Everyone was yelling. It was a chaotic mess. There were more gunshots, and Adamat heard the concussion of sorcery blasts and had no way of knowing if they were attacks upon the podium or reprisal from Claremonte’s men.
He managed to reach the spot where he last saw Riplas. He forced himself through the throng, cursing and shouting and elbowing. Where was she? Had she fled? If so, where to? Adamat had the immediate feeling that something had been engineered by the Proprietor. If Riplas had been going with the flow of the crowd, she would be up ahead.
He plowed onward until he reached the main street, and threw himself into the nearest alleyway to get out of the chaos. Catching his breath, he worked his way down the sidewalk until he spotted a familiar black coat. Crossing the street was a chore, but he made it only a moment later to find Riplas strolling along, letting the fleeing crowd pass her by.
Adamat snatched her by the elbow and was startled to find himself suddenly pressed up against a shop window, her forearm across his throat and something sharp jabbing him in the ribs.
Her eyes searched his for a moment.
“Riplas,” he said. “It’s me, Inspector Adamat.”
“I know who you are, Inspector.” She slowly released him.
He dusted off the front of his jacket. She had begun to walk again, and he jogged to catch up. “I need to see him,” he said.
“Him?” she asked innocently.
“Him,” he repeated.
“Well then.” She scratched at her chin. “That’s harder than you’d think. My lord is pretty busy these days and–”
“Now, Riplas! This is a matter of national security! Or would he rather I make a house call?”
Riplas stopped suddenly and turned. “You be careful, Inspector.”
“I am being careful. He’ll want to know what I have to tell him, and you know enough about me to realize I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”
“I hope you don’t regret it. Come with me.”
Adamat was carted around the city for almost two hours by a pair of the Proprietor’s goons, and he was not allowed to take off his blindfold until he was standing in the foyer of the Proprietor’s headquarters.
He brushed off his arm as he was unhanded, removing his blindfold and tossing it to one of the men. “That’s no way to run a business,” he said.
“Sorry, Inspector. Riplas’s orders.”
“Does everyone have to be blindfolded?” he asked. “How the pit do you get anything done around here?”
“Not everyone,” the man answered. “But you’re an inspector, Inspector. Be glad we didn’t give you ether.”
“I am, thank you. That happened last time. Now I must see your master.”
One of the goons nodded to the other, who went off down one of the halls of the immense building. As with Adamat’s last visit, he was left with the impression not of a den of iniquity, as one might expect of a crime boss, but of a place of business. The marble floors gleamed, the plaster walls were freshly painted, and the candlesticks had been shined. Bookkeepers ran to and fro, while big, no-nonsense thugs lurked in the corners.
He was about to check his watch for the third time, when the second goon reappeared and gave him a “come hither” gesture. Adamat followed him down a hall to the nondescript door on their right. The man opened the door with his back to it, eyes averted, and pulled it shut after Adamat had stepped in.
The fine wood paneling was the same as it was on Adamat’s last visit, as were the few decorations. Only the rug had been changed – a fact that he noted with interest. The desk was still covered by a screen, while the chair that the Proprietor’s “translator” had occupied was empty.
Ondraus the Reeve stepped around the screen and sat in the translator’s chair, gesturing Adamat to take a seat across from him. “I think we can dispense with the usual procedure, can’t we, Inspector?”
“I believe so.”
“Good. Secrecy is a necessity in this game, of course, but I will admit that it’s a relief to talk to someone who knows my identity. There are only three of you left, with the poor eunuch dead.”
“Riplas knows, I assume?”
“Yes. She and my translator are the only ones.” The words were spoken without menace, but Adamat wasn’t slow to note that it left very few people in the world who needed eliminating if Ondraus wanted to destroy his second life as Adro’s criminal overlord. “Now,” Ondraus continued, “what is it you needed so urgently?”
“I was at Claremonte’s speech today.”
“Were you, then?” Ondraus leaned forward, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “What did you think?”
“I thought it was an interesting career choice, what with word that Tamas has returned.”
Ondraus rolled his eyes. “You think I’m that stupid? Is that what you’re here for? You were curious about my endorsement of the late Lord Claremonte? You only have so much of my goodwill left to feed upon, Adamat. Especially after you got my eunuch killed.” There was something smug about the way Ondraus said “late,” and it gave Adamat a thought.
“ ‘Late,’ you say? He’s dead?”
“You saw the assassination, didn’t you?”
“Considering your endorsement of him, you don’t seem very broken up about it.”
“Because I ordered his death, of course.”
Adamat barked out a laugh. “You did? Why bother endorsing him, then?”
“Oh, my dear Inspector. That’s very naïve. I wasn’t just endorsing him. Claremonte named me as his Second Minister. We didn’t get to that point of the speech, I’m afraid. My men may have gotten ahead of themselves. All the paperwork is done, anyhow. It’s quite official.”
“And now that he’s out of the way, you’ll be in position to take his place.”
“It’ll be in the papers tomorrow morning, I suspect.”
“And what will Field Marshal Tamas say about this? I read that he should be here in the morning.”
“Indeed he will. And I think he’ll be far happier to hear that it is Ricard and me running against each other rather than Ricard and Claremonte.”
Adamat snorted. “I imagine he will. But you’re a private man. Why First Minister? Why now?”
“Tastes change. You know how it is. My spot as First Minister would afford many benefits to the Proprietor. Or I may enjoy it enough that the Proprietor fades into obscurity.” The Reeve shrugged. “Who knows?”
Adamat drew a book from his jacket pocket. “I think that you may have a problem there.”
“And what is that?”
He held up the book. “This is The Compendium of Gods and Saints. A very old book. Written during the Bleakening, the time after Kresimir first left our world. Supposedly. I’m told that it’s mostly superstitious nonsense, but there is one thing that caught my eye.” He cleared his throat and read, “ ‘Lord Brude, saint and god of Brudania, is unique among his siblings in one particular way in that he has no shadow. His shadow, it is said, is his other face: a unique condition of sorcery in which he occupies two separate bodies, making him not a single but rather two different gods.’ ” Adamat closed the book.
Ondraus looked impatient. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Lord Claremonte has no shadow.”
“Hah! Are you claiming that he’s the god Brude?”
“I am.”
“I’m aware that this has been a strange time in our history and that the impossible may very well be possible, but this seems to be a long leap for you, Inspector.”
“Not too much of a leap. A god told me.”
“Oh?” Ondraus rolled his eyes.
“The god Adom.”
Ondraus didn’t seem convinced. “He’s supposed to be dead, isn’t he? The report is that Kresimir killed him.”
“He’s still very much alive.” Adamat leaned forward. “I think it’s far more difficult to kill a god than that.”