The Autumn Republic (25 page)

“I was never unfaithful.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“Lies! I saw you in the arms of another man. With my own eyes!”

“I’m sorry!”

Taniel surged forward, carried halfway across the fire by his own fury, then pulled up short. “What?”

Vlora’s nostrils flared. “That’s the third time I’ve tried to tell you. It was a horrid mistake. You going to Fatrasta. Me taking that prig to bed. Mistake after mistake after mistake.”

Taniel returned slowly to his sleeping roll. There was a part of him that wanted to rush to her, take her in his arms and comfort her, but he knew that would make things more… complicated. They were done and nothing would change that. He had Ka-poel still.
If she was still alive
.

She thinks I’m lying
. The thought hit him like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky.
She thinks Ka-poel and I have been lovers for these last two years
. “Vlora,” he said. The name seemed foreign on his lips, as he’d refused to say it for so many months. “Me and Ka-poel. It’s just been recently, it…”
H
e trailed off. “I just need to get her back.”

“We’ll get her back,” Vlora said.

Was it her way of apology? Some kind of self-sacrifice? “Why?” He had to know.

“Because she still loves you, you daft tit.” Gavril’s voice came out of the darkness to Taniel’s left, and Taniel realized it had been his laugh he heard earlier. Taniel surged to his feet, reaching for his sword, swearing to cut the big man in two.

Vlora was faster. She leapt into the darkness and dragged Gavril back to the fire, throwing him to the ground like a child, though he was twice her size. Her jaw was set in anger.

Gavril squirmed on the ground, and it took a moment to realize that he was laughing so hard that tears streamed down his face. Vlora planted a boot in Gavril’s ribs, eliciting a single “Oof” and then another chorus of laughs. “What’s so funny, you fat bastard?” She grabbed him by the hair, lifting him to his knees, and his laughter suddenly ceased. A dangerous glint entered his eyes.

“Vlora…” Taniel stepped forward, ready to throw himself between them.

“You like putting your nose in someone else’s business, do you?” Vlora said in Gavril’s ear. “Well, how’s this: Taniel, this hairy ass is your uncle. He didn’t tell you on South Pike because he was too ashamed of being the Mountainwatch drunk, and he doesn’t tell you now because… well, I don’t know.” She kicked Gavril in the small of the back and stormed into the darkness.

Gavril caught himself over the small fire and deftly rolled to his feet. He wiped the tears of laughter from the corner of his eyes and watched Vlora go, then turned to Taniel. Catching Taniel’s gaze, he gave a sheepish grin and held out his flask. “Drink?”

“My bloody uncle?” Taniel asked.

Gavril bowed at the waist. “Jakola of Pensbrook, at your service, nephew.”

A
damat shuddered at the memory of the last time he had been to Skyline Palace. It had been in the middle of the night over six months ago when Field Marshal Tamas summoned him in order to investigate the last words of members of the Adran royal cabal. The gardens of the great palace had been dark and unguarded, and instilled him with a deep sense of unease that flowed through him even now.

Though, he acknowledged to himself, his unease this morning was likely of a different sort.

Lord Claremonte was the late Lord Vetas’s employer. And anyone who employed such a monster would surely be a monster himself. Every fiber of Adamat’s being told him to turn around and run, to return home and lock his door and never take a job in the city again – and bugger Ricard and Tamas and Claremonte and everyone else involved in this deadly dance.

But he’d made a promise to Ricard, so he straightened his jacket and dusted off the brim of his hat.

Most of the gardens had become overgrown, untended over the summer, and dozens of sentries in the colors of the Brudania-Gurla Trading Company were posted about the grounds. Adamat’s carriage traveled up the front drive, past the immense, silver-plated doors and along the front of the palace until they rounded one corner and proceeded to the servants’ entrance.

Adamat emerged from his carriage just as three policemen and the commissioner of police stepped out of theirs. The commissioner tipped her hat to Adamat and then strode up to a rather ordinary set of double doors and rapped twice.

The door opened a crack. Words were exchanged, and then the commissioner headed inside, with her officers on her tail. Adamat followed.

“Keep close,” Adamat said to SouSmith as the big man emerged from the carriage behind him. “I don’t trust Claremonte in the least.” He jogged to catch up with the commissioner. “What the pit is Claremonte doing here?” he asked.

“Running for First Minister,” Commissioner Hewi replied, straight-faced. Hewi – a sharp-eyed, soft-spoken woman with light-brown hair curled tightly beneath a small hat – was wearing a loose-fitting day dress that managed to look both utilitarian and elegant at the same time. She had been appointed by the Iron King not long before his death and had, from the rumors, been one of the first people informed of the coup. Upon hearing that the Iron King’s son was to be executed, her words had famously been, “It’s about damn time.”

