“Right. I suppose calling her back is out of the question?”
“It would seem so. She’s very set on her experiment.”
“Take two dozen more and go join them.”
“Is that wise, sir? Leaving the hotel undefended?”
“There will be nothing of consequence here. Besides, it’ll hardly be undefended. We have dozens more enforcers and Montego. Go make sure Thessa is protected. Remember, she’s in charge of the project. Don’t interfere, and give her what help you can. Leave immediately.”
“Yes, sir.” Breenen withdrew, leaving Demir to finish dressing. He stared at his baggy spare uniform in the mirror, wishing he hadn’t lost so much weight since Holikan. “I’m going to have to fight Kerite head-on,” he said out loud. “I might never see this room again.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Not with that attitude, I won’t. Come on, Demir. You can do this.”
Despite knowing he needed to hurry, Demir went down to the family mausoleum, where he stood before his parents’ ashes for several minutes of quiet contemplation. His mother’s bust still wasn’t finished, causing a flash of annoyance. If he was going to die out there, he would have at least liked to see her likeness finished before he did. He wondered who would commission his own bust if he were to die, and took solace in the fact that Montego would take care of everything.
The Grappo would be dead, but at least the hotel and its employees and clients would be cared for during Montego’s lifetime.
He returned to his office, where several new crates of spy reports had been delivered. He didn’t have time to truly analyze them, or even read everything there, but he allowed himself to browse the notes, ledgers, and memorandums, looking for anything that might help him in the fight against Kerite. He was, he eventually realized, dawdling. The fear of facing Kerite on the open field – the fear of his own death – loomed large in his mind, and he was trying to think of anything but that.
He opened the top drawer of his desk and stared down at a little cork box that contained a fresh piece of high-resonance witglass. He knew the resonance couldn’t get through the cork, but he still imagined he could hear it buzzing away, giving him a terrible headache. Could he really risk something so reckless in the middle of a battle? The other day, when he’d been planning the Grappo Torrent, was the first time he’d worn high-resonance witglass in years. Just a few minutes had left his head aching all day. Would he drive himself mad if he used it more?
He snatched up the box and put it in his pocket, then summoned two porters. “Load these crates into my carriage,” he told them, indicating the spy reports, “and have the horses ready in fifteen minutes. Has Breenen left already?”
“About ten minutes ago, sir.”
“Good. Until Breenen returns, Montego is downstairs. He’s in charge of the hotel until one of us gets back.”
“Of course, sir.”
Demir threw himself into the chair behind his desk, trying to clear his head while his carriage was readied and porters moved crates out of his office. This was his last chance to flee – to put on an old tunic, slip out the back, empty his bank accounts, and disappear forever. He would never have to fight another battle, or face Thessa, or explain himself to Kizzie. He could end up in Purnia or Marn or somewhere even farther away, where no one knew anything about him except that he was rich.
It was a powerful compulsion, and he twitched at the thought again and again. Absolute freedom. No responsibilities. No one to hate him or depend upon him. And yet … he couldn’t do it. He was no longer the child he was back at Holikan. Those responsibilities were his, and he would face them head-on. He was a Grappo, and if he was the last, then he would be himself proudly.
There was a gentle knock on his door. “Sir? Your carriage is ready.”
“Thank you.”
“There’s also a missive for you from the Ministry of the Legion. They said it was urgent.” The porter crossed the room to give Demir an envelope with the Ministry’s sword-flanked silic sigil. He tore it open, standing to head out the door, only to pause in the middle of the room. It said,
General Grappo, Kerite has regrouped and has deployed her forces to encircle Harbortown. We fear if she is unopposed she will take the district in days. Make haste.
Demir felt a hard knot form in his stomach. Encircled Harbortown. Not just marching at it from the south, but taking it from all directions. That wouldn’t be such a problem, except for the fact that you could see the Forge from Harbortown. The glassdamned Grent and their mercenaries were going to be right on top of Thessa’s experiment.
“Shit,” Demir spat, and ran for his carriage.
48
Kizzie arrived at the Hyacinth after dark, pausing in the flickering shadows of the gas lamps, searching the streets behind her for any sign that the Tall Man had followed her here. She saw nothing, but couldn’t shake that itching sense between her shoulder blades that she was being watched from the darkness. It wasn’t just the Tall Man she had to worry about, she reminded herself. What other agents did the Glass Knife have? With so many powerful guild-family members in play, any enforcer or spy or even client was suspect.
To her surprise, there were Grappo enforcers standing watch just outside the hotel. The Grappo had always been circumspect about their use of enforcers, keeping them on hand but out of sight. The fact that six men and women now guarded the front entrance, wearing purple tunics with the cracked silic sigil of the Grappo on their chests, spoke much to how things had escalated in just the last few hours. They were all armed with swords and pistols, and Kizzie thrust her right hand into her pocket as she jogged up the stairs past them. She didn’t have to worry about them being with the Glass Knife, but no telling how little goodwill they had for the Vorcien at this moment, regardless of whatever Father Vorcien had done to smooth things over.
Despite the enforcers out front, the hotel lobby was bustling with the normal evening hubbub, guests checking in with the help of dozens of porters. The porters, she noted, were all wearing smallswords at their belts. This was damned serious, and she couldn’t help but feel as if she’d entered enemy territory. She swallowed her fear and edged around the side of the lobby, making for Breenen’s small office behind the concierge’s desk. Breenen, to her surprise, wasn’t at the concierge’s desk. It was one of the senior porters, someone that Kizzie didn’t recognize.
She waited until he was between guests. “Is Breenen here?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, he’s not.”
“Demir?”
“Not at the moment.”
Kizzie kept her hand in her pocket to hide her silic sigil. She still didn’t know if she had already been fired – maybe banned from the Hyacinth for life. She reminded herself she wasn’t actually here to see either Breenen or Demir and licked her lips. “Montego?”
“Master Montego is on the premises, but he doesn’t want to be disturbed. Can I leave a message?”
Kizzie wanted to punch that ingratiating public-facing smile. She wrestled with her nerves, still uncertain she was taking the right path. She’d feared this moment for years – feared Montego’s response. When they were children he was a kind soul, despite his reputation for physicality. He’d been loving and forgiving and gentle. But that Montego was still a boy. She didn’t know the famous cudgelist with insatiable appetites and unmatched violence.