The Autumn Republic (24 page)

While the building was, indeed, an old warehouse, Ricard had gutted the entire thing and improved it with paint, red curtains, gold candelabras, crystal chandeliers, and busts of philosophers. The headquarters of the Noble Warriors of Labor had enough gold trim to make a duke blush. Most of the building was one large room, with offices for business in the very back.

It didn’t take an experienced investigator to see that the explosion had come from the back of the warehouse. For one thing, the offices no longer existed. Blackened wreckage was all that remained of those rooms and, in fact, the better part of the rear wall of the warehouse. The parts of the interior that hadn’t been caught in the explosion had been subsequently damaged by fire. Only the very front of the great room had escaped the worst of the blast.

Adamat was stunned by the destruction. There could easily have been a full barrel of gunpowder hidden inside one of those rooms, or beneath them, in order to cause such damage. No mean feat in a building with this much traffic during all times of day.

Policemen picked through the wreckage alongside some of the union men, trying to save scraps of important documents and pieces of furniture. There was no sign of Ricard. Adamat suppressed his rising panic and turned to one of the policemen.

“Have you seen Ricard Tumblar?”

“Around the side.”

A side door, completely intact despite the damage to the rest of the building, led out into an alleyway, where Adamat was relieved to find Ricard sitting with his back to the building next door. The union boss had his head in his hands. A little farther down the alleyway, Fell was talking quietly with the commissioner of police. The whole alley was lit by a pair of large lanterns outside the side door.

“Ricard,” Adamat said gently, squatting next to his friend.

Ricard looked up, his eyes a little distant. “Eh?” he asked, far too loudly. “Oh, Adamat, thank Adom you’re here.”

“Are you all right?”

“What? Oh, I can’t hear a damned word in this ear. Here, come around over here.”

Adamat moved to Ricard’s other side. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes. Just a little frazzled, that’s all.” He made a vague gesture toward the warehouse. “I’ve lost… well, everything. Thousands of documents gone. Millions in banknotes. Darilo.”

“Please tell me you’re insured.”

“For some of it. Not enough.”

“Union documents.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve made copies? Please tell me you’ve made copies.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Then you haven’t lost everything. Who is Darilo?”

“My bartender. Poor man. I sent him into my office to grab a coat for Cheris, and then…” He stared absently at the wall of his warehouse. “He’s been with me for over a decade. I went to his wedding. I had to send word to his wife. I’ll go see her myself tomorrow.” He finally looked over at Adamat. “Only fourteen people were killed in the explosion and it’s a bloody miracle. There were nearly two hundred of us in there for a party. The heads of the goldsmiths’ and millers’ unions are dead. The head of the street cleaners’ union is having his leg amputated as we speak. I’ve lost half of my hearing. Cheris was hit in the shoulder by flying debris. It’s just…”
H
e trailed off.

“You’re alive. That’s what matters.”

“But the campaign…”

“You’ll recover.”

Ricard met Adamat’s eyes for the first time and Adamat realized that Ricard was still in shock. “Several of my friends were in there. Relationships. Money. Time. Resources. All of them lost because of some damn bomb. Who the bloody pit would have done this?”

Claremonte seemed the likely answer, of course. Ricard’s competition in the campaign for First Minister was not a man to trifle with. He would not hesitate to kill hundreds, maybe thousands, to reach his goals. Adamat knew from firsthand dealing with his lackey, Lord Vetas.

“The police will find out.”

Ricard suddenly took Adamat by the collar. “I want you to find out. Bloody police. They won’t get anything done.”

“Shh!” Adamat tried making a significant glance toward the police commissioner, who was standing a dozen feet away. Ricard was talking very loudly.

“Don’t shush me! I’ll pay you anything, Adamat. Just find out who did this!”

“Calm down, Ricard. I’ll help. Of course I will.” It wasn’t even a choice. Ricard had helped him and Faye with so much over the years. And now, against his will, Adamat was being dragged back into the fray.

