Verundish nodded down to the manor below them. The grounds were overgrown, most of the windows broken, the walls vandalized. Like so many other manors belonging to the nobility, it had been gutted by Tamas’s troops of anything of value and then opened to the public after the execution of its former owner.
Adamat followed Verundish down from the bluff and entered the manor grounds by a back gate. The sorry state of the place made Adamat sad. He had no love of the nobility, not by any stretch, but many of these manors had been architectural works of art. Some had been burned to the ground, some crushed to rubble for their stone. This one had got off lightly with mere vandalism.
They entered through the servants’ quarters and made their way to the second floor. Adamat counted two dozen men and women, all soldiers by their look. They wore greatcoats over their uniforms, despite the summer heat, and each one gave Adamat a cursory glance as he went by.
A glimpse of a chevron over a powder horn told Adamat that these were Riflejacks – more of Tamas’s best soldiers.
Verundish stopped outside the last room toward the rear of the servants’ quarters. “You’ve got five minutes,” she said.
“What will you do with him?” Adamat asked. “Now that Tamas is dead?”
The colonel’s lips curled into a scowl. “If Tamas is dead – we’ll wait for his generals to return to Adopest and hand him over to them. They’ll decide his fate.”
“Tamas isn’t in danger from him anymore.”
“I don’t care what you think you know, Inspector,” Verundish said. “The field marshal slaughtered the cabal for a reason, and this man is its last living member. Now go on.” Verundish lifted a pocket watch in one hand and looked down at it. “Your five minutes is ticking.”
Adamat opened the door and slipped inside.
Privileged Borbador sat tied to a chair in the corner of the room. His feet were bound tight against the posts of the chair, his hands locked in stiff iron gloves that would prevent his fingers from moving. He looked comfortable, for all the tightness of the ropes. He was thinner than the last time Adamat had seen him, and his chin sported a full-grown beard. In front of him was a stand, like the kind that musicians used to hold their music. Bo looked up from it.
“Bo,” Adamat said, taking his hat in his hands.
Bo cleared his throat. “Yes?”
“My name is Adamat. We met a few months ago at Shouldercrown.”
“Inspector. Yes. I remember you. You’re the one who brought my gaes to Tamas’s attention.”
Adamat grimaced. “I’m sorry. I was working for him.”
“You’re not anymore?”
“Well, the rumors are that he’s dead.”
Bo stretched his neck out and tilted his head from side to side. It was about the only part of him he could move. He didn’t respond.
“Bo,” Adamat said. “Has the necklace around your neck – the one supporting the gaes – loosened since his reported death?”
Bo’s eyes narrowed. Not much, but just enough to give Adamat his answer. The gaes was still in place. Tamas was alive. And Bo hadn’t told the soldiers guarding him.
“Interesting,” Adamat said aloud.
“Think you could turn the page for me?” Bo nodded at the stand in front of him.
Adamat moved around to see a book propped on the stand. He obliged by turning it to the next page and then smoothing the page out with one hand.
“Many thanks. I’ve been staring at that one page for about half an hour now.”
Adamat asked, “How strong is the compulsion to kill Tamas?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Could you resist it? He’s quite far from here. Could you resist the compulsion to go looking for him?”
“For a time,” Bo said. “Yes. It’s only six months since Manhouch’s death. I think I have a year until the gaes kills me.”
“Two minutes!” Verundish called from the hallway.
Adamat lowered his voice. “If I get you out, will you help me?”
“Help you do what?”
“I need to rescue my wife and kill a man who is a threat to this entire country.” Adamat had no idea if Bo was a patriot of any kind, but the addendum sounded good.
“What is this, some kind of pulp novel?” Bo smirked at him.
“It’s very serious, actually.”
Bo’s smirk dissolved. “Why do you need my help?”
“The man I need to kill has over sixty men guarding him – one of them is a Privileged.”
“Really, now? You work for Field Marshal Tamas – who is reported as dead – and you’re going after a man who’s kidnapped your wife and has the kind of resources to have sixty enforcers and a Privileged at his disposal?” Adamat could practically sense Bo’s desire to flex his fingers. “Have you ever thought of getting out of the investigating business?”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Adamat said.
“Get me out of here and I’ll spend a week as a mime in the King’s Garden,” Bo said, “whatever you want.”
Adamat regarded the Privileged for a moment. Was he in any shape to fight another sorcerer? Adamat knew a Privileged needed gloves to do his magic, to protect his hands from being burned by the Else, but there was no sign of Bo’s. Could a Privileged even be trusted?
“All right,” Adamat said. “I’ll do what I can.”
Verundish opened the door. “Time is up, Inspector.”
Adamat followed Verundish back out of the servants’ quarters. She stopped him once they’d reached the edge of the manor grounds. “You can find your own way back?” she asked.
“Yes.” Adamat examined her for a long moment. She watched him, her brown eyes unreadable. He would have guessed her as the military type even without the uniform – her back was straight, her hands clasped behind her like a soldier at ease.
This was a great risk he was taking, but he had no other choice if he wanted to free Borbador – and then Faye.
“I need Privileged Borbador,” Adamat said.
“Pardon?” Verundish was just turning to go. She stopped and looked back at him.
“I need you to free him.”
Verundish cleared her throat. “That’s not happening, Inspector.”
“Name your price. Field Marshal Tamas is dead. Let Bo go and you and your men can join the defensive at Surkov’s Alley. Or leave the country. That might be the best idea, with what I’ve heard from the front.”
“That” – her words were angry, clipped – “is treason.”
“Please,” Adamat said. “Privileged Borbador is my only chance to save my wife – maybe even to save this country. Free, he’s of value. Under guard, he just ties up you and your men.”
“You should go now, Inspector,” Verundish said.
Adamat let out a small sigh. He’d half expected her to arrest him right then and there. He should be glad she was letting him go.
“Inspector.”
He paused. “Yes?”
“Seventy-five thousand krana. Banknotes. You have a week.”
Chapter 16
Taniel walked among the corpses on the battlefield and wondered how many had died that day.
A few hundred? A few thousand?
Surgeons, thieves, the families of soldiers – they all picked their way among the bodies, finding the wounded first and getting them back to their respective armies before bothering to stack the dead into carts like so much firewood, then taking them to be buried in mass graves.
There were always far more wounded than dead. That’s how it always was, even when sorcery was involved. At least, that’s how it was immediately after a battle. Over the next week well over half of the wounded would die. Even more would end up crippled for life.
He’d picked a horrid profession, Taniel reflected.
Well. Not so much “picked.” There’s no picking your profession when Tamas is your father. Taniel couldn’t think of a time when he didn’t want to be a soldier. Vlora, the girl he’d thought was the love of his life, wanted to be a soldier, too. So Taniel had gone along with his father’s wishes and trained to be a powder mage. It was the only life he’d ever known.