Brian McClellan: Murder at the Kinnen Hotel

White suddenly stepped forward, looking down on the woman clinically. “The child,” she said.

“What?” Genetrie lifted her head.

“There’s a child, isn’t there? Probably a bastard, someone with no one else to care for him or her.”

“You know nothing of my son,” Genetrie said quietly.

“No, but I will.” White produced her card and held it down where Genetrie could see it. “This is my card. It marks me as a servant of the royal cabal of Adro. If you don’t believe me you can describe it to your lawyer. He’ll know of it, or know someone who does.” She put the card back in her pocket. “Your parents were disgraced, no longer members of the Kemptin clan. Someone must have come to you and told you that if you were to kill Viscount Brezé that your son would later be quietly adopted back into the family and given the opportunities that you never were. Whimper once if I’m right.”

Genetrie let out a low moan.

Adamat almost stepped forward. White’s voice was unnecessarily cold, her demeanor cruel. He found himself transfixed.

“You’ll tell me who this was,” White continued, “and you’ll sign a confession which names the relatives that put you up to this crime.”

“I can’t!”

“If you don’t, I will find your son and I will see that he goes to the guillotine in your place tomorrow. I don’t care if he’s nothing more than a babe. I’ll make it happen, and I’ll force you to watch. Then I will deposit you back in this cell where you will spend the rest of your life remembering that you could have saved your child.”

Genetrie pressed her face to the floor of the cell, and her whole body was wracked with sobs.

“White,” Adamat said, hearing the cracking of his own voice, “that is really too far.”

White looked over her shoulder at Adamat. Her eyes were distant, a fire to them he had not yet seen. He thought for a moment she would turn her cruelty on him, but the fire slowly drained from her face.

She hunkered down on her haunches and reached through the bars to run her fingers gently through Genetrie’s hair. Genetrie stiffened at the touch, her body shaking with fear.

“If you do this,” White said, “you will still go to the guillotine for your crimes. But your boy will not. I give you my word that he will be looked after, educated, and connected. He will be given a better life than that of an unwanted bastard in a second-rate noble family.”

Genetrie slowly got a hold of herself. When she finally looked up, her eyes were wet, face streaked with tears, but there was a resolve that hadn’t been there before. “You swear on the royal cabal? On the king?”

“I do.”

“Then I’ll do it.”

White stood up and looked back at Adamat. Adamat forced himself to meet her gaze. The horrible smile had returned to her eyes. What kind of creatures did the cabal create in their employ that were capable of such things?

Thirty minutes later they had a written confession from Genetrie. Adamat held it at arm’s length, partially to let the ink dry and partially because of how shocked he was to have it in his possession.

He felt emotionally drained, exhausted by having taken part in such an exchange. He forced himself to straighten, summoning all his faculties. He would need every bit of his nerve for the next bit.

“White,” he said, reading the confession one more time and checking the ink before tucking it into a leather folder. “You said you were given leave by your masters with regard to the Kemptin family. How far, exactly, are you allowed to go?”

“Not as far as you’d like, I can tell you that.”

“But you have permission to make arrests? Force changes.”

“Within reason.”

Adamat tapped the side of his chin thoughtfully. “I have an idea. We’ll need a copy of this,” he said, waving the confession, “and I need to borrow one of your cards.”

Adamat stood outside a townhome in West Laden. It was a modest building, three stories divided among three families in a well-to-do neighborhood in Adopest. The sun had just set and it was colder than he expected. He stomped his feet to try to keep warm and hammered once more on the door.

“Coming, coming!” an angry voice answered from inside. The lock was drawn a moment later and the deeply wrinkled face of a stooped old man stared out at him. “What do you want?”

“I’m here to see Captain Hewi,” Adamat said.

“She didn’t tell me she was expecting visitors.”

“It’s an emergency,” Adamat said, “from the precinct building.”

“Oh,” the man said. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place? Come in, come in!”

Adamat gratefully slipped inside and stood in the hallway, rubbing his arms to restore warmth, while the old man-Hewi’s landlord, he assumed-teetered half way down the hallway and pulled on a cord that led up into the ceiling. Adamat heard the distant ringing of a bell.

“She’s usually down within a minute or two,” the old man said, continuing down the hallway. “If you don’t hear her, just ring the bell again. I’ll show you out when you’re finished.”

Adamat waited about forty-five seconds before he heard the creaking of bare feet on wooden stairs.

“Adamat?” Hewi’s voice came from the dark landing above him.

“Ma’am,” he said. “Sorry to visit after hours, but it’s an emergency.”

“Adamat, you shouldn’t be here. You’ve been dismissed. I’ve done everything I can to keep the commissioner from destroying your life completely and keep my own career.”

“I do appreciate that ma’am,” Adamat said. “That’s why I brought you something.”

The stairs creaked and Hewi emerged from the gloom to stand several steps above Adamat. She was wearing a robe and slippers, and smelled of pipe smoke. Her eyes tightened suspiciously. “What is that?”

“A promotion.”

There was a gentleman’s club in Centesteshire called the King’s Knee. It was not far from the middle of Adopest, a location where hundreds of members of the elite of Adro-nobles, merchants, politicians, and the like-could meet for recreation in the quiet halls away from prying eyes. The most popular games were cards and billiards, but Adamat had heard rumors that the King’s Knee had bought the building next door and installed handball courts for the pleasure of its clientele.

None of that particularly concerned Adamat. What concerned him was that the doorman politely but firmly informed him-based entirely on his working man’s suit, no doubt-that he had found the wrong building.

Until Adamat held up one of Attaché White’s cards. The doorman’s eyes grew slightly wider. “What can I do for you, sir?” he asked.

“I’m looking for Lord Walis Kemptin.”

“Lord Walis is at his usual table, sir.”

“Is he alone?”

“He is.”

“Take me to him.”

“Right away, sir.”

Adamat felt a rush as the doorman took his hat and cane and he was led through the warm, smoke-filled room. This card in his hand had just gained him entrance to one of the most exclusive clubs in Adopest without so much as a blink. And once he was inside, his comparatively shabby attire didn’t receive a second glance.

They passed the card and billiards tables in the well-lit gaming hall with its vaulted ceilings, where Adamat recognized a handful of faces that he’d only ever seen in the papers. Field Marshal Beravich and two of his generals occupied a billiards table while the Novi ambassador, a woman named Michala, gambled with the king’s chamberlain.

Adamat proceeded through them all as if in a dream. They entered the next room, where the ceilings and the light were both lower, and the smell of food made Adamat’s stomach rumble. The tables had Adran blue cloths and the booths were of fine, crimson-dyed leather.