on the ground in the bedroom. Tamas could only guess there had been a razor to his throat—otherwise more sorcery would have followed. Fingers slowly climbed to his feet and entered the bedroom. Tamas lowered his rifle.
A few minutes passed before dark figures emerged from the other house: the Barbers and their prisoners. They crossed the street, and Tamas heard the door downstairs open. He remained in his seat, watching the street for any sign of interested neighbors or overly curious passersby, while Sabon went to check on things. There were no such signs.
Fingers returned a moment later. He held a candle in one hand. He didn’t look happy. “You didn’t warn us he was a Privileged.”
“You should have seen for yourself,” Tamas said. “If you really have the Knack, you’d have the third sight as well. Damned sloppy.”
“I can’t open it,” Fingers mumbled. “Leaves me with the runs for a week.”
“That Privileged could have left you without a head,” Tamas said.
Fingers harrumphed. “It was all show. Light and sound. Nothing real, though for a moment I thought the flesh was going to melt from my bones.”
“Fright keeps you honest.” Tamas uncocked his rifle and leaned it against the wall. “You brought over the wife,” he said.
“She woke up when he made the flash. He must have warded the room. Was awake the moment the Barbers were at his bedside.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen these fellows kill a man with his wife in his arms and take away his body, leaving her sleeping like a babe. If it wasn’t for the wards, it would have gone more smoothly.”
Fingers was nervous that Tamas thought he’d botched the job, Tamas realized. “Well done,” Tamas said. “Let me know what your interrogation finds.”
“You’re not coming?” Fingers looked surprised.
“Despite what you may have heard, I don’t have a bloodlust for Privileged,” Tamas said.
Fingers sniffed, as if disappointed. “I don’t think he’s going to say much. He looks like a tough one.”
“Tell him he loses a hand in five minutes if he doesn’t talk. Tell him the other one in ten.”
Fingers’s eyes grew wide. “That’s…”
Tamas gave him a shallow smile. “OK, so maybe I have a slight bloodlust for sorcerers. I also know how to deal with them.”
Fingers left the room. Tamas listened for screams, yet there were none. Wherever they were, they’d muffled the room well. Sabon came up after a minute.
“Fingers looks ill,” he said.
“I told him to take the hands of the Privileged if need be.”
Sabon snorted. “That’s a dangerous precedent. Is that the policy we’re going to take with noncabal Privileged in Adro?”
“Pit, no,” Tamas said. “This bastard is a Kez spy, though, and we need to work quickly.”
Fingers came into the room not long after. His face was pale in the candlelight, his hands shaking a little. “He’s given up three names already.”
Tamas felt a bit of trepidation. “Anyone on my council?”
“No. He claims he never had direct dealings with anyone higher than himself. Just coded messages and intermediaries. He did give up the name of his wife.” He paused. “Push a man too hard, Field Marshal, and he’ll give up his own mother. There’s a reason we keep a limit on torture. They’ll say anything for the pain to end.”
“It’s purely psychological,” Tamas said. “You didn’t actually cut off a hand, did you?” He smothered his disappointment at not having any clue to the traitor on his council.
“No…”
“Interrogate the wife. Find out what she knows. Hand them both over to my soldiers when you’re finished and they’ll deal with the executions. Any children?”
“One,” Fingers said. “She’s at a girls’ boarding school in Novi.”
“A neutral country,” Tamas mused. “They were prepared for this eventuality. Send a missive to her school mistress. Tell her to keep her at the school, indefinitely.”
Fingers nodded shakily.
“What word do we have about these spies?” Tamas asked. “These plants, like this one. How many do you think they are?”
Fingers chewed on his pipe stem furiously. “You won’t like it.”
“I don’t have to like it,” Tamas said. “I just need to know.”
“Hundreds,” Fingers said. “Just from our first handful of encounters we’ve gotten dozens of names—good names, too, and not just ones spouted off under torture. People who check out as Kez spies, and hundreds more with a big question with their names. The Kez are in here deep. They’ve been planning this for decades.”
Tamas closed his eyes. Not what he wanted to hear. There could be spies in his army, spies in the city