“I meant
here
. In the palace.”

“He’s rented the space from the city,” Hewi said. “Housing his troops and Privileged here.”

“And we just let him rent it?”

“The Reeve agreed to it, from what I hear,” Hewi said. “Better than letting it sit empty. Claremonte’s paying an astronomical fee for use of the building and grounds, and the city needs the money.”

“I’m surprised Tamas didn’t have the place burned down,” Adamat said.

“I’m not. It’s part of our cultural heritage. Over four hundred years old. Many of the walls and ceilings are works of art in and of themselves. I think Tamas knows better than to destroy all that out of spite.”

Adamat conceded to himself that the commissioner had a point. He noted that even the walls of the cavernous kitchens, as they passed through them, were covered in bright murals.

“Still,” Hewi added, “Tamas had most of the art and furniture removed to the national gallery. Some of it was sold to pay off debts, from what I heard. The rest will be put on display for the public. Laudable, I think.”

“Though it would have been far safer to destroy every vestige of the nobility.”

“Right. Seems Tamas is something more than simply pragmatic. Who would have thought?”

They left the kitchens and went up the servants’ stairs to the main floor. Adamat had heard that the passageways behind the palace were a labyrinth all to themselves, but this was his first time experiencing them. They ducked around so many corners, led by one of Claremonte’s servants, that Adamat imagined that men without his Knack could very well get lost. He frequently stopped to urge SouSmith along so that the boxer didn’t get distracted gazing at all the art.

They passed by dozens of rooms, each one seemingly bigger than the last, with more ornate gold-work trim and colorful frescoes. Marble-faced fireplaces took up entire walls in some rooms. Curtains were drawn in most of them, casting the rooms into shadow, and what little furniture was left had been covered in white sheets to keep the dust off.

The servant stepped aside suddenly and gestured to a doorway.

Hewi and her officers went inside. Adamat paused momentarily, wondering if there was any significance to Claremonte’s having them use the servants’ halls and entrances instead of the immense, echoing hallways and full-length doors. Letting them know they were beneath him, perhaps?

Adamat glanced at SouSmith to reassure himself and then went in.

“Welcome, welcome!” Claremonte’s voice bounced off the vaulted ceilings. The room was about thirty feet by forty. Unlike the others they’d passed, this one was decorated entirely in silver – metallic paint on the walls, ornate silver-plated trim. Even the dual fireplaces were a marbling of light and dark gray that matched the walls. On the ceiling was a mural showing some ancient hero making a deal with a two-faced celestial being.

Brude. Fitting that Claremonte would pick a room watched over by Brudania’s two-faced patron saint.

Claremonte wore a fine robe over silk pajamas, though it was well past nine in the morning. He lounged lazily in a wingback chair beside one of the windows overlooking the garden and held a cup in one hand, newspaper in the other. He stood as they approached, repeating his welcome.

“I’m sorry I’m not yet dressed, Commissioner. It was a late night last night, working on a campaign speech for a meeting I’m having this afternoon with the Society for City Gardens.”

Hewi extended a hand. “Thank you for allowing us to come by on such short notice.”

“No trouble at all. Oh, Inspector Adamat. Good morning to you, sir.”

“Good morning,” Adamat said stiffly. He felt a drop of sweat snake its way down the nape of his neck.

“How are your lovely wife and children?”

Adamat forced a tight-lipped smile. This had been a terrible mistake.

“I wasn’t aware you knew the inspector,” Hewi said. “Or that you’ve met his family!”

“The inspector was among those who greeted me upon my arrival to the city,” Claremonte said, a magnanimous smile on his lips. “And I only know his wife by reputation.”

To other men, Claremonte’s smile may have been gracious. To Adamat, it seemed full of mockery. Claremonte extended his hand to Adamat.

“Pardon if I don’t shake,” Adamat managed.

“Of course.” The words were almost a purr. “Hewi – may I call you Hewi? Hewi, I can only assume that you’ve come to ask me about the unfortunate incident with Ricard Tumblar yesterday.”

“That’s true,” the commissioner said.

“I want to assure you that I had nothing to do with it.” Claremonte moved back to his chair by the window and dropped gracefully into it, sending his robe fluttering. “Can I offer any of you some breakfast? Eggs? Coffee? Biscuits?”

“Nothing, thank you,” Hewi said. “You understand that we’ll need to look into your records? This case will be very high-profile and you are running against Mr. Tumblar for First Minister of Adro. You have the means and the motive.”

“I understand. Your men are welcome to my records and to question my employees. As long, of course, as it does not interfere with my campaign.”

“We’ll do our best to keep the investigation discreet.”

“Many thanks.”

