CHAPTER 19

Michel spent nearly a week following Marhoush before finally losing patience.

He and Tenik sat on the rooftop of an abandoned store about a block from the cobbler’s, where their target had been holed up this entire time. It was a blisteringly hot afternoon, the roofing tar sticking to the bottom of their shoes, but Michel wanted the vantage point to be able to see down into the street both in front of and behind Marhoush’s hiding spot. He sat near the edge of the flat roof, hidden behind a cluster of chimney stacks, and watched the street while he and Tenik sweltered.

A week, he knew, was a long time. There’d been two other bombings. A perpetrator had been caught after the second, but she’d managed to commit suicide before being questioned. Michel had recognized the body as that of a Bronze Rose who worked for je Tura.

Beyond that one lead, none of Yaret’s Household had managed to get any closer to tracking down the source of the bombings.

“Marhoush hasn’t come outside for over a day,” Tenik observed. The Dynize had his feet up, his shirt off and wrapped around his head to shade it from the sun.

“He might have a secret entrance,” Michel responded. He’d spent the first two days scouring the area and consulting old maps to find out if that were the case. The basement of the cobbler’s shop might connect with the catacombs within the plateau, but he didn’t think they did. More likely, Marhoush had slipped out sometime the night before last when Michel was catching a little sleep and just hadn’t come back. He’d left one of Yaret’s Household layabouts to keep watch but didn’t know if they were at all reliable.

Michel would soon find out. He consulted his pocket watch, then glanced down the street, where he saw a squad of Dynize soldiers milling about in the intersection. They took their helmets off, exchanged skins of tea, and spoke freely among themselves. A similar scene was playing out in two other nearby intersections, and Michel couldn’t help but smile.

In the short time he’d been among the Dynize, he’d found out a great many things. One was that Yaret’s Household had access to hundreds, perhaps thousands of loyal soldiers that could be called upon in a pinch. Another thing he’d learned was that Dynize soldiers took orders very well. Give them a battle plan and they’d follow it. Explain how to properly stage a raid, and they’d follow your instructions to the letter.

“What happens if we don’t catch the Silver Rose?” Tenik asked. He took out his coin for the first time in two days and flipped it, caught it, then flipped it again.

“Depends on the size of the safe house and the number of Blackhats we pull out of it. If we catch even two of them, we’ll be able to start asking questions. They might put us back on Marhoush’s track or even help us find the Gold Rose.” He didn’t bother adding if we’re lucky. He was incredibly frustrated that Marhoush had slipped past him, and if this raid came up with nothing useful, he’d be out a week’s worth of work.

Which wouldn’t inspire confidence in his new boss.

Tenik lifted his hands, ticking off fingers as he spoke. “Iron Roses are the lowest rung—then Bronze, Brass, Silver, and Gold?”

“That’s right.”

“And you were a Gold Rose?”

“Only briefly. I earned my Gold Rose just before the invasion by tracking down a Palo freedom fighter. I was a Silver Rose for a couple years.”

“This Marhoush … how well do you know him?”

“Only by sight. We’ve met twice, I think.”

“You have a good memory?”

“When you’re a spy, you have to develop a talent for names and faces. It’ll save your life.”

“And how well do you know the Gold Rose he works for?”

“Je Tura?” Michel thought for a moment, picturing je Tura in his mind. “I saw him at the Millinery once. He’s a mean, stocky little bastard. Shorter than you and twice as wide. Carries a broadsword around with him.”

Tenik snorted. “Does he use it?”

“Often, from what I’ve heard. Chops off the hands of people who anger him, the feet of people who betray him, and the heads of his enemies.”

“And your people call us savages?” Tenik tilted his head to get a view of the street before getting comfortable once more. “There are always rumors about powerful people. Are any of them true?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t believe half the rumors about Fidelis Jes until I began to work directly under him.”

“I’ve heard of this Fidelis Jes,” Tenik said. “He was one of the people our informants told us to be wary of as we tried to take the city. Was he a good master?”

Michel considered the threats and the morning duels. “I believe he was good at his job.”

“That is not the same as being a good master.”

“He was an asshole and I’m not sad that Ben Styke cut his head off.”

Tenik grinned broadly. “That is the answer I was looking for. You will find Yaret a much better master than that. When he dies, I’ll grieve as much as any of his family.”

Tenik had referenced Yaret as a good person or a considerate master on several occasions throughout the last week. Michel hadn’t spent any time with him since that first day, so he didn’t have a point of reference, but he doubted that Yaret could live up to the hype. Michel had worked under decent people and even competent Roses, but in his experience, the higher up the chain of command, the less room there was for basic humanity.

Michel kept facing the street but watched Tenik out of the corner of his eye. He’d come to rather like the man over the course of the week. Tenik was a wealth of knowledge about his people but seemed just as interested in learning about Fatrasta and the Nine as Michel was about the Dynize. He rarely turned Michel away from a question and had a quiet sense of humor that belied his sharp eyes and ability to grasp a concept or situation easily. He was also, Michel had found, oddly naive in certain ways.

The situation between the Palo and the Kressians was one of those.

