“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.
Chapter 26
Taniel 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.