Wrath of Empire

Chapter 15

Michel waited just inside the capitol building for nearly an hour, trying to look nonchalant under the watchful eye of three Dynize soldiers. He found a blank piece of paper in one of his pockets and practiced folding it into various shapes, holding each one up for the purview of his silent guards. They continued to watch, unmoving, unresponsive, though Michel swore that he saw a hint of bemusement in the eyes of one of them.

His patience was finally rewarded by the arrival of a middle-aged woman wearing a soldier’s uniform without the customary Dynize breastplate. She had fire-red hair and a gentle face that Michel immediately associated with an indulgent governess. She was unarmed, and her turquoise uniform was adorned with the stylized symbol of a dagger poised above a cup just above her heart. Crow’s feathers dangled from her earrings.

When she arrived, Michel’s guards seemed to stiffen, and she examined Michel with a detached, unimpressed gaze. “You are the one who brought the Rose?” she asked in passable Palo.

“I am.”

“Follow me.”

Michel glanced over his shoulder toward the door, trying not to let his misgivings get the best of him. This was probably a terrible idea. He didn’t know the Dynize – not their hierarchy or customs or laws. He didn’t know how to navigate their world, and he was stepping in blind hoping that this Meln-Yaret was smart enough to see the value in Michel’s willing cooperation.

After a few more seconds of hesitation, he followed the woman down the hall.

They walked side by side past rows of offices. They passed soldiers and bureaucrats, officers and errand boys. It was a strange sight, seeing redheads – whom Michel had so long associated only with the Palo – in the government offices, but other than that change everything looked much the same as it did before the occupation. If there had been any particular chaos here after Lindet fled, it had long since been cleaned up, and it appeared that no damage had been done during the fighting.

The woman led him down the first flight of stairs and past several turns, then a whole other set of stairs down into the bowels of the building. Michel began to grow concerned as they left daylight behind and now had to depend on gas lanterns, and was about to ask their destination when the woman stopped and opened a door, indicating with a gentle smile that Michel should step inside.

“I want to see Meln-Yaret,” Michel said.

“I know.”

“Will I?”

“Please.” She gestured to the door once more, and Michel cautiously stepped into the doorway. The room inside was lit by a single lamp. It was small, almost claustrophobic, and it had a drain in the center of the floor.

“Look,” Michel said, “I –” He was suddenly driven to his knees, a pain erupting from his left shoulder. His entire left arm went numb, his vision spotty, and he gasped out loud as he fell. He turned, attempting to scramble away – and farther into the dank room – only to see the woman standing above him with a blackjack held casually in one hand and a wan smile on her face. “Wha …?” Michel tried to ask.

The woman lashed out at his chest with one foot, connecting painfully, and Michel tried to retreat farther, only to come up against the wall. He tried to yell or speak, but all that came out was a breathless whimper.

She came at him with the blackjack, and he raised his numb left arm, only to remember too late that it was the same arm that Emerald had stitched mere hours ago. The blow landed hard, causing him to gasp once more. He dug into his pocket with his right hand, but had left his knuckle-dusters back at the safe house. When she drew back to kick him again, he moved to one side to cause a glancing blow, then attempted to tackle her by the legs.

The woman stumbled, nearly fell, then almost casually swatted Michel just above the ear with the blackjack. It wasn’t even a hard blow, but Michel saw darkness for several seconds before his vision returned, and a horrifying pain shot through his head. He let go of her legs, wrapping his arms around his head, and attempted to curl into a ball to await the next blow.

“Devin-Forgula!” a man’s voice barked.

The next blow never came. Michel hazarded a glance through blurry vision. He saw the woman standing over him, turned toward the hallway, where two men had appeared. One of them was young – probably about Michel’s age, in his midtwenties – and had a bald head and a short, lean frame. This one stared at the woman with outright antagonism. The second man was old, probably in his forties, with a beer belly and two fingers missing on his right hand.

The older man spoke, and it was obvious it was he who’d called out the name. “Devin-Forgula,” he said again, his voice quiet but reprimanding. “Get out.” The words were in Dynize, but close enough to their Palo counterparts that Michel understood.

The woman answered too quickly for Michel to follow.

“Get out,” the older man repeated.

The woman wiped her blackjack off on her sleeve and left at a brisk stride without looking back.

Michel eyed his saviors, trying to focus on them rather than on the immense pain in his arm, head, and shoulder. The older man watched Forgula go, then gave an exasperated sigh and stepped into the room. He bent over Michel, pulling Michel’s arm gently but firmly out of the way and examining the side of his head. “His head is bleeding,” he said in Palo. “And his arm. Can you stand?” The question was directed at Michel, but it took his addled brain a moment to register it. Slowly, he crawled to his knees and then, with the help of the younger man, up to his feet.

He limped after the two men. Neither helped him when he moved slowly on the stairs, but they did not hurry him, either. They headed to the next floor, where they found an empty room. They were still in the basement of the capitol building, but natural light came in through a high window and there was a rug and chairs here – probably the office of a low-level bureaucrat under Lindet’s regime.

