He had none of that now. Only his hands and a shattered leg, and vision blurred by a concussion. He sank back onto the bed and felt moisture roll down his face. He turned away from Nikslaus as best he could.
The duke left him in silence. Even the Warden was gone. It was plain to see that Tamas could do nothing, and from the growing noise outside the room there was plenty else to be done than watch one broken old man.
Nikslaus’s voice was louder than the others. He gave orders with the arrogance of the nobility. Tamas forced his hands to stop shaking. He lifted his good leg and put one foot on the floor. He pushed himself up.
He nearly collapsed there. It took all of his strength to keep from falling flat on his face. He put one hand on the wall, the other on a bedpost. He pushed himself over to the window, hopping on one leg. He stopped only to vomit, the pain finally overcoming his gag suppression, and then he was at the window.
Tamas sank to the floor, careful to avoid the puddle of bile, and put his head against the cool wall. He could hear Nikslaus almost as clearly as if he stood next to him. Nikslaus either didn’t count on Tamas eavesdropping or didn’t care.
“We’ll take the long road to Adopest,” Nikslaus said in Kez. “I don’t care what the scouts say, I’ll not risk encountering those fools from the hunt.”
Tamas heard the gallop of approaching hooves. They stopped outside the window.
“Well?” Nikslaus said.
“We tracked down four more, my lord,” a deep voice responded. There was a guttural quality to the voice, so Tamas knew it was a Warden.
“Is that the last of them?” Nikslaus said.
“No telling. With our man dead, we don’t know how many men Ryze brought with him. I suspect we have them all.”
“Don’t underestimate that brigadier,” Nikslaus snarled. “He was one of Winceslav’s best. He’ll have had outriders in case anything happened. Leave two Wardens to hunt.”
“We had to dodge patrols. They’re looking for Tamas.”
“We’ll be gone before they reach us. Go help the others. We leave within the hour.”
With powder mages on his trail, Nikslaus would be in a hurry to get away. Tamas’s mood began to rise, only to plummet as logic set in. They had been hours away from the hunt. Half a day from Adopest. Sabon might not even know he was missing yet. And that was all based on the possibility that Nikslaus let the others get away. How many Wardens did he have with him? Did Nikslaus send them after Olem, Charlemund, and the rest?
Tamas gave a weary sigh. Even if they were to find him, what was he? Just an old man now. No more a powder mage.
Chapter 26
Adamat spent nearly a week investigating Ondraus the Reeve before making an appointment to interview the man. He almost canceled the appointment due to wild speculation that had reached the city that morning: Tamas disappearing from the Orchard Valley Hunt the day before, a rogue brigadier, sorcery in the King’s Forest. None of the rumors could be confirmed, so Adamat went on with the interview, though he had an unsettling feeling that he might no longer be employed.
He arrived at the reeve’s home at five past the hour, late for his meeting because he’d passed the house four times without finding it. The house itself was behind a hedgerow, wedged between two manors and easily mistaken for some kind of servants’ quarters. There was a small garden between the hedgerow and front step, meticulously cared for, not a blade of grass or flower petal out of place. The house was utilitarian – a simple A-frame made of fine, but not expensive, brick.
The door opened as Adamat lifted his hand to the knocker. An old woman peered up at him. She wore a drab maid’s frock, a simple wool shirt that went all the way down to her ankles.
“I’m here to–”
“See the reeve,” she cut him off. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t find…”
The old woman turned and hobbled away in the middle of his sentence. Adamat trailed off. He swallowed his annoyance and followed her into the house.
The inside was as unremarkable as the outside. The mantelpiece was clear of knickknacks, the shelves freshly dusted and also empty but for two rows of bookkeeper’s volumes. A single chair sat before an empty fireplace. There were three doorways. One led to an alcove of a kitchen, where the only sign of use was a fresh loaf of bread on the table. The second door was closed – presumably the bedroom – and the third door was open, showing the reeve sitting at a small desk in the corner, spectacles balanced on the tip of his nose as his finger ran across the page of a book of numbers.
The housekeeper clucked to herself and went into the kitchen, leaving Adamat to show himself in to the reeve. Adamat watched her for a moment, and wondered if the kitchen was used at all – there was no smell of baking, or undue heat from a cooking fire, so she must have bought the bread somewhere else. She turned and caught him watching her and shut the kitchen door.
Adamat turned his attention to the little man sitting at a desk. He’s more than he seemed, Ricard had warned. Well, what did he seem? A dusty bookkeeper. An accountant – though admittedly the finest one in Adro. So what more could he be? Anything, Adamat supposed.
“You’re late.” The reeve didn’t bother to look up from his book as Adamat entered.
“My apologies. The streets are awfully full, with the festival and all.” Adamat didn’t bother adding how unusual it was to hold appointments on a festival evening. Something told him the reeve didn’t actually enjoy having fun.
“Save the excuses for someone else. Don’t waste my time, Investigator,” the reeve said. “I didn’t try to have Tamas killed. I have neither the patience nor time to answer your questions. The ledgers still need to be kept in Tamas’s absence.” He made a face, realizing that he had let something slip.
“So he is missing?” Adamat asked.
The reeve glared at him.
Adamat examined the reeve for a moment. Ondraus was a small man, bent from decades of leaning over a desk, shoulders hunched. His face was long, his cheeks sallow, shoulders narrow. Ondraus was one of the most well known men in Adopest. This was quite the feat, considering that he rarely showed his face in public, he had never sat for a portrait, and he reportedly tried to alienate everyone he met. Adamat could see that the last seemed to hold true. He could also see that Ondraus would not be talking about Tamas’s disappearance.
Adamat’s weeklong investigation had turned up frustratingly little. The reeve handled the nation’s treasury – with the exception of the king’s purse, though there was a rumor that that had changed with Manhouch’s execution – from that little desk in the corner. He had an office on Joon Street, which he never visited, where a team of bookkeepers did most of the labor. Everything they did was double-checked by the reeve. He had no known hobbies, no known friends. His housekeeper had been with him for forty-some years, but no one considered them to be friends. He had one bodyguard, who went with him whenever he left the house, which was rare.
Rumor had it the reeve had ridden at the hunt, that he had been there when Tamas disappeared. Adamat couldn’t picture the man on a horse.
“You don’t seem the type of man to betray his country,” Adamat said. “As the city reeve you could undermine Adro from its very heart without Kez help. It’s not a question of money. My research indicates that you’re one of the wealthiest men in Adro. You receive two hundred thousand krana a year for services rendered, and you own three million acres of farmland in Fatrasta, half a million acres of Bakashcan coastline that includes a major port, a coal mine in Deliv, and half of a trading company in Kez. I do wonder at all the foreign stock. Do you not have faith in your country?”