T
aniel and his group of Riflejacks and powder mages entered the Black Tar Forest under the cover of darkness the next evening. Wary of ambushes, they pressed on along the road with two men out front at all times, ready to spring any traps.

Taniel felt a pressure in the depth of his chest that urged him forward. They had not yet come across a small, broken, freckled body left to rot alongside the road. Ka-poel might still be alive. She had to be. Otherwise they would have killed her during their raid on the Adran camp and been done with the whole affair. They must
need
her alive, and that prospect scared him almost as much as finding her dead.

When he caught these Kez dogs, he would put a bullet through every last Privileged’s brains. He would garrote the grenadiers with their own bootlaces. The rage pushed him onward, while a voice in the back of his head warned that he was pushing too hard.

He ignored it. What if the Privileged couldn’t kill her? Perhaps she shielded herself with the same sorcery that she used to shield him, and they would be forced to keep her prisoner until they managed to unwind her wards.

She was not impervious to pain. What kind of tortures would they inflict on her?

He had to get her back.

“Taniel!”

Vlora’s voice snapped through his thoughts like the sting of a wasp.

“What is it?”

“We have to stop.”

“Already?” He blinked moisture into his eyes, dry from staring into the wind as they rode. “Gavril, call the halt. We’ll rotate men.” It was their practice these last two days to ride with the two far ahead watching for traps, and to rotate those two every hour. Gavril put his fingers to his mouth and gave a shrill whistle, calling the vanguard back toward them.

“No,” Vlora said, drawing her horse closer and lowering her voice. “We have to stop for the night. It’s a miracle none of the horses have fallen in the dark. The men are exhausted.”

“Dark? There’s still plenty of light to see.”

Gavril said a few words to the men and brought his horse stepping toward them. “You’re running a damned powder trance,” he said. “And you’ve been running it too long. Can’t tell the night from the day.”

“What are you talking about?” Taniel rubbed his eyes and for the first time felt the tension in his shoulders, the ache in his legs. Perhaps it was past dark. “The sun must have just gone down.”

“It’s almost midnight,” Vlora said softly.

There was concern in her eyes, and it made Taniel angry. Why did she care? He thought to tell her off and keep the men moving, but a glance around the group found them all bleary-eyed and stiff. “We’ll camp here,” he said. “Norrine and Flerrier, take first watch. I’ll take second. Vlora and Doll, you take third. We move again at dawn.” He dismounted, putting his horse between him and Vlora, glad to hear her trot off. He’d assigned only powder mages to watch, a technique he’d learned from his father for smaller missions. Though the mages were ranking officers, they needed less sleep than the regular soldiers.

It was twenty minutes before he’d finished rubbing down his horse. He made his camp a little ways from the rest of the men and built a small fire using dry branches, igniting it with a flash of powder. He held his hands to the flames, trying to work the ache from his fingers, regretting the three days straight of clutching his reins.

The pressure still pushed on the inside of his rib cage, like some kind of wild animal clawing to be free. His own exhaustion was but a shadow in the back of his mind and he had doubts that he would get any sleep until Ka-poel was free.

“Norrine and Doll made a quick sweep,” Gavril said, emerging silently from the darkness of the forest and dropping down beside Taniel. “No one lying in wait down the road. It’s safe to make a fire.” He glanced wryly at the flames over which Taniel still held his hands.

Taniel’s throat was suddenly dry. Pit, what would Tamas say about this? Taniel was supposed to be in command. He should have seen to the scouts, checked with the sentries, then told the men whether they could make their own fires. “Thanks,” he croaked.

“Don’t mention it.” Gavril shifted around until he was comfortable, his back up against a tree trunk, and produced a flask from his vest pocket. “Drink?”

“No.”

Gavril took a sip. “You eaten yet today?”

“Of course.” Taniel couldn’t recall. The last dozen hours seemed like a distant memory, a barely remembered dream.

