Brian McCLELLAN - The Crimson Campaign

He closed the door and slid the latch, returning to his desk.

“Tell me everything,” Ricard said.

Adamat paused. He’d fought with himself for days about whether to come to Ricard at all, and what exactly to say. It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust Ricard – it was that he didn’t trust Ricard’s people. Lord Vetas had spies everywhere. But if he couldn’t trust Ricard himself, then there was no one left in his life to turn to for help.

“Faye and the children were taken by a man named Lord Vetas,” Adamat said. “They were held against their will to guarantee my cooperation. I gave Vetas information about my conversations with Tamas and my investigation.”

Ricard tensed. Whatever he’d expected, this was not it. “You crossed Tamas?” And you’re still alive? was the unspoken question.

“I’ve told Tamas all of it,” Adamat said. “He has forgiven me – for now – and sent me on a hunt for Lord Vetas. I managed to rescue some of the children, but Vetas still has Faye and Josep.”

“Can’t you use Tamas’s soldiers to go after Vetas?”

“I’d have to find him first. Once I do, I wish it were that simple. The moment Vetas finds out where I am, he will no doubt threaten me with Faye’s life. I need to find him silently, track him, and get her out of his hands before I bring down Tamas’s wrath upon him.”

Ricard nodded slowly. “So you don’t know where he is?”

“He’s like a ghost. I looked into him when he first started blackmailing me. He doesn’t even exist.”

“If you can’t find him, I doubt any of my people can.”

“I don’t need you to find him. I need information.” Adamat reached into his pocket and removed the card Vetas had left him months ago. It had an address on it. “This is the only lead I have. It’s an old warehouse not all that far from here. I need to know everything about it. Who owns it? Who owns the properties around it? When was it last sold? Everything. Your people have access to records I can’t easily get my hands on.”

Ricard nodded. “Of course. Anything.” He reached to take the card.

Adamat stopped him, clutching Ricard’s hand. “This is deadly serious. The lives of my wife and my son depend on it. If you don’t think you can trust your people, just tell me now and I’ll find him myself.” Remember what happened with the Barbers , Adamat said silently.

Ricard seemed to get the message. “I have some people,” Ricard said. “Don’t worry. This will be safe.”

“One more thing,” Adamat said. “There are two people involved in this somehow that you might blanch at crossing.”

Ricard smiled. “If it’s not Tamas, I can’t imagine who.”

“Lord Claremonte and the Proprietor.”

Ricard’s smile disappeared. “Lord Claremonte doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “The Brudania-Gurla Trading Company has been trying to move in on the union since our inception. He’s tricky, but he doesn’t scare me.”

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss him. Lord Vetas works for him.” And Vetas was holding Adamat’s wife and son hostage. Claremonte, as far as Adamat was concerned, might as well have been holding Faye and Josep personally.

Ricard made a dismissive gesture. “You say that the Proprietor might be involved? I don’t trust him, of course, but I thought you cleared him of treachery yourself.”

“I never cleared him,” Adamat said. “I just found out that Charlemund was the one trying to kill Tamas. One of the Proprietor’s boxers was holding my family hostage. You know how he is about his boxers finding work elsewhere – no one works for someone else without the Proprietor’s permission.” Which meant that the Proprietor may be in league with Lord Claremonte.

“Tread carefully on this, my friend,” Ricard warned. “Vetas may be trying to use you, but the Proprietor will cut and bury your entire family without so much as a thought.” He glanced at the card Adamat had given him and put it in his vest pocket. “I’ll look into this, don’t worry. But I need a favor from you.”

“Go on.”

“Do you know Taniel Two-Shot?”

“I know of him,” Adamat said. “Everyone in the Nine does. The newspapers were saying he was in a coma after a battle of sorcery on top of South Pike Mountain.”

“He’s not in a coma anymore,” Ricard said. “He woke up a week ago, and he’s disappeared.”

Adamat’s first thoughts went to Lord Vetas. The man was working actively against Tamas. He would leap at the chance to capture the field marshal’s son. “Any sign of violence?”

Ricard shook his head. “Well, yes. But it’s not like that. He left his guard duty of his own volition. Tamas had his own men guarding him, but my people were keeping an eye on him as well. That he slipped both our nets is rather embarrassing. I need him found quietly.”

“Do you want him returned?” Adamat said. “I’m not about to make a powder mage do something he doesn’t want to do.”

“No, just find out where he is and let me know.”

Adamat stood up. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“And I’ll look into this Lord Vetas.” Ricard held up a hand to forestall Adamat’s protests. “Discreetly. I promise.”

Tamas entered Budwiel’s biggest mess hall and was nearly knocked over by the swirl of enticing smells wafting from inside.

He swept past the tables where hundreds of his men were having their evening repast and headed toward the kitchens, trying to ignore his hunger pangs.

The man he was looking for was hard to miss: big, fat, taller than most, with waist-length black hair tied behind his head and his olive skin showing just a touch of Rosvelean ancestry. He stood in one corner of the kitchens, on his toes to be able to see into the highest row of ovens.

Mihali was, officially, Tamas’s chef. He and his cadre of assistants provided food of the highest caliber for Tamas’s entire army, and even for the city of Budwiel. The people loved Mihali; the men worshipped him.

Well, perhaps they should worship him.

He was Adom reborn, patron saint of Adro, and brother to the god Kresimir. Which made him a god in his own right.

Mihali turned to Tamas and waved across the myriad of assistants, flour going up in a cloud around him.

“Field Marshal,” the chef called. “Come over here.”

Tamas stifled the annoyance at being summoned like a common soldier and made his way through the tables of bread.

“Mihali–”

The god-chef cut him off. “Field Marshal, I’m so glad you’re here. I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you.”

Great importance? Tamas had never seen Mihali so distressed. He leaned forward. What could possibly worry a god? “What is it?”

“I can’t decide what to make for lunch tomorrow.”

“You git!” Tamas exclaimed, taking a step back. His heart thundered in his ears, as if he’d expected Mihali to announce that the world would end on the morrow.

Mihali didn’t seem to notice the insult. “I haven’t not known what to cook for decades. I normally have it all planned out but… I’m sorry, are you mad about something?”

“I’m trying to fight a war here, Mihali! The Kez are knocking at Budwiel’s front door.”

“And hunger is knocking at mine!”

Mihali seemed so out of sorts that Tamas forced himself to calm down. He put a hand on Mihali’s arm. “The men will love whatever you make.”

“I’d planned poached eggs with asparagus tips, filet of salmon, lamb chops glazed with honey, and a selection of fruit.”

“That’s three meals you just named there,” Tamas said.

“Three meals? Three meals? That’s four courses, barely enough for a proper lunch, and I did the same thing five days ago. What kind of a chef serves the same meal more than once a week?” Mihali tapped flour-covered fingers against his chin. “How could I have messed up? Maybe it’s a leap year.”