Brian McCLELLAN - The Autumn Republic

Tamas stood, shooting Taniel a glance. “What makes you think we have it?”

Claremonte gave him a level look. “Come now.”

“Ka-poel will be returned unhurt,” Taniel said.

“Taniel, enough,” Tamas barked.

“Not that girl,” Claremonte said. “I need that girl. I’ll give you another girl.”

“Who?” Tamas’s brow furrowed.

“Vlora.”

“She’s still alive?” Taniel asked.

“Quiet!” Tamas roared. “Taniel, wait outside. That’s an order!”

For a few moments Adamat thought that Taniel would resist his father, but with a glare for Claremonte he stalked out into the hallway.

“That’s not a fair trade,” Tamas said when his son was gone.

“Your powder mages killed many of my Privileged. The fact that Vlora is still alive is more than testament to my generosity.”

“And the fact that I didn’t let Taniel pummel you into next week is testament to mine.”

Claremonte rolled his eyes. “We needn’t resort to threats, Field Marshal. We aren’t children.”

Tamas drummed his fingers on his desk, eyeing Claremonte. “The trade would be conditional on the return of both Vlora and Ka-poel, and the withdrawal of every last one of your men from Adopest.”

“You can’t be considering this,” Winceslav protested. “We don’t know what use he’ll make of Kresimir’s body.”

“If I wished to release him, I would only have had to kill the girl,” Claremonte said. “Bring Mr. Two-Shot back inside. He’ll tell you.” He shook his head. “I’ve already promised to remove my men, but I can’t give you the savage. She’s the only thing holding Kresimir in check and I want my eye on her. Once Kresimir is buried in the deepest ocean trench, where the weight of the sea above him would keep even him from rising, I will give back the savage. You have my word.”

The room was quiet for several minutes while Tamas considered this, and Adamat wondered why Ondraus and Ricard hadn’t protested. This was madness! If Tamas had Kresimir’s body, it was not something he should let out of his keeping.

“Lady Winceslav is right,” Adamat said quietly.

Tamas glanced at him and sighed. “I agree. I can’t make that trade, Claremonte.”

“Hmm.” Claremonte got to his feet and collected his hat and cane from the sofa. “That is most unfortunate. Still, I will stand by my word. My men leave the city tomorrow, and then we wait for the results of the election. Until then, good luck.” He bowed to them each in turn and then left.

The rest of the meeting was a somber affair. Adamat heard shouting a few minutes after Claremonte left, presumably when Taniel found out his father wouldn’t make the trade. An hour went by before Ondraus followed Claremonte, presumably for their meeting at lunch, and an hour after that Adamat was alone with the field marshal.

“The books say that Brude has two faces,” Adamat said. “Not just some kind of allegory, but two actual presences.”

“So Claremonte isn’t the only enemy we have to focus on?”

“No. He’s not. I’m looking for the other one.”

“It could be anyone?”

“Yes.”

Tamas let his head drop into his hands. “That just made my day infinitely worse, Inspector.”

“Sorry, sir. Do you trust Claremonte?”

“Not at all. I’ll believe he’s going to leave of his own volition ten years after he actually does it.” Tamas held his head in his hands, staring at his desk. “Please tell me you have any information to make this better.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Tamas glanced up, a look of disbelief on his face. “Oh?”

“Yes. See, when Claremonte said he was the last god left in the Nine, he wasn’t precisely correct. Adom is still alive.”

Tamas gazed up at the doors to the manor, then down at the two uniformed guards who had stopped snoozing on the front step and now stood at attention before him. They were city policemen, who seemed to know who he was.

“As you were,” he said. “I’m not officially here.”

The two guards exchanged glances and seemed to relax.

“Just having a look around.” Tamas dismounted and handed his reins to one of the guards, while Olem handed his to the other. “Probably best not to mention my presence to anyone.”

“Yes sir,” one of the guards said.

Tamas slipped in through the front door and stood in the foyer, soaking in the eerie silence. Olem came in behind him, holding up a lantern, which threw shadows across the marble floors.

“You seem pensive, sir,” Olem said.

“The last time I was here, I almost died. That kind of thing makes a man pensive. In fact, shouldn’t you be just as pensive?”

“I just think this place is in bad taste.”

“It belonged to Charlemund,” Tamas said. “He was more concerned with opulence than with good taste. At least his damned bust isn’t here staring me in the face anymore.”

“You broke it, sir.”

“Ah. That’s right. Come on.”

They left the foyer and took a right, heading down one of the great hallways toward the kitchen per Adamat’s instructions. As they drew closer, Tamas could hear a distinct humming and felt his step quicken involuntarily. They reached the end of the hall and he gestured for Olem to wait for him, then stepped inside.

Unlike the rest of the empty manor, the kitchen was full of warmth and light. Two of the ovens burned brightly, and Tamas was hit by the smell of warm bread, roasting mutton, and squash soup. His mouth watered and his fingers twitched in anticipation.

The main baking table was clean at one end and set with silver tableware for two.

“Good morning, Field Marshal.”

It was a shock to see Charlemund in a chef’s apron, white hat on his head, and for a moment Tamas reached for his sword. Charlemund had put on at least two stone since Tamas had shot the Arch-Diocel in the gut and then thrown him under guard until he could figure out what to do with him. His face was broader, and he wore a grin that Tamas had never seen on Charlemund before.

He let his hand fall away from his sword. “It’s really you? Mihali?”

“Mihali is dead.” The grin faltered for a moment. “Unfortunate to say. I am Adom, in my purest form.” He looked down at himself. “Well, I never looked quite like this. I’ll admit that Charlemund was a little handsomer than me, in my original body.”

“How?” Tamas asked.

Adom tugged at the strings of his apron and swept it to one side. “Come! Break bread with me. I can hear your stomach from here and I haven’t eaten in at least a couple of hours.”

There were no chairs, and the table was too high for them anyway, so Tamas stood opposite Adom while the god ladled him a bowl of squash soup. A few minutes later, Tamas was asking for another, which Adom happily supplied, before serving the main meal of mutton, sliced thin on toasted bread.

“Your son,” Adom finally said, breaking the silence.

Tamas stopped chewing for a moment, having forgotten he’d even asked a question. “What about him?”

“After he shot Kresimir, the counterstroke almost killed him. It would have killed anyone else instantly, but Ka-poel’s wards were tight enough to block even Kresimir’s fury. It put him right on the brink, and even I couldn’t bring him back. But that darling girl.” Adom shook his head. “I’ve never seen anyone learn so quickly. Not even Kresimir himself.”

“What does that have to do with you?”

“I’m getting there. She figured out that Taniel’s coma would require a life. So she took Charlemund’s. She stripped his essence from him, leaving his body nothing more than a husk.”