Adamat wanted to. He really did. Part of him said he would be a coward to do it – he would be running away. But another part told him it was the smart thing to do. The best thing for his family. “I can’t just abandon Ricard,” he said.
“But you can abandon your family?”
“I’m not… I…” Why couldn’t she understand? She and the children meant everything to him, but he had obligations. To Ricard. To Adro.
Faye pushed his hand away. “Fine. Do what you want. You always think you know best.”
Her next words were drowned out by a knock on the door. “Are you expecting someone?” he asked.
Faye shook her head. “The children would come in through the back, but they shouldn’t be here for an hour yet.”
Adamat approached the front window slowly and moved the curtain aside with one finger. When he saw who it was, he ran to the door and threw it open.
SouSmith stood on his front step, hat in hand, a scowl marring his battered face. The old boxer gave Adamat a nod, then an “Evening, ma’am” to Faye.
“Come in, come in,” Adamat said. “I just arrived home. I was going to come see you tomorrow.”
SouSmith shook his head at the invitation.
“What is it?” Adamat asked.
“There’s been a bombing,” he grunted.
Adamat felt his heart skip a beat and his palms begin to sweat. “What? Where?”
“The Holy Warriors of Labor.”
Ricard’s headquarters. A flurry of questions ran through Adamat’s head and they all jumbled up, causing him to feel tongue-tied. He looked at Faye.
“Go,” Faye urged.
Adamat snatched his hat and cane and followed SouSmith out the door to the waiting carriage.
Adamat eyed the light street traffic and silently urged the carriage faster. “Is Ricard hurt?” he asked.
SouSmith shrugged.
“How about his secretary, Fell?”
Another shrug.
“Damn it, man, do you know anything?”
SouSmith shook his head. “Was in Forswitch when I heard.”
“So you weren’t there?”
“Just thought you’d want to know. Was on my way past.”
“Well, thanks for that,” Adamat said. “What were you doing in Forswitch?”
“Helping my brother.”
“The butcher?”
A nod. SouSmith cracked his knuckles and peered out the window. “Carrying meat. Big hogs, one on each shoulder.”
“Been boxing lately?”
SouSmith kept his gaze on the street outside. His only answer was a small shake of the head.
Adamat frowned. It had been nine weeks to the day since they attacked Lord Vetas’s lair, capturing Vetas and rescuing Faye. He had released SouSmith from his employ a few days later, what with the danger passed. It seemed strange that SouSmith had had no matches since then. He was old, sure, but he hadn’t lost his edge. Why wouldn’t the Proprietor put him in the ring? Unless…
“Has the Proprietor suspended all of the boxing?”
“Yeah.”
“Because of the eunuch’s death?” An event that had occurred during Vetas’s capture. In fact, Vetas himself had killed the eunuch during Faye’s rescue.
“Still looking for a new second,” SouSmith said.
“I see.” The Proprietor was the head of the criminal underworld in Adro, and the eunuch had been the face of his operations for at least eighteen years. It had to be stirring up plenty with the eunuch gone. After all, only five people in the world knew the Proprietor’s true identity, counting the Proprietor himself.
And Adamat.
Adamat cleared his throat. “I might have some work for you soon,” he said, though he immediately regretted it. Hiring SouSmith meant that he needed a bodyguard. And needing a bodyguard meant he was going to get involved with things he knew he shouldn’t. But someone had tried to kill Ricard.
SouSmith raised one eyebrow. “Hmm.”
For the tight-lipped boxer, it was an enthusiastic response.
Night had fallen, the street lanterns were being lit, and most of the shops were closed by the time they neared Ricard’s headquarters. The evening traffic was blocked, so Adamat paid the driver, and he and SouSmith walked the rest of the way. Adamat peered into the hazy darkness to try to see what damage Ricard’s old warehouse had taken.
Two of the windows high up on the second floor had blown out, and the front door had been taken off its hinges in order to maneuver stretchers through. The brickwork appeared unhurt, and in fact the new mural on the side of the building with Ricard’s face and election slogan of “Unity and Labor” was barely scratched. A prison carriage – empty – blocked traffic in the street, and a dozen police officers milled about, speaking with onlookers and each other. Torches had been posted to supplement the light from the streetlamps.
One of the officers stepped up to Adamat. “Sorry, sir, no one’s allowed in or out, on the commissioner’s orders.”
“I’m Inspector Adamat. Is Ricard all right?”
Another officer looked up from his interview of a scantily clad serving girl – one of Ricard’s hostesses. “Hey, Picadal, you can let Adamat through. The commissioner will want to see him.”
“The commissioner is here in person?”
“Yes. Says it’s a high-profile attack, what with Ricard being a candidate for First Minister.”
Adamat was waved past. When he turned to SouSmith, he found the big boxer lagging behind. “Come on,” Adamat said.
“I’ll wait here.”
“What is it? Oh, never mind. Suit yourself.” Adamat headed inside, where he paused to take in the building for a moment, logging every detail in his perfect memory for future perusal.
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…” He 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.