Doles, who was dressed like an ordinary sailor — and probably was — took the banknote and stuffed it in his pocket. He reached beneath the bar, not taking his eyes off Adamat, and brought up a decanter of dark liquid. He slammed it on the bar with enough force to make Adamat jump, then poured a shot into a small, dirty cup.
“Bad season for it,” Doles said.
The script was just as Vetas had said. Adamat’s mouth was dry, and he had to concentrate to keep his hand from shaking as he reached out and took the glass of whiskey in one hand. “Never a bad season for Brudanian whiskey,” he replied.
Adamat had had a cudgel pulled on him enough times to know the signs. Dole’s wrist twitched behind the bar. A moment later his hand came up, cocked back and swinging a piece of polished wood the length of a man’s forearm.
Adamat drew his pistol with his left hand and raised his right to grab Doles’s wrist, arresting the swing of the cudgel.
“I think we should settle down,” Adamat said, his pistol aimed at the barkeep’s nose.
Doles didn’t even blink. “Yes. We should.”
Adamat blanched. He felt the cold barrel of a pistol touch the back of his neck, and his hackles went up.
“Drop it,” Doles said.
Adamat rolled his tongue around his parched gums. His heart hammered in his ears. “I die, you die,” he said.
“I’ll take the risk.” Doles didn’t seem concerned.
The pistol barrel pressed harder against the back of his neck. Adamat slowly lowered his own pistol and set it on the bar. Doles picked it up and unloaded it. “Kill them, dump the bodies out beyond the breakers.”
Adamat felt rough hands grab him by the arms. He was pulled around to see SouSmith receiving similar treatment. Three of the sailors held him, knives drawn to his throat, while two others manhandled Adamat down to his knees.
“Don’t do it here,” Doles said with some annoyance, gesturing to the sailors. “I don’t want blood on me floorboards. Do it downstairs.”
“I’m here about a boy,” Adamat said as he was shoved toward one corner of the room.
Doles didn’t answer him.
“Someone you smuggled into Kez,” Adamat said.
A rug was pulled back to reveal a trapdoor. SouSmith began to struggle violently, and one of the men holding Adamat joined the other three to wrestle SouSmith toward the corner.
“Vetas is dead!” Adamat said.
The sailor stopped pushing him toward the trapdoor. Adamat jerked away from his grip and faced Doles, who was holding up one hand.
“Dead? Really?”
“Yes,” Adamat said. “We took him and his men, and Vetas is dead.”
Doles sighed. “Damn it. We’ll have to move again.” He twitched his head, and Adamat was grabbed and pushed. Adamat tried to struggle, but the sailor was far stronger than he. His cane had been lost by the bar, and his hat knocked off. He snagged a handful of the sailor’s hair and fought back.
Doles walked around the bar and watched the struggle impassively. “Either up here or down there,” Doles said. “Don’t make no difference to me. ’Cept I’ll have to clean the blood up if you die here.” He paused. “Well, we’re moving anyway. Guess it doesn’t matter.”
“He’s my son!” Adamat said. “Please, I just want him back. Don’t you have children?”
“Nope,” Doles said, leaning against the bar. He seemed amused by the struggle between SouSmith and his sailors.
“A father? You had a father! Please!”
“I did,” Doles said. “Bastard and a drunk. Woulda killed him myself had he not fallen off a dock and drowned.”
Adamat stepped back, and his foot touched air as he fell into the trapdoor. He snagged one arm on the ladder leading down beneath the pier, and the other on the floor. A sailor stomped on his hand, and Adamat let out a yell.
“I’ll pay you!” Adamat said. “For my boy, I’ll pay to get him back.”
Doles chuckled. “You can’t afford it.”
“A hundred thousand krana. In cash!”
Doles’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Well. Let up, boys.” He stepped forward and kicked the sailor still grinding his heel into Adamat’s fingers. “I said, let up!”
The sailor stepped away from Adamat, and the others ceased wrestling with SouSmith. The moment they’d loosened their hold, SouSmith grabbed one by the face and picked him off the floor, tossing him through the window. There was a strangled scream and a splash.
“Let up!” Doles bellowed.
SouSmith froze, a snarl on his face, the arm of a sailor grasped between two hands as if he was ready to snap a twig.
Doles glanced out the broken window, then frowned at SouSmith. “A strong bugger,” he muttered. Louder, “Three hundred thousand,” Doles said. “That’s the price for your boy.”
“Three hundred…?”
“Take it or leave it,” Doles said. “And by ‘leave it’ I mean we’ll kill you now.”
Adamat felt his mouth work soundlessly. Even with the money Bo had given him, he didn’t have three hundred thousand krana. He’d have to borrow from Ricard.
“I’ll do it.”
