“Tamas has executed the entire cabal.”
Uskan froze. His nostrils flared in and out, his lips bunched in a fierce frown. “I suppose there will be no redress for this, then.”
Adamat shook his head. “Let’s take a look at what we have.”
They spent some time with the books and they found eight different places where smudged writing could have been references to Kresimir’s Promise. Yet the passages were indecipherable.
“That last book,” Adamat said. “The one in the vice-chancellor’s office…?”
“Yes,” Uskan said absently, scratching his head. “ ‘In Service of the King.’ It outlines the duties of the royal cabals in their protection of the kings of the Nine. A very famous work.”
Adamat smoothed the front of his coat. “Let’s see if he left his door unlocked.”
Uskan returned the books and chased Adamat out into the courtyard of the library. “He won’t have left it unlocked,” he said. “Let’s just wait until he gets back. The vice-chancellor is a private sort of man.”
“I’m on an investigation,” Adamat said as he entered the main administration building.
“That doesn’t mean you have the right to look through other people’s studies,” Uskan said. “Besides, the door will be locked.” He smiled triumphantly at Adamat when the doorknob rattled but did not turn in Adamat’s hand.
“No matter,” Adamat said. He crouched down and removed the tiny set of lockpicks he kept in one boot. Uskan’s eyes grew wide.
“What? No, you can’t do that!”
“When did you say the vice-chancellor will be back?”
“Not until late,” Uskan said. “I…” He realized his mistake at once as Adamat began fiddling with the lock. Uskan huffed and slumped against the wall. “I should have told you, ‘Any minute,’” he muttered.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Adamat said.
“Yes, I am. And I won’t be able to lie to the vice-chancellor when he asks if someone’s been in his office.”
“Come, now. He won’t know.”
“Of course he will, how can…”
The lock clicked and Adamat pushed the door open gently. The office inside was more representative of what one might expect from a university type. Books and papers were everywhere. There were plates of half-eaten food on chairs, tables, even the floor. The entire room was walled by bookshelves twice as tall as a man, and those were overflowing, sagging with the weight of too many books stacked haphazardly upon each other.
“Don’t move anything,” Uskan said. “He knows exactly where he left every item. He’ll know if…” Uskan fell silent at a look from Adamat. “Here, let me find the book,” he said sullenly.
Adamat stayed at the edge of the paper-and-ink jungle that was the vice-chancellor’s office while Uskan looked for the missing book with the natural grace of a secretary. Papers were lifted, plates and books shifted, but everything was returned to its exact place.
Adamat stood on his toes and surveyed the room. “Is this it?” Adamat asked, pointing to the center of the vice-chancellor’s desk.
Uskan pulled his head out from beneath the vice-chancellor’s chair. “Oh. Yes.”
Adamat stepped gingerly through the room. He lifted the book carefully and began to leaf through it. Uskan came up beside him.
“No damaged pages,” Adamat reported. He scanned the pages, flipping through, looking for just two words to stand out. He found his prize in the book’s afterword, on the last page.
Adamat read aloud: “And they will guard Kresimir’s Promise with their lives, for if it is broken, all the Nine might perish.” He scanned the page, and then the page after, and then the page before. There were no other references. He scowled at the pages. “This doesn’t make sense.”
Uskan’s finger stabbed the middle of the book, right at the spine.
“What?”
“More pages missing,” Uskan said. “Half the afterword.” His voice trembled with rage.
Adamat looked closer. Sure enough, the pages had been torn clean from the book. The binding was different on this volume, making it difficult to tell that the pages were missing at all. He sighed. “Where can I find another copy of this book?”
Uskan shook his head. “Maybe the Public Archives. I think Nopeth University has a copy, too.”
“I’m not sitting in a coach for the better part of a month just to ‘maybe’ find a book at Nopeth University,” Adamat said. He snapped the book shut and returned it to the vice-chancellor’s desk. “I’ll have to check the Public Archives.”
“The riots,” Uskan protested as Adamat made his way to the door.
Adamat paused.
“They’ll have it locked up,” Uskan said. “The Archives contain tax records, family histories, even safe-deposit boxes. They have guards, Adamat.”
That was only a problem if they caught him. “Thanks for your help,” Adamat said. “Let me know if you find anything else.”
Chapter 7
Taniel eyed the mob moving systematically down the street and wondered if they’d give him much trouble. The city was in chaos; wagons overturned, buildings set ablaze, bodies left in the street to fall victim to looters and worse. The smoke hanging like a curtain over the city seemed as if it would never blow away.
Taniel flipped through his sketchbook randomly. The pages fell open to a portrait of Vlora. He paused there for just a moment before he gripped the spine of the book in one hand and tore the page out. He crumpled it up and threw it to the street. He stared at the jagged rip in his book and instantly regretted damaging it. He didn’t have money for a new sketchbook. He’d sold everything of value in order to buy a diamond ring in Fatrasta. That damned diamond ring he’d left nailed to a fop in Jileman. He could still see the blood spreading from the man’s shoulder, crimson dripping from the ring he’d slid on the man’s sword before he shoved it in. Taniel should have kept the ring. He could have pawned it. He forced a lump down in his throat. He regretted not saying something – anything – to Vlora as she stood in the bedroom door, sheets clutched to her chest.
He checked the time on a nearby clock tower. Four hours until his father’s soldiers would begin to reassert order. Any of the mob left out after midnight would have to deal with Field Marshal Tamas’s men. The soldiers might have a hard time of it. There were a lot of desperate people in Adopest these days.
“What do you think of these mercenaries?” Taniel asked. He bent over and picked up the rumpled sketch of Vlora and smoothed it on his leg, then folded it and tucked it into his sketchbook.
Ka-poel shrugged. She watched the approaching mob. They were led by a big man, a farmer with worn, old overalls and a makeshift truncheon. Probably moved to the city to work in a factory but couldn’t join the union. He saw Taniel and Ka-poel standing in the doorway of a closed shop and turned toward them, raising his truncheon. More victims to be had.
Taniel ran a finger along the fringe of his buckskin jacket and touched the butt of a pistol at his hip. “You don’t want any trouble here, friend,” he said. Ka-poel’s hands tightened into little fists.
The farmer’s eyes fell to the silver powder keg pin on Taniel’s chest. He came up short and said something to the man behind him. They turned away suddenly. The rest followed, dark looks for Taniel, but none of them willing to get mixed up with a powder mage.
Taniel breathed a sigh of relief. “Those two hired thugs have been gone a long time.”
Julene, the Privileged mercenary, and Gothen, the magebreaker, had left to follow the Privileged’s trail almost an hour ago. She was close, they’d said, and they’d scout her out, then come back for Taniel and Ka-poel. Taniel was beginning to think they’d been abandoned.
Ka-poel jerked her thumb at her own chest and then shaded her eyes, thrusting her head out as if looking for something.