The Autumn Republic

Chapter 48

The election was held early on the morning of the last day of autumn.

Adamat stood near the window of Ricard’s office in the Kinnen Hotel. To his great consternation, he was unable to keep from wringing his hands as he watched the constant flow of people passing in the street below. Today was the second of two days of a national holiday. The polls had been opened at six in the morning the day before and had closed well after midnight. A delegation of Novi vote counters had spent all night with the ballots. By noon, word should come back on the results of the election.

And then they’d find out if a god could keep his word.

There was so much left unanswered. Adamat didn’t like the loose ends. No explanation of Claremonte’s involvement in the Kez-Adran War, or Cheris allowing herself to be imprisoned, or even why Claremonte cared about the election in Adro to begin with.

It was giving him heart palpitations.

He heard the door behind him open, and the sounds of Ricard’s election party floated in. Adamat turned to see Privileged Borbador slip inside the room. It was the first time Adamat had seen him since he returned to Adopest. He walked confidently with a cane despite the prosthetic on his left leg, and he was dressed well enough to make a banker blush. He wore his Privileged’s gloves despite, or perhaps because of, the heavy crowds at the election party.

Their eyes met and the half-patronizing, half-predatory smile that Bo had plastered on his face for the party slid off to be replaced by a somber visage. “Our deal is complete.”

Adamat swallowed a lump in his throat. “You’re sure?”

“Nila killed a Black Warden in Brude’s Hideaway. It was missing its ring finger. Looked like it had been nothing more than a boy, around fifteen or so, when it was turned. I can’t be more certain than that.”

“You saw it yourself?”

“I was there when it happened.”

“Did–?”

“It was quick.”

“Thank you.”

Bo gave him a short nod and slipped out of the room. Adamat took a deep breath, steadying himself. Josep was at peace. Adamat could now be at peace as well. Or at least he could try.

He didn’t have time to think through his grief. He heard Bo exchange words with a familiar voice outside the door, then it opened again and Fell appeared in the doorway. She looked him up and down, then stepped back outside. “He’s in here!” he heard her shout.

Ricard entered the room a moment later, mopping his brow with his handkerchief. “Pit, that’s a lot of hands to shake. Adamat, what are you doing up here? Your wife is looking everywhere for you, and Astrit got away from her nanny and has been terrorizing the kitchen staff.”

Adamat shook himself out of his thoughts. “I’m terribly sorry, Ricard, I’m coming.”

“I joke, I joke! Your children are angels. All except that orphan kid, what was his name?”

“Jakob.”

“Jakob keeps going into the basement to play with what’s left of my wine collection.”

“He’s a good lad.”

“He might be. But keep him out of my wine.”

“I thought you hired more than one nanny?”

“I did. Not enough, apparently. You already have too many children. Why did you have to take on a stray?”

“Faye wants to adopt him,” Adamat mused aloud. He wondered whether this was Faye’s way of dealing with Josep’s death, or whether she genuinely cared for the Eldaminse child. It was something they’d agreed to talk about later. Only a handful of people even knew of his importance, but Adamat worried about the possible ramifications of adopting the closest living heir to the Adran throne.

“How is Faye holding up?” Adamat asked.

“She’s been yakking with the new head of the tailors’ union. What’s her name again? Maggie?”

“Margy. I’m glad you picked her.”

“I can’t really account for your taste. She hates my guts.”

“It’s good to have some opposition,” Adamat said. “I’m sure she’ll come around.”

“You’re too confident. Anyway, I’m glad you’re alone. I want to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

“How would you like a job?”

Adamat swayed on his feet. “Ricard, you know I’d do anything for you. But I’m exhausted. I’m getting too old to run all over the city. The money from you and Privileged Borbador will keep us alive for a while. If I told Faye I had another investigation job, she’d skin me alive.”

“Investigating? Pit, Adamat. I want you to be on my staff.”