Gavril produced a paper-wrapped parcel and tossed it into Taniel’s lap. Marching rations, by the look of it.

“I’m fine,” Taniel said, handing it back.

“Eat, you stubborn bastard. By Adom, who the pit you think you are? Your father?”

Taniel bit back a reply and unwrapped the dried beef and biscuits. He was halfway through the meal when he realized that the big Watchmaster had elicited exactly the response he wanted with the comment about Tamas. Taniel sniffed and tried to pretend he hadn’t just been manipulated. “You don’t know anything about my father.”

Gavril made a choking sound and rolled onto his side, coughing. “Oh pit, I just snorted Fatrastan rum up my nose.”

“What was that about?” Taniel demanded. He had a vague memory of someone mentioning that Gavril had served with Tamas, but though that conversation may have happened just months ago, it felt like years.

“I said I accidentally snorted rum.”

“No, I mean when I said, ‘You don’t know anything about my father.’ ”

“Nothing, nothing. Some other time.”

Gavril fell silent and Taniel chewed on the road rations, swallowing mechanically, the hard biscuits having no flavor. Gavril was watching him eat. The effect was rather unnerving, especially from such a bear of a man. “Did you want some?” Taniel asked.

“Ate hours ago,” Gavril said, taking another sip at his flask. His gaze shifted to the small fire.

Taniel finished the meal and fumbled about for his canteen. Gavril offered his flask again and Taniel took it. The rum burned the back of his throat, leaving a slightly sweet aftertaste. “Where’d you get that scar?”

Gavril’s eyebrows rose for a moment, then he looked down to his uncovered wrist. A pink line stretched across his broad forearm and ended on the back of his hand. He shook the sleeve of his jacket down to cover it. “You’re too hard on your old man,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s a tough old bastard, but he has tried to be a good father.”

“That’s really none of your damn business.” Taniel felt the color rise in his cheeks.

Gavril held up his hands in peace. “Sorry, sorry. Just making an observation.”

They sat in silence for several minutes while Taniel let his anger cool. The pleasant feeling of a full belly made his eyelids droop and he reached for the hope that maybe he would actually get some rest.

“You were on campaign with him?” Taniel asked. “In Kez? Caught behind the lines?”

“Aye,” Gavril said.

“Was it bad?”

Gavril was silent for several moments. Taniel watched the side of his face, realizing only now that Gavril weighed at least two stone less than he had all those months ago on South Pike. There was a new scar on his right cheek, faded in a way that spoke of healing sorcery, and the hint of healed bruises around both eyes.

“It was,” Gavril finally answered. “Killing the horses for food. Being dogged by Kez cuirassiers. Gathering up powder and food from the men so we could ration it back out wisely. I had to shoot a man because it was found he had stolen two weeks’ worth of rations.”

It sounded like stories Taniel had heard from his father about the Gurlish campaigns. Except those were decades ago, half a world away. This had just happened in the very heart of the Nine. “Tamas put you in command?”

Gavril shrugged his big shoulders. “Sure. He needed someone like me. You see the worst of humanity up on the Mountainwatch. Convicts and debtors, thieves and fools. Pit,
you
remember. Not Adro’s finest, by a long stretch. If I could keep that lot in line, I could keep Tamas’s infantry going with one hand and manage the scouts and cavalry with the other.”

“You’d never boast about it, though,” Taniel said with a snort.

“A boast is something you have to back up with your fist.” Gavril raised one ham-sized hand. “I could let the results do the talking, there.” His sleeve fell, revealing once again the long scar. Gavril examined it for a moment, then said, “I got this from the Kez. They were wearing Adran blues and I was ranging too far ahead of the main army. They caught me, beat the shit out of me, and took me to Alvation. That’s where they really went to work on me.”

He raised his shirt to show several other scars across his belly. “Snapped my wrist when I wouldn’t give them the information they wanted. The bone sheared clear through the skin. God, I haven’t screamed like that since my leg was run over by a wagon as a boy.”

