Murder at the Kinnen Hotel

by Brian McClellan

  Adamat had never seen so much anguish on a person’s face before, and he knew it was going to keep him awake for many nights. But he needed to do this. For his own career, for Ricard’s life, and to find justice for Melany.

  “There’s nothing else,” Genetrie said, the words coming out a whimper. She slid down the bars and rested her face against their base. “So be it,” she whispered.

  White suddenly stepped forward, looking down on the woman clinically. “The child,” she said.

  “What?” Genetrie lifted her head.

  “There’s a child, isn’t there? Probably a bastard, someone with no one else to care for him or her.”

  “You know nothing of my son,” Genetrie said quietly.

  “No, but I will.” White produced her card and held it down where Genetrie could see it. “This is my card. It marks me as a servant of the royal cabal of Adro. If you don’t believe me you can describe it to your lawyer. He’ll know of it, or know someone who does.” She put the card back in her pocket. “Your parents were disgraced, no longer members of the Kemptin clan. Someone must have come to you and told you that if you were to kill Viscount Brezé that your son would later be quietly adopted back into the family and given the opportunities that you never were. Whimper once if I’m right.”

  Genetrie let out a low moan.

  Adamat almost stepped forward. White’s voice was unnecessarily cold, her demeanor cruel. He found himself transfixed.

  “You’ll tell me who this was,” White continued, “and you’ll sign a confession which names the relatives that put you up to this crime.”

  “I can’t!”

  “If you don’t, I will find your son and I will see that he goes to the guillotine in your place tomorrow. I don’t care if he’s nothing more than a babe. I’ll make it happen, and I’ll force you to watch. Then I will deposit you back in this cell where you will spend the rest of your life remembering that you could have saved your child.”

  Genetrie pressed her face to the floor of the cell, and her whole body was wracked with sobs.

  “White,” Adamat said, hearing the cracking of his own voice, “that is really too far.”

  White looked over her shoulder at Adamat. Her eyes were distant, a fire to them he had not yet seen. He thought for a moment she would turn her cruelty on him, but the fire slowly drained from her face.

  She hunkered down on her haunches and reached through the bars to run her fingers gently through Genetrie’s hair. Genetrie stiffened at the touch, her body shaking with fear.

  “If you do this,” White said, “you will still go to the guillotine for your crimes. But your boy will not. I give you my word that he will be looked after, educated, and connected. He will be given a better life than that of an unwanted bastard in a second-rate noble family.”

  Genetrie slowly got a hold of herself. When she finally looked up, her eyes were wet, face streaked with tears, but there was a resolve that hadn’t been there before. “You swear on the royal cabal? On the king?”

  “I do.”

  “Then I’ll do it.”

  White stood up and looked back at Adamat. Adamat forced himself to meet her gaze. The horrible smile had returned to her eyes. What kind of creatures did the cabal create in their employ that were capable of such things?

  Thirty minutes later they had a written confession from Genetrie. Adamat held it at arm’s length, partially to let the ink dry and partially because of how shocked he was to have it in his possession.

  He felt emotionally drained, exhausted by having taken part in such an exchange. He forced himself to straighten, summoning all his faculties. He would need every bit of his nerve for the next bit.

  “White,” he said, reading the confession one more time and checking the ink before tucking it into a leather folder. “You said you were given leave by your masters with regard to the Kemptin family. How far, exactly, are you allowed to go?”

  “Not as far as you’d like, I can tell you that.”

  “But you have permission to make arrests? Force changes.”

  “Within reason.”

  Adamat tapped the side of his chin thoughtfully. “I have an idea. We’ll need a copy of this,” he said, waving the confession, “and I need to borrow one of your cards.”

  Adamat stood outside a townhome in West Laden. It was a modest building, three stories divided among three families in a well-to-do neighborhood in Adopest. The sun had just set and it was colder than he expected. He stomped his feet to try to keep warm and hammered once more on the door.