Adamat sensed some kind of a trap. “Isn’t that conditional upon your winning the election?”

“Well. Yes.”

“I see.” Adamat hesitated. “I’d have to ask Faye.”

“Well, she’d be hypocritical to say no.”

“What do you mean?”

“I offered her a job on my staff already and she said yes. The position comes with full-time nannies for the children and a lot of foreign travel. If I hire you both, you can take those trips together.”

Adamat tried to blink away his exhaustion. “She did? I… well. I suppose I could do that.”

“You suppose?” Ricard thumped him on the back. “Have a little enthusiasm. I wouldn’t let you say no.”

“You seem awfully confident in a win.”

“Pit, no. I think I’m going to lose, Adamat. Pretty confident, actually. But I’m a little drunk right now, and I’ve done everything I can. No sense in worrying over it anymore. See you downstairs?”

Adamat gave his friend a crooked smile and watched him stumble out the door. Fell remained there a moment longer.

“Fell,” Adamat said as she followed Ricard out.

“Yes sir?”

“Thanks for taking care of him.”

“It’s my job, sir.”

“And sober him up a bit.”

“Next on the list. I have more confidence in his winning than he does.”

Adamat was alone for only a couple of minutes before he heard someone else enter the room. He turned, a smile on his lips, expecting that Faye had come looking for him finally. Instead he found Taniel Two-Shot standing with his back pressed up against the door, a look of terror in his eyes.

Adamat frowned and listened for some kind of commotion downstairs. The sound of the party continued on, and then he realized, “You’re not used to this kind of thing, are you?”

“I’m going to break the next person who asks me to shake their hand.”

“You look tired.”

“I am.” Taniel wore a new dress uniform, his colonel’s pins at his collar, his hat under one arm. “Haven’t slept in about six days.”

“That’s enough to kill a man,” Adamat said, stepping forward. Perhaps he should call for Fell. Taniel was potentially less than an hour away from being Adopest’s new Second Minister and he had a wide-eyed unsteadiness to him that said he’d either run off after his lover or pass out at any moment.

Taniel waved him off. “I can’t do it. I can’t keep shaking hands and smiling at sycophants while the pressure builds. We may have another war on our hands the moment the election ends, and no one seems to care. This time we won’t have a god on our side. And Claremonte still has Ka-poel.”

“No one knows about Brude,” Adamat said. “Except for us.”

“Ricard knows. How does he keep going on with the farce?”

“Habit?”

Taniel looked at him sharply. “Do you think this is over? This whole thing with Claremonte? Will he really just walk away?”

“I don’t know.”

There was a rap on the door. Taniel leapt away, then put a finger to his lips, shaking his head.

Adamat rolled his eyes. He opened the door a crack. It was Fell.

“It’s almost time,” Fell said. “Ricard needs Taniel Two-Shot.”

Adamat gave her a nod and closed the door. He stepped over, taking Taniel under the arm. “Let’s go.”

Taniel allowed himself to be dragged down to the hotel lobby by Inspector Adamat.

He thought about fighting the man off and finding a closet to hide in, but he knew that wouldn’t be what most people called “mature.” Instead, he tried to take Bo’s advice and put a smile on his face as they reached the main floor.

Behind the smile, his mind raced. Ka-poel was still with Claremonte. If he lost the election, would he kill her? Would he release her? Would he do either of those if he won? There was no way to know, and he was going mad. Something needed to happen.

Adamat slipped off to the dining room, where Ricard was holding court, leaving Taniel to greet the constantly flowing river of well-wishers. He didn’t know any of their names, but they all seemed satisfied with a handshake and a kind word muttered from behind gritted teeth.

“I’ve seen that look before. You look like a hare cornered by a pack of hounds,” a voice said from behind him.

“I’m glad to see you’re doing better,” he said.

