“Not as far as you’d like, I can tell you that.”
“But you have permission to make arrests? Force changes.”
“Within reason.”
Adamat tapped the side of his chin thoughtfully. “I have an idea. We’ll need a copy of this,” he said, waving the confession, “and I need to borrow one of your cards.”
Adamat stood outside a townhome in West Laden. It was a modest building, three stories divided among three families in a well-to-do neighborhood in Adopest. The sun had just set and it was colder than he expected. He stomped his feet to try to keep warm and hammered once more on the door.
“Coming, coming!” an angry voice answered from inside. The lock was drawn a moment later and the deeply wrinkled face of a stooped old man stared out at him. “What do you want?”
“I’m here to see Captain Hewi,” Adamat said.
“She didn’t tell me she was expecting visitors.”
“It’s an emergency,” Adamat said, “from the precinct building.”
“Oh,” the man said. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place? Come in, come in!”
Adamat gratefully slipped inside and stood in the hallway, rubbing his arms to restore warmth, while the old man-Hewi’s landlord, he assumed-teetered half way down the hallway and pulled on a cord that led up into the ceiling. Adamat heard the distant ringing of a bell.
“She’s usually down within a minute or two,” the old man said, continuing down the hallway. “If you don’t hear her, just ring the bell again. I’ll show you out when you’re finished.”
Adamat waited about forty-five seconds before he heard the creaking of bare feet on wooden stairs.
“Adamat?” Hewi’s voice came from the dark landing above him.
“Ma’am,” he said. “Sorry to visit after hours, but it’s an emergency.”
“Adamat, you shouldn’t be here. You’ve been dismissed. I’ve done everything I can to keep the commissioner from destroying your life completely and keep my own career.”
“I do appreciate that ma’am,” Adamat said. “That’s why I brought you something.”
The stairs creaked and Hewi emerged from the gloom to stand several steps above Adamat. She was wearing a robe and slippers, and smelled of pipe smoke. Her eyes tightened suspiciously. “What is that?”
“A promotion.”
There was a gentleman’s club in Centesteshire called the King’s Knee. It was not far from the middle of Adopest, a location where hundreds of members of the elite of Adro-nobles, merchants, politicians, and the like-could meet for recreation in the quiet halls away from prying eyes. The most popular games were cards and billiards, but Adamat had heard rumors that the King’s Knee had bought the building next door and installed handball courts for the pleasure of its clientele.
None of that particularly concerned Adamat. What concerned him was that the doorman politely but firmly informed him-based entirely on his working man’s suit, no doubt-that he had found the wrong building.
Until Adamat held up one of Attaché White’s cards. The doorman’s eyes grew slightly wider. “What can I do for you, sir?” he asked.
“I’m looking for Lord Walis Kemptin.”
“Lord Walis is at his usual table, sir.”
“Is he alone?”
“He is.”
“Take me to him.”
“Right away, sir.”
Adamat felt a rush as the doorman took his hat and cane and he was led through the warm, smoke-filled room. This card in his hand had just gained him entrance to one of the most exclusive clubs in Adopest without so much as a blink. And once he was inside, his comparatively shabby attire didn’t receive a second glance.
They passed the card and billiards tables in the well-lit gaming hall with its vaulted ceilings, where Adamat recognized a handful of faces that he’d only ever seen in the papers. Field Marshal Beravich and two of his generals occupied a billiards table while the Novi ambassador, a woman named Michala, gambled with the king’s chamberlain.
Adamat proceeded through them all as if in a dream. They entered the next room, where the ceilings and the light were both lower, and the smell of food made Adamat’s stomach rumble. The tables had Adran blue cloths and the booths were of fine, crimson-dyed leather.
At one of the tables, neither the best nor the worst of them, sat Lord Walis Kemptin. His head was back against the leather of the booth, the remnants of a meal being cleaned away by a waiter. The acrid smell of mala hung in the air above him.
The doorman cleared his throat. “My Lord Walis,” he said, “Attaché White to see you.”
Walis’ eyelids opened a fraction. Mala smoke curled out through his nose. “White?” he asked as the doorman excused himself. “I thought that was the woman. Your partner.”
“It is,” Adamat said. “It was necessary to borrow one of her cards to have access to this club. May I sit?”
Walis pulled himself up and seemed to try and shake the mala haze. “I don’t see why not. I can always call to have you removed at a moment’s notice.”
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Adamat said, setting White’s card face up on the table.
“You already admitted the card does not belong to you.”
“But I’m using it with permission, my lord. Or did you think me daft enough to steal one from her pocket?” A waiter passed by with a tray containing cigars and tobacco and mala pipes. Adamat took a tobacco pipe, found it already packed, and took a light from the waiter before letting him move on.
Sweat rolled down Adamat’s sides and under his arms. It took every bit of his will to keep from trembling. He was an imposter here and he knew it. But he had to play the part to end this entire debacle tonight.
“You obviously know what this is,” Adamat said, tapping the card with one finger. “Your cousin the commissioner would have told you of White’s interest in the powder mage you hired.”
“I can’t imagine what you … “ Walis started.
“Please,” Adamat said, cutting him off gently with a raised hand. “Don’t patronize me, my lord. I wouldn’t be here if we didn’t already have a confession from another of your cousins you may remember.” Adamat produced a paper from his pocket and smoothed it on the table before pushing it over to Walis. “A somewhat distant cousin, I fear, but a relative nonetheless. She confessed to myself and Attaché White that you personally hired her to kill the Viscount Brezé.”
Adamat held up his hand to forestall Walis’s inevitable protest and continued. “This very moment, Attaché White and the newly promoted Commissioner Hewi are arresting your cousin Aleksandre under the charges of treason, theft from the crown, conspiracy against the royal cabal, and half a dozen other bits and pieces that they’ve decided to pin him with. I think it’s unnecessary, but I’m told the cabal likes to be very thorough.”
“If any of this was true,” Walis said, “The new commissioner and Attaché White would be here right now. Not some damned constable.”
“I think,” Adamat said with a confidence he didn’t feel, “You underestimate the gravity of removing the commissioner of the Adran Police. However, I understand your doubt. I’m not here to arrest you. A politician and businessman such as yourself may have guessed right now that we have various … options.”
Walis lifted a finger and a moment later a waiter appeared at his side. “Novi vodka.”
“For you, sir?” the waiter asked Adamat.
Adamat shook his head. Once the waiter had gone, he continued. “There are two paths available to us. The first is that we, the police, pull on this string, beginning with Genetrie Kemptin, and unravel it over the course of the next several years. The Kemptin family will be prosecuted to the full extent of Adran law-with the weight of the Adran Cabal behind it. All of your secrets will be laid bare. Everything put out for the public and your enemies to see.”
“We’ll have the powder mage within days,” he went on. “The cabal has dispatched a number of their Privileged to find him.” A lie, but Walis didn’t need to know that. “And once they have him, they will ring a confession from him. And trust me, they are far more displeased with your use of a powder mage assassin than with your murder of the Viscount Brezé or a businessman’s mistress.”