Ricard nodded. “Of course. Anything.” He reached to take the card.
Adamat stopped him, clutching Ricard’s hand. “This is deadly serious. The lives of my wife and my son depend on it. If you don’t think you can trust your people, just tell me now and I’ll find him myself.” Remember what happened with the Barbers, Adamat said silently.
Ricard seemed to get the message. “I have some people,” Ricard said. “Don’t worry. This will be safe.”
“One more thing,” Adamat said. “There are two people involved in this somehow that you might blanch at crossing.”
Ricard smiled. “If it’s not Tamas, I can’t imagine who.”
“Lord Claremonte and the Proprietor.”
Ricard’s smile disappeared. “Lord Claremonte doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “The Brudania-Gurla Trading Company has been trying to move in on the union since our inception. He’s tricky, but he doesn’t scare me.”
“Don’t be so quick to dismiss him. Lord Vetas works for him.” And Vetas was holding Adamat’s wife and son hostage. Claremonte, as far as Adamat was concerned, might as well have been holding Faye and Josep personally.
Ricard made a dismissive gesture. “You say that the Proprietor might be involved? I don’t trust him, of course, but I thought you cleared him of treachery yourself.”
“I never cleared him,” Adamat said. “I just found out that Charlemund was the one trying to kill Tamas. One of the Proprietor’s boxers was holding my family hostage. You know how he is about his boxers finding work elsewhere – no one works for someone else without the Proprietor’s permission.” Which meant that the Proprietor may be in league with Lord Claremonte.
“Tread carefully on this, my friend,” Ricard warned. “Vetas may be trying to use you, but the Proprietor will cut and bury your entire family without so much as a thought.” He glanced at the card Adamat had given him and put it in his vest pocket. “I’ll look into this, don’t worry. But I need a favor from you.”
“Go on.”
“Do you know Taniel Two-Shot?”
“I know of him,” Adamat said. “Everyone in the Nine does. The newspapers were saying he was in a coma after a battle of sorcery on top of South Pike Mountain.”
“He’s not in a coma anymore,” Ricard said. “He woke up a week ago, and he’s disappeared.”
Adamat’s first thoughts went to Lord Vetas. The man was working actively against Tamas. He would leap at the chance to capture the field marshal’s son. “Any sign of violence?”
Ricard shook his head. “Well, yes. But it’s not like that. He left his guard duty of his own volition. Tamas had his own men guarding him, but my people were keeping an eye on him as well. That he slipped both our nets is rather embarrassing. I need him found quietly.”
“Do you want him returned?” Adamat said. “I’m not about to make a powder mage do something he doesn’t want to do.”
“No, just find out where he is and let me know.”
Adamat stood up. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“And I’ll look into this Lord Vetas.” Ricard held up a hand to forestall Adamat’s protests. “Discreetly. I promise.”
Tamas entered Budwiel’s biggest mess hall and was nearly knocked over by the swirl of enticing smells wafting from inside.
He swept past the tables where hundreds of his men were having their evening repast and headed toward the kitchens, trying to ignore his hunger pangs.
The man he was looking for was hard to miss: big, fat, taller than most, with waist-length black hair tied behind his head and his olive skin showing just a touch of Rosvelean ancestry. He stood in one corner of the kitchens, on his toes to be able to see into the highest row of ovens.
Mihali was, officially, Tamas’s chef. He and his cadre of assistants provided food of the highest caliber for Tamas’s entire army, and even for the city of Budwiel. The people loved Mihali; the men worshipped him.
Well, perhaps they should worship him.
He was Adom reborn, patron saint of Adro, and brother to the god Kresimir. Which made him a god in his own right.
Mihali turned to Tamas and waved across the myriad of assistants, flour going up in a cloud around him.
“Field Marshal,” the chef called. “Come over here.”
Tamas stifled the annoyance at being summoned like a common soldier and made his way through the tables of bread.
“Mihali–”
The god-chef cut him off. “Field Marshal, I’m so glad you’re here. I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you.”
Great importance? Tamas had never seen Mihali so distressed. He leaned forward. What could possibly worry a god? “What is it?”
“I can’t decide what to make for lunch tomorrow.”
“You git!” Tamas exclaimed, taking a step back. His heart thundered in his ears, as if he’d expected Mihali to announce that the world would end on the morrow.
Mihali didn’t seem to notice the insult. “I haven’t not known what to cook for decades. I normally have it all planned out but… I’m sorry, are you mad about something?”
“I’m trying to fight a war here, Mihali! The Kez are knocking at Budwiel’s front door.”
“And hunger is knocking at mine!”
Mihali seemed so out of sorts that Tamas forced himself to calm down. He put a hand on Mihali’s arm. “The men will love whatever you make.”
“I’d planned poached eggs with asparagus tips, filet of salmon, lamb chops glazed with honey, and a selection of fruit.”
“That’s three meals you just named there,” Tamas said.
“Three meals? Three meals? That’s four courses, barely enough for a proper lunch, and I did the same thing five days ago. What kind of a chef serves the same meal more than once a week?” Mihali tapped flour-covered fingers against his chin. “How could I have messed up? Maybe it’s a leap year.”
Tamas counted to ten silently to keep his temper contained – something he’d not done since Taniel was a boy. “Mihali, we’re going into battle the day after tomorrow. Will you help me?”
The god appeared nervous. “I’m not going to kill anyone, if that’s what you’re asking,” Mihali said.
“Can you do anything for us? We’re outnumbered ten to one out there.”
“What is your plan?”
“I’m going to take the Seventh and the Ninth through the catacombs and flank the Kez position. When they try to attack Budwiel, we’ll smash them against the gates and route them.”
“That sounds very military.”
“Mihali, please focus!”
Mihali finally stopped casting about the mess tent as if searching for tomorrow’s menu and gave Tamas a level stare. “Kresimir was a commander. Brude was a commander. I am a chef. But since you ask: the strategy sounds very high-risk with an equally high payoff. It suits you perfectly.”
“Can you do anything to help?” Tamas asked gently.
Mihali seemed to think on this. “I can make sure that your men remain unnoticed until the moment you charge.”
Tamas felt a wave of relief. “That would be perfect.” He waited for a few moments. “Mihali, you appear agitated.”
Mihali took Tamas by the elbow and pulled him into one corner of the tent. In a low voice, he said, “Kresimir is gone.”
“That’s right,” Tamas said. “Taniel killed him.”
“No, no. Kresimir is gone, but I didn’t feel him die.”
“But the whole of the Nine felt it. Privileged Borbador told me that every Knacked and Privileged in the world felt it when he died.”
“That wasn’t him dying,” Mihali said, waving the lump of bread dough still in one hand. “That was his counterstroke against Taniel for shooting him in the head.”
Tamas’s mouth was suddenly dry. “You mean Kresimir is still alive?” Privileged Borbador had warned Tamas that a god couldn’t be killed. Tamas had hoped that Borbador was wrong.
“I don’t know,” Mihali said, “and that’s what worries me. I’ve always been able to sense him, even when half the cosmos separated us.”