Vlora stepped up beside him and returned a passing merchant’s smile. “Me too. For the record, I don’t think Tamas should have made the trade.” She hooked her arm into his and he stiffened, but he let her lead him into one of the hotel’s sitting rooms, where local officials spoke quietly over their drinks, out of the main hubbub of the crowd.

“I do.”

“You’re both idiots, then.”

“Were you treated well?”

Vlora gave him a flat look. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

Taniel shrugged. “Kresimir’s fate is out of my hands. Handing over the body was Tamas’s call. I had no input.”

“I know.” Vlora let out a sigh and met his eyes, watching him silently for a long time. “I miss you.”

Taniel hesitated. “I miss you too.”

“Is there any chance things could ever go back to the way they were?”

Taniel had to confess that from time to time the same question had occurred to him. He remembered their childhood and their courtship, going through training together, stealing off to be alone, and all the time they spent together. But the fragile thread that had held them together had been snapped, and there was nothing that could mend it. “I don’t think so. Ka-poel. She and I…”

“Yeah.”

What if Ka-poel dies? Vlora didn’t ask the question out loud, but he knew it had crossed her mind. He didn’t even want to consider it.

“I saw your savage,” Vlora said.

Taniel turned. “Is she all right?” The panic he felt for her kept rising to the surface and he had to fight it back down. Tamas had told him how important it was to play Claremonte’s game, and only a direct order and assurances that contingencies had been made kept Taniel from running off to try to rescue her.

“As far as I could tell.” Vlora gave him a sad smile. “If the opportunity comes up, I’ll help you get her back.”

“Thanks.” Taniel reached out and squeezed her shoulder. There was a part of him that wanted to hold her, that knew that she would welcome it. He shook his head to banish the thought. “Vlora, I…”

She held up a hand and he fell silent, frowning. She tilted her head, and it took a couple of moments before Taniel caught on. The chatter from the foyer and dining room had died down. “The results?” she asked.

They left the sitting room to find the crowd from the foyer huddled around the entrance to the dining room, and Taniel had to elbow his way through. He reached the center of the dining room to discover a messenger in a powdered wig, white frock coat, trousers, and black riding boots standing between Ricard and Fell. Taniel tried to melt back into the audience, but Ricard had spotted him. Ricard beckoned eagerly and Taniel felt himself pushed forward.

Tumblar’s brow shone with a sheen of sweat and his eyes looked tired. He took Taniel by the arm and directed him to his right hand.

One of the hotel’s kitchen lads brought in a wooden crate and the messenger climbed up, while Fell clinked a spoon on her glass.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the messenger said. “It is my honor as representative of the vote counters to reveal the identity of the First Minister of Adro.” He paused, removing an envelope from his jacket and breaking the seal.

Taniel licked his lips, wishing he had something to drink, and wiped his palms on his trousers.

“I am pleased to announce that the First Minister of Adro… is the honorable Ricard Tumblar!”

A cheer went up through the crowd more deafening than cannon fire. Taniel stumbled as Ricard suddenly grabbed him in an embrace. His hand was snatched by a dozen different people and shaken until he thought his arm would come off at the elbow. He heard a cork pop, and a champagne glass was thrust into his hand and then immediately taken away so he could shake hands with someone else. Congratulations were shouted in his ear and he was shoved around the room by well-wishers until he thought he might snap at any moment.

The silence that suddenly swept through the room hit Taniel like a punch to the gut. Someone’s laugh cut through it, then dissipated awkwardly. Taniel blinked away the haze of the excitement as the crowd scattered and Lord Claremonte stepped into the dining room.

Claremonte was dressed in the sharpest of black suits with tails, a top hat held in one hand. His eye wandered lazily over the assembled guests and he lifted his hands to gently clap. “I see that the messengers reached me faster than they did you.”

Ricard gazed back at Claremonte warily. Taniel put his hand on the hilt of his smallsword and set his jaw. Tamas’s stern command to hold it together kept running through his brain.

“You know the results?” Ricard asked.

“If I didn’t already, I do now. I heard the cheering from the streets.”

