Nila thought she heard a soft click from the opposite door of the carriage. She turned, but the carriage door was still closed.
“Hello?” she asked. When there was no response, she put her hand to her door latch and it occurred to her that in a camp of many tens of thousands, there didn’t seem to be anyone close to her carriage.
The opposite door suddenly swung open. Nila glimpsed a dark coat, a covered face, and the dull glint of steel in the moonlight. The carriage rocked as someone dove inside. A hand darted toward her.
Nila threw herself across the carriage, felt a knife catch in her skirts. She twisted away and heard a low curse in a man’s voice as her attacker tried to drag his blade from the cloth. She rolled onto the flat of the blade and kicked out at the man’s shoulder.
He pulled back with a grunt, the knife no longer in his hand, only to leap bodily upon her.
She caught him under the shoulders. He batted at her arms, pushing them down, one hand snaking around her neck. She felt his fingers close about her throat and remembered Lord Vetas’s hot breath upon her shoulder when he had done the same.
The man hissed suddenly, jumping away from her, his jacket on fire. Nila felt the pressure leave her throat, saw the flame dancing on her fingertips, and she leapt on top of the man, fueled by the coals of her rage. He tried to grapple with her, his attention taken by his burning coat, but Nila forced herself inside his guard.
Her hand still aflame, she grasped the man’s face and pushed.
Skin and bone seemed to give way beneath her fingers. The man’s scream died in his throat and his body stopped moving. The cushion and the man’s clothes were still on fire and she beat at the flames with her skirt until they were gone.
The body, most of its head melted into a sickening black goop on the carriage bench, lay still beneath her. Nila slowly backed away. Her head hit the roof of the carriage and she ducked down, unable to pull her eyes away from the corpse lying in the smoldering remains of its own clothing.
She looked down at her hand. It was covered in cooked bits of bone and flesh.
“Nila, are you–”
Bo jerked open the door she had been resting against just a few moments before and stared down at the body. His face was unreadable in the darkness.
“Come here,” he said gently, taking her by the wrist and pulling her outside. She only noticed the acrid smell of smoke and burned flesh, hair, and wool as Bo led her away. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently cleaned her hand, emptying some of his canteen onto her fingers. He went back to the carriage and fetched her attaché case.
“I…” She seemed barely able to take a breath. Her heart thundered and her hands shook.
She’d just killed a man by burning through his entire head. With her hand.
“We’ll leave the luggage. I’d set fire to the carriage, but it would just attract attention all the sooner. They’ve arrested Oldrich and his men. We have to go find Adamat.”
Nila looked at her hand, clean now of the charred gore. The phantom stickiness of the blood clung between her fingers. She forced herself to look up into Bo’s eyes. She had to be strong. “And if he’s captured as well?”
“We’ll save him if we can. If not, he’s on his own.”
“And all of Oldrich’s soldiers?”
Bo looked about them furtively. “Not even I can get fifteen men out of an army encampment. They’ll have to face the firing squad for us. Now, let’s go.” He pulled at her arm.
“No,” Nila said.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“You – we – brought them into this. We’ll get them out.”
“Damn it, Nila,” Bo hissed. “We’d have to have help, and we simply don’t have it.”
Nila tilted her head to one side. “Yes we do,” she said.
Chapter 5
Adamat was only able to spend about three hours asking questions before the provosts came for him.
He was in the middle of speaking with a young sergeant about her cousin in the Third Brigade under General Ket’s command when he felt a hand at his elbow. He turned, expecting to find Nila or Bo there with some kind of news, but instead looked over and up – and up some more – at the military police officer standing beside him. The man had a barrel chest, and when he spoke, his voice sounded like an echo.
“Inspector Adamat?”
“Yes.”
“You’re to come with me.”
Adamat grasped the head of his cane tightly and raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, I’m just in the middle of an interview. You’ll have to wait.” He turned back to the sergeant, hoping that was enough to put off the provost.
“Now,” the man’s voice rang out.
The sergeant leaned over to Adamat. “Inspector, you better go with him.”
Adamat let out a small sigh, gathered his hat in his hands, and faced the provost. “What’s this about?”
“You’re to come with me.”
“Yes, I gathered that much. I’m an Adran citizen and I have the right to ask why I’m being gathered by an officer of the peace.”
The provost tilted his head to one side. “This is a military jurisdiction and you have no such rights as would be afforded to you by an Adran provost. Now, will you come along or shall I drag you?”
Not as daft as he looked, unfortunately. Adamat gave him a firm nod. “I’ll come along, but under protest.”
“Protest all you like. This way.”
Adamat made sure to grumble loudly in an inconvenienced sort of way as they headed through the camp. Inside, though, his heart was hammering. He had expected the provosts to come after him sooner or later. After all, if Hilanska was indeed keeping secrets, he wouldn’t want someone snooping around. Adamat hadn’t expected them to be so quick about it.
Had Hilanska questioned Oldrich? Or perhaps one of his soldiers had recognized Bo? There were too many things that could go wrong, it was impossible to plan for them all. Perhaps the girl had lost her nerve and run to Hilanska herself.
Adamat dismissed the last option. That laundress, whoever she was, had steel in her eyes.
The camp stockade was nothing more than a trio of prison wagons near where the brigade’s cavalry hitched their horses for the night. Adamat was led over to the closest and one of the guards unlocked the door.
The big provost took Adamat by the shoulder and pushed him toward the wagon. Adamat gritted his teeth, wanting to reprimand the man, but knew this was no time to be making enemies. All three wagons were already full – of Oldrich and his men.
Adamat’s cane was taken away and he stepped inside.
Oldrich regarded him sourly. “I see the Privileged’s plan is off to a wonderful start,” he said when the guards had gone on to do their rounds.
“When did they come for you?” Adamat asked.
“Not more than half an hour ago.”
“Did they say why?”
Oldrich shook his head. “They got us while we were split up. Some of the boys were at the mess, two others at the latrine. It was all done very quiet, and they were sure to outnumber us by three to one.” He leaned over to the bars of the prison wagon and spit. “It’s bad when they come quietly. The provosts love to flaunt their power.”
“They’re acting like we’re enemies of the state,” one of the other soldiers said. There was a round of nods, and he added, “We wouldn’t get treated like this by the field marshal.”
Oldrich looked over his shoulder. “The field marshal isn’t here,” he said. “You boys just remember – you were following orders. If anyone’s going to take the fall it’ll be me.” He examined Adamat, as if wondering if it was worth getting court-martialed or worse on his behalf.
By the sullen silence among the men, Adamat guessed that they’d had this conversation already.