Adamat let his eyes search the room once more, trying to find anything he had missed – and trying to get his emotions under control. No good inspector could allow himself to be ruled by emotion.

There were three other chairs aside from the one Claremonte sat in, but he hadn’t offered his guests a seat. The sun blazed through the window, casting long shadows on the floor and inside wall and making it hard to look directly at Claremonte. Strategic placement, or happy coincidence?

Something about that bothered Adamat. He couldn’t quite place what it was.

Strategic placement, Adamat decided. A man like Claremonte didn’t do things by accident. Which meant his pajamas were meant to say something as well. Presenting casual indifference? Disrespect?

“Lord Claremonte,” Adamat said, interrupting something Claremonte had been saying. “Can you give us any reason why you
wouldn’t
want Ricard dead?”

Claremonte seemed taken aback. “Why, several. For one, attacking Mr. Tumblar and failing to kill him will only raise his public sympathy.”

“Or expose your opponent’s weakness.”

“Perhaps, but he’s very well liked. For another thing, if he had been killed, his Second Minister would have stepped forward to run in his place. And I have no desire to run against a war hero like Taniel Two-shot. Not with all these rumors going around that he’s killed a god and what other nonsense. He’s got a cult of worship among the people almost as deep as his father’s.”

But
would
he step up, Adamat wondered. He decided not to voice the question, lest it give Claremonte any ideas. “So you think you have the best shot of winning with Ricard alive?”

“Yes. Alive, and in one piece.” Claremonte shook his head sadly. “Regardless of who is to blame, some of the public will surely blame me. I would rather the whole event never have happened. I’m in a very good place right now – public perception is high and supporters are flocking to me in droves. I’ve just landed an incredible endorsement. The election is just over a month away, and anything like this bombing that could destabilize public perception can only work against me.”

“May I ask who will be endorsing you?”

“You’ll find out with the rest of Adro in a few weeks. He’s my trump card, if you don’t mind the saying. I don’t want to let out the word too early.”

“I see. I’m sorry to have interrupted, Commissioner,” Adamat said, lapsing into silence.

Hewi examined Adamat for a moment and then turned back to Claremonte, asking him a series of standard questions. Adamat was pleased to hear her go a little harder on him than she would have before Manhouch’s removal. He had heard from his friends still with the police that investigations were so incredibly easier now that kowtowing to the nobility wasn’t a standard part of the job.

Adamat listened to the questions for several minutes before slipping out the front of the room and into the grand hallway of the north wing of Skyline Palace. He needed to clear his head. Something in that room bothered him. It lurked on the edge of his awareness, tantalizingly out of reach.

He strolled down the hallway, listening to the click of his cane and the heavy footfalls of SouSmith following along behind him. Aside from those sounds, the hall was absolutely silent. Strange, what with most of Claremonte’s five thousand men stationed on the grounds. He would have thought there to be more activity.

A small sound caught his attention. He followed it, head turned, past three empty sitting rooms and into a fourth, where a series of small scratching noises proved to come from fifty pens all writing at once. A salon had been turned into a clerks’ office. Several dozen men sat at desks set up in the room, working studiously while a monitor moved up and down the aisles, occasionally bending to whisper to one of the clerks.

Adamat continued to explore the wing of the palace. He found two more rooms filled with Claremonte’s employees and another with printing equipment. The presses were all cold and empty, but they must have been used recently, as the room had been lined with cotton batting to keep down the sound. Thousands of newspapers were hung to dry on lines up in the vaulted ceiling.

Printing his own paper, in addition to the presses he’d bought from Ricard’s competitors. Smart. “Claremonte seems very confident,” Adamat commented, his words echoing down the hall.

“Yeah,” SouSmith rumbled. “Too confident.”

“I don’t like it. Have you heard anything about this endorsement?”

SouSmith shook his head. “People talk. Some like him. Some hate him. Nothing certain.”

Well, that wasn’t much help. Adamat drummed his fingers on the head of his cane. “Did anything seem strange about Claremonte himself?”

SouSmith shrugged. “Seems nice enough.” He cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing down the hallway, and a dark look passed over his face. Lord Vetas had killed SouSmith’s nephew, and SouSmith wasn’t ever going to let that go. Adamat realized suddenly that bringing the big boxer here may not have been the best idea.

Of course, if he put Claremonte’s head through a wall, it would certainly make life a lot easier for everyone.

“There’s just something…” Adamat trailed off as they returned to the silver sitting room. Claremonte’s manservant eyed him and SouSmith suspiciously, but didn’t ask where they had been.

“Ah, there you are,” Hewi said. “We were just leaving, Inspector.” She made an impatient gesture toward the door with her hat.

“Pardon me, Commissioner,” Claremonte said, “but could I speak with Adamat alone?”