#### Chapter 18

Tamas stopped underneath a streetlamp to check the address he’d scribbled on plain stationery a few hours before. “One seven eight,” he muttered to himself, squinting to see the number plaques. Olem walked a few feet behind him, pistols hidden under a long coat, keeping an eye out for trouble.

The Routs was a wealthy part of town, where the banks and the remnants of the old merchant guilds still did business every weekday. It had barely been touched by the earthquake, and not at all by the royalist uprising. Side streets were lined with small but well-kept houses for businessmen, clerks, and merchant liaisons. The lanterns were lit, and there was a common police beat on every street, enough that Tamas wondered if he’d stumbled into the wrong part of town.

Bad place to kill a man, he noted. He paused, correcting himself as he noticed that there was a splash of darkness on the street up ahead. As he drew closer, he saw that a good half-dozen lamps had blown out—or had been put out, as was the case. He counted the street numbers so that he was sure to find the right house and approached it straight on, stepping up from the street and rapping on the front door three times. There were no lights on, or any sign of life at all. The place looked abandoned.

The door opened a crack, and he and Olem were admitted immediately. Olem waited in the sitting room while Tamas was taken by the arm and led down a hall and then into what he guessed to be a back room. A match was struck and a candle lit.

Tamas saw a familiar face over the candle.

“Good to see you, Tamas,” Sabon said.

“Likewise. I hope I’m not too late.”

“The Barbers aren’t here yet.”

“Good. I want to see how they operate.” Tamas’s eyes adjusted to the light and he glanced around. They were in a small kitchen, the floors and cupboards bare. A man sat on one of the counters in the corner, an unlit pipe in the corner of his mouth. He was a small man, demure and of medium build, his face covered with a thick black beard that made his features almost impossible to see in the dim light. He chewed on the stem of his pipe and watched Tamas.

“You are our contact?” Tamas asked.

“Fingers,” the man said.

“I take it that’s not your real name?” Tamas said, raising an eyebrow.

“A pseudonym,” he said. “For my protection.” The man was studying Tamas with some intent, his eyes working up and down slowly—judging, weighing. Tamas felt there was something peculiar about the man.

“You have the Knack,” Tamas said.

Fingers adjusted his long black coat and brushed something off the front. “Ah, yes,” he said. “A lot of spies do. It makes it easier to get things done when you have talents that others can’t judge.”

“It also makes it damn hard for me to put together a spy network, since Manhouch’s whole system went to ground when I killed the royal cabal.”

“Fearing for one’s life gives one an incentive to disappear.” Fingers’s eyes darted between Sabon and Tamas. It was clear he didn’t like being in the same room with two powder mages.

“Yet here you are,” Tamas said.

“I have mouths to feed.” He paused, then added, “I’m a very minor Knacked. I can pick locks without a set, open latches from the outside.”

Tamas had heard scholars talk about this kind of thing. Minor telekinesis, they called it. “Nothing that would be a threat to me,” Tamas said. “Yes, I get your meaning, but I have no quarrel with anyone outside the royal cabals—unless they have a quarrel with me. I need Manhouch’s spies. You let it be known that we’re paying twice what Manhouch did.”

Fingers removed the pipe from his mouth and coughed into his hand.

“Are you laughing at me?” Tamas said. He glanced at Sabon. The Deliv just shrugged.

“What the pit is so funny?” Tamas said.

“That stuff about paying us more,” Fingers said, “It doesn’t really work that way.”

Tamas narrowed his eyes. “How does it work?”

“Spies aren’t like soldiers, Field Marshal. A soldier has loyalty, yes, but at the end of the day he does what he does for a full belly and a month’s wages. Spies do it because they love the game. They love their country, or their king.”

“Are you saying I won’t be able to use Manhouch’s old spy network?”

Fingers pointed the stem of his pipe at Tamas. “Not at all, Field Marshal. Some of us were loyal to Manhouch himself. Those have already left the country, or are working for the Kez outright. The rest of us love Adro and will drift back. I suspect the longer I stay alive, being a Knacked and all, the more spies will come out of the woodwork.”