  “Coming, coming!” an angry voice answered from inside. The lock was drawn a moment later and the deeply wrinkled face of a stooped old man stared out at him. “What do you want?”

  “I’m here to see Captain Hewi,” Adamat said.

  “She didn’t tell me she was expecting visitors.”

  “It’s an emergency,” Adamat said, “from the precinct building.”

  “Oh,” the man said. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place? Come in, come in!”

  Adamat gratefully slipped inside and stood in the hallway, rubbing his arms to restore warmth, while the old man—Hewi’s landlord, he assumed—teetered half way down the hallway and pulled on a cord that led up into the ceiling. Adamat heard the distant ringing of a bell.

  “She’s usually down within a minute or two,” the old man said, continuing down the hallway. “If you don’t hear her, just ring the bell again. I’ll show you out when you’re finished.”

  Adamat waited about forty-five seconds before he heard the creaking of bare feet on wooden stairs.

  “Adamat?” Hewi’s voice came from the dark landing above him.

  “Ma’am,” he said. “Sorry to visit after hours, but it’s an emergency.”

  “Adamat, you shouldn’t be here. You’ve been dismissed. I’ve done everything I can to keep the commissioner from destroying your life completely and keep my own career.”

  “I do appreciate that ma’am,” Adamat said. “That’s why I brought you something.”

  The stairs creaked and Hewi emerged from the gloom to stand several steps above Adamat. She was wearing a robe and slippers, and smelled of pipe smoke. Her eyes tightened suspiciously. “What is that?”

  “A promotion.”

  There was a gentleman’s club in Centesteshire called the King’s Knee. It was not far from the middle of Adopest, a location where hundreds of members of the elite of Adro—nobles, merchants, politicians, and the like—could meet for recreation in the quiet halls away from prying eyes. The most popular games were cards and billiards, but Adamat had heard rumors that the King’s Knee had bought the building next door and installed handball courts for the pleasure of its clientele.

  None of that particularly concerned Adamat. What concerned him was that the doorman politely but firmly informed him—based entirely on his working man’s suit, no doubt—that he had found the wrong building.

  Until Adamat held up one of Attaché White’s cards. The doorman’s eyes grew slightly wider. “What can I do for you, sir?” he asked.

  “I’m looking for Lord Walis Kemptin.”

  “Lord Walis is at his usual table, sir.”

  “Is he alone?”

  “He is.”

  “Take me to him.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Adamat felt a rush as the doorman took his hat and cane and he was led through the warm, smoke-filled room. This card in his hand had just gained him entrance to one of the most exclusive clubs in Adopest without so much as a blink. And once he was inside, his comparatively shabby attire didn’t receive a second glance.

  They passed the card and billiards tables in the well-lit gaming hall with its vaulted ceilings, where Adamat recognized a handful of faces that he’d only ever seen in the papers. Field Marshal Beravich and two of his generals occupied a billiards table while the Novi ambassador, a woman named Michala, gambled with the king’s chamberlain.

  Adamat proceeded through them
all as if in a dream. They entered the next room, where the ceilings and the light were both lower, and the smell of food made Adamat’s stomach rumble. The tables had Adran blue cloths and the booths were of fine, crimson-dyed leather.

  At one of the tables, neither the best nor the worst of them, sat Lord Walis Kemptin. His head was back against the leather of the booth, the remnants of a meal being cleaned away by a waiter. The acrid smell of mala hung in the air above him.

  The doorman cleared his throat. “My Lord Walis,” he said, “Attaché White to see you.”

  Walis’ eyelids opened a fraction. Mala smoke curled out through his nose. “White?” he asked as the doorman excused himself. “I thought that was the woman. Your partner.”

  “It is,” Adamat said. “It was necessary to borrow one of her cards to have access to this club. May I sit?”

  Walis pulled himself up and seemed to try and shake the mala haze. “I don’t see why not. I can always call to have you removed at a moment’s notice.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend that,” Adamat said, setting White’s card face up on the table.

