The Autumn Republic

“Of course.” The words were almost a purr. “Hewi-may I call you Hewi? Hewi, I can only assume that you’ve come to ask me about the unfortunate incident with Ricard Tumblar yesterday.”

“That’s true,” the commissioner said.

“I want to assure you that I had nothing to do with it.” Claremonte moved back to his chair by the window and dropped gracefully into it, sending his robe fluttering. “Can I offer any of you some breakfast? Eggs? Coffee? Biscuits?”

“Nothing, thank you,” Hewi said. “You understand that we’ll need to look into your records? This case will be very high-profile and you are running against Mr. Tumblar for First Minister of Adro. You have the means and the motive.”

“I understand. Your men are welcome to my records and to question my employees. As long, of course, as it does not interfere with my campaign.”

“We’ll do our best to keep the investigation discreet.”

“Many thanks.”

Adamat let his eyes search the room once more, trying to find anything he had missed-and trying to get his emotions under control. No good inspector could allow himself to be ruled by emotion.

There were three other chairs aside from the one Claremonte sat in, but he hadn’t offered his guests a seat. The sun blazed through the window, casting long shadows on the floor and inside wall and making it hard to look directly at Claremonte. Strategic placement, or happy coincidence?

Something about that bothered Adamat. He couldn’t quite place what it was.

Strategic placement, Adamat decided. A man like Claremonte didn’t do things by accident. Which meant his pajamas were meant to say something as well. Presenting casual indifference? Disrespect?

“Lord Claremonte,” Adamat said, interrupting something Claremonte had been saying. “Can you give us any reason why you wouldn’t want Ricard dead?”

Claremonte seemed taken aback. “Why, several. For one, attacking Mr. Tumblar and failing to kill him will only raise his public sympathy.”

“Or expose your opponent’s weakness.”

“Perhaps, but he’s very well liked. For another thing, if he had been killed, his Second Minister would have stepped forward to run in his place. And I have no desire to run against a war hero like Taniel Two-shot. Not with all these rumors going around that he’s killed a god and what other nonsense. He’s got a cult of worship among the people almost as deep as his father’s.”

But would he step up, Adamat wondered. He decided not to voice the question, lest it give Claremonte any ideas. “So you think you have the best shot of winning with Ricard alive?”

“Yes. Alive, and in one piece.” Claremonte shook his head sadly. “Regardless of who is to blame, some of the public will surely blame me. I would rather the whole event never have happened. I’m in a very good place right now-public perception is high and supporters are flocking to me in droves. I’ve just landed an incredible endorsement. The election is just over a month away, and anything like this bombing that could destabilize public perception can only work against me.”

“May I ask who will be endorsing you?”

“You’ll find out with the rest of Adro in a few weeks. He’s my trump card, if you don’t mind the saying. I don’t want to let out the word too early.”

“I see. I’m sorry to have interrupted, Commissioner,” Adamat said, lapsing into silence.

Hewi examined Adamat for a moment and then turned back to Claremonte, asking him a series of standard questions. Adamat was pleased to hear her go a little harder on him than she would have before Manhouch’s removal. He had heard from his friends still with the police that investigations were so incredibly easier now that kowtowing to the nobility wasn’t a standard part of the job.

Adamat listened to the questions for several minutes before slipping out the front of the room and into the grand hallway of the north wing of Skyline Palace. He needed to clear his head. Something in that room bothered him. It lurked on the edge of his awareness, tantalizingly out of reach.

He strolled down the hallway, listening to the click of his cane and the heavy footfalls of SouSmith following along behind him. Aside from those sounds, the hall was absolutely silent. Strange, what with most of Claremonte’s five thousand men stationed on the grounds. He would have thought there to be more activity.

A small sound caught his attention. He followed it, head turned, past three empty sitting rooms and into a fourth, where a series of small scratching noises proved to come from fifty pens all writing at once. A salon had been turned into a clerks’ office. Several dozen men sat at desks set up in the room, working studiously while a monitor moved up and down the aisles, occasionally bending to whisper to one of the clerks.