Taniel could hear nothing but the pounding of his own heart. The room was deathly silent, and though the guests didn’t know Claremonte’s true nature, there was a palpable air about him that threatened danger. Taniel caught Vlora’s eye, and saw the pistol in her belt half drawn.

“And,” Claremonte continued, “well earned, I say.” He swept one leg back in a graceful bow. “Congratulations, Mr. First Minister, and to you, Second Minister. I wish you all the greatest success!” He stepped forward suddenly and shook Ricard’s hand, ignoring the shocked look on Tumblar’s face.

“You’ll be leaving the city, then?” Taniel asked, his voice low.

Claremonte met his eye, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “As I gave my word. I just have a few things to wrap up before I go. Well done, Mr. Two-Shot. Enjoy your victory.”

Claremonte was gone before Taniel could respond. He withdrew graciously, offering congratulations to Ricard’s staff and waving all the way out the door. Slowly, the conversation resumed, and Taniel pulled himself out of the middle of the room and made his way over to Vlora. Just as he reached her, he heard another champagne cork pop and turned to find Ricard holding the foaming bottle.

“Fell,” Ricard shouted. “Tell Tamas to start the parade!”

Taniel gripped the hilt of his sword and turned to Vlora. “Get to your position.”

Tamas lay his hand on the neck of his charger to calm the horse as it stepped nervously in place at the head of a long column of sharply dressed Adran soldiers. The column snaked along the main road leading out of Adopest in the midst of a great crowd.

He could sense the excitement of his men. Though every one of them stood at parade rest with feet apart and eyes forward, bayoneted rifles down, he could feel the buzz of energy that emanated from and surrounded them as Adran citizens gathered along the streets ahead laughed and children ran up and down the sides of the column, throwing garlands of fresh flowers, trying to loop them around the bayonets.

“Field Marshal Tamas!” a voice shouted above the din.

Tamas looked up, and it was Olem, who pointed out one of Ricard’s men riding toward them down the main avenue out of the city. The man shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the mob of revelers.

“Speak up!” Olem shouted back.

The messenger pulled up a dozen paces away. “We’ve won! Ricard Tumblar is the First Minister of Adro! Lord Claremonte has admitted defeat.” Tamas could hear the news being relayed by the citizens lining the street and watched the exclamations and the curses. There was a clamor as the information was spread, opinions barked back and forth. A fistfight broke out, but was quickly put down by the people themselves.

Tamas exchanged a look with Olem, and could see his own optimistic trepidation reflected in the bodyguard. “Well. That’s that, then.”

“We hope,” Olem said.

“We hope,” Tamas echoed. “Colonel, if you’ll do the honors.”

Olem pointed to a nearby drummer boy, and a long, steady beat suddenly broke through the noise. People all along the road paused in their celebrations.

“General Arbor, the parade is at your command.”

General Arbor swung his horse around to face the column behind them. “Parade!” he bellowed. “Attention!” The sound of five thousand pairs of boots shuffling together rang out as every man came to attention. “Parade advance!” The drummer boy clicked his sticks four times on the rim of his snare, then snapped out the beat, and the column moved forward.

Tamas sat straight on his charger, sword over his right shoulder, as they marched into the crowded city streets, the path clearing ahead of them. He could hear happy shouts, and saw flower garlands thrown from the tops of buildings to float down onto the marching soldiers.

The parade led through the Factory District and the New City, winding up and down a dozen streets as the people cheered and waved. Women reached out to touch the soldiers as they passed, and men shouted congratulations. Tamas saw more than one tavern owner running up and down the column to tell the soldiers they could drink for free all night at his pub.

Tamas kept his back straight and his bearing regal, but he watched the crowds and the shop windows and the rooftops with trepidation. Every time he thought he could give in to his pride and let himself relax, he felt as if hostile eyes were on his back. He tried to tell himself that old instincts never died. He tried to tell himself that it was finally over.