Michel sat in one chair, head in his hands, watching blood drip from his arm onto the rug. He felt the eyes of both his new companions but did not look up at them. He was doing all he could not to throw up.

“Forgula says that you are a Blackhat spy,” the older man said. “Is that true?”

“I was,” Michel responded, stressing the second word.

“But no more?”

“I … understand that you are offering rewards and amnesty to Blackhats who switch sides.”

“Switch sides.” The man laughed. “That’s one way of putting it. Yes, that is the offer.”

“That woman –”

“Forgula is not a member of my Household,” the man said, his tone shifting to anger. “She serves another master – one who believes that enemies should be slaughtered rather than turned into allies. Someone told her about this little trinket, and she decided to take matters into her own hands before I could respond.”

Michel finally looked up to find the older man holding his Gold Rose, turning it in his fingers to examine the details in the light. “You’re Meln-Yaret?” Michel asked.

“I am.” The man smiled, and Michel could see that it was both tired and genuine – the smile of, as Silver Rose Blasdell used to say, a man who had to work for a living. “I apologize for letting Forgula get her claws into you. That had to have been” – he eyed Michel’s arm – “unpleasant.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

Meln-Yaret gave a bemused snort. “Forgive me,” he said, gesturing to his younger companion. “This is Devin-Tenik. He is one of my cupbearers.” Michel took a longer look at Devin-Tenik, his eyes finally starting to clear, and realized something strange: Devin-Tenik didn’t have the subtle facial markers that differentiated the Dynize from the Palo. His face was softer, his eyebrows farther apart, and his chin slightly weaker. If he hadn’t been wearing a turquoise uniform, Michel would have immediately assumed he was a Palo. “What do you think of our new friend, Tenik?” Meln-Yaret asked.

“He admits he is a spy.” Tenik had a startlingly deep voice that belied his slim, short stature.

“He admits he was a spy.”

“Once a spy, always a spy.”

“Perhaps.”

Michel squeezed his eyes closed. The pain in his head was a dull throb now, which was only slightly easier to think through than the sharp pain from earlier. He knew that there were layers to this meeting – Forgula, Tenik, Meln-Yaret, Households, and cupbearers. There was more going on than was immediately apparent, but in his current state he could not guess what it was. “I was a Blackhat spy,” he said. “Before the invasion, I was elevated to Gold Rose, which is the highest order within the Blackhats. The invasion came, the Grand Master was murdered, and then Lindet fled the city without warning.”

“And now …” Meln-Yaret made a tutting sound. “What did you tell the soldier to whom you gave this Rose? That you would hand me the Blackhats within Landfall?”

“That’s right. I can help you dismantle their efforts here.”

Meln-Yaret nodded. “You certainly have my attention. Let us start with this: What can you offer me, and what do you want in return?”

Michel forced himself to sit up straight, looking Meln-Yaret in the eye. This was now a negotiation, and he couldn’t conduct a negotiation from a point of such weakness. He needed to appear strong, even if that appearance was obviously a sham. “I can offer you the locations of caches and safe houses. I can help you track down Blackhats who have remained in the city. I can tell you how they work and how they think. I’ll admit that I wasn’t a Gold Rose long, but I spent years as a Silver Rose. I saw far more than the average Blackhat.”

“And what reward do you expect for your aid?”

“People.”

“What do you mean, people?” Tenik cut in. “Slaves?”

The casual way Tenik said the word reminded Michel how foreign the Dynize still were. He shook his head. “Not slaves.” This was something he’d thought about a lot since the occupation.“You’ve been rounding up Fatrastan citizens, the families of Blackhats who left the city with Lindet. It’s part of war, I understand. But those people were abandoned by their government and their loved ones. They don’t deserve to be hunted, tortured, and forced into labor camps or worse. In exchange for my help, I want you to let those people go.”

Meln-Yaret leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully stroking his chin. He glanced at Tenik. “You don’t want riches? Power?”

“I don’t have ambition for power. Riches …” Michel allowed himself a smile. “I intend on proving myself very useful to the Dynize government. The riches can come later. For now, I want those people released.”

“You ask too much,” Tenik said bluntly.

Meln-Yaret held up a hand to silence his companion. “It’s true, you ask a great deal. We gather these people because they themselves may be spies, but they are also useful as hostages and forced labor. We have hundreds already, and I imagine we’ll end up with a few thousand by the end of the year, even without your help.”

“Probably,” Michel admitted, “but the hostages themselves have little value. The spouses and children of low-level Blackhats? Lindet doesn’t care about them. Eject them from your territory. Hand them over to the closest Fatrastan army. Let them be a hindrance to your enemies and disguise it as an act of goodwill. There are already rumors that you’re treating the Palo better than Lindet ever did. The people might begin to see you as a benevolent conqueror. If this war draws on, that itself will be a dangerous weapon.”

