The Crimson Campaign (61 page)

Tamas watched the room through a crack in the door. He could hear hushed voices outside, but not make out what they were saying. The glass door opened and the group filed in.

Most seemed wounded in some way. Two of them had to be carried. Tamas could smell the gunpowder and blood – but then again, that may have just been him.

“Get us some lights,” a woman’s voice said. “Ruper, take them to the sitting room. Fetch towels. Get a fire going. We need hot water.”

Tamas recognized that voice. Even after fifteen years he recognized the voice, and it surprised him.

Hailona.

Doors opened and shut, feet pounded frantically into the rest of the manor house. There was grunting and cursing as the wounded were carried to another room.

A male voice spoke up as someone fumbled around in the dark. “They’ll come for us.”

“I know,” Hailona said. She sounded miserable.

A lantern was lit, casting the room into light and shadow. Tamas blinked his eyes to let them adjust. Through the crack in the door he could see a Deliv with a black braided ponytail over one shoulder. The man suddenly swept his arm across a desk, throwing parchments, weights, and a small stack of coins to the floor.

“Someone must have sold us out!” he said. “I’ll find them, I’ll kill them with my bare hands.”

“Calm down, Demasolin,” Hailona said.

“I will not! All is lost. They were ready for us. You saw it as well as I. The bloody Adrans! Indier took a bullet through the eye the moment she stepped into that room! A dozen musket men, all concealed in the shadows. Someone had betrayed us.”

“They’re not bloody Adrans,” Hailona said. She sounded uncertain. “You heard them speak in Kez.”

“A ruse! Two brigades in Adran blues! You think we wouldn’t have heard about two brigades of the Grand Army splitting off from Budwiel to come up here? Our spies are better than that.”

“And our spies in Adro?”

“We have few spies in Adro! They’re supposed to be allies.”

“Tamas would never —”

Demasolin whirled on Hailona. “Don’t you defend him! That damned butcher would do anything, and you know it.”

“And Sabon?” There was steel in Hailona’s voice. “You think Sabon would let him attack Deliv?”

Tamas felt his breath seize in his chest. Oh, pit. She didn’t know Sabon was dead. He’d sent her a message, but it must not have reached her. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to control his breathing.

“There’s a reason your parents disowned him,” Demasolin said.

Tamas heard a loud crack. Demasolin reeled back into view, clutching his cheek. Hailona stormed after him. It was the first time Tamas had gotten a good look at her.

She had not aged well. Her features were wrinkled, her hair gone gray. There were well-defined crow’s-feet in the corners of eyes red from unshed tears. Her jaw was set, her hand raised to strike again.

“Speak ill of my brother again,” she said quietly, her voice a challenge.

Demasolin squared his shoulders. “You dare strike a duke of the king?”

A duke. No wonder he thought Tamas a butcher. The nobility of all the Nine feared and hated Tamas, even his supposed allies. Just what Tamas needed.

Hailona was about to speak when Demasolin held up one hand. He sniffed the air. His eyes suddenly darted around the room.

“There’s someone here,” he whispered.

Tamas could see Vlora’s hiding spot from his own. The curtains shifted slightly. Tamas laid his hand on the hilt of his sword and took a long, quiet breath. He put his other hand on the closet door, ready to push it open at any moment.

Demasolin drew his sword and began to make a long circuit of the room, sniffing and casting about. Tamas let himself relax and opened his third eye. Demasolin glowed faintly in the Else.

He had a Knack.

Demasolin had just passed Vlora’s hiding spot when he suddenly whirled and thrust his sword into the curtains with a shout.

Tamas choked down a startled cry.

Nothing had happened. Demasolin pulled back the curtains.

“An open window,” Hailona said. “Really?”

“There!” Demasolin said, gazing out into the night. “Someone flees!” He dashed out the door, sword at the ready, and into the night.

The room was empty but for Hailona. He could see her rush to the door, watching Demasolin disappear. A moment later she came back into the room, her shoulders slumped, and dropped into a divan.

