never taken kindly to threats, whether real or implied, and Adamat put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him.
“There are circumstances,” Adamat said, “that are forcing me to consider you a prime suspect as Tamas’s traitor.”
Ricard’s mouth formed a hard line, but he remained silent. Now was the gamble. If Ricard was indeed the traitor, he’d set his goons on Adamat.
“You need to clean your house, Ricard,” Adamat said. “Kez spies are being smuggled in over the Adsea. Kez Wardens, too. Tamas is not pleased. I think Tamas will hold off for now, because he needs your ships desperately to ferry his men to the Gates.”
“What does this have to do with me?” Ricard said. His tone was controlled, but there was anger there.
Adamat poked him in the chest for emphasis. “The docks are your territory, my friend. Tamas knows what’s going on down here, and if he feels threatened, he’ll shut down everything. All the trade to Novi and Unice, all your factories and mills.”
Ricard’s eyes went wide. “He can’t. That’d tear the heart out of Adopest, and the union would be up in arms.”
“He might have to, if he thinks he’s got enemies down here.”
Ricard seemed to think on this for a moment. “Who else knows you are here?”
Adamat’s heart leapt. He gripped his cane a bit tighter, not willing to go down without a fight. If luck held, he might fend the three of them off until SouSmith could cross the street.
“No one,” Adamat said.
“No one sent you?”
“I came on my own.”
Ricard gazed at him for a moment, his eyes weighing the situation, as if deciding where to put the knife. Adamat considered calling out to SouSmith.
“Thank you,” Ricard said. “If you came to these conclusions yourself… I may have some cleaning to do, indeed. Thank you, my friend.”
Adamat watched Ricard walk into the night, finally taking that parasol from his bodyguard. His walk was more sober, quicker, as if he now had somewhere to go. SouSmith drew up quietly next to Adamat.
“Take your warning?” SouSmith asked.
“I don’t know,” Adamat said. “He didn’t try to kill me, so that’s a start. But he might have known what game I was playing. He’s not an idiot. We’ll see what he does next.”
“What now?”
“I have other suspects. I still have to see the arch-diocel, the Proprietor, and Prime Lektor.”
SouSmith gave Adamat a frown. “The Proprietor? Can’t get to him.”
“I’ll think of something.” Adamat tried to sound confident. “I suppose that means the arch-diocel is next.”
SouSmith made the sign of the Rope. “Don’t like that.”
Wiser words had rarely been spoken. “He knows I’m coming. We’ve an appointment with him in the morning.”
A young, nervous-looking priest stood on the front step of the arch-diocel’s home and watched Adamat’s carriage approach with an air of expectation. The home itself was a sprawling affair of a villa, only one story high but with a footprint to rival Skyline Palace. The style of architecture was far-eastern Gurlish with accenting white spires rising above a marble façade. There were satin drapes in onion-shaped windows. Vineyards stretched off to one side of the long cobblestone drive. On the other, grooms trained racing stallions on a horse track.
It was said, Adamat reflected as he stepped from the carriage and stretched his legs, that the arch-diocel was much more a man of pleasures than a man of Kresimir. Yet wasn’t that the way of the Church these days? Oh, there were genuine priests; men who loved Kresimir and their fellow man and toiled for peace and brotherhood. But Charlemund’s type was far more common. Their love of women and gold and power burned in them like a fever.
The young priest approached Adamat at a quick shuffle. He wore white robes down to his ankles and sandals on his feet; the clothes of an impoverished monk, despite the obvious wealth of the place.
“I am Siemone,” the priest said. He looked at his feet, his hands clasped before him as if praying.
“You serve the arch-diocel?” Adamat asked.
“I have the pleasure of serving Kresimir, sir,” Siemone responded, “by attending to his righteous servant Charlemund, arch-diocel of Adro.”
“I’ve an appointment with the arch-diocel,” Adamat said. “Are we to wait inside?” He pointed to the front door with his cane.
“Er, no, sir,” Siemone said. He wrung his hands as if he were cleaning his laundry. “The house is very full right now. His Lordship’s extended family has come to the villa to celebrate the Saint Adom’s Day festivities. Children running underfoot, shoulder