Demir flipped through the documents in front of him – what looked like internal Magna spymaster reports on their own family members – and was amazed that Lechauri had even gotten his hands on them, let alone handed them over. He must have been terrified of Harlen. “When needed,” he answered.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Tirana grimace down at yet another ledger outlining the glassworks’ financial records.
“Oh. That’s, uh…”
“A waste of time?” Demir guessed.
“I was trying to come up with a more polite way of saying it.”
“When I was young,” Demir explained, “I had a very particular method – I would gather every single piece of information I could get my hands on, then use high-resonance witglass to analyze it. I could fully understand this much content in about ninety minutes, taking into account the fact that I’d have to remove the witglass periodically for my own safety.”
Tirana’s eyes widened, though it hadn’t been Demir’s intention to show off. “You did all this by yourself?” she asked.
“That’s what happens when you get a genius who isn’t driven mad by high-resonance witglass,” Montego rumbled. His own stack of missives and reports had been set aside so he could read the morning newspaper. He held a large glass of wine in one hand, his fourth of the morning, though he showed no effect of intoxication.
Demir allowed himself a demure smile. “That was before I … broke at Holikan,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “I still like to use the same method, but it takes much, much longer.”
“And this is really useful?” Tirana asked.
Demir said, “The more you know, the better you can plan. Primary plans, secondary plans, tertiary plans. Plans for failed plans. Plans for the failed plans of failed plans. Information is not just useful, it is everything.” He glanced at Tirana. “You think I didn’t look into you within hours of our meeting? I memorized your military record and everything I could find about your personal life.”
Tirana glanced sidelong at Breenen, but the majordomo just shook his head. Demir could read that silent message – Get used to it, he’s in charge now. She said, “You couldn’t have possibly memorized everything about me.”
“Everything I could find,” Demir answered, flipping to the next document and running his eyes over it.
“Oh yeah? How could–”
“You were engaged to Sandri Vorcien for six months. You both seemed happy with the match, but Johanna Vorcien canceled the marriage at the last minute because she didn’t want Sandri marrying a woman, despite how well that would have worked out for two non-inheriting granddaughters. Some bullshit about wanting proper great-grandchildren and not adoptees.”
Tirana gasped and half stood, her hand going to her sword. “That is not public information!”
Demir immediately felt a stab of guilt. That time he was showing off. He rubbed his eyes and gestured for her to sit. “I apologize, I took that too far.” He glanced at Tirana and saw that her shoulders had slumped as she fell back into her chair.
“I joined the army because of that,” Tirana said quietly.
Demir’s guilt grew deeper. He tried to stave it off. He did, after all, have more important things to worry about than hurt feelings. “Again, I apologize. Information is very important to me. The world is a great big calculation. I did not keep you on when I returned because my mother hired you, or because your grandfather and I are friends. I kept you on because everything about your history showed an independent but loyal woman I could depend on to guard my hotel.”
Tirana glanced up at him shyly. “You’re not just saying that?”
“No. Now read that glassdamned ledger to look for more information we can use to rescue Thessa.” Demir rubbed his eyes again. “I think I may have something. Breenen, how long will it take you to find Ulina Magna?”
“Thirty minutes?”
“Do it.”
Breenen left the room with a nod, stepping carefully through the stacks of documents. Demir continued his studies until the majordomo returned. “She’s at the Castle Hill Arena,” Breenen reported, “enjoying the afternoon fights in her private box.”
Demir selected a few pages from the spymaster reports and stuffed them in his tunic pocket for further study. He plucked up a newspaper, found the arena schedule, and grabbed his jacket. “I used to be very good at layered plans,” he told Tirana. “I may have lost that skill, but let us hope I’m still good at primary plans. Now I must go introduce myself to a Magna. Baby, I will need your help.”
Montego folded his newspaper and joined Demir without a word, and they left Breenen and Tirana in the office, hurrying down to the lobby, where a carriage was prepared for them in minutes. They were soon trundling down the road at speed.
It was Montego who broke the silence. “Why are we confronting Ulina Magna at the Castle Hill Arena?” he asked. He didn’t seem particularly bothered by the prospect of meeting a Magna – Montego was hard to ruffle at the worst of times – but he leaned forward curiously.
Demir showed Montego what he’d been studying back in his office. “This,” he explained, “is a spymaster report on Ulina Magna. She’s one of forty-seven Magna grandchildren. She’s twenty-eight, by all reports quite pretty and charming, and she owns a sixteen percent share in the Ivory Forest Glassworks.”
Montego took the document from Demir and studied it, his beady eyes darting across the page rapidly, his expression growing thoughtful. He handed it back. “Looks like a lot of funds enter and leave her personal bank account every month. Hundreds of thousands at a time.”
“Exactly. Could be debts. Could be corruption. Could be gambling. We need to find out what, and then use it.” Demir tapped the paper against his cheek. “I think Ulina is exactly what we need to save Thessa.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“Sort of. I might have to wing it.”
Montego rolled his eyes. “The old Demir always had five plans.”
“I’m not the old Demir,” Demir answered. Montego waved his hand as if to concede the point.
Their carriage rumbled across the Assembly District and up Castle Hill, soon depositing them at the base of the old castle that had long been gutted and converted into a cudgeling arena. A massive sign hung over the gate, declaring that the arena was sponsored by the Glasstop Cudgelists, a popular Fulgurist Society for retired athletes. Demir loosened his jacket collar, tousled his hair, and prepared a thick wad of banknotes. He needed to look like someone who attended early-afternoon cudgeling matches on a regular basis.
“I’m sorry, sir,” a porter said as Demir exited the carriage, “but the arena is full for the afternoon. No more entry.”
Demir had never wanted to use the phrase “Do you know who I am?” so much in his life. Instead, he peeled several banknotes off his wad and pushed them into the front pocket of the porter’s tunic. “You’re sure?”
The porter gave Demir a regretful smile. “I’m sure, I…” His eyes widened as Montego exited the carriage, nearly tipping it over onto himself as he stepped on the running board. Montego put one hand on the porter’s shoulder and tripled the amount Demir had tipped him.
“Baby Montego and Demir Grappo,” Montego rumbled. “Surely you can find some room for a retired world champion and his friend?”
“Oh … oh! Of course, sir. Let me see what I can do.” He scurried off without another word, leaving Demir to gaze after him ruefully.
“Did I undertip?” Demir asked.
“No. You’re not a dues-paying member.” Montego nodded to the sign over the front gate. “You may have the run of the provincial cudgeling arenas, but there’s a different language spoken in Ossa.”