“We have a clue,” Adamat said. “Teef said the man was a pitrunner.”
“I’m not familiar with the term.”
“It’s a derogatory slang for a barrowman. Someone who works in the mines up in the northern mountains, rolling wheelbarrows out of the deepest coal pits. It’s one of the worst, hardest jobs in Adro.”
“You think he’s a convict? Someone from the Mountainwatch?”
“No,” Adamat said. He half-closed his eyes, running through the information stored in his mind. “If I recall correctly, which I usually do, pitrunner is geographically specific. Refers to barrowmen in the Kemptin Region, in mines owned by the Kemptin family.” He finally forced himself to look White in the eye. “Employment records should be available at the Public Archives. Are you any good at research?”
“Quite.”
“We need information on all the barrowmen who worked there over the last two years.”
“That sounds … tedious.”
“Paperwork is a fantastic way of tracking people down because they rarely bother to cover their trail even when they should. If you can take care of that, I’ll do a little sniffing and see if I can find out who the powder mage’s cousin is among the Brickmen.”
“I thought you said that wouldn’t be necessary.”
“I don’t think it will. But it doesn’t hurt to have two leads. I won’t try to approach him without you.”
White’s nostrils flared and she watched Adamat for a moment before giving a curt nod.
Adamat walked with her out to the street, where she took their cab and headed north toward the Public Archives. He waited until the cab had disappeared before going looking for his own. It would have been easier to just share a cab. Their destinations were quite close indeed. But Adamat didn’t want her to know that.
He found the closest cab and paid the driver before getting inside.
“Where to, sir?”
“Sablethorn Prison,” Adamat said. It was time to talk to Ricard Tumblar.
Across the city square from the precinct building sat Sablethorn Prison. It was a black, basalt obelisk of a building, a nail jutting from the city center high into the sky in testament to the Iron King’s merciless imprisonment of those who opposed him. It was as much, if not more, a statement to the public than the guillotine permanently fashioned in the center of the square.
The sheer size of the building meant it served as incarceration for political prisoners and dissidents, as well as the city jail. Its proximity to the First Precinct building only made it all the more convenient.
Adamat showed his credentials to the jailer just inside the big main doors and was directed up three flights of stairs where another jailer took him down a long hall and thumped twice on a thick wooden door before unlocking and opening it for Adamat.
“Just give a yell if you need anything,” the jailer said.
It was a small room with a single barred window that faced away from the main square. There was a cot, a chair, and a table with writing implements. The only light came from the glow of coal stove in one corner, next to which squatted Ricard Tumblar.
He still wore the same jacket he had on yesterday morning. His hair was frayed, his clothes rumpled, the collar of his shirt stained with wine and sweat. He glared up at Adamat in hurt confusion.
As if I had anything to do with you being in here. “How much did you have to bribe a guard to get a noble’s cell?” Adamat asked.
“Just a hundred krana,” Ricard said. “I guess they were told to put me with the rabble, but I did a favor for the head jailor’s cousin a few months back. Adamat, why am I here? I’ve been demanding to see you since they brought me in here yesterday and no one will listen to me. You said I wasn’t a suspect.”
Adamat looked for someplace to hang his hat. He gave up and kept it in hand. “I was taken off the case.”
“What? Why?”
“Someone wants you to take the fall for this, Ricard,” Adamat said. “Someone who can make it happen.”
“Of course they do! That’s why they tried to frame me. But I didn’t do it, and … “ Ricard trailed off. “You mean someone in the police?”
“Or someone who can exert a great deal of influence on them. The commissioner himself took me off the case and handed it to his incompetent nephew.” Adamat thought of telling Ricard what the commissioner had said about seeing him to the guillotine, but that would have been cruel. Ricard didn’t need to hear that now.
“So I’m strapped to the millwheel, am I?”
“It appears so.”
“Shit.”
“Indeed. Who would do this?” Adamat asked.
“Who wants me dead, you mean?”
“Dead? They don’t just want you dead. They want you discredited and imprisoned. I want to know who wants you out of the way so much that they’re willing to kill innocent people-people like Melany-to do it.”
A slow realization began to spread across Ricard’s face. Adamat waited for the candle to light behind his eyes. Ricard had always had the habit of being willfully naive. Everyone was a friend to him, a possible business partner or lover. It had gotten him into trouble on many occasions-but the attitude had also made him a wealthy man.
“What have you been up to, Ricard?” Adamat asked. “We haven’t spoken since … for a while. Last I read in the papers your latest attempt at unionizing the dock workers had been shut down by the police.”
Ricard waved dismissively. “That was months ago.”
“And you’re doing something new?” Adamat urged.
“Yes. I’ve decided to go straight to the top. I’ve managed to get a bill sponsored in the House of Nobles that calls for limited legalization of labor unions. It’s a small thing, really, but vital to the future of unionization. They’ll be voting on it in the House of Nobles next week.”
“Is that why you rented a room so close to the House?”
“It is,” Ricard said. “I’ve been in the city all week trying to gather enough support for the nobility to vote it through.”
“Why haven’t I read about this in the newspapers?”
Ricard snorted. “Because the Wian family owns most every newspaper in Adopest, and they’re vehemently against unionization. Everything comes down to a vote by the nobility, but if it has no popular support no one will agree to it.”
Adamat scratched his chin, looking at the embers of the coal stove, and shook his head. “I don’t see how this is important enough to kill over.”
“The biggest businessmen in Adro are against unionization. It’ll force them to pay higher wages for both skilled and unskilled labor. It’ll cut millions out of their profits. Some of these blood suckers would kill over a thousand krana, let alone what unionization will cost them.”
“I can see that,” Adamat agreed. “Can you give me a list of names?”
“What names?” Ricard asked, looking up.
“These businessmen. The ones who are the most vocally against you.”
“I thought they took you off the case?”
“They did. But something new has come up and I may have the opportunity to poke at your case.” Adamat forced a smile. “For old times’ sake.”
The look on Ricard’s face was almost worth the shit Adamat would get in if the commissioner found out Adamat was going anywhere near Ricard.
“Bless you,” Ricard said. “Yes, hold on. I’ll write them down.”
Adamat waited while Ricard had listed a half dozen family names as well as nineteen particular individuals. He memorized the list over Ricard’s shoulder, but folded it and put it in his pocket in case he needed it for evidence later. “I’m curious,” he said, “You’re a businessman yourself. Why are you for unionization? You’ll have to pay your own workers more.”
“I already pay my workers more,” Ricard said proudly, “and I have hard evidence that better pay and reduced hours actually increase productivity. I’m convinced that unionization will someday turn Adro into the industrial powerhouse of the Nine.”
“And what’s in it for you?”
Ricard managed a sly smile despite his disheveled state. “Someone has to head up the union, don’t they?”