The Crimson Campaign

Tamas felt a great dread in the pit of his stomach. His heart thundered in his ears, and he paused for a moment to gather his nerve. Charging into a brigade of Kez was easier than this.

He took his hand off his sword and pushed the closet door open.

“Hello, Halley,” he said.

When Adamat arrived at the headquarters of the Noble Warriors of Labor, Ricard wasn’t there. In fact, no one was there but the porter and the bartender, and the latter poured Adamat a glass of Gurlish beer from a chilled cask and directed him to wait in the foyer.

Adamat elected to let himself into Ricard’s study.

He waited for almost three hours, growing more and more nervous as he watched the light begin to wane and darkness fall over the Adsea, before the sound of the doors in the foyer bursting open brought him to his feet.

Adamat went to the door of Ricard’s office and nudged it open with his toe. Through the crack, he could see Ricard striding through the foyer, tossing his coat angrily on the floor. The union boss’s thinning hair was standing straight off his head, and his white shirt was wet with sweat. “Get me a drink!” he yelled. Fell trailed behind him, along with a half-dozen other assistants.

No sign of Lord Claremonte’s men. Adamat stepped out of Ricard’s office, feeling a little sheepish about his suspicions.

Ricard strode past him into the office and threw himself into his desk chair.

“We’re buggered, Adamat,” he said.

Instead of asking why he’d been left waiting for three hours, Adamat said, “Why?”

“The Brudania-Gurla Trading Company has invaded our country.”

“What did you find out?” Adamat asked.

The porter brought Ricard a bottle of dark whiskey and a glass. Ricard threw the glass in the fireplace, where it exploded in a tinkle of shiny shards, then grabbed the bottle and pulled out the stopper, downing a quarter of the bottle in several long swallows.

Adamat yanked it from his fingers. “You getting shit-faced isn’t going to help anyone.”

“You don’t understand,” Ricard said. “Claremonte’s coming, and he’s bringing everything he has with him.” Adamat could see in Ricard’s eyes that he wasn’t just angry or flustered; he was scared. Adamat had never seen his old friend like this. There was real fear in his eyes.

“Has Brudania invaded?” Adamat asked.

“Pit if I know. Not a damn shot was fired. No one even tried to stop me when I went up to the locks to ask questions. Claremonte just bribed every union member on the canal and brought his fleet over. Simple as that. They’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Adamat blanched. “How could they possibly be here that quickly?”

Ricard pointed out the window, though it didn’t even face the direction of the canal. “We built the canal to bring goods over the mountains quickly. It can support the draft of Claremonte’s merchantmen, and the Ad River has been deepened the entire way down. The union has spent the last five years replacing every bridge on the Ad just so that we can do exactly what Claremonte is doing now. Nothing can stop him.”

“Surely there’s something.”

“I’ve spent every minute since I returned trying to come up with an option. I wasted an hour talking to blacksmiths to see if we could build an immense chain fast enough to stop him, but it can’t be done.”

Ricard looked like a drowning man who couldn’t quite reach the rope being lowered to him. His face was flushed, and Adamat now noticed that his pants were torn up one leg at the calf.

“You’re bleeding,” Adamat said.

Ricard looked at his leg and gave a sigh. He made no motion to staunch the wound.

Fell came into the room. Her hair was back, her uniform tidy. Not an eyelash out of place.

“He’s bleeding,” Adamat told her.

She knelt by Ricard’s side and exposed the wound, tying it up.

“Anything?” Ricard asked her.

“We’re still working on it.”

“We have to organize a defense,” Adamat said.

Ricard hiccuped. He reached toward the whiskey bottle. “There’s no time.”

“There’s police,” Adamat said, pulling the bottle out of Ricard’s reach. “Some soldiers. Call on the people. You have the newspapers. Use them.”

“A militia,” Ricard said, sitting up, his ears perking like a dog’s.

“Yes.” Adamat felt his heart begin to race. “This city is not indefensible. There’s a million people here. Use the newspapers. You remember the crowd at Elections Square when Tamas put Manhouch’s head in a basket. There’s the will. The manpower. People will rise up to defend their homes.”

Ricard leapt to his feet, knocking Fell back on her ass. “Fell,” he said, helping her up. “Draft a letter. Inform the newspapers. I want the front page first thing in the morning. Tell them every home in Adopest is to have a newspaper by sunup. I want the presses working all night! Get me the union bosses. I want everyone involved. We’ll do it. We’ll defend this city!”

Adamat felt a smile spread over his face. This was the Ricard he knew.

Ricard snatched him by the hand. “Adamat, thank you. I knew you had it in you. Whatever I’m paying you, double it.”