“Prime has fled,” a voice said.
Tamas turned to find Adamat in the doorway, his face flushed and breath short from a run up the stairs.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, closing the door behind him.
“Were you invited?” Tamas asked.
“I invited him,” Ricard said.
Tamas wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “Thank Adom you did. This council needs a voice of reason.”
“I’m afraid I have very little of that to offer,” Adamat said.
“Olem, see to the door. Go on, Inspector.”
“Wait!” Ricard said, pointing at Ondraus. “He’s not one of us anymore. He shouldn’t be here to hear any of it.”
Adamat leaned heavily on his cane and swept his gaze across the room. “He already knows.”
“Oh.”
Tamas nodded. “Inspector.”
“Prime Lektor has fled the country. Perhaps even the Nine. His assistant claims that Prime muttered about something worse coming before he went, then stole away in the middle of the night.”
Tamas cocked his head to one side. “What the pit could he have meant? The man stood at our side when Kresimir was knocking at our door. What could frighten him more than that?”
“I thought he was supposed to be some kind of ancient Privileged,” Lady Winceslav said. “Was that a hoax? Was he just an addled professor after all?”
“No hoax, I believe, my lady,” Adamat said. “I suspect that Prime fled because he discovered what is really going on.”
“And what is really going on, pray tell?” Ricard asked.
“Lord Claremonte is the two-faced god of Brudania. Brude himself.”
The room was silent for several moments, and Tamas put his chin in his hand, considering the implications.
“Surely you can’t be serious,” Lady Winceslav said.
Tamas said, “We’ve already met two gods. Why not more in this mad fray? Claremonte has been behind the scenes for some time, manipulating events. It would make sense.” Even as he said the words, he didn’t want to believe it. Another god, here in Adopest, playing with mortals like they were pieces on a game board? The very thought made his blood boil. “What evidence do you have?”
“I’d rather discuss that with you alone, Field Marshal,” Adamat said.
Ricard stood up. “Oh, come now. We are all on the same side! What could–” There was a knock on the door and Ricard stopped midsentence. “What is it?” he yelled.
Olem stuck his head in the room and addressed Tamas. “Sir,” he said. “Someone to see you.”
“Who is it?” Tamas snapped.
“It’s Lord Claremonte, sir.”
Adamat had the very sudden and very powerful urge to hide beneath the sofa. He looked toward Tamas, who, to his credit, remained stone-faced.
“What does he want?” Tamas asked.
“A moment to speak to the council.”
Tamas lifted a finger to his bodyguard, who crossed the room and leaned down. Tamas whispered something in his ear and the man gave one nod, touching the butt of his pistol, before he returned to the hallway.
“This is a bad idea,” Adamat said, almost without thinking. He glanced at Ondraus, who had nearly lost his life to Claremonte’s men just yesterday. The old man was stiff, his fingers clutching the armrests of his chair, eyes on the door as a rabbit might watch a circling falcon. Adamat remembered Ondraus’s suspicion that one of his lieutenants had been captured and wondered if perhaps Ondraus’s other identity had been compromised. Claremonte would, rightfully, want his head.
Tamas didn’t answer Adamat, but rather said, “We shall receive our guest with patience and courtesy. Is that understood, Taniel?”
Adamat glanced at the field marshal’s son, having almost forgotten his presence. He was shocked by what he saw. Captain Two-Shot’s hands were balled into fists and he leaned forward on his toes like a dog straining at a leash. There was a hunger in his eyes, and fury. Adamat looked to the field marshal for reassurance that he would keep his son restrained, only to find a glint of that same hunger and fury in Tamas’s eyes. It was well hidden, and the rest of the council seemed oblivious to it, but to Adamat it was plain as day.
He glanced at the sofa, wondering if he could fit beneath it, then eyed the walls for a closet door. Somewhere – anywhere – he could hide.
It was too late. The door opened and Tamas’s bodyguard stepped inside. “Lord Claremonte,” he announced. A moment later Claremonte came in, handing his hat and cane to Olem.
“Gentlemen. Gentlewoman,” Claremonte said, an ingratiating smile on his face. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. It is a pleasure to–”
Olem unceremoniously tossed Claremonte’s hat and cane on the sofa.
“–a pleasure to see you all. Ondraus, my friend! Are we still on for lunch today?”
“We are,” Ondraus croaked.
Stop looking so guilty, Adamat thought, looking furiously at Ondraus. To his relief, the old Reeve shifted to get comfortable in his seat and repeated the words somewhat more confidently.
“Excellent! Lady Winceslav, it’s an honor! Now that this dreadful war is over, we must discuss deploying your troops to Gurla. The Trading Company could use your soldiers badly. And Ricard, my esteemed opponent!” Claremonte dipped at the waist, managing a bow that was both graceful and seemingly unironic.
Claremonte’s eyes swept over Taniel Two-Shot. Adamat thought he sensed the slightest hesitation there. Then Claremonte stepped over to the desk and offered his hand to Tamas. “Field Marshal. I am your greatest admirer. I am so pleased to see you return from the disastrous expedition to Kez and end this war once and for all. It’s a relief to us all.”
“My Lord Brude,” Tamas said, taking Claremonte’s hand for a moment.
Claremonte’s smile widened slightly, and Adamat would be damned if his eyes hadn’t twinkled. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “Adamat discovered it. I told Lord Vetas that the good inspector was twice as clever as he gave him credit.” He turned to Adamat and swept an imaginary hat from his head. “You did well, Inspector. What gave it away? No! Wait. Don’t tell me. It’s far more mysterious to let it go unsaid.”
Adamat felt his teeth clench. He didn’t trust himself to speak. All the fear and trepidation was gone, replaced by anger. All Claremonte had to do was mention Vetas’s name to remind Adamat of all the horror that man had inflicted on Adamat’s family.
Relax, he told himself. This was Claremonte’s goal. To put them all on edge. And it was working. Lady Winceslav was uneasy, Taniel Two-Shot looked ready to murder, Ondraus was queasy, and Ricard didn’t seem to know whether to run or fight.
Only Tamas seemed unperturbed, and only just. If Claremonte’s eyes twinkled from amusement, Tamas’s twinkled as if he was imagining a very slow, painful way for Claremonte to die.
“Now.” Claremonte clapped his hands loudly, making Ricard jump halfway out of his shoes. “On to business.” He strode across the room and deposited himself in a wingback chair opposite Tamas’s desk and eyed Taniel for a moment. “I’m the last god left in the Nine. Kresimir is restrained and Adom is dead. None of the rest of my brothers and sisters will join this fray, I can promise you that.
“I imagine you all think I’m about to make some inane threats, but you do me injustice with the thought. Unlike my elder sibling, I am a modern god. I understand that these things can’t be forced. I could kill you all and enslave the Nine, but that would hardly be sporting. Within years there would be rebellion and powerful Privileged rising up to challenge me, and frankly I don’t have the constitution for that kind of thing. I don’t like confrontation. If Adom were here, he would tell you that’s true.”
“Convenient that he is not,” Tamas said.
“Sadly, you should say,” Claremonte reprimanded sternly. “I was always rather fond of Adom. He was the only one who ever took me seriously. And his food was to die for.” He drew the word “die” out for several moments and dramatically threw his head to one side.