Meln-Yaret smirked. “You make a very persuasive argument, Michel Bravis. But what you ask … it would be very difficult.”

Michel gingerly touched the side of his head. It hadn’t occurred to him that the minister of scrolls might not actually be that powerful of a position. If Meln-Yaret was simply a hound used to find enemy spies rather than a spymaster in his own right, Michel may have badly misplaced his bets. He needed a powerful patron if he was going to find Taniel’s informant.

“On the other hand,” Meln-Yaret continued after a moment’s silence, “I may be able to work with your demands. Tell me, why should I trust you? You’ve already admitted to being a spy. Shouldn’t I assume you’re still working for the Fatrastans? This could simply be your way to get into my good graces.”

There was a glint in Meln-Yaret’s eyes that Michel didn’t particularly like. He swallowed, holding Yaret’s gaze. “Give me the chance to earn that trust.”

“Why? Why shouldn’t I just torture you for your information? Or hand you over to the bone-eyes?”

Michel tried not to let his fear show at the mention of bone-eyes. He knew what a bone-eye was capable of, but that information was something he didn’t want to let on. “Because I came to you in good faith. You offer a reward for service. Is this the reward of which you speak? Because if it is, word will get out sooner or later. Even sympathizers will grow wary of you, and rumors will spread that the Dynize ministers are not true to their word.”

Yaret exchanged a glance with Tenik, tongue in cheek.

“He has balls,” Tenik said with a shrug. “But he’s still a spy. What good is goodwill if it is used against us?”

“Goodwill is a double-edged sword,” Yaret admitted.

Michel leaned forward, ignoring the blood dripping from his chin. “Do I seem like someone who would be more useful as a willing participant, or forced to aid you under duress?”

Meln-Yaret did not answer the question. “Can you tell me where Lindet keeps her personal files?”

The question caught Michel off guard. “I can’t.”

“Can you tell me where the gunsmiths fled, so that we might capture them and use their expertise to improve our armies?”

“I can’t,” Michel answered again. For all his bravado, he knew he was on shaky ground. Meln-Yaret obviously had goals. If Michel couldn’t help him with those, then Meln-Yaret might just hand him off to someone else. Someone like Forgula.

With each answer, Meln-Yaret looked increasingly doubtful. He sighed, shaking his head. “Caches and safe houses are not enough. You’re asking me to put a lot of trust in you, and in return all I receive are promises. Give me something, Michel, and we can begin a relationship. Until then …” Meln-Yaret trailed off.

Michel wracked his brain. His bluster about seeing a lot as a spy had been mostly that – bluster. He certainly knew some secrets, and he had no doubt that he could be useful to the Dynize in the long term. But immediate evidence of his good intentions? His eyes fell on the Gold Rose as Meln-Yaret turned it over and over again between his fingers.

“Tell me,” Michel said, “did Lindet destroy the third floor of the Blackhat Archives when she left?”

Meln-Yaret stopped twirling the Gold Rose and looked up sharply. Michel had hit upon something. “She did not.”

“Do you know what’s up there?”

“We have … an inkling.”

“Secrets. A lot of them. I assume it’s heavily warded. It will take your Privileged months, if not years, to break into it without destroying the contents. You want goodwill? You want trust?” Michel took a fraction of a second to study Yaret. His expressions and composure reminded him once more of Captain Blasdell, and Michel decided to take a gamble. “The Gold Rose is a key,” he said simply. “It’ll open the gate to the third floor. It worked for me. I don’t see why it wouldn’t work for you.” He silently prayed that Lindet’s Privileged hadn’t had time to change the wards before they fled the city.

Meln-Yaret looked down at the Rose in his hand. “Well. As simple as that?”

“As simple as that.”

The two Dynize exchanged a glance, and Meln-Yaret addressed Tenik with a clever smile. “Sedial will be furious. All right, Michel. Assuming this works, I will put you on a leash and let you go to work. You’ll have freedom of movement, a Household, protection, and the backing of my name. I’ll see what I can do about the families that we have rounded up. The more results you get me, the more likely I’ll be able to free noncombatants.”

As simple as that. Michel barely allowed himself to breathe. “Is there anywhere you want me to start?”

“There is. I have several hundred men combing the city to find out who’s responsible for the recent bombings. We’ve captured countless Blackhats and partisans, and not a single person can tell me who carried out or ordered them. A Household Captain of the Guard was killed less than an hour ago, and it has the ministers nervous.”

“I’m not an investigator,” Michel warned. “If it’s not the Blackhats, I won’t be able to help you.”

“Then rule them out,” Yaret responded.

Michel hesitated. He already suspected that the perpetrators were a Blackhat cell, but he didn’t have the slightest idea where they were holed up or who they were led by. Perhaps the mysterious Gold Rose? Regardless, he had to say yes. Michel needed to gain stature within the Dynize as quickly as possible – lengthen that leash and get to know the Dynize officials. The more he infiltrated their government, the more likely he was to find Taniel’s informant.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Michel promised.