  “You already admitted the card does not belong to you.”

  “But I’m using it with permission, my lord. Or did you think me daft enough to steal one from her pocket?” A waiter passed by with a tray containing cigars and tobacco and mala pipes. Adamat took a tobacco pipe, found it already packed, and took a light from the waiter before letting him move on.

  Sweat rolled down Adamat’s sides and under his arms. It took every bit of his will to keep from trembling. He was an imposter here and he knew it. But he had to play the part to end this entire debacle tonight.

  “You obviously know what this is,” Adamat said, tapping the card with one finger. “Your cousin the commissioner would have told you of White’s interest in the powder mage you hired.”

  “I can’t imagine what you … “ Walis started.

  “Please,” Adamat said, cutting him off gently with a raised hand. “Don’t patronize me, my lord. I wouldn’t be here if we didn’t already have a confession from another of your cousins you may remember.” Adamat produced a paper from his pocket and smoothed it on the table before pushing it over to Walis. “A somewhat distant cousin, I fear, but a relative nonetheless. She confessed to myself and Attaché White that you personally hired her to kill the Viscount Brezé.”

  Adamat held up his hand to forestall Walis’s inevitable protest and continued. “This very moment, Attaché White and the newly promoted Commissioner Hewi are arresting your cousin Aleksandre under the charges of treason, theft from the crown, conspiracy against the royal cabal, and half a dozen other bits and pieces that they’ve decided to pin him with. I think it’s unnecessary, but I’m told the cabal likes to be very thorough.”

  “If any of this was true,” Walis said, “The new commissioner and Attaché White would be here right now. Not some damned constable.”

  “I think,” Adamat said with a confidence he didn’t feel, “You underestimate the gravity of removing the commissioner of the Adran Police. However, I understand your doubt. I’m not here to arrest you. A politician and businessman such as yourself may have guessed right now that we have various … options.”

  Walis lifted a finger and a moment later a waiter appeared at his side. “Novi vodka.”

  “For you, sir?” the waiter asked Adamat.

  Adamat shook his head. Once the waiter had gone, he continued. “There are two paths available to us. The first is that we, the police, pull on this string, beginning with Genetrie Kemptin, and unravel it over the course of the next several years. The Kemptin family will be prosecuted to the full extent of Adran law—with the weight of the Adran Cabal behind it. All of your secrets will be laid bare. Everything put out for the public and your enemies to see.”

  “We’ll have the powder mage within days,” he went on. “The cabal has dispatched a number of their Privileged to find him.” A lie, but Walis didn’t need to know that. “And once they have him, they will ring a confession from him. And trust me, they are far more displeased with your use of a powder mage assassin than with your murder of the Viscount Brezé or a businessman’s mistress.”

  “What is my second option?” Walis licked his fingertips and brushed a bit of hair from his forehead. His hand trembled.

  “That you sign this piece of paper,” Adamat produced a paper from his shirt pocket and slid it up next to the confession. “And in return you will receive a pardon from the king for whatever … wrongdoings … you have been involved with through this whole affair. Aleksandre and a few other members of your family will be sacrificed but you, my lord, will remain safe.”

  Walis ran his eyes over the paper which Adamat had given him. He paused, picked it up, and read it again. “Do you know what this says?”

  “I was not privy,” Adamat said. He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to know. Demands, most likely. A tithe to the Adran cabal. Concession of property to the crown. And, Adamat did know, a promise to point the finger at Aleksandre for this whole affair, including Melany’s murder.

  Walis read the paper a third time, then a fourth, very slowly. Adamat’s shirt soaked completely now. He could feel the perspiration beading on his forehead and hoped Walis was too high on mala to notice.

  There would be no investigation if Walis said no, of course. Aleksandre was already under arrest, and the conspiracy would still be pinned on him, but the cabal had no interest in investigating one of the noble families. Adamat needed Walis to sign that paper, or he would get away with this whole affair without even a slap on the wrist.

  “Personally,” Adamat said as nonchalantly as possible, “I would rather you take the first option, my lord. You and your family tried to destroy my life. I would relish the opportunity to do the same to yours.”

  Walis’ eyes tightened. He leaned forward, examining Adamat over the paper in his hand, and then leaned back again. What was he thinking? Would he call Adamat’s bluff?

  Walis stared at the paper in his hand for nearly five minutes. Adamat felt the seconds ticking by, willing him to make a decision.

  Finally, excruciatingly, Walis reached for his pocket. He produced a pen and smoothed the paper out on the table with one hand and scrawled his signature on the bottom. He slid the paper over to Adamat. “My pardon?” he asked.

  “First,” Adamat said, “we need the location of your powder mage.”

  The fight, the newspaper said, was quick and brutal.

  Four members of the Adran Royal Cabal and an entire company of their personal guards had descended on a block of tenements in the docklands of Adopest to arrest the powder mage. He managed to kill three guardsmen and wound a Privileged before he himself was killed in the melee. An entire block burned down from the sorcery unleashed, and two dozen civilians were dead.

  There was no mention at all of Adamat’s involvement in finding the powder mage, and the newspaper article announcing the disgrace of Commissioner Aleksandre and his involvement in the murder of the mistress of a local businessman was on an entirely different page.

  Adamat lowered his paper and picked up his coffee, blowing gently to dispel some of the heat. “Do these horrid clashes of violence and conspiracy always claim innocent lives?” he asked.

  “Not always,” White said. She sat across from him, having refused coffee, and watched the other people in the cafe as they broke their morning fast. “Usually,” she admitted a moment later. “I’ve seen better results. And far worse.”

  “The newspaper,” Adamat said, “Doesn’t even mention his name. Do you know what it was?”

  White shook her head. “Walis didn’t even know. Just called him the powder mage.” Her eyes, Adamat noticed, seemed to smile again, brighter than they had before. The rest of her face remained as unmoved as marble.

  “Is this thing over?” Adamat asked. “For certain?”

  “It is,” White said. “The powder mage has been eliminated and I’ve passed on the rest of this busi
ness with Aleksandre and the Kemptin family along to underlings.”

  “Genetrie was beheaded this morning,” Adamat said, noting the small announcement at the bottom of page four of the newspaper. “You’ll take care of her son?”

  “I’m not a wet nurse.” White paused, then the very corners of her cheeks lifted a fraction of an inch. It took Adamat several moments to realize it was a joke. Was that … a smile? “Another thing I’ve passed on to subordinates,” she went on. “But yes. I keep my word.”

  Adamat breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me.” White looked around, as if seeking a waiter, then seemed to think better of it. “Are you sure you don’t want more out of this? You served the cabal well. We have a reputation as vengeful and violent, but we also reward those who deserve it.”

  “I was doing my civic duty,” Adamat said, ducking his head.

  “I could give you a job. Something that suits your talents. It pays much better than working for the police.”

  “I …” Adamat paused then laughed at himself for even considering it for the slightest moment.

  “Is something funny?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I have a wife and we’re hoping to have children soon. I hope I don’t offend when I say that I’d rather not work for the cabal.” And I don’t want to be beholden to them, either. Rewards always come with strings attached.

  “I think I understand.” White stood and brushed off the front of her jacket. “I’ve made sure that Walis does not come after you or your family in reprisal. I realize that your talent prevents you from following my advice, but I suggest that you forget this entire affair.”

  “I would very much like to,” Adamat said. “And thank you.”

  White gazed through the window, as if examining something far away. “Farewell Detective Adamat. I have met very few good men. I think that you are one of them. Do nothing to change that.”

  Epilogue

  The memorial service took place in the middle of the week at one of the small Kresim chapels just outside the old city walls north of Adopest. The weather as cold and blustery, but the sun shone through the chapel’s stained-glass windows and warmed the pews and altar. Upon the latter sat an urn decorated in gold and silver leaf.