Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

Vlora had heard terms like this before, and it always led to one thing: a trap. Vallencian seemed genuine, and so did the Palo rickshaw driver. But she couldn’t be certain. The implication here was that Mama Palo herself had approved her invitation, which could mean anything at all. She suddenly realized how little she knew of Mama Palo. Was she a malevolent force? Lindet and the Blackhats certainly seemed to think so. Did she scheme outside of Greenfire Depths and the Palo that she had united, or did she stay within a small area of influence? Was she the type to dare the ire of a dangerous mercenary company by harming their general?

As much as the situation made her leery, she felt like she had to take advantage of this. Blackhats didn’t dare the Depths, yet she had been invited right to Mama Palo’s doorstep. Perhaps Mama would even be there tonight in the flesh. Kidnapping her on her own would be impossible, but if Vlora could arrange another, less public meeting…

“All right,” she said. “Eight thirty. I’ll be here.”

“Very good, Lady Flint. I’ll wait.”

“And I’ll send someone out with some water,” Vlora said over her shoulder, heading back toward the staff building. She found Olem on the other side of headquarters, helping a handful of soldiers pry an immense, rotted beam off the inside of the fort walls. The group leaned on a long pry bar, heaving and hoeing until the beam came loose in a shower of spongy wooden fragments. Olem saw Vlora and came to join her, dusting off his hands. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Olem said reluctantly. “But they needed an extra body, so I pitched in. I like to get my hands dirty.”

“That’s why I like you,” Vlora responded. She smiled at his rolled-up sleeves and the sweat on his brow, considering the things she’d like to do to him. But business came first. It always came first. “I just got my invitation to the gala.”

Olem’s face lit up and he gave her a wink. “Excellent! I’ll get my dress reds and put together an honor guard.”

“Yeah,” Vlora said, drawing out the word. “That’s a problem.”

“How?” Olem asked, immediately suspicious.

“I’m the only one allowed to go. If I try to bring anyone else, the invitation is forfeit.”

Olem looked nonplussed. “Well, we’ll have to figure out something else, then.” He paused, examining Vlora’s face, then shook his head. “Oh, pit. You want to go in there alone, don’t you? Absolutely not, I forbid it.”

“You what?” Vlora said, her voice growing dangerously quiet. She grit her teeth, ready for a fight.

“I forbid it,” Olem said, though with slightly less conviction. He knew he’d made a mistake.

“I love you dearly, but you do not forbid me anything,” Vlora said in a low voice. “This is a once-in-a-million chance. I’m being invited straight into the den of our quarry, without a fight, without a risk to the lives of my men.”

“The adder’s nest, more like it,” Olem spat.

“Have you known me to fear adders?” Vlora forced herself to rethink her anger. Olem wasn’t coddling her. She knew this was a risk she was taking, perhaps foolishly. He was not in the wrong to question it. But she was the commanding officer.

“No,” Olem answered after a few moments of silence. “I’ve never known you to fear much of anything.”

“I’ll have my weapons,” Vlora said. “And my powder. I won’t drink and I won’t eat, and I’ll keep a hand on my pistol. If anything happens I’ll carve my way out of it.”

Olem scoffed. “You’re being pigheaded.”

“Perhaps. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“At least let me send Norrine or Davd with you.”

Vlora lifted a finger like Devin-Tallis. “One invitation. No more.”

“Shit,” Olem said, pacing the space between her and the outer wall of the fort. “I wish Styke was here. He said he knows a bit about the Depths. If he was, I could at least have him shadow you.”

“Well, he’s not. Have you heard from him?”

“Stopped by earlier. Said he had a lead on those dragonmen. Said he’d know more tonight.”

Vlora stood with her hands on her hips, drumming the butt of her pistol. She wondered if the big bastard was leading them on, or if he really had something. “All right. I’ll meet with him when I get back. It might not be until tomorrow. It’s a party, after all.”

Olem’s jaw tightened in a way she found endearing, and he finally said, “All right. Keep your sword loose, and don’t trust anyone.”

“Of course not.”

“And,” Olem added, “if anything happens to you, I will burn down Greenfire Depths, Lindet and Mama Palo be damned.”

Michel nursed a decent-sized bruise while Fidelis Jes stood over him, reading through his report on Bobbin’s betrayal. Jes gave an occasional grunt or “hmm,” but otherwise fumed silently at the papers in his hands. Michel could feel the grand master’s anger almost as strongly as he could feel the throbbing just over his left eye.

“You’re certain about this?” Jes asked finally, looking up.

Michel sat up straighter in his seat in the waiting room of the grand master’s office. He glanced over at Dellina, whose sympathetic smile was reassuring but unhelpful, and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Betrayed by our own treasurer,” Jes spat, tossing the report across the room. Papers fluttered to the floor. “ And he got away. Dellina, make a note to have our people in the port cities of Fatrasta keep an eye out for someone matching Bobbin’s description. We don’t have the time or resources to track him down right now, but we’ll get him eventually.” He looked down at Michel, eyes narrowed. “It seems, Agent Bravis, that you’ve exceeded my expectations by tracking down the Roses in just a few days, and then failed me by letting the traitor go. All at once. I’m impressed.”

Not the good kind of impressed, the sardonic voice in the back of Michel’s head said. “Sir, I don’t think Bobbin matters much anymore. We need to hunt him down, of course,” he added quickly, “but what we really want is the person who hired him. This lawyer. He’s the real enemy here, and I’d like to request the chance to catch him.” And once I do, you’re going to forget all about Bobbin and hand me a Gold Rose .

Fidelis Jes’s gaze did not falter. He stared at Michel, annoyed.

“I got a bit out of Bobbin before he attacked me,” Michel went on. “He didn’t know the name of the man who hired him. But we have a description. I can track him down and keep this thing quiet. With Bobbin gone our unknown enemy no longer has access to the Millinery.”

“Unless he wasn’t working alone.”

Michel swore to himself silently. Bobbin was a loner – the single treasurer down on the bottom floor, always ready to share the office gossip but never really connecting with anyone. It hadn’t even occurred to Michel that he might have an accomplice. “I think he was, sir.” Michel tried to sound confident. “I’m fairly good at reading people. He gave me a full confession before he fled. I think he would have named names if there were any. He was mortified at his involvement in the scandal.”

“Yes, you mentioned that in your report,” Jes said sourly. He looked down at the report scattered around the room. “You’re too easy on him, Agent Bravis. A traitor is a traitor.”

“I understand, sir. I won’t be taken by surprise so easily next time.” Michel pointed to the bruise. “I’ll have this to remind me to give him what for if I see him.”