Sabon snickered. Tamas threw him a look. Spies. He’d rather let the whole lot of them rot in the pit. Unfortunately, he needed them.
“Are the Barbers here yet?” Tamas asked.
“I don’t know,” Fingers said.
Tamas jerked a thumb at the door. “Go find out.”
“Someone will let us know.”
“Now.”
The spy scurried from the room, and Tamas went over to the counter, hoisting himself up. He rubbed at the stitches on his chest, resisting the urge to pick at them.
“I need some advice,” Tamas said.
“Of course you do. You’re like a newborn babe, without me by your side.”
The silence dragged on for several moments. Tamas could read Sabon’s eyes. If I’d been there, they said, that Warden wouldn’t have come close to killing you.
“Mihali,” Tamas said. “The mad chef.”
“Is this really worthy of your attention?”
“He’s cooking for the whole army. Morale is higher than ever, mostly thanks to him.”
“So what more do you know about him?”
“He escaped from the Hassenbur Asylum,” he said.
“Ah. A madman.”
“They certainly think so. They’ve sent some men to retrieve him. He claims he was committed because his relatives and competitors were jealous of him.”
“Paranoid?”
Tamas shrugged. “Possibly.”
“Send him back,” Sabon said. “His cooking is good, but it’s not worth making enemies of the asylum’s patrons. Do you know who they are?”
“A man named Claremonte.”
Sabon was silent for a moment. “The new head of the Brudania-Gurla Trading Company?”
“Yes.”
“I think that settles it. We can’t risk our supply of saltpeter.”
“I’m not so sure,” Tamas said.
“That rubbish in the newspapers?” Sabon snorted. “Mihali claiming to be Adom reborn? Evidence of his madness, I would think. Not many educated men believe such myths.”
“You haven’t met him.”
Sabon ran a hand over his smooth head. “You believe him?”
“Don’t look at me like that. Of course not. But the man’s harmless.”
“Then what reason could you have to keep him?”
“Sorcery,” Tamas said.
“He’s a Privileged?”
“He has the Knack,” Tamas said. “Something to do with food. He can create the stuff out of thin air.”
Sabon said, “That doesn’t sound like much.”
“Have you ever heard of anyone who could create matter out of thin air? Even a Knacked?”
“Huh,” Sabon grunted. “He’d be the richest man in the world.”
“We can use him to feed all of Adro if we need to. Even during a famine. We may need him badly the longer the war lasts.”
“Parlor tricks?”
Tamas said, “I think not. Olem and I both watched him carefully. He pulled an empty pot down from its hook and set it on the stove, only to have it full of stew and boiling the next time I looked at it. He put ten loaves of bread into the oven and pulled out a hundred.”
Sabon frowned. “It could still be sorcery and tricks. He could be a powerful Privileged, hiding his true strength. There’s no telling what Privileged are capable of. Not even the royal cabals know everything that aura manipulation can do.”
“Yes, that crossed my mind as well. Rumors are spreading, however, and I fear that a cult might form. Among my ranks, no less, for Olem says he’s become very popular with the seventh brigade. They love his food.”
“What will you do?”
“I can’t just dismiss him and send him back to the asylum,” Tamas said, “not after what I’ve seen. At the very least he’s a powerful Knacked—if an odd one—and we’ll want him as our ally. As I said. The worth of food during wartime is immeasurable.”
They were interrupted by the door opening again. It was Fingers.
“Everything is ready,” the spy said. “Come with me.”
They followed him in the dark up to a small room on the second story, at the front of the house, with a good view of the street. The curtains were drawn back, but the room was completely dark so as to hide them from any prying eyes. Fingers directed them to a pair of chairs set a pace back from the window. They sat and waited.
“So this is him?” Tamas asked quietly, nodding to the house across the street before realizing they couldn’t see his movement.
“It is,” Fingers responded. “A long-term spy for the Kez. He owns a small shipping company on the Adsea. The Warden that tried to kill you: He was smuggled into the country on one of this man’s cargo ships.”
“And you’re certain he’s involved?”
“The man’s in deep. He’s a banker here in the Routs and has friends among the city council. He’s been talking a lot at the local town hall, spouting about how the