Bo waved the letter. “Yes, I read that. Pit. Pit, pit, pit. I suppose I could go kill them all, if they haven’t hanged him by the time I get there.”
“That wouldn’t be very good for the war effort,” Adamat pointed out. “And we don’t know which of the generals are profiteering.”
“You think I give a damn about who it is?” Bo snapped. Bo raised his hand, and even though he wasn’t wearing his Privileged’s gloves, Adamat felt himself shrink into his chair. Bo took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a few minutes before speaking again. “I’ll take care of this,” he said. To Ricard, “I may need your help.”
“My organization is at your disposal.”
“Good.”
Bo left as quickly as he’d arrived, and Adamat found himself alone with Ricard once again.
“Well, that’s interesting. You’ve made yourself some rather fascinating friends.” Ricard plucked a half-smoked cigar from an ashtray and examined it, as if deciding whether to finish it off. He tossed it into the rubbish bin at his feet.
“I’d rather not have had to,” Adamat murmured.
“You need a break. Not more work. I see that now. You should come on a trip with me,” Ricard said.
“What? Where?”
“The grand opening of the Pan-Deliv Canal!” Ricard stood up and threw back the curtains on his window to reveal the ugliness of the factory dock-fronts with the backdrop of a rainstorm raging across the Adsea. He cocked an eyebrow at the weather and closed the curtains.
“I thought it was called the King Manhouch Canal?”
“No king, no King Manhouch Canal.” Ricard opened his cigar box and offered one to Adamat, which he refused.
“I will not let you cheer me up,” Adamat said.
Ricard waved his hand in front of him as if envisioning a sign hanging from the wall. “I wanted to call it the Tumblar Crossing, but my Ministerial Election Committee seems to think that humility looks better to the voting public, while the council wanted something to strengthen ties with Deliv.” Ricard struck a match and lit his cigar. “I give up so much for the greater good.”
“You poor man,” Adamat said.
“You’ll come to the grand opening?”
“No.” What could possibly make Ricard think that Adamat would want to travel, after all his ordeals? He closed his eyes, trying to escape the stink of those oysters. “What about Privileged Borbador?”
“I’ll leave word for my people to help him. Come with me. I insist,” Ricard said.
“Absolutely not. My wife is in no shape to travel. My children — ”
“Your children can come. I’ll hire the nannies, and you and Faye can ride in my carriage. We leave this afternoon.”
“Faye will not go!”
“She’s already agreed.”
Adamat narrowed his eyes. “Liar.”
“Cross my heart,” Ricard said. “I visited her yesterday.”
“She would have said something.”
“She didn’t, apparently. Go home and ask her. My bet is that she’s already packed. It’ll do you both good to get out of the city.”
“If you planned this all out, why that rubbish about the profiteering generals?”
“I wanted to get your thoughts on it. You weren’t very helpful.”
“I couldn’t possibly — ”
“All expenses are on me,” Ricard said. He leaned over his desk, his nose wrinkling as incense wafted in his face. “Go home and get ready. My carriage will pick you up in three hours. No more arguments.”
“I won’t be bullied.” Adamat tried to get angry. He wanted to lean across the desk and smack Ricard, but the fury just wasn’t there. Ricard was right. He needed to get out of the city and have some fresh air. If the children could come, and Faye had already agreed, perhaps it would do them all some good.
“Three hours,” Ricard said.
Adamat kicked the travel case, sending stacks of banknotes across the floor. “All right, damn it! Just throw out those damned oysters!”
Ricard stood up straight and nodded, pinching his nose at the pungent odor. “Agreed.”
Taniel didn’t know whether to curse his luck or to praise it.
General Ket could very well have sent him to the noose. She had the backing of the rest of the senior staff — all but General Hilanska, it seemed. Fell’s arrival couldn’t have been more timely, and Abrax’s offer of employment with the Wings would let him stay on the front.
But to be thrown out of the Adran army? The thought still made him stumble. He’d been raised in the army. He’d marched and killed and bled for them for nearly half his life and now they tossed him aside like unwanted trash, all because he accused the General Staff of helping Kez.
And perhaps they were. Their retreat orders were suspiciously well timed, and their refusal to hold the line even when the Kez were beaten was baffling.
Nothing Taniel could do about it now except join the Wings of Adom. He’d have a chance to finally finish off the Kez Privileged, and maybe once all those damned sorcerers were dead, they’d stop making Wardens of any kind. Of course, Taniel also needed a way to get Kresimir’s blood so that Ka-poel could kill him.
That seemed like the easy part.
An explosion sent Taniel reeling. He regained his feet a moment later. Where had it come from?