“Alvation?” Taniel asked. He’d spent just a little time with Olem, Tamas’s bodyguard, on their way to the parley, and Olem had told him some things about the Seventh and Ninth’s disastrous trek through Kez and Deliv. “This just happened?”

“The Deliv Privileged healers are good at their craft. I told them to leave the scars. Gives me more stories to tell.” He paused. “I heard about Bo. If they can get him to the Deliv healers in time, he’ll come out practically unharmed.”

Not with his leg practically burned off, he wouldn’t. And that was a big “if.” Taniel felt his voice catch in his throat. “Don’t you blame Tamas?”

“For what?” Gavril belched loudly and took another swig from his flask.

“For getting you caught by the Kez. You were tortured.”

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Gavril said, a darkness passing across his face. “The only one who got me caught by the Kez was me. And when I did, Tamas came for me. He pushed his men through the pit and made a deal with an old, spurned lover to get me back. Boy, I’ve spurned a few lovers, and let me tell you, making good with one of them can be harder than moving a mountain. Especially for a man as proud as Tamas.”

Taniel was surprised at the outburst. He opened his mouth, but Gavril cut him off.

“I’ve blamed Tamas for a lot of things in my lifetime. He’s guilty of some of them, but as far as the very worst – well, I’ll just say he’s innocent. Besides, getting caught by the Kez allowed me one thing I thought I’d never get the chance to do.”

“What’s that?”

“I spit in the face of the man who murdered my sister.”

The crack of a twig brought Taniel’s attention around to a shape in the darkness. Squinting at it, he realized that his powder trance was starting to wear off. A moment later, Vlora stepped into the firelight.

“Can I have a minute, Gavril?” she asked quietly.

Gavril gave a mighty sigh and climbed to his feet. “Have to take a piss anyway,” he muttered, lumbering off into the darkness.

Vlora did not take Gavril’s place, instead settling opposite Taniel across the small fire. Taniel stared into the flames. He could feel her gaze upon him, prickling the back of his mind like a sixth sense. The feeling brought back memories of thin sheets and shadowed bedrooms, and he felt his cheeks begin to warm in spite of himself.

He took a twig and poked at the fire. “What do you want?”

“To talk,” she answered softly.

“Well,” he grunted, “go ahead.”

“I…”

“Why are you here?” Taniel demanded, cutting her off. The urge to be off, riding fast after Ka-poel, had finally found its outlet, and his words came out much louder than intended. Heads were raised at the other small campfires. “Why,” he asked, tempering his voice, “do you insist on haunting me?”

“Haunting you?” Vlora was taken aback. “I’m here to help you.”

“Why? Did Tamas send you? No, I think not. He would have wanted you for the next battle with the Kez. You and I are his best marksmen and he wouldn’t have sent you away at a critical time like this.”

“I asked to come.”

Taniel leaned forward until he felt the heat of the fire on his face. “Why?” Were those unshed tears in her eyes? It didn’t matter. He needed an answer. Everything else in his small world seemed unimportant suddenly. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. We were lovers. You pulled out my heart and tossed it on the ground.” He gestured violently. “Sprinkled some salt on it and cooked it over a fire!” He thought he heard a chuckle from the woods, but he paid it no heed. “Why are you mocking me like this?”

Vlora’s face seemed to melt and re-form, the sorrow dripping off and being replaced by steely-eyed determination. Her jaw clenched and her cheeks seemed to tighten, and he could sense the fight in her the way an old sailor can sense a coming storm.

“You think I wanted to be left alone for two years? Until that night you found me, I’d never had a lover but you. Bo kissed me once, when we were young, but I didn’t let it go farther than that.”

“He what?” Taniel felt like he was riding a horse that had just thrown a shoe.

She talked over his agitation. “I took no other lover, but I heard the rumors. Taniel Two-shot. Hero of the Fatrastan War for Independence. Killing Kez Privileged left and right. Wooing hundreds of women. Tended night and day by a little savage sorceress.”