Tamas rubbed his eyes. When they came out of the woodwork, he’d have to worry about whether they were double agents and whom to trust. It was all a great big headache. “I thought you said you did this because you have a family to feed,” Tamas said.

Fingers nodded. “Right, well, I may have lied about them.”

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 powder mages are going to get us all killed and we should pull down your council and surrender to the Kez.”

“That’s awfully bold,” Tamas said.

Fingers said, “Yes, and I would have thought too bold for a spy, if we hadn’t been watching him since he immigrated to the country fifteen years ago. There’s no doubt that he was involved getting the Warden here.”

“I want to make something clear,” Tamas said, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. “I don’t want a wholesale slaughter of Adro citizens. I don’t want a police state. We’re only doing this to rid ourselves of Kez spies, so unless you have evidence that a dissenter is indeed a spy, simply pass him on to the local precinct that he needs to be watched. I’m not ready to wage war on our own people and the Kez.”

There was a moment of silence. “Understood.”

“Good. Is everything working out?” Tamas said. “Working with the Barbers? I must admit I have reservations about using them.”

“They’re a wonder,” Fingers said. “I’ve not seen anything like it, even among our own killers. I’m surprised we’ve never used them before.”

“That good?” Sabon asked.

“That thorough,” Fingers said. “They kill quietly and they clean up their messes to perfection. Not a single drop of blood left behind, and the bodies just gone. It’s flawless.”

Tamas remembered the barricades and the bodies of nobles and royalist leaders lying in their blood-soaked beds, throats slit wide. “So they have some restraint, then?”

Fingers gave a low chuckle. “Yes, well, when they want the bodies found, it’s quite messy. It keeps their street reputations intact and keeps the larger gangs from messing with them. We asked them to do it quietly, though, and I’ll be damned, they are.” There was a wince in his voice that Tamas barely caught.

“And the problem?” Tamas said.

“Sometimes no sign at all is worse than a body. It starts rumors when there’s not a book out of place in the whole house and a family was there yesterday and gone tomorrow. Bad kinds of rumors, like ghosts and demons and gods.”

Tamas thought of South Pike Mountain, smoking in the distance, and of Adamat’s explanation of Kresimir’s Promise and of Mihali’s cryptic warnings. Rubbish. The common folk would believe anything. “I don’t want any more of these rumors. See if you can make things a little more organic.”

“We’ll do our best.”

Tamas caught sight of a dark shape in the street. He tapped Sabon and guided his gaze in that direction. Several more shapes joined the first.

“I’ll be back in a while,” Fingers said. The spy left the room without a sound, and a moment later joined the dark shapes in the street. Tamas thought he could make out the familiar apron uniforms of barbers. He shook his head.

“I think I’m going to shave myself from now on,” he said quietly.

“You and me alike,” Sabon said.

“The local police?” Tamas asked.

“They’ve been warned off tonight. They’ll leave us be, because they know they’ll have one less problem to deal with in the morning.”

Tamas opened his third eye. In that vision, Fingers was a dim glow of color, standing out even through the walls of the house. He followed Fingers as he made his way into the front door of the house across the street and then up the stairs to the bedrooms.

“Wait,” Tamas said. “That other spy, the one they’re going after. He’s a sorcerer. Stronger than a Knacked. A Privileged.”

Sabon was silent for a moment. “Shit. Here, watch the windows.” He moved from his chair, feeling around for a moment, then pushed a rifle into Tamas’s hands.

Tamas adjusted the rifle by feel alone. “Loaded and primed?”

“Yes,” Sabon said.

“It’ll make a hell of a racket,” Tamas said. “There won’t be any question of what happened here, not for anyone on these streets.”

“Just in case,” Sabon said.

Tamas sighted down his rifle, watching the windows of the front bedroom. He could see the glow of the Kez Privileged, lying there in bed, and he could sense Fingers standing in the door to the room. He thought he caught a glimpse of shadows moving in the darkness.

Tamas ducked instinctively as a flash of sorcery lit up the window in his sights. The flash was followed by a muffled thump, barely audible, and then there was silence. Tamas peered out the window, rifle at the ready. He could see the Knacked and the Privileged by their glows. Fingers was in the staircase, flat on his belly, while the Kez Privileged knelt 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 and the countryside, in every building in Adopest. He already knew one of his council had betrayed him. How many more would? “Well done, Fingers,” Tamas said quietly. The spy waited a moment before he left, one eye fixed on Tamas the whole time.

