Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

“Agreed,” Tampo said. “Palo dragonmen no longer exist. I knew the Dynize were scouting Landfall, but a dragonman…”

Celine swung just a little too far out on the railing, her feet slipping, and Styke snatched her by the back of the shirt and pulled her back without taking his eyes off Tampo. “Wait. You knew the Dynize were in Landfall? Does Lady Flint know that? Do the Blackhats know?”

“I can’t think of a reason she’d keep it a secret if she knew.” Tampo clicked his tongue, his expression annoyed, as if he’d let something slip that he hadn’t meant to. “I’m not sure if the Blackhats know. They may have their suspicions, but… this isn’t information you need to know.” He held up a hand to forestall Styke’s protest. “It’s not that I don’t think you can keep a secret, but rather that the more people who are aware of the Dynize, the greater chance they will disappear without a trace. They have proved, like your dragonman, to be skittish when made the center of attention.”

This bit about Tampo already knowing about the Dynize made Styke return to his earlier question: What did Tampo want? It seemed that Lady Flint was only a small piece in a larger scheme, rather than the focus of his attentions. He had a stake in Landfall, though whether he was a revolutionary, a wannabe usurper, or simply a power broker of some kind, Styke could not guess. He was well connected and wealthy enough to know what was going on in Greenfire Depths and to get Styke released from Lindet’s labor camps. That meant something.

Tampo gestured vaguely, as if to himself, and said, “Never mind all that. I want you to focus on Lady Flint for now. Track down this dragonman and get Flint her answers – I’ll want to hear them as well – but try to stay as close to her as possible. She needs to stay alive for at least the next few months.”

“Until?”

“Until I know if she’ll be a help or a hindrance.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where a dragonman might be hiding, would you?” Styke asked. “It would sure make my job easier.”

“Unfortunately, I do not. You’re on your own for now, but I’ll pass on anything I can discover.” Tampo got to his feet, gently brushing Celine’s hair off the back of her neck to examine the red markings again. “Stay close to Mr. Styke,” he told Celine. “The man who did that to you won’t hesitate to go further if he catches you alone.”

“Yes, Mr. Tampo.”

Styke wondered if Tampo actually cared, or whether he was worried Styke wouldn’t be able to focus if something happened to Celine. Tampo was right to worry, but the question intrigued Styke.

“One more thing,” Tampo said as he turned to go. He held out a roll of banknotes. “Fidelis Jes knows that you’ve been released.”

Styke twirled the ring on his finger, feeling along the lance with his thumb. Fidelis Jes could certainly complicate things. “How?”

“Seems one of the guards I bribed had instructions to let Fidelis Jes know if you happened to get out for any reason. We could do without the attention, but no helping it now, unfortunately.”

Styke couldn’t help but agree. He was already looking over his shoulder for this dragonman to come calling – now he had to figure out a way to navigate the streets without attracting the attention of the Blackhats. He was going to have to start taking hackney cabs everywhere. But something else was bothering him. “You have people in the Blackhats?”

“Local police, actually,” Tampo said with a faint smile. “Seems Fidelis Jes has alerted most of the authorities that you’re a mass-murdering war criminal that must be apprehended.”

Styke felt a stab of anger. Being accused of being a murderer didn’t faze him. But a war criminal? That was preposterous. “Does that amuse you?” he asked.

“A little,” Tampo said. “I expect you to go ahead with your work. Just be warned that Fidelis Jes is coming for you. You’ll want to keep a low profile.”

“I’ll be ready for it when he does,” Styke said. He made a fist, imagining that it was around Fidelis Jes’s throat. “If Flint finds out she’ll hand me over without a fuss.”

Tampo’s smile broadened. “The garrisons haven’t been told, so I suspect Lady Flint will not find out for some time. You probably have a week or two to make yourself indispensable. Once you do that – once you’re one of her men – she won’t let Fidelis Jes walk away with you.” Tampo nodded to himself, as if satisfied with the meeting, and then turned and left the café as suddenly as he’d arrived.

Styke looked down at his third cup of coffee, the ice long melted, and then over at Celine. She was watching Tampo go, eyes sharp, and it struck him that she saw and heard more than most children her age. Good. It might just keep her alive to reach adulthood. Styke stood up, paid his bill, and took Celine by the hand. If Fidelis Jes knew he was out, he would stop at nothing to catch him. That meant looking in on old friends. Styke didn’t have a lot of those left, so he thought it best he give them some warning.

Vlora woke to the sound of a violent row outside the Loel’s Fort staff room. She bolted upright, blinking sleep out of her eyes and fumbling for her pistol, only for the door to burst inward. She lunged for the sword beneath her cot but was snatched up by strong hands, lifted bodily to her feet, and thrust into the light of the single window in the center of the room.

“What the pit…” Vlora struggled, only to suddenly find herself free. She nearly collapsed, but managed to keep her balance, blinking at the big, bearded face in front of her. “Vallencian? What are you doing here? By Adom, Vallencian, I’m not dressed!”

The Ice Baron shushed her loudly and spun her around, examining her body in a way that might have been horrifying if it wasn’t so clinical. Vlora tried to come to grips with what was happening, a hangover and far too little sleep keeping her head fuzzy. If there wasn’t a good reason for this, she was going to kill him.

“Ach!” Vallencian exclaimed, snatching up Vlora’s clothes from the chair she’d thrown them on last night and thrusting them into her hands. He turned away, as if suddenly embarrassed, his cheeks turning red, and began to pace furiously from one end of the room to the other as Vlora dressed. “I am sorry for this intrusion, Lady Flint, but I simply had to see that you were unharmed with my own eyes. If they had damaged a single hair on your head…” He let out a strangled exclamation.

Vlora’s own anger died out as she managed to clear the sleep from her head and saw that Vallencian was physically trembling, his hands balled into fists, tears streaming down his face. “Vallencian? Are you all right?”

“My idiot footman waited until I awoke to give me your message, so I have just now found out you were attacked last night on your way home from the gala.”

“Vallencian, calm down, or you’ll give yourself apoplexy.”

“You could have been killed!”

Vlora staggered over to the table, where she counted eight empty wine bottles. For who? Her, Olem, and Styke? Considering how hard it was for a powder mage to get a true hangover, most of that had gone in her. Pit, it was going to be a rough day. “I wasn’t. I wasn’t even hurt.”

“Incredible. A testament to your skill, and to the favor of the god of your choosing. But Lady Flint, you were under my protection. You are my friend. I am mortified, and I hope you will accept any gift that is in my power to give.”