Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

But Bobbin knew that, and he didn’t bother. “Fidelis Jes is going to skin me alive.”

That seems pretty likely. “Know what?” Michel asked again firmly.

“I didn’t know what they were planning.”

Michel leaned against the counter and said in a gentle voice, “Tell me what happened.”

“I was approached by a lawyer. He used the same brothel as me, over on the Wake. He told me he could pay me a huge sum if I lent him fifteen Iron Roses. I thought it was a joke at first. Nobody outside the organization knows that I’m the treasurer. But he kept insisting and by the time I decided to report him he had bought up all my debts. All of them. From the casinos, the brothels. Even the bookstores. Said he’d cancel all my debts and give me half a million if I lent him the Roses for one day. Insisted no one would even know they were gone.”

Michel tilted his head to the side. It was a classic entrapment move, one the Blackhats themselves used when they needed to blackmail someone. Bobbin should have known better. “And did he give them back?”

“Yes. He took them from this door right here at nine o’clock at night and returned them again by six o’clock the next morning. Once I heard about this thing with the pamphlets, I suspected what had happened. But there was no official word about the Iron Roses having been used so I thought maybe it was just a coincidence.”

A lawyer. The man behind this whole thing. Never mind those fifteen messengers with their Iron Roses. Michel now had the mastermind in his sights. Bastard walked right into the Millinery. What a pair of balls. “And there was no one you could ask to find out without implicating yourself?”

Bobbin nodded.

Pit. That was just basic self-preservation. Anyone stupid enough to admit to aiding in the misuse of Iron Roses – no matter how unknowingly – deserved what the Blackhat torturers did to them. Michel looked Bobbin over. He was trembling something fierce now, and looked like he might collapse at any moment. But he wasn’t begging, and that was a pleasant surprise.

Michel hated the begging.

“I’ve been a wreck ever since,” Bobbin said. “I knew deep down someone would find out, but I couldn’t have my debts exposed. I would have lost everything.”

“Out of the pot and into the fire,” Michel said absently. He felt fantastic, pleased to have made a breakthrough like this in such a short amount of time. He’d solved this thing with the Iron Roses and though he didn’t feel revealing Bobbin was going to earn him his Gold Rose, catching the perpetrator behind Bobbin’s blackmail definitely would. This was big. He eyed Bobbin and made a decision – one he knew he was going to regret. “Tell me everything about who you worked for.”

“I did,” Bobbin said. “It was always the one guy. Tall, lean, but muscular. Had a soldier’s build. Wore real fancy clothes and carried a cane. Said he was a lawyer.”

“Did he give a name?”

“Nothing. Believe me, if I knew I would tell you. Pit, I’d help you track him down right now if I thought it would buy me a reprieve. But he was like a ghost.”

Michel leaned forward, looking Bobbin in the eye, then nodded. “I do believe you. Right. Here’s what’s going to happen.” He checked his pocket watch. “Don’t get any funny ideas, because I’ve instructed Warsim to come down and check on me in two or three minutes, and I’ve left evidence of your little lending scheme with someone I trust.”

Bobbin’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“I want you to open that door, punch me really hard in the face, and then I never want to see you again.” Michel walked over to the door and stood patiently, hand at his sides. “And Bobbin, if they catch up to you, do me a favor and put one in your own head.”

At midmorning, Vlora was summoned from her dingy, leaky headquarters in the old staff building at Loel’s Fort. She came out to the muster yard expecting a messenger from the Lady Chancellor’s office or one of her own scouts but instead found a small Palo man, hat in hand, standing beside a rickshaw. The man had a gaunt face and the characteristic ashen freckles and fiery red hair of a Palo. There were crow’s feet around his eyes from too much squinting, and deep smile lines at the corners of his mouth. He ducked his head as Vlora approached.

“Lady Flint?” he asked in flawless Adran.

“That’s me.”

“Good afternoon. I am Devin-Tallis. I was sent by the Ice Baron.”

Vlora’s mind was elsewhere, churning over supply reports from her quartermasters, but she put them all out of her head at the mention of the peculiar baron. “Vallencian? What would he… Ah! Did he get me an invitation to the gala? When is that, tonight?”

“He did, my lady.” Devin-Tallis smiled pleasantly, blinking at Vlora for several moments.

“Can I have it?” she asked.

“Ah, it does not work like that, Lady Flint. I am your invitation.”

Vlora thought she understood immediately. The Depths was closed to outsiders. Of course she would need a guide to reach whatever “palace” this gala was being held in. She called toward the staff building for Olem, then turned back to the Palo. “When is it, exactly? Vallencian didn’t give me any details.”

“The baron seldom gives out details that don’t have to do with one of his stories,” Devin-Tallis said, speaking not as if he was a Palo peasant but rather a close friend of one of the richest men on the continent. “The celebration will take place at nine o’clock tonight, at the Yellow Hall. I’ll take you there and bring you back.”

Vlora looked over her shoulder, wondering where Olem had got himself to. “All right, what time do you want to leave?”

“Eight thirty should be fine. We’re not all that far from the hall.”

“Why’d you come so early?” Vlora asked.

“I work on the other side of town. I had a job over here, so I thought it seemed prudent. If it is pleasing to your ladyship, I’ll wait here until you’re ready to depart. I’ll stay out of the way.”

“Don’t call me that,” Vlora said. “Flint is fine, or General. All right, I’ll have a guard ready by that time. Can horses maneuver through the Depths, or should I bring infantry?”

“Ah,” Devin-Tallis said, clearing his throat, “I’m afraid horses would be a very bad idea. Besides, the invitation is for one.”

Vlora paused. One? She couldn’t even bring Olem with her? “They don’t have to come inside. They’re for protection. I’ve heard… things regarding the safety of the Depths.” She half-expected the Palo to laugh at her, but instead his face grew solemn.

“One,” he said, holding up a finger. “That is all I’m allowed to guide to the Yellow Hall. Lady Flint, or her appointee. No one else. As long as you are with me, that is a guarantee of your safety as long as you do not start a fight.”

“Even if I’m provoked?”

“Dueling is prohibited. You may bring your weapons, because you are a soldier, but if you draw them in anger your safety is revoked.”

“Who, exactly, guarantees this safety?” Vlora asked. She didn’t like anything about the arrangement. It sounded like a trap. Would Vallencian set her up?

“Everyone at the celebration will be a guest of Mama Palo.” Devin-Tallis’s face darkened slightly. “No one crosses Mama Palo. Should I wait, Lady Flint? Or have you reconsidered the offer?” He paused, considering, then added in a hushed tone, “Invitations like this are not extended often. The Ice Baron has vouched for you, and that allows you to enter Palo society this once. If you turn it down, you will not receive another opportunity.”