“Ah. I see.” Adamat shook his head, knowing even as he did that he’d had little faith in Ricard’s ventures before, and a surprising number of them had worked. He sobered his tone. “I can’t promise anything. I don’t want to get your hopes up.”
“The very fact that you’re here to help gets my hopes up.”
Adamat grinned. “I was afraid you’d say something like that. Nothing like a little pressure to make working easier.”
Ricard grasped Adamat’s hand. “Really. Thank you so much. This means a lot to me. I’ll be in your debt forever.”
Adamat called for the jailer, wishing he had more time to spend with his friend, and that they could be meeting over better circumstances. As annoying as Ricard’s optimism could be, he was a good man. Why had Adamat avoided him?
“And Adamat,” Ricard said as the jailer unlocked the door.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry about Cora. I really am.”
Adamat felt his jaw tighten. Oh yes. That was why. He gave a brisk nod, not trusting himself to speak, and stepped out into the hallway. He reached in his pocket to feel the paper with the names of Ricard’s enemies, and slowly went over them in his mind. These were powerful businessmen and nobles. People with fortunes and connections and some even with private armies.
And the only thing keeping them from sending Ricard’s head tumbling from a guillotine was him.
“One last thing,” Adamat said, returning to Ricard’s side and handing him the paper. “Who among these people would have the money and guts to hire a powder mage so close to the Adran Royal Cabal?”
Ricard seemed to think about this for a minute then circled four names. Adamat eyed them for a moment. “Good,” he said quietly. “I’ll do what I can.”
He was on the main floor, reaching for his pocketbook to give the jailer something to ease Ricard’s stay in Sablethorn, when his hand came up empty. His pocketbook was gone. He sent the jailer up to Ricard’s cell to look for it but the man came back five minutes later shaking his head.
Adamat left the jail and stepped out into the public square, where he leaned on his cane and replayed the last several hours in his head. He had paid off Teef. And the driver that brought him to the city center. After that he had not touched his pocketbook. He thought through the brushes he had with a dozen different people as he moved through afternoon foot traffic. One of them must have snatched his wallet, but none stood out in his memory.
He swore under his breath and lifted his eyes to look for his cab.
It was just were he’d left it, the driver huddled at the reins. And standing beside it, her eyes lacking that disturbing smile, was Constable White. Adamat swallowed hard and approached the cab.
“Employment records?” White said. “In the Public Archives?”
“They’re legally required to have them,” Adamat said.
“And you and I both know that employment records are as reliable as the rain. You wanted to get rid of me so you could visit the accused from that murder case.”
Adamat looked around. This conversation seemed to beg privacy, but he didn’t think he wanted to be alone with White. Then again, she could probably smell his hesitance. He climbed inside the cab.
She followed him in and closed the door, folding her hands serenely in her lap. Adamat remembered the quiet, almost sensual voice she had used on Teef, calmly explaining how to remove a man’s face with a straight razor. He positioned his cane where he could bring it to bare easily, but didn’t think it would help much if she attacked him.
“The powder mage was hired to frame Ricard,” Adamat said, “And finding the powder mage could very well depend on finding out who hired him. I simply went to visit Mr. Tumblar to get a list of his enemies.”
“And did you?” White asked coldly.
Adamat produced the list that Ricard had given him and handed it to White. “These are the people and families whose interests are threatened by Mr. Tumblar’s push to unionize. The names he circled are the ones he suspects would risk the wrath of the cabal to hire a powder mage. Note the second name from the bottom.”
White’s eyes skimmed the list. “This includes some of the most powerful noble and merchant families in Adro.” Her eyes reached the end. “Kemptin. Walis Kemptin.”
“He’s a na-baron,” Adamat said. “A member of the Kemptin family and, if I’m not mistaken, he’s in charge of the Kemptin mines in the north.”
White looked at Adamat over the list. Some of the anger had gone out of her eyes, but she was still definitely annoyed. “If he’s angering all these people, I’m surprised no one has just up and killed him yet.” She folded the scrap of paper neatly and ran her fingernails along the crease before depositing it in her pocket. “I will have to get permission to proceed. Continue your search. I’ll find you in the morning.”
“Of course.”
“Adamat, do not try to sneak anything past me again. You will regret it.”
Adamat thought of White leaning in and whispering in Teef’s ear, drawing her fingernail along the boy’s throat. Yes, he imagined he would regret it deeply.
“What else do we have?”
White sat down at the cafe table across from Adamat, glancing surreptitiously at the newspaper in Adamat’s hand before raising her chin and waiting for an answer.
Adamat let her wait. It was still early in the morning, not yet eight, the sky still dark, and he was nursing a significant headache and trying to keep his eyes open enough to drink two cups of the cafe’s stoutest Fatrastan coffee. Very little sleep was a hallmark of police work. He’d managed to get used to it, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. Nor did he enjoy spending so much time away from his wife.
“Very little,” Adamat responded. He couldn’t help the spike of annoyance when White’s eyebrows rose. Cold-blooded killer or not, have a little damned decency. “I managed to find two more of my informants yesterday. Neither of them had any idea who in the Brickmen gang might be related to the powder mage. One said it wasn’t a relation at all, just someone who happened to be in the right place at the right time and was hired to kill a rival gang member. Regardless, the story is the same: as soon they found out he was a powder mage no one in the docklands would come near him.”
“Did you find out a name?”
Adamat shook his head. It was one of his greatest frustrations from the previous night. A name would let him ask more specific questions, peruse employment, prison, or even church records. It was so much more useful than “powder mage.”
“Did you find anything at all of use to us?” White drummed her fingernails on the table.
“I left the Public Archives just an hour ago,” Adamat said. “Found something curious about the Kemptin family.”
“That applies to our search?”
“I think so.” Adamat raised his eyes from his newspaper. “The Kemptin family is much larger than I thought. None of them are particularly high in the peerage, nothing more than a baron, but they have to be the most prevalent example of nepotism in the whole country. Members of their family occupy public office and high station throughout most of central and northern Adro.”
“So?”
“Commissioner Aleksandre is one of them. A second cousin of Walis Kemptin.”
“You’re looking for a conspiracy.” White narrowed her eyes at him.
Adamat almost balked at that look, but he forced himself to go on with confidence. “I’m not looking. I’m being smacked in the face with it. Ricard Tumblar was framed for murder. Tumblar is trying to get the House of Nobles to legalize his union. The Kemptins are a prevalent family who employ thousands of laborers, giving them vested interest in seeing his efforts fail. They’ve put dozens of family members in useful positions all over the country, and they would damn well make use of them. They could have hired an assassin to frame Ricard Tumblar, and then when someone like myself fingered the real killer, had cousin Aleksandre step in and make sure Tumblar would still take the fall.”