“I’ll have to double what I’m paying the Barbers,” Tamas said. “They have the manpower, if I have the money.”

Sabon said, “It’s dangerous, depending too much on them.”

“A risk I have to take. These spies. They could bring down everything we’ve worked for. We’ll double patrols and give the local police more authority. Kresimir, we might have to push back plans for the new government.”

“We’ve always known it was a dodgy road we would have to walk. Just don’t forget about the people.”

“Of course not. How goes the training?” he asked Sabon. “Pray, tell me some good news.”

A weary smile crossed Sabon’s face. “Better than I expected. Andriya may be crazy, but the younger recruits like him. Vidaslav, as it turns out, has some talent for teaching. We’ve shown the ones with the least amount of talent how to find a powder mage and turned them around, sending them out recruiting. There are already more candidates than I thought possible.”

“How many?”

“Thirteen so far with a decent amount of talent. Two of those with the capabilities to rival me. Unfortunately none on your level, or Taniel’s.”

“Thirteen?” Tamas said. “You’re joking. It took me years to gather the powder cabal we have now.”

“I wouldn’t believe it unless I saw it myself,” Sabon said. “Remember, there was a powder-mage cull less than a hundred and fifty years ago in Adro. Every man, woman, and child checked for any strength with powder and executed if discovered. Nowadays people hide it if they find themselves with the affinity. At least, they did. We’re trying to work out a system to seek out powder mages directly.”

“You mean like the Privileged Dowsers?”

Sabon nodded. “The royal cabal had more potent sorcery at their call than we do. And greater numbers. I’m sure we’ll work out something, though.”

Tamas slapped him on the shoulder. “Good work, my friend. Keep me informed. I know you’re not happy about the assignment.”

“There is one other thing I should ask you.” Sabon seemed to hesitate for a moment.

“What is it?”

Sabon spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “Until recently, Taniel and Vlora were meant to wed. I must ask you, did you put them together purposefully?”

“What do you mean?” Tamas asked, though he had a pretty good idea where Sabon was heading.

“Did you pair them in order for their children to be powder mages?”

Tamas considered his response. It was opportune, certainly, and his encouraging them to be together was definitely not without ulterior motive. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Not even the royal cabals resorted to such breeding,” Sabon said. It was obvious he disapproved.

“They didn’t? Why do you think the king provided each male sorcerer with his own harem? Benevolence? No, Sabon, they most definitely bred for Privileged. It’s not common knowledge, but the Beadle alone had over a thousand children.”

“Any Privileged?”

“One,” Tamas said. “A younger member of the royal cabal. Didn’t even know who his father was.”

Sabon’s mouth hung open in horror. “What happened to all those other children?”

“Work camps, orphanages, the Mountainwatch.” Tamas shrugged. “Some were even slaughtered as babes. The royal cabal has never been a pleasant place. I will not let my powder cabal become like that, but yes, I intended for their children to be Marked. In my own studies, powder mages inherit hereditarily far more often than Privileged.”

“How long have you been studying this?” Sabon asked.

“Since long before we met.”

Sabon regarded him with dark eyes. “Erika was a powder mage.”

Tamas fought the snarl that crept onto his face. It was a fair enough assumption on Sabon’s part. “Don’t even think it,” Tamas said. His voice came out an angry growl despite his effort. “I loved my wife. I’d give anything to have her back.” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Taniel was not an experiment.”

“Good.” He seemed satisfied with the answer. After a brief pause, “I was hoping after your recent adventure you’d recall me.”

Tamas shook his head. “I’m sorry. I need you teaching new powder mages. I can take care of myself.”

Tamas could hear Sabon grinding his teeth. “You’re a stubborn bastard, and it’s going to get you killed,” Sabon said. “They’ll send more than one Warden next time.”

“Likely, but not yet. I’m going to get some sleep. Before you head back to your school, let someone know I want that spy beheaded and his hands sent back to Kez with his widow. I want Ipille to know his spies will start coming back in progressively smaller boxes unless he recalls them.”