him? Adamat rolled the glass of brandy across his brow again. “Does the Proprietor know who tried to have Tamas killed?”
“No,” the eunuch said without hesitation. “He has made some inquiries of his own, to little avail. Whoever the traitor is, he is not using Adran intermediaries. My master would have known.”
“The traitor is dealing directly with the Kez, then,” Adamat said.
“It wasn’t the reeve,” the eunuch said. “As the funnel through which all money flows in the city, the Proprietor keeps him closely watched. Nor was it Lady Winceslav. We have a few agents in her household to keep an eye on things.”
“One of her brigadiers was involved,” Adamat said.
“Only one,” the eunuch said. “Brigadier Barat did not have the sense of loyalty and justice that the others do.”
“The vice-chancellor?”
The eunuch hesitated. “The vice-chancellor—Prime Lektor—is as unpredictable as Brude.”
Brude. The two-faced saint of Brudania. A strange reference.
Adamat waited for him to elaborate, but the eunuch said nothing more. The reeve had also mentioned that there was something off about the vice-chancellor.
“You suggest,” Adamat said, “that the Prime Lektor is equally capable of treachery as Ricard Tumblar and the arch-diocel? He’s a glorified headmaster.”
“As I said,” the eunuch said quietly, “he is not what he seems.”
Adamat took a long pull on his pipe. Assuming the eunuch was telling the truth—a very dangerous assumption—the most likely traitor was Ricard Tumblar. The arch-diocel was corrupt and power mad, but he had little reason to see Tamas dead. Ricard would give anything for his unions. It was perfectly possible he’d made a deal with the Kez in secret.
Adamat wondered again if he should risk a clandestine search of Charlemund’s villa. It seemed the only thing standing before an open accusation against Ricard. Of course, Adamat still needed to investigate the vice-chancellor.
“Thank you,” Adamat said to the eunuch. “You’ve been most helpful. Tell your master I will avoid poking into his affairs. If I can.”
The eunuch gave Adamat a shallow smile. “He’ll be pleased.”
“SouSmith, show our guest to the door.”
SouSmith returned a moment later and took a seat on the sofa. “My skin crawls,” he said.
“Likewise.” Adamat took a deep breath, relishing the smell of fine tobacco. It was a cherry blend, pleasant to the nose and throat, that left a light taste upon his tongue. It had a relaxing effect.
“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Adamat asked.
SouSmith grunted. “Reputation for certain honesty.”
Adamat gave SouSmith a curious look. “Really? I’ve heard the eunuch is not to be trusted.”
“Not the eunuch,” SouSmith said. “When he speaks for the Proprietor, his word is gold.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Adamat said, though he made a mental note to look into the Proprietor’s business—though not enough to get himself killed, hopefully.
Adamat spent the next hour at his desk, reading the day’s paper while SouSmith dozed on the couch. The night was very still when he decided to head to bed.
Adamat stamped up the stairs, deep in thought, SouSmith following. When he reached the top, Adamat looked down the dark hallway. “Didn’t you light the lantern when you came up?”
Some instincts went far deeper than mere reflex. Adamat threw himself backward down the stairs, barely hearing SouSmith’s protests as a breeze passed his throat. SouSmith swore aloud, and a pistol shot went off.
Adamat lay flat on the stairs where he fell, his ears ringing from the shot. The shot had come from down the upstairs hallway. Adamat didn’t think he’d been hit and he didn’t dare ask SouSmith. Adamat pressed his hand to his throat. He felt blood there. Just a breeze of a razor—it had barely broken skin.
Adamat listened carefully. SouSmith had fallen all the way down the stairs and lay at the landing. Either he had the presence of mind to remain quiet or he had been shot and killed outright. Adamat prayed it was the former.
Adamat took a deep breath. Whoever had attacked him waited at the top of the stairs. There’d been no movement in the hallway—those floorboards were awfully creaky. The assailant was waiting there now. He had to know he didn’t get both Adamat and SouSmith in one lucky shot. Adamat listened and stared intently into the darkness, trying to determine the number of assassins. They’d entered his house while he was reading the paper, possibly through an upstairs window.
Adamat slowly climbed to his knees, avoiding the center of the steps where they were wont to creak. He moved slowly, on hands and knees, up the next few steps,