“What do you have?” Taniel felt his mood brighten a little.
“Anything,” Ricard said.
Taniel doubted that. “Fatrastan ale, then.”
Ricard nodded to the barman. “Two, please. For the lady?”
Ka-poel flashed three fingers.
“Make that three,” Ricard said to the barman. A moment later, he handed Taniel a mug.
“Son of a bitch,” Taniel said after a sip. “You really do have Fatrastan ale.”
“I did say anything. Can we take a seat?”
He led them toward the far end of the room. Taniel blamed his mala-addled mind for not noticing earlier that they weren’t alone. A dozen men and half again as many women lounged on divans, drinking and smoking, talking quietly among themselves.
Ricard spoke as they approached the group. “Oh, I had a question for you, Taniel. How much black powder does the army use?”
Taniel rubbed his eyes. His head hurt, and he didn’t come here to meet Ricard’s cronies. “Quite a lot, I’d imagine. I’m not a quartermaster. Why do you ask?”
“Been getting more and more powder orders from the General Staff,” Ricard said, waving his hand like it was a trifle. “I just thought it strange. It almost seems as if their requisitions double every week. Nothing to worry about, I’m sure.”
The talking died down when Taniel reached the group at the end of the room, and he felt suddenly uncomfortable.
“I thought this was going to be a private meeting,” Taniel said quietly, stopping Ricard with a hand to his arm.
Ricard didn’t even glance down at the hand Taniel laid on him. “Give me a moment to make introductions and we’ll get down to business.”
He went around the room, giving names that Taniel immediately forgot, and titles that Taniel took no great note of. These men and women were the heads of the various factions within the unions: bakers, steelworkers, millers, ironsmiths, blacksmiths, and goldsmiths.
True to his word, when the introductions were finished, Ricard led them toward a quiet corner of the vast room, where they were joined by just one other woman. She was one of the first Ricard had introduced, and Taniel couldn’t remember her name.
“Cigarette?” Ricard offered as they took their seats. A man in a jacket matching the barman’s brought them a silver tray lined with cigarettes, cigars, and pipes. Taniel noticed a mala pipe among the recreation. His fingers twitched to take it, but he fought down the urge and waved away the servant.
“Your secretary said you wanted to meet with me,” Taniel said, realizing with a start that Fell had disappeared. “She didn’t say why. I’d like to know.”
“I have a proposition.”
Taniel looked at the woman again. She was older, with an air of disdain particular to the very wealthy. What was her name? And who did she represent? The bakers? No. Goldsmiths?
“I’m not interested,” Taniel said.
“I haven’t even told you what it is,” Ricard said.
“Look,” Taniel said. “I came because your undersecretary made it clear that she’d make me come even if I didn’t want to. I’ve been polite. I’ve come. Now I’d like to go.” He stood.
“Is this what you brought me here for, Ricard?” the woman said, looking down her nose at Taniel. “To see a mala-drunk soldier piss on your hospitality? I fear for this country, Ricard. We’ve handed it over to the uneducated soldiers. They don’t know anything but vice and killing.”
Taniel clenched his fists and felt his lip curl. “You don’t know me, madam. You don’t know who the pit I am or what I’ve seen. Don’t pretend to understand soldiers when you’ve never looked into another man’s eyes and seen that one of you would die.”
Ricard leaned back on his divan and relit his cigar with a matchstick. He had the air of a man at the boxing ring. Had he expected this?
The woman fairly bristled. “I know soldiers,” she said. “Sick, stupid brutes. You rape and steal, and you kill when you can’t do that. I’ve known many soldiers and I don’t have to kill a man to know you’re nothing more than a churlish brigand in a uniform.”
Ricard sighed. “Please, Cheris, not now.”
“Not now?” Cheris asked. “If not now, then when? I’ve had enough of Tamas’s iron grip on the city. I didn’t want you to bring this so-called war hero here.”
Taniel turned to go.
“Taniel,” Ricard said. “Give me just a few more moments.”
“Not with her here,” Taniel said. He headed toward the door, only to find his way blocked by Ka-poel. “I’m leaving, Pole.”
She returned his grimace with a cool-eyed shake of the head.
“Look at that!” Cheris said behind him. “The coward flees back to his mala den. He can’t face truth. And you want this man at your side, Ricard? He’s led around by a savage girl.”
Taniel whirled. He’d had enough. His rage piqued, he advanced toward Cheris, one hand held in the air.
“Strike me!” she said, leaning forward to offer a cheek. “It’ll show how much of a man you are.”
Taniel froze. Had he just been ready to hit her? “I killed a god,” he fumed. “I put a bullet through his eye and watched him die to save this country!”
“Lies,” Cheris said. “You lie to me to my face? You think I believe this tripe about Kresimir returning?”
Taniel would have let his hand fly right then if Ka-poel hadn’t slipped around him. She faced Cheris, eyes narrowed. Taniel suddenly felt fear. As much as he wanted to hurt this woman, he knew what Ka-poel was capable of.
“Pole,” he said.
“Out of my face, you savage whore,” Cheris said, getting to her feet.
Ka-poel’s fist connected with her nose hard enough to send Cheris tumbling over the back of the divan. Cheris screamed. Ricard shot to his feet. The group of union bosses still speaking quietly on the other side of the room fell silent, and stared, shocked, toward them.
Cheris climbed to her feet, pushing away Ricard’s attempt to help. Without a look back, she fled the room, blood streaming from her nose.
Ricard turned to Taniel, his expression caught somewhere between horror and amusement.
“I won’t apologize,” Taniel said. “Neither for me nor for Pole.” Ka-poel took a place at his side, arms crossed.
“She was my guest,” Ricard said. He paused, examined his cigar. “More ale,” he called to the barkeep. “But you are my guests as well. She’s going to make me pay for that later. I’d hoped she would be an ally in the coming months, but it appears that is not the case.”
Taniel looked to Ricard, then to the main door, where Cheris was demanding her coachman.
“I should go,” Taniel said.
“No, no. Ale!” Ricard shouted again, though Taniel could see the barkeep heading toward them. “You’re more important than she is.”
Taniel slowly lowered himself back into his seat. “I killed Kresimir,” he said. Part of him wanted to be proud of it, but saying it aloud made him feel ill.
“That’s what Tamas told me,” Ricard said.
“You don’t believe me.”
The barkeep arrived and changed Taniel’s mug for another one, though he’d only finished half. New mugs all around and the man disappeared. Ricard drank deeply of his before he began to speak.
“I’m a practical man,” Ricard said. “I know that sorcery exists, though I am not a Privileged or a Knacked or a Marked. Two months ago, if you’d told me that Kresimir would return, I would have wondered what asylum you’d escaped from.
“But I was there when the Barbers tried to kill Mihali. I saw your father – a man twice as pragmatic as I – go ghost white. He felt something from the chef and–”
“I’m sorry,” Taniel interrupted. “Mihali?”
Ricard tapped the ash from the end of his cigar. “Oh. You’re very much out of the loop, aren’t you? Mihali is Adom reborn. Kresimir’s brother, here in the flesh.”
Taniel felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Another god? Kresimir’s own brother?
“What I’m trying to get at,” Ricard went on, “is that your father believes that Mihali is Adom reborn. And if Adom has returned, why not Kresimir? So, yes. I believe you shot Kresimir. Is it possible to kill a god? I don’t know.”