“Damn you to the pit!” He grabbed Ka-poel by the front of her long duster. His hands were shaking. “Don’t scare me like that.”
She looked up at him with big green eyes that drank in the moonlight. He let go of her jacket and smoothed the front of his own. “Damn,” he said. “You spooked the pit out of me. What are you doing out here?”
Ka-poel pointed to her eyes and then to him.
“Watching me? What in Kresimir’s name for?”
She shrugged.
Taniel cuffed her gently on the back of her head. She’d cut her hair even shorter, almost above her ears. Taniel walked back into the street and sat down on a stoop. Ka-poel made to walk off.
“Get over here,” Taniel said. He made sure his voice was not unkind. She sidled up beside him like a girl whose father had threatened a lashing, but who knew that an innocent smile would get her out of it. “Why didn’t you tell me that Gavril asked you to go on his sortie?”
Ka-poel raised one eyebrow at him. She pointed to her throat.
“Yes, I know you can’t talk,” Taniel said. He rolled his eyes. “You damn well come up with a way to tell me things when you want.”
Ka-poel pursed her lips.
“Don’t play coy with me. You do it all the time. I want an answer.”
She hugged herself, and then pointed to Taniel. Taniel shook his head. She thumped one hand against her chest, over her heart, and pointed to him again. You… love me? No, that can’t be right. He shook his head. Ka-poel sighed. She mimed swinging a sword, and then raised the other arm.
“Shield?” Taniel said.
She nodded, and pointed at him.
“Shield me? Protect me? You want to protect me? What the pit? You’re what, fifteen years old? You shouldn’t be trying to protect me. You’re barely past playing with dolls. Well…” Taniel remembered the doll she made of Julene, and what it did. “You still play with dolls. Dangerously. But you shouldn’t be protecting me.”
Taniel imagined himself at fifteen. A headstrong, lanky boy with straight black hair and just the beginnings of a beard. He had filled out since then, grown stronger, taller, and already bore the scars of a seasoned soldier. He felt old and he was barely twenty-two.
Ka-poel turned her back on him.
“Hey, don’t…”
She folded her arms.
Taniel stood up, came up behind her. She flashed her fingers at him rapidly.
“What?”
She did it again.
“Nineteen? Oh, you? You’re nineteen.” Taniel was taken aback. “I always thought you were a kid. Dynize are married off by sixteen.”
She shook her head, still not looking at him, and pointed at herself.
“Not you, eh?”
She nodded.
“Well, damn it, I don’t care how old you are, I don’t want you protecting me.”
She turned around suddenly. Their faces were close enough for him to smell her breath. It was sweet, like honey, and Taniel wondered absently what she’d been eating.
Too bad, she mouthed.
Taniel squared his jaw. Damned girl. “Why are you so worried about me?” he asked slowly.
She leaned in closer to him, their lips almost touching. He searched her dark eyes. They caught the starlight. There was mischief in those eyes and a smirk on her lips. Taniel felt his heart thump. She whirled and was gone, racing down the street.
Taniel inhaled sharply, watching her go. “What was that?” he said quietly. He licked his lips and wondered what she tasted like. He pushed the thought from his mind. She was a servant, an uneducated savage. He shoved his hands in his pocket and headed down the street, hoping that she wouldn’t be there when he got back to his room at the officers’ barracks.
Chapter 30
The streets at the west end of Adopest’s dock district were anything but quiet at half past one in the morning. Singing floated into the streets from the bars and bawdy houses, and more than a few groups of drunks had taken their merriment out onto the cobbles, shaking their fists at the wet sky and spitting bad poetry at anyone who’d listen.
Adamat pressed himself into a dark corner, collar drawn up around his neck, wrapped tightly in a long black coat with a bowler hat to keep off the rain and shadow his face. SouSmith waited in another corner, the big boxer surprisingly invisible in a patch of darkness two sizes too small for him. Adamat kept his eyes open and cane handy, ready to fix either of them on anyone sober enough to notice him.
The bawdy house opposite the street was a quiet affair compared with the rest. Its clientele was wealthier than most and its outward appearance was that of a butcher’s shed – the place was called Molly’s Market, and it didn’t accept new customers without a recommendation. A number of hulking men with big fists and small brains crouched under an awning near the door. They were bodyguards and bouncers, whispering quietly to one another as they struggled to stay warm. A couple had noticed Adamat and cast him dark looks, but none had come over to talk to him yet.
The door to the bawdy house opened, giving a brief glimpse of expensive furnishings and black lace. Ricard Tumblar stopped in the doorway and slipped a few coins to the man holding the door open before exiting into the rain.
Ricard walked with the gait of a man who’d drunk a lot but knew his limits. He tipped his hat to the group of bodyguards. Two of them detached themselves from the rest and came to his side. Ricard waved off one that offered him a parasol.
Adamat waited until Ricard was close before stepping out of the shadows. He tipped back his hat to be recognized in the dim lamplight. Ricard’s bodyguards stepped forward, reaching for knives, as the bouncers under the canopy stood warily. Muggers were discouraged around Molly’s Market.
“Call off your boys,” Adamat said. “I just want to talk.”
Ricard put up one hand for his guards, another on his heart. “Adamat, by Kresimir you scared me. What is it?”
Adamat twitched his head and took a few steps away from the guards. Ricard followed him.
“You know you can come to me at my office anytime,” Ricard said. “My door is always open.” Ricard wasn’t wearing a hat and he put his hand up to keep the rain out of his eyes.
“I’ve got a warning for you,” Adamat said. “As an old friend.”
Ricard had never taken kindly to threats, whether real or implied, and Adamat put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him.
“There are circumstances,” Adamat said, “that are forcing me to consider you a prime suspect as Tamas’s traitor.”
Ricard’s mouth formed a hard line, but he remained silent. Now was the gamble. If Ricard was indeed the traitor, he’d set his goons on Adamat.
“You need to clean your house, Ricard,” Adamat said. “Kez spies are being smuggled in over the Adsea. Kez Wardens, too. Tamas is not pleased. I think Tamas will hold off for now, because he needs your ships desperately to ferry his men to the Gates.”
“What does this have to do with me?” Ricard said. His tone was controlled, but there was anger there.
Adamat poked him in the chest for emphasis. “The docks are your territory, my friend. Tamas knows what’s going on down here, and if he feels threatened, he’ll shut down everything. All the trade to Novi and Unice, all your factories and mills.”
Ricard’s eyes went wide. “He can’t. That’d tear the heart out of Adopest, and the union would be up in arms.”
“He might have to, if he thinks he’s got enemies down here.”
Ricard seemed to think on this for a moment. “Who else knows you are here?”
Adamat’s heart leapt. He gripped his cane a bit tighter, not willing to go down without a fight. If luck held, he might fend the three of them off until SouSmith could cross the street.
“No one,” Adamat said.
“No one sent you?”
“I came on my own.”
Ricard gazed at him for a moment, his eyes weighing the situation, as if deciding where to put the knife. Adamat considered calling out to SouSmith.