me? Working for someone? Hah! You must not know me very well, Inspector. I’m no one’s stooge.”

“So you claim you plotted Ricard’s fall all on your own?”

She remained silent.

“If you help me, I might be able to keep you away from the guillotine,” Adamat said.

“I don’t believe that they will send me to the guillotine, Inspector. And even if they did, you don’t have that kind of power.”

Adamat felt a cold sweat break out on his brow. He blinked several times, then rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Can you risk that?”

“I’ve risked everything, and I’ve lost. This conversation is over.”

Adamat’s throat was dry. He stared at Cheris for several moments until she turned to face him.

“What is it, Inspector? Can’t think of something to say? Am I a dead end? Forgive me for not showing any sympathy. You can tell Ricard I’ll be the downfall of him yet.”

Adamat found his voice and stood up, managing a half bow. “I’m sorry for wasting what little time you have left, my lady.”

Out in the hallway, Adamat gestured for the jailer to lock the door. He leaned against the wall, shivering.

“Adamat?” SouSmith said.

Adamat drew the jailer to the side and gave him a hundred-krana note. “Let me be clear. You are not to let Lady Cheris out of that room. But if she does get out, you are not to stand in her way. Your life may depend on it. Tell the field marshal I gave you those instructions.”

Adamat found himself running down the stairs, with SouSmith hurrying to keep up. Outside, Adamat practically leapt into his waiting hackney cab. “Go home, SouSmith,” he said. “I think we’re done here. You’ve been the greatest of help.” He banged on the roof. “Across the square,” he ordered, and they took off, leaving SouSmith with a confused expression outside of Sablethorn.

Adamat ran up all five flights of stairs to the top of the People’s Court, his lungs near to bursting when he reached the top. He showed his papers to Tamas’s soldiers and ignored the secretary who told him to wait, shoving his way into Tamas’s office. His chest was tight, and he was spurred on by sudden fear.

Tamas looked up from his desk, where he was reading by the light of a lantern. “Inspector?”

“Lady Cheris,” Adamat gasped. “She doesn’t have a shadow. She’s Brude’s other half. And that’s not all.”

Tamas shot to his feet. “Tell me.”

“Claremonte’s troop transports are riding high in the water. He’s left behind at least five hundred men.”