“Inspector,” Claremonte said. “I hope that any past unpleasantness that you may think occurred between us can remain in the past.”
Adamat bit his tongue. Your man kidnapped my wife and family! Abused them in unspeakable ways, and caused the death of my son! I’ll see you dead. “As you say,” he said, remembering one of the phrases he used to use when caught in an awkward conversation with a nobleman.
“Don’t waste your time with me, Inspector. I didn’t try to kill Mr. Tumblar. I don’t know who did. I would offer my help with the investigation, but I don’t think you’d accept it.”
“We’ll see,” Adamat said, matching Claremonte’s condescending tone. “Thank you for the advice.”
Claremonte quickly rose from his seat and crossed the room to stand beside Adamat. The sun shone just behind him, surrounding Claremonte with a glowing halo and forcing Adamat to look away. “If I wanted Mr. Tumblar dead, Adamat,” Claremonte said, his voice barely above a whisper, “then he’d be dead.”
“Or else your men cocked up the job.”
Claremonte snorted. “Indeed. You’re a very suspicious man, Inspector. Be sure it doesn’t put you in an early grave.” Claremonte turned away, his back to Adamat, and Adamat was sorely tempted to take a swing at him. One well-placed strike with his cane could paralyze the man – Adamat was sure he’d then be able to strangle him before anyone returned to the room.
Instead, he tried to come up with some witty retort. When none was forthcoming, he joined Hewi, SouSmith, and Hewi’s officers in the servants’ halls.
“What did he want?” Hewi asked.
“Nothing important,” Adamat murmured.
They were led back out through the maze of corridors and servants’ doors to the side of the palace and Adamat got inside his carriage. It rocked heavily when SouSmith climbed in beside him. Adamat rapped on the ceiling with his cane, but the carriage didn’t move.
“Inspector,” Hewi said, coming to the window. “You should steer clear of Claremonte.”
I should. But I won’t. “I have work to do, Commissioner. With all due respect.”
“And with all due respect, steer clear. Claremonte isn’t the man we want.”
“How do you know?”
Hewi tipped her hat back and leaned into the carriage. She glanced at SouSmith, then gestured for Adamat to step outside. He followed her a dozen paces from the carriage. “One of the officers I had with me is a Knacked,” she said in a low voice. “We keep it quiet, because he’s very hard to see in the Else if you have the third eye.”
“What is his Knack?” Adamat asked.
“Swear to keep this quiet?”
Adamat nodded.
“He can hear lies. He knows when a man is telling the truth or a fib. It’s one of our secret weapons, and if it ever got out, the Proprietor would doubtless have him killed.”
Adamat whistled. “With good reason.” He’d heard of Knackeds like that. One of the most valuable Knacks in the world, and very rare. Adamat wanted to ask what the man was doing working for a police force in Adopest when he could be some king’s truthsayer and living like, well, a king. But that would have to wait.
“And you’re saying that Claremonte didn’t lie?”
“Not a word of it. Fudged a little bit when he said we could have access to all his employees, but that’s no surprise. A man like that has secrets. But he didn’t order Ricard killed.”
Adamat bid farewell to the commissioner and returned to his carriage, dropping into his seat with a sigh.
“Somethin’ important?” SouSmith asked.
“Claremonte isn’t our man.”
“Hmm.”
“My thought exactly. I don’t even bloody well know where to start if it’s not Claremonte.” The carriage was soon rolling, and Adamat slowly went through the list of Ricard’s known enemies in his head. “We’ll have to go see Ricard. I have to find out if Claremonte has as good a chance at winning as he seems to think. Maybe we’ll have a…” Adamat trailed off, a thought entering his mind.
“What?”
“We need to go to the library, too. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow, but… Pit!”
SouSmith cocked an eyebrow at him. “Yeah?”
“I just figured out what was bothering me so much about that room. Claremonte was sitting in the window, with the morning sun at his back.”
“And?”
“And he didn’t cast a shadow.”
Chapter 28
“Field Marshal Tamas!”
The voice echoed up the line and made Tamas’s shoulders tighten with recognition. He could hear the approaching rhythm of hoofbeats and the occasional curse of the infantrymen as a man rode up the lines too closely. A glance beside him showed Olem turned in his saddle – not, as some might think, to look toward the rider, but to see which soldiers he’d show the back of his hand later that night.
This was no time to tolerate any show of disrespect, even to Adro’s enemies.
“Good afternoon, Beon,” Tamas said as the rider came abreast of him.
“Field Marshal,” Beon said. The third in line for the Kez throne looked well. His wounds had healed nicely, thanks to the Deliv Privileged, and his cheeks were fuller now from weeks of inaction and enjoying Sulem’s hospitality. “I must speak with you.”
“It appears you already are,” Tamas commented. The wound in his side still itched despite Sulem’s healers and he imagined he could still feel the sharp pain deep in his flesh, though whether that was real or was due to the sting of an old friend’s betrayal, he did not know.
Beon had a boyish face despite being in his late twenties – the effects of cabal sorcery meant to keep the royal family looking young – and Tamas thought that the pale scars from the Battle at Kresimir’s Fingers helped make him look more serious. He removed his hat and mopped at his forehead. “In private, if possible.”
Tamas exchanged a look with Olem. The bodyguard gave a slight smirk.
“There’s not a lot of privacy on the march, Sir Prince,” Tamas said.
“This is a serious matter,” Beon insisted. “I have…” – he checked himself, glancing toward the nearby marching infantry, and lowered his voice – “I have learned that you sent away my father’s messengers. Without even hearing them!”
“Someone’s tongue has been wagging, Olem.”
“I’ll see to it, sir,” Olem said gravely.
Beon stiffened. “I don’t make use of spies, but I do have ears, sir! Your men talk to each other loudly and I need only but listen to find out what’s going on in the camp.”
“You disapprove? I find letting my men gossip is easier and more beneficial than the Kez way – silence enforced by fear. Keeps up the morale.”
“You evade my meaning.”
“The messengers? It’s true. I have nothing to say to them and nothing to hear from them. You know what your father did.”
“But did he do it?” Beon demanded. “Can you be certain?”
“I have the bodies of thirty-seven grenadiers in Kez uniforms, carrying Kez muskets, bayonets, swords, and powder. They have Kez coins in their purses and they wear boots made in the south of Kez. That’s fairly damning evidence.”
“I would agree, sir, but…”
“But what?” Tamas felt his ire returning. He respected Beon. He even liked him, as much as he could like a member of the Kez royal family. He was a talented cuirassier and had a sharp mind. Tamas had not thought him so naïve.
Beon plowed on before Tamas could continue. “But I don’t think my father would have done this. Why did they go west instead of south? If they were my father’s men, they would have bolted straight for the Kez lines after such a daring attack.”
“They went west because they hit the rear of the camp and it was easier and faster to take the western road and skirt brigades than it would have been to fight through them. And you don’t think he would have done this? Your father, who authorized the sacking of Alvation in order to turn Deliv against Adro? Your father, who by your own admission is just as likely to have you executed for your failure to stop me as he is to welcome you, his son, back from a harrowing campaign?” Tamas shook his head. “Explain it to me. And use small words, for I fear I’m not as nimble-minded as you on this matter.”