Tamas felt a great dread in the pit of his stomach. His heart thundered in his ears, and he paused for a moment to gather his nerve. Charging into a brigade of Kez was easier than this.

He took his hand off his sword and pushed the closet door open.

“Hello, Halley,” he said.

When Adamat arrived at the headquarters of the Noble Warriors of Labor, Ricard wasn’t there. In fact, no one was there but the porter and the bartender, and the latter poured Adamat a glass of Gurlish beer from a chilled cask and directed him to wait in the foyer.

Adamat elected to let himself into Ricard’s study.

He waited for almost three hours, growing more and more nervous as he watched the light begin to wane and darkness fall over the Adsea, before the sound of the doors in the foyer bursting open brought him to his feet.

Adamat went to the door of Ricard’s office and nudged it open with his toe. Through the crack, he could see Ricard striding through the foyer, tossing his coat angrily on the floor. The union boss’s thinning hair was standing straight off his head, and his white shirt was wet with sweat. “Get me a drink!” he yelled. Fell trailed behind him, along with a half-dozen other assistants.

No sign of Lord Claremonte’s men. Adamat stepped out of Ricard’s office, feeling a little sheepish about his suspicions.

Ricard strode past him into the office and threw himself into his desk chair.

“We’re buggered, Adamat,” he said.

Instead of asking why he’d been left waiting for three hours, Adamat said, “Why?”

“The Brudania-Gurla Trading Company has invaded our country.”

“What did you find out?” Adamat asked.

The porter brought Ricard a bottle of dark whiskey and a glass. Ricard threw the glass in the fireplace, where it exploded in a tinkle of shiny shards, then grabbed the bottle and pulled out the stopper, downing a quarter of the bottle in several long swallows.

Adamat yanked it from his fingers. “You getting shit-faced isn’t going to help anyone.”

“You don’t understand,” Ricard said. “Claremonte’s coming, and he’s bringing everything he has with him.” Adamat could see in Ricard’s eyes that he wasn’t just angry or flustered; he was scared. Adamat had never seen his old friend like this. There was real fear in his eyes.

“Has Brudania invaded?” Adamat asked.

“Pit if I know. Not a damn shot was fired. No one even tried to stop me when I went up to the locks to ask questions. Claremonte just bribed every union member on the canal and brought his fleet over. Simple as that. They’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Adamat blanched. “How could they possibly be here that quickly?”

Ricard pointed out the window, though it didn’t even face the direction of the canal. “We built the canal to bring goods over the mountains quickly. It can support the draft of Claremonte’s merchantmen, and the Ad River has been deepened the entire way down. The union has spent the last five years replacing every bridge on the Ad just so that we can do exactly what Claremonte is doing now. Nothing can stop him.”

“Surely there’s something.”

“I’ve spent every minute since I returned trying to come up with an option. I wasted an hour talking to blacksmiths to see if we could build an immense chain fast enough to stop him, but it can’t be done.”

Ricard looked like a drowning man who couldn’t quite reach the rope being lowered to him. His face was flushed, and Adamat now noticed that his pants were torn up one leg at the calf.

“You’re bleeding,” Adamat said.

Ricard looked at his leg and gave a sigh. He made no motion to staunch the wound.

Fell came into the room. Her hair was back, her uniform tidy. Not an eyelash out of place.

“He’s bleeding,” Adamat told her.

She knelt by Ricard’s side and exposed the wound, tying it up.

“Anything?” Ricard asked her.

“We’re still working on it.”

“We have to organize a defense,” Adamat said.

Ricard hiccuped. He reached toward the whiskey bottle. “There’s no time.”

“There’s police,” Adamat said, pulling the bottle out of Ricard’s reach. “Some soldiers. Call on the people. You have the newspapers. Use them.”

“A militia,” Ricard said, sitting up, his ears perking like a dog’s.

“Yes.” Adamat felt his heart begin to race. “This city is not indefensible. There’s a million people here. Use the newspapers. You remember the crowd at Elections Square when Tamas put Manhouch’s head in a basket. There’s the will. The manpower. People will rise up to defend their homes.”

