“What is my second option?” Walis licked his fingertips and brushed a bit of hair from his forehead. His hand trembled.
“That you sign this piece of paper,” Adamat produced a paper from his shirt pocket and slid it up next to the confession. “And in return you will receive a pardon from the king for whatever … wrongdoings … you have been involved with through this whole affair. Aleksandre and a few other members of your family will be sacrificed but you, my lord, will remain safe.”
Walis ran his eyes over the paper which Adamat had given him. He paused, picked it up, and read it again. “Do you know what this says?”
“I was not privy,” Adamat said. He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to know. Demands, most likely. A tithe to the Adran cabal. Concession of property to the crown. And, Adamat did know, a promise to point the finger at Aleksandre for this whole affair, including Melany’s murder.
Walis read the paper a third time, then a fourth, very slowly. Adamat’s shirt soaked completely now. He could feel the perspiration beading on his forehead and hoped Walis was too high on mala to notice.
There would be no investigation if Walis said no, of course. Aleksandre was already under arrest, and the conspiracy would still be pinned on him, but the cabal had no interest in investigating one of the noble families. Adamat needed Walis to sign that paper, or he would get away with this whole affair without even a slap on the wrist.
“Personally,” Adamat said as nonchalantly as possible, “I would rather you take the first option, my lord. You and your family tried to destroy my life. I would relish the opportunity to do the same to yours.”
Walis’ eyes tightened. He leaned forward, examining Adamat over the paper in his hand, and then leaned back again. What was he thinking? Would he call Adamat’s bluff?
Walis stared at the paper in his hand for nearly five minutes. Adamat felt the seconds ticking by, willing him to make a decision.
Finally, excruciatingly, Walis reached for his pocket. He produced a pen and smoothed the paper out on the table with one hand and scrawled his signature on the bottom. He slid the paper over to Adamat. “My pardon?” he asked.
“First,” Adamat said, “we need the location of your powder mage.”
The fight, the newspaper said, was quick and brutal.
Four members of the Adran Royal Cabal and an entire company of their personal guards had descended on a block of tenements in the docklands of Adopest to arrest the powder mage. He managed to kill three guardsmen and wound a Privileged before he himself was killed in the melee. An entire block burned down from the sorcery unleashed, and two dozen civilians were dead.
There was no mention at all of Adamat’s involvement in finding the powder mage, and the newspaper article announcing the disgrace of Commissioner Aleksandre and his involvement in the murder of the mistress of a local businessman was on an entirely different page.
Adamat lowered his paper and picked up his coffee, blowing gently to dispel some of the heat. “Do these horrid clashes of violence and conspiracy always claim innocent lives?” he asked.
“Not always,” White said. She sat across from him, having refused coffee, and watched the other people in the cafe as they broke their morning fast. “Usually,” she admitted a moment later. “I’ve seen better results. And far worse.”
“The newspaper,” Adamat said, “Doesn’t even mention his name. Do you know what it was?”
White shook her head. “Walis didn’t even know. Just called him the powder mage.” Her eyes, Adamat noticed, seemed to smile again, brighter than they had before. The rest of her face remained as unmoved as marble.
“Is this thing over?” Adamat asked. “For certain?”
“It is,” White said. “The powder mage has been eliminated and I’ve passed on the rest of this business with Aleksandre and the Kemptin family along to underlings.”
“Genetrie was beheaded this morning,” Adamat said, noting the small announcement at the bottom of page four of the newspaper. “You’ll take care of her son?”
“I’m not a wet nurse.” White paused, then the very corners of her cheeks lifted a fraction of an inch. It took Adamat several moments to realize it was a joke. Was that … a smile? “Another thing I’ve passed on to subordinates,” she went on. “But yes. I keep my word.”
Adamat breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” White looked around, as if seeking a waiter, then seemed to think better of it. “Are you sure you don’t want more out of this? You served the cabal well. We have a reputation as vengeful and violent, but we also reward those who deserve it.”
“I was doing my civic duty,” Adamat said, ducking his head.
“I could give you a job. Something that suits your talents. It pays much better than working for the police.”
“I …” Adamat paused then laughed at himself for even considering it for the slightest moment.
“Is something funny?”
“No, I’m sorry. I have a wife and we’re hoping to have children soon. I hope I don’t offend when I say that I’d rather not work for the cabal.” And I don’t want to be beholden to them, either. Rewards always come with strings attached.
“I think I understand.” White stood and brushed off the front of her jacket. “I’ve made sure that Walis does not come after you or your family in reprisal. I realize that your talent prevents you from following my advice, but I suggest that you forget this entire affair.”
“I would very much like to,” Adamat said. “And thank you.”
White gazed through the window, as if examining something far away. “Farewell Detective Adamat. I have met very few good men. I think that you are one of them. Do nothing to change that.”
Epilogue
The memorial service took place in the middle of the week at one of the small Kresim chapels just outside the old city walls north of Adopest. The weather as cold and blustery, but the sun shone through the chapel’s stained-glass windows and warmed the pews and altar. Upon the latter sat an urn decorated in gold and silver leaf.
Adamat entered the chapel, careful not to let the door slam behind him, and turned to find the chapel empty except for one lone figure sitting on the foremost pew with head bowed. He felt his heart fall. Had no one come? He made his way up the rows and up to the front, where he sat down next to Ricard Tumblar.
They sat in silence for several moments. Was Ricard praying? Adamat wondered. That was uncharacteristic of him.
Finally, Ricard raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot, but face lined with grief, the front of his suit rumpled. He cleared his throat, looked over his shoulder at the empty chapel, and cleared it again.
Adamat slipped him a thin leather case. “Your cheque book,” he said. “Aleksandre admitted to having a forger duplicate your signature. Am I late?”
“What? Oh, no. Melany’s family is all in Deliv. I’m the only one in this damned city who knew her.”
“I’m sorry, Ricard.”
Ricard dragged one sleeve across his nose. “If you thought I had commitment issues before, it’s only going to get worse from here.” He snorted, a half-laugh half-sob, and took a moment to regain his composure. He shook his head. “Adamat, I’m sorry about that thing with Cora.”
Adamat grimaced. This was neither the time nor the place. “My poor cousin, Ricard. You broke her heart.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“But you should have expected it. She was wounded so deeply she left the country. She won’t even return my letters, probably because I’m the one who introduced the two of you.”