The parade proceeded toward the bridge over the Ad River, and Tamas raised his fist at the sight before him.

“Parade halt!” General Arbor yelled.

The brigade came to a stop and Tamas eyed the lone wagon abandoned in the middle of the road not far from the bridge. He felt his hand creeping toward the butt of his pistol and could see Olem’s sword half drawn.

“Orders, sir?” Olem said.

“Wait.” Tamas glanced at the surrounding buildings. There was no sign of ambush, no Brudanian uniforms flashing in windows.

Suddenly, a dozen revelers ran out into the street and surrounded the wagon. With some effort, they managed to push it out of the way, and a young girl climbed to the top of the wagon waving an Adran flag, planting herself like a conquering hero.

“Parade advance!” Arbor called.

They passed over the river and continued on to Elections Square, where the greatest part of the crowd had gathered. The balcony of Tamas’s office – now the office of the First Minister of Adro – was festooned with Adran blue and red, banners stamped with the teardrop symbol of the Adsea draped halfway down the building.

The crowd was cleared away from the middle of the square as the parade marched in and fell into rank before the People’s Court. Tamas looked up to see Ricard Tumblar on the balcony, decked out in his finest suit, Taniel standing beside him looking somber in his uniform.

Tamas let a smile crack his stony visage.

“Sir?” Olem asked.

“My son. Second Minister of Adro. Strange twist of fate.”

“He doesn’t look happy about it.”

“He’s not. Not at all. He’ll keep his promise, though.” He had better, Tamas added mentally.

The soldiers had fallen in, and a hush descended on the square, quieter than the day Tamas had stood on that same balcony and announced to the crowd that the reign of Manhouch was over. Tamas let out a slow breath, blinking away the wonder, and realized that he’d now come full circle. The plans of so many years had finally come to fruition.

“Is it over, Olem?” he asked, hearing the emotion in his own voice. “Is it finally over?”

Olem didn’t answer. Ricard had raised his hands. “People of Adro! Friends! Brothers! Sisters! I’m humbled to stand before you today as your new First Minister.” The cheers lasted for several minutes before Ricard could finally speak again. “My friends, the tyranny of kings is over. The doubt and anticipation of the last eight months of tragic war is over. Today, on the last day of autumn, we have become a republic. I am proud to be here, the first among equals.

“My friends, none of this would have been possible without the extraordinary efforts of the Protector of Adro, Field Marshal Tamas, and his powder mages and soldiers. You owe them your freedom. Your lives. Your love.”

The cheers were deafening. Tamas felt a tear roll down his cheek, but he did not move to wipe it away. He kept his eyes fixed on Ricard.

“My friends! I…”

A sound reverberated across the square, cutting Ricard off and causing a stir among the gathered crowd.

“My friends,” Ricard started again.

The groaning and creaking continued, and Tamas turned to see the crowd chattering restlessly. A cloud cast a shadow over the assembled masses, and Tamas removed his hat to look about him. Where was the sound coming from?

The groaning grew in intensity, and the slightest movement caught Tamas’s eye as a creak gave way to the grinding of stone on stone.

“Scatter!” he bellowed.

Sablethorn, the mighty prison of the Iron King, tilted and wobbled like a wooden top before ponderously tipping and falling across the square. He sat upon his horse transfixed, watching it descend upon him as if reality itself had slowed. His mouth opened, and he stared for a moment before he was suddenly jerked to the side as his horse bolted, and he looked to see Olem galloping ahead, Tamas’s reins in his hands.

He twisted in his saddle to see the spire topple, the structure crumbling as it fell. Black basalt blocks the size of oxen tumbled across Elections Square. The tip of the spire smashed through the balcony and ripped through the front of the People’s Court.

Tamas jerked his reins from Olem’s hands and pulled up, whirling toward the destruction. “Taniel!”

He threw his arms up to protect his face as the dust cloud enveloped him.