Promise of Blood

Vetas regarded him coldly. “One hand does not know what the other is doing—such a strategy has its price, which you almost paid. Charlemund’s task was simply to kill the imposter god, Mihali. He became too zealous. And know this: Charlemund is nothing more than a hand. Claremonte uses people like him to his own ends.”

“No one uses an arch-diocel.”

“Claremonte does.”

“To what purpose?”

“Beyond your comprehension,” Lord Vetas said. “You’ve disappointed me, Adamat. The girl was going to be a show of good faith, a gift to you for doing what you’re bidden. Now, though, I think she’ll come back with me. I’ve got men who enjoy that sort of thing.” He stepped forward, gesturing to his man with the pistol.

Adamat squeezed his hands into fists. “All right!” he said.

Lord Vetas paused.

“They’re not going to arrest him at his villa. He’s at the cathedral, leading an afternoon prayer service. Please, just leave my daughter here.”

Lord Vetas’s eyes flashed. “You lied to me?”

“That’s the truth of it, I swear it!”

“Pit! You”—he gestured at the other goon—“stay here. If they try to leave, kill Adamat, and then the boxer and the girl.”

Lord Vetas swept out of the room, shouldering Adamat hard as he passed. Adamat grunted. Lord Vetas reached the street and broke into a run, coattails flailing behind him. Adamat watched him disappear from view through the window. He let out a long breath.

“Are you OK, Papa?” Astrit said.

“Yes. I’m glad you’re safe. How’s your mother?”

“Worried. She screamed when they took me away.”

“Did they hurt her? Your brother, is he OK?”

“They took Josep’s finger. He didn’t even cry out.”

“He’s a very brave boy.”

“What happens now, Papa?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

Adamat couldn’t be there when Vetas returned. It would mean death for them all. SouSmith looked like he could barely walk, and Astrit was just a girl, but Adamat had to warn Tamas.

“Stay here,” he whispered to Astrit.

“Hey!” the other goon said as Adamat headed toward the other side of the room.

Adamat stopped, raising his hands. The goon waved his pistol between SouSmith and Adamat. SouSmith’s eyes were closed, his hands held over his wounds. He was breathing shallowly. Judging SouSmith to be less of a threat, the goon pointed his pistol at Adamat.

“I just want a drink,” Adamat said.

The goon narrowed his eyes.

“Please,” Adamat said. He held out his hands to show they were shaking.

“Right,” the goon said. “I’ll just be watching to make sure you ain’t got a weapon stashed here.”

“What?” Adamat said. “A loaded pistol in the liquor cabinet? You’re mad. If you think I’m going to pull a knife, stand over there.” He gestured to the sofa.

The goon shuffled away from Adamat until he was near the sofa. “I’m watching you.”

Good. Adamat removed a bottle from the cabinet. “Wine?”

The goon shook his head.

Adamat pulled the cork with a corkscrew and took a moment to unwind the cork, tossing it down on a shelf. He poured two glasses, the neck of the bottle clinking against the rim of the cup as his hands shook. He stepped toward the goon. “You sure you don’t want some?”

“I’ll let you drink first,” the goon said. “I know the tricks.”

“No tricks,” Adamat said, shaking his head. “You think I’d poison a two-hundred-krana bottle of wine? Besides, poison doesn’t work fast enough. You’d still have time to shoot me while you died. SouSmith? Wine?”

The boxer nodded weakly.

“Pardon,” Adamat said, lifting the two glasses to show he meant no harm as he stepped by the goon.

He dropped both glasses at the same time. One hand diverted the pistol, the other jabbed the goon’s neck with the corkscrew. The pistol went off, deafening Adamat. A window shattered, and Astrit screamed. Adamat grappled with the goon with one hand, shoving with the other. They both landed on top of SouSmith.

The boxer gave a loud grunt. He snaked a ham-sized forearm over the goon’s head, holding him in place. Adamat remained on top of the goon until long after he’d stopped struggling. He grabbed the lapels of his jacket and lifted the goon off SouSmith and dropped him on the floor. SouSmith moaned, writhing on the sofa.

“Coulda given me warning,” he said, feeling his wound. “I’m bleeding again.”

“You big baby,” Adamat said. He made sure the goon was dead, and looked up. Astrit was watching from the hallway. He said, “Go to your room.”

Astrit stood there, shaking.

Adamat climbed to his feet and stripped his bloody jacket off, tossing it on the floor. He lifted Astrit into his arms. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, Papa.” Her voice quavered.

“Good girl. I need you to be strong, love. I need you to go with SouSmith. You have to hide with him.”

SouSmith pulled himself off the sofa slowly, grimacing with pain. “No wet nurse,” he said. “Where you going?”

“I have to go warn Tamas.”

“Like shit,” SouSmith grunted. “I’ll go…” He stumbled, catching himself on the sofa arm.