The body slumped beneath him, dead.
Tamas staggered away from the creature. His head was light, his energy spent. His body was soaked in blood and he wasn’t even sure how much of it was his. The cuts on his chest were deep enough to need stitches and somewhere outside the powder trance, distantly, he could feel them burning. His wrists and arms hurt, old bones not used to the power he’d unleashed. He took a deep breath, his eyes falling on Pitlaugh.
The old wolfhound lay on the corner of a rug. Hrusch emerged from his hiding place behind a divan and approached Pitlaugh, whining lightly, nuzzling him. Pitlaugh’s back was twisted sharply, his rear legs sticking off at an odd angle. He opened his eyes as Tamas gazed upon him, looking up pitifully.
“You did well, boy,” Tamas said softly. He stepped toward the door, then stopped when Pitlaugh tried to follow, dragging his legs behind him, whining loudly. Tamas felt his eyes burn.
It took him some time to reach the upper levels of the House of Nobles carrying Pitlaugh. Tamas found Dr. Petrik playing cards with some officers on the second floor. They stared at him as he entered the room, covered in blood, the wolfhound in his arms, Hrusch close on his heels.
Some time later Pitlaugh lay stretched out on a sofa. Petrik examined him while dozens of soldiers crowded the doorway, trying to see inside the room. A few loud curses made them move out of the way, then Olem appeared. He froze when he saw Tamas. Olem’s face was red, his eyes wide.
“Sir,” Olem said. His hands shook as he reached out to touch Tamas, as if making sure he was still alive. He wouldn’t look into Tamas’s eyes. “I’ve failed you,” he said.
“It’s not your fault,” Tamas said. “You couldn’t have known. I slipped off.”
“I should have been there.” Olem’s gaze fell on Pitlaugh. “I’m sorry, sir. By Kresimir, I…”
“You never failed,” Tamas said firmly. “You weren’t even there. Now I need you close by. Get messengers. I want every member of the council here within the hour. I don’t give a damn if they have to sprout wings to do it. Go. I want them to meet me in the room beneath the House of Nobles.”
Dr. Petrik approached. “There’s nothing I can do for him. Not even a skilled veterinarian could help him now.”
“Of course. Thank you, Doctor.”
Tamas took a pistol from Olem and went to the dog’s side. He ran his fingers gently between Pitlaugh’s eyes. “It’s all right, boy. Have peace.”
He felt something jolt inside him when the shot rang through the room. He knelt by Pitlaugh’s side for a few minutes, ignoring the commotion of guards checking on the pistol shot.
Tamas got to his feet and picked out a soldier at random. “Find me a hammer and spikes. Now.”
In the room below the House of Nobles, Tamas waited. He stared at the Warden’s broken body. These things were strong and difficult to kill, but the Kez had to know that Tamas could deal with one. It was only bad luck he’d not had powder on him when he was attacked. What was the purpose? To sow distrust? To bring chaos into Tamas’s inner circle?
If that was their aim, they’d succeeded.
His council came in, one by one, and he directed them to chairs on one side of the room, ignoring protests and questions until every one of them had arrived. He stood before them, hands folded, still in his blood-covered shirt. The Warden hung from the wall behind him by a spike in one wrist, crimson drops falling from his body to splatter on the stones below.
“One of you has betrayed me,” Tamas said. “I will find out who.”
He left them there to contemplate the Warden’s corpse.
Adamat felt a shadow fall across his shoulders and sensed a man standing over him. He touched the cane leaning against his knee and set his tea on the iron cafe table. He watched the shadow for a moment, remembered the sound the fall of approaching boots had made on the cobbles, and moved his hand away from the cane.
“Field Marshal,” Adamat said without looking up.
Tamas tossed a newspaper down next to Adamat’s tea and took the seat opposite. He held up his hand for a waiter.
“How’d you know it was me?”
“Military boots, military step,” Adamat said, taking a sip of his tea. “I’ve not done work for anyone else in the military in ten years.”
“It could have been an aide, sent to find you.”
Adamat shrugged. “Each person has a particular cadence to their step. Yours is well defined.”
“Fascinating. I trust Ondraus gave you enough money to help with your debts?”
Adamat wasn’t surprised that Tamas knew he had debt problems. Adamat made a quick study of the field marshal; there were bruises on his face, a few cuts. It looked like he’d been in a fistfight. He looked tired, spent.
“Certainly,” Adamat said. Though not enough, he thought. If he received a dozen good jobs by the end of the month, he might be able to pay Lord Vetas. “I appreciate your generosity.”
“Well worth it.” Tamas spoke quietly, his neck craned to watch people passing in the street. He turned away from the street after a few moments of silence and drew an envelope from his jacket. He set it on the table, on top of the newspaper.
“I have another job for you,” he said.
Adamat did his best to conceal his eagerness. “Not the dying words of a sorcerer again, I hope?”
“Not yet.” Tamas thanked the waiter who brought him his tea. He drank it in one long sip, not seeming to notice the heat of it. When he finished, he removed a handful of coins from his pocket. He grunted in disgust at what he saw, then tossed a coin on the table.
“Find out who’s trying to kill me.”
He stood and left. Adamat looked down at the coin. It had a likeness of Tamas’s silhouette on the front.
Adamat took the envelope, tapping it against the tabletop. He flipped over the newspaper. The Adopest Daily. “the attempt on the life of field marshal tamas.”
He gazed at the envelope. He needed the work. Yet this was dangerous. It gave Lord Vetas every reason to come back, looking to blackmail Adamat into telling him about Tamas’s inner circle. It also put Adamat – and his family – in danger from the traitor. He’d planned on summoning Faye back to Adopest. That wouldn’t do now… not yet.
He opened the envelope. Within was a check for ten thousand krana. A small, folded bit of paper fell on the tabletop. He snatched it up before a breeze could blow it away.
“ ‘Six people other than me knew the location of the room in which the attempt was made on my life.’” A list of names followed, the names of Tamas’s council. Adamat wiped sweat from his brow as he read over the names a second time and wondered if ten thousand krana was enough. At the end of the note, there were simply two words: “Acquire protection.”
Adamat pushed the check and the note into his pocket and decided he’d released SouSmith from his employ a little too early.
Chapter 16
“Sir, we’ve found out who Mihali is.”
Tamas looked up from his desk. For once, things were quiet. Not a Wings brigadier or a councillor or officer or secretary in sight. Olem was the first person Tamas had seen all morning, though he’d been stationed just outside the door.
“Mihali?”
Olem paused to light a cigarette. “The new chef.”
Tamas remembered the bowl of squash soup in the corner of his desk. It was regrettably empty. The stuff was as addictive as black powder. “Yes… Mihali,” Tamas said. “It took you long enough.”
“It’s been a distracting week.”
“That’s fair.”
“Mihali is the na-baron of Moaka,” Olem said. “He’s more commonly known by his professional title: Lord of the Golden Chefs.”
“And what does that mean?”
“The Golden Chefs is a culinary institute. The finest in the Nine. Graduates of their schools are coveted by the wealthiest families on four continents as private chefs. They cook for kings.”