Ricard leapt to his feet, knocking Fell back on her ass. “Fell,” he said, helping her up. “Draft a letter. Inform the newspapers. I want the front page first thing in the morning. Tell them every home in Adopest is to have a newspaper by sunup. I want the presses working all night! Get me the union bosses. I want everyone involved. We’ll do it. We’ll defend this city!”

Adamat felt a smile spread over his face. This was the Ricard he knew.

Ricard snatched him by the hand. “Adamat, thank you. I knew you had it in you. Whatever I’m paying you, double it.”

“You aren’t…” Adamat said, but Ricard was already racing out of his office. Adamat stood there for a moment, dumbfounded. Ricard shouted to his footmen and assistants, giving orders like a line commander. He was in full swing now, and he wouldn’t stop until he’d organized a defense of the city.

The office was suddenly quiet and cold, and Adamat looked around for a glass to pour himself some whiskey. Finding none, he took a sip from the bottle.

“Sir,” Fell said, breaking the silence.

“Hmm?”

She stood with her hands behind her back, chin up. “I never apologized, sir. I want to do that now.”

“For what?” Adamat felt his anger stir. He knew for what: for almost getting his wife killed. For not containing Lord Vetas like she said she would.

“Lord Vetas,” she said. “He got the best of me. I should have taken more men.”

Adamat fought down his anger, forced himself to remain calm. Another swig of whiskey helped. “He was good at what he did. He got the best of me far too many times.” As he said the words, he felt something shift in the back of his mind. He frowned.

“Sir?” Fell asked when he’d been silent for several moments.

He held up a hand for quiet. He needed to think. Vetas had gotten the better of him on many occasions. All evidence said that he was a genius planner with no heart for remorse and no hesitation considering lives lost.

“Is he dead?” Adamat asked.

“Vetas? Yes. He died two weeks ago. Bo got rid of the body.”

“And where is Bo?”

“He’s disappeared,” Fell said. “Ricard even offered him a job, but he wouldn’t take it.”

Adamat smoothed the front of his jacket. He’d told Bo about his reservations over Vetas. That perhaps Vetas hadn’t told them the entire truth, or even led them astray. He even…

“Damn!” Adamat said. “Vetas. He knew everything. He got the better of us one last time. Not even Bo could get it out of him.”

“How do you know?” Fell asked.

“The pier.” Adamat shook his head. She wouldn’t know what he was talking about. “I asked Vetas for a way to track down my boy, and he sent me to the slavers that Josep was sold to. He told me who to ask for, and the passwords to use. But he gave me the wrong password! The slavers attacked me. I barely got out with my life, and I was so intent on getting Josep back that it didn’t occur to me until now.”

Adamat slumped against the wall. There was nothing he could do about it now. Vetas was dead. There’d be no reckoning, no confrontation. What little advantage Adamat thought they may have gained over Claremonte was gone – if that wasn’t made apparent enough by Claremonte’s sailing his fleet over the Charwood Pile Mountains.

“What information did you get from Vetas?” Adamat asked.

Fell frowned. “Reports. His master’s plans.”

“What plans?”

“Campaign plans for the ministerial election. His platform for reformation within the city.”

“They’re all trash,” Adamat said.

“But there was good information there. We found other hideouts. More of his men in the city.”

“He wants us to think we have some kind of advantage. We don’t. Everything we learned from Vetas is suspect.”

Adamat took his hat from the peg beside the door and gathered his cane. He felt so very tired.

“What are you doing?” Fell asked.

Their only hope was Ricard’s ability to rouse the city. Otherwise it would be in Claremonte’s hands by tomorrow night.

“Going home. I’m going home to my wife. I’ll see you at the north gate of the city tomorrow morning.”

CHAPTER

38

Midway Keep was a historical monument, a castle of vanity built not for comfort or even defense but to look imposing. Its walls were tall but easily scaled, the indefensible number of entrances brimming with fortifications. The keep towered over the Addown River and menaced the main highway. To the peasants it may have been breathtaking.