The Crimson Campaign

“If you’d given me help, instead of deciding to let me take Vetas on my own, I wouldn’t have even wondered about your identity.”

“You’d have still wondered,” Ondraus said, waving one hand dismissively. “What do you want?”

“Fifty — no, seventy-five thousand krana in cash, and your help killing Lord Vetas and rescuing my wife.”

Ondraus steepled his fingers and leaned back. “You need to learn to get more out of your blackmail. I’m one of the richest men in the Nine.”

“I’m not interested in your money. I just want to get Faye back.”

“Vetas still has a Privileged.”

“That’s what the money is for. If I have the money, I’ll have my own Privileged.”

Ondraus mulled this over. “Resourceful. And if I decide to let you live once Vetas is dead?”

“I’ll forget you exist.”

“You surprise me, Adamat,” Ondraus said. His body was no longer tensed and angry. He lounged back in the chair, steepling his fingers. “The lengths you’re going to. I was warned years ago that you were the most principled, tenacious man on the Adopest police force. I actually have gone to a few small lengths to avoid you.”

“Believe me,” Adamat said. “If this didn’t involve my family, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Well, in that case, I have a stipulation. After this is over, you promise to work for me when I have need of you.”

“No.”

Ondraus held up his hand to forestall the protest. “I’ll pay you, if it happens. The work will likely be dangerous. But agree to this, or I’ll kill you and SouSmith, and see what happens.”

Adamat searched Ondraus’s eyes. There was an iron resolve there that told him Ondraus would do just that. And maybe… a hint of humor? A touch of a smile on his lips? Was Ondraus enjoying this?

“Agreed,” Adamat said.

“Wonderful.” Ondraus paused. “Does SouSmith know?”

“He thinks I’m here to ask for money,” Adamat said. He left out that he’d told SouSmith he planned on blackmailing the Proprietor. SouSmith might make his own deductions, or he might not. If he did, he was smart enough to keep quiet. No need telling Ondraus any of that.

“You’ll have it tomorrow,” Ondraus said. “I’ll have it delivered to…?”

“I’ll meet your man in Elections Square. By the stains.”

“You’re not to come here ever again,” Ondraus said. “Our contact will be through my eunuch. You may go now.”

Adamat slid his pistol into his pocket with the sudden realization that he was no longer in control.

“And Adamat,” Ondraus said, “if I ever have need to regret this, everyone you’ve ever loved will regret it too.”

CHAPTER 21

At some point during the beating they’d put a black hood over Taniel’s head and now he tripped and struggled as he was shoved through the camp by the provosts. He could hear their warning to those who passed to stay clear, and their quiet curses when he stumbled. Disoriented, he would have fallen but for the strong arms beneath his armpits. His head pounded, his body a knot of pain.

They forced him up a set of stairs and dragged him inside a building. An inn? Officers’ mess? He didn’t know. He was thrown into a chair, then tied down. He tried to struggle. The effort earned him a cuff on the back of the head.

Taniel slumped against his bonds and strained to hear some sound that would tell him his location. Nothing but the chatter of soldiers outside the building, too low to hear the voices. He might have been anywhere in the Adran camp.

How much time passed, he couldn’t be sure. The air grew cooler, so it must have been night. His face was completely numb. They had to have beaten it into a mess. He felt along his teeth. All there. His shirt was soaked — probably his own blood, and as he sat there, it grew cold.

The numbness in his body began to fade, along with his last powder trance, leaving him to feel the full pain of the beating, when he finally heard the door open. Multiple sets of heavy footsteps. Then another set. Lighter, but no less military.

His hood was pulled off. A match was struck and the lanterns on the wall lit. The room was no bigger than three yards square and was bare but for two chairs and the lanterns on the wall.

General Ket stood above him, arms crossed, her face impassive. She was flanked by two of her provosts. The men glared at him, cudgels held in such a way as if they were daring him to move.

“You’ll need more men,” Taniel said.

She seemed taken off guard that he spoke first. “What?”

“If you’re going to beat me into submission, or whatever it is you’re here to do.”

“Shut up, Two-Shot.” Ket scratched at the stub of her missing ear and then began to pace. “I should have you shot.”

“You’ll have to hang me,” Taniel said. He couldn’t help but chuckle. Shot. These officers all acted like they knew everything, but you can’t put a powder mage in front of a firing squad. Not one armed with conventional rifles, anyway.