As if he could hear Michel’s thoughts, Tenik suddenly said, “Are the Palo always treated like that?”

Michel glanced over to see Tenik watching the street. He followed Tenik’s gaze down to a Kressian man openly beating a Palo laborer about the shoulders with his cane, only retreating when one of the Dynize soldiers seemed to take interest in the altercation.

“Yes,” Michel said, returning to his examination of the cobbler’s shop. The Dynize soldiers relaxing at the various intersections began to put their helmets back on, saying good-byes as if they had finished a quiet afternoon break.

“You’re Palo, aren’t you?”

“Part,” Michel responded. He leaned forward, watching as the soldiers fixed their bayonets and shouldered their weapons, then began to walk swiftly toward the cobbler’s shop. Their counterparts on three different intersections began to do the same, forming a pincer movement that would cut off all four possible avenues of escape from the safe house.

Tenik didn’t seem to notice that the raid was going forward. “If you’re half Palo, and the Kressians treat the Palo so poorly, why do you fight for them?”

Michel had no interest in explaining the ulterior motives he had for joining the Blackhats and climbing their ranks. For one, it would raise too many questions. For another—well, the whole situation was a sore point, to say the least. He wondered briefly where Taniel’s people had hidden his mother and hoped she was well out of harm’s way. “Because,” Michel answered glibly, “I can still take advantage of being half Kressian to live a better life.” He directed Tenik’s attention to the raid. “Here we go.”

Dynize soldiers flooded the cobbler’s shop, the alley next to it, and the buildings on either side. They cut off every possible exit and kicked in the doors, rushing inside with bayonets ready. The raid was a complete surprise—Michel could tell from the lack of gunfire and the surprised look of the Roses as they were dragged into the street and held at musket-point. Michel examined each as they were brought out, praying that Marhoush would be one of the faces.

He wasn’t. Thirteen in total were pulled from the cobbler’s shop. Michel guessed that only seven of those were actual Roses—the rest sympathizers. A small crowd of onlookers began to assemble. The soldiers ignored them, dragging off their captives, and the traffic soon returned to normal. Michel waited for about five minutes before he signaled to Tenik.

“Let’s go see what kind of a catch we got.”

The captives had been taken to an abandoned warehouse about half a mile away. Michel and Tenik joined the captain of the soldiers just outside.

“We found Roses on four of them,” the captain said, dropping the medallions into Tenik’s outstretched hand. There were three Irons and a Bronze. “Two others seem to be Blackhats as well. The rest claim ignorance.”

“The cobbler?” Michel asked.

“He says he had no idea Blackhats were hiding in his attic.” The captain did not sound convinced.

“Did they tell you where Marhoush is?” Michel asked.

She shook her head. “The lot claim to have never heard the name.”

“Let me see them.”

Michel entered the warehouse through a side door and climbed up to an iron catwalk that crossed above the middle of the large, dusty space. He proceeded to a spot just above the group of prisoners. They sat on the dirt floor, hands tied, heads down, with a group of soldiers keeping watch. Michel leaned on the catwalk railing and examined them for several minutes.

“That one,” he finally said in a quiet voice, pointing to a woman whose lip bled from being smacked around by a soldier. “She’s a Bronze Rose. She used to be a Silver Rose. A year ago she was caught taking protection money from a family who had personal ties to Lindet. She was demoted.”

Tenik frowned at the information. “What does that mean?”

“It means she’s a greedy little piggy,” Michel responded. “Bring her.”

Tenik nodded to the captain. He and Michel headed into one of the second-floor offices on the opposite side of the warehouse, where Michel paced while he waited. Tenik leaned comfortably in the corner, flipping his coin, obviously pleased to be out of the heat. “You’re going to try to turn her?”

“I am.”

“For over a month, we’ve been offering rewards for anyone who will turn. Why would she do so now?”

“People don’t give up when they think they have options. Our dear Bronze Rose is down to just two, and I’m going to make sure she knows it.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the door opening and a soldier coming in with the Bronze Rose, whom he pushed to her knees in the middle of the floor. Her eyes went first to Tenik, then to Michel. She seemed confused to find a Palo and a mutt, rather than a Dynize torture squad.

Michel smiled at her gently, trying to recall her name. “Soreana, was it?” he asked.

“How do you know my name?”

“Because I used to be a Blackhat.”

The information took a moment to process before her eyes widened. “You’re him, aren’t you? Michel. How the pit did you find us already?”

“Because Lindet left a bunch of thugs behind, rather than spies.”

“You’re a damned traitor.”

She wasn’t wrong. Michel kept his smile and tutted. “Let’s not be so judgmental this early on, shall we?”

Soreana looked around the room, her eyes lingering on the Dynize soldiers standing by the door. Michel could see the same thoughts ticking through her head that had gone through his own in a few tight situations—How well tied are my bonds? How closely are they watching? Can I fight or talk my way out of this? He didn’t give her a chance to consider those options.

“Soreana, do you know where I can find either Marhoush or je Tura?” he asked.

She drew herself up—as best as she could while kneeling with hands tied behind her back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Michel rolled