Brian McClellan - Return to Honor

“Thank you,” Vlora said, sipping her beer. “You know, I expected a little better out of a man of your reputation.”

Olem’s eyebrows rose, and Vlora immediately cursed herself silently.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. Powder mages didn’t get drunk, not like other people. But that didn’t mean a third beer had been a good idea. “That didn’t come out like I meant it to.” She once again felt herself going red. Here she was again, wasting more time. Tamas’s message had been clear-she wasn’t getting any help. No sense in even looking for it. “Sorry, I should go…”

The shadow of a smile appeared on Olem’s lips. “No, no. I’m curious where you’re going with this.”

“Look, I’m sorry, it’s just…” she trailed off.

“Go on,” Olem said. The smile grew. She expected it to turn cruel or condescending, but it touched his eyes in a way that said he was laughing with her and not at her.

Vlora looked around. Well, she was here, wasn’t she? Might as well dig her grave a little deeper. “The whorehouse. You’ve got a reputation as a gentleman. Private in your, er, affairs.” Pit, she didn’t even know if he was married.

“I come here for the company, not for the whores,” Olem said.

“I thought the whores were the company in a place like this.”

“They’re better people than you think, but I’m here for the infantry. Far more fun to play cards with people in that room over there”-he jerked his head-“than with anyone at the officers’ mess. There are exceptions, certainly, but…”

“Like Colonel Verundish?”

Olem nodded. “Like Verundish. You know her?”

“We’ve been friends for a few years. Took me under her wing when I started taking soldiering seriously. She’s the one who recommended I come find you, actually.”

“Oh? So what kind of help are you looking for?”

He didn’t question her coming to him, even though he knew better than anyone that she was on Tamas’s shit list. Vlora silently thanked him for that. “I’ve got an assignment to find a man named Wohler. He was the head of Charlemund’s personal guard until the villa, and now he’s on the run. Tamas wants him brought in.”

“And the field marshal sent you to me?”

“No, that was Verundish. Tamas, well, he made it clear I’m not getting any more help.”

Olem cocked one eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Look, I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t for Verundish. She said you might know where the guards are hiding out in the city. I honestly don’t have any idea where to start, and…”

“And?” Olem urged.

“And I have to leave to join Tamas on the front in two days. If I fail, Wohler gets away.”

Olem took a drag on his cigarette, found it had gone out, and relit it with a match. Smoke curled out his nose, his eyes narrowed, and he stared thoughtfully at a spot over Vlora’s shoulder. The silence dragged on for nearly a minute as he puffed hard, smoking the cigarette down to his fingertips before discarding it.

“Look,” Vlora said to break the silence, “I don’t want to put you in a position of going against Tamas.”

“This Wohler,” Olem said as if he hadn’t heard her. “You’ve asked after any friends or relations he may have in the city?”

“Yes,” Vlora said. “I interrogated his captured compatriots and asked around at a dozen different chapels. He doesn’t have anyone he would go to ground with.”

“Everyone has someone,” Olem mused.

“Not everyone,” Vlora said quietly.

Olem glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was going to hate him if there was pity in his eyes, but he merely rolled a new cigarette and held it out to her.

“Don’t smoke,” she said.

He shrugged and lit it for himself. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment before his face lit up. “Attached to a retinue a thousand miles from home. The man’s going to have a mistress.”

“You think so?”

“He’s a captain in the Prielight guard. He certainly will have the money for one. If he doesn’t drink or gamble with anyone else, then he has to have a woman somewhere in the city.”

It made sense. Vlora slowly nodded, a flutter of relief in her stomach. “It’s worth a try. I’ll go ask around.”

“You’ll need help,” Olem said. “Two days isn’t much time. We better get moving.” He left the room before she could say another word.

Back in the card room, Olem gathered his coins. “I’m out for the night, friends,” he said. “Duty calls.”

“Tomorrow night?” the sergeant asked.

“Plan on it. I’ll send word if I can’t. See you all then. And Filly, stop picking your damn teeth every time you have a shit hand.”

The group chuckled, and Olem stepped back into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him.

“You don’t have to leave your game,” Vlora said.

“This sounds more important,” he replied.

“Really, I can manage on my own. I was told I wasn’t getting any more help.”

Olem shrugged. “It’ll be unofficial, then. Things are always easier with two. Let’s go find out where Wohler takes off his boots.”

* * *

Six hours later, Vlora stood in a doorway across the street from a cobbler’s shop in one of the more affluent parts of West Laden, a district of Adopest. It was nearly two and a half days since she last slept. Her hands trembled and her eyelids felt heavier every minute, and she had to take progressively more powder every hour to keep from collapsing.

The mistress, it turned out, owned the cobbler’s shop. Only one of the captured church guards had known about her, and he’d been reluctant to give up the information. Olem had helped persuade him.

Vlora wanted nothing more than to kick down the door and rush inside, but Olem had insisted they do things right and had rushed off to see another one of his friends.

She checked her pocket watch. Ten after noon. She’d give Olem another fifteen minutes before she headed inside.

Afternoon traffic was heavy as everyone sought to get their daily errands done before the storm that had been threatening for almost two days finally broke. Vlora could tell it was going to be a big one, with thick sheets of rain that rivaled the monsoons in Gurla. The old soldiers called it a hundred-year rain.

More than one company of Adran soldiers passed her on their way out of the city. No one recognized her in her civilian clothes, hat pulled down and greatcoat buttoned against the wind. Vlora was thankful for that. She’d not heard anything else about her conflict with Major Emerson, but when she next reported for duty, she couldn’t imagine anything less than a formal reprimand. Would Tamas strip her of her rank?

She thrust the thought from her mind as Olem slipped out of the crowd and joined her in the doorway, flashing a folded piece of paper.

“Warrant,” he said by way of explanation. “New government regulations requires us to have one of these for entry into a civilian’s home.”

Vlora was impatient to be through the doors of the cobbler shop, either to lay hands on Wohler or to question his mistress. “Why bother?” she asked.

Olem seemed taken aback. “We’re not savages. We want the people to trust us, not fear us.” He snorted. “How would you like someone bursting into your place of business with no more authority than a common thief?”

“I wouldn’t like anyone of any authority bursting in,” Vlora said. “But I don’t mind doing the bursting.”

“Double standard,” Olem countered. “Are you ready?”

Vlora unbuttoned her greatcoat to reveal the two pistols and the sword at her belt. By the bulkiness she saw under Olem’s coat she guessed he carried the same.

“You sense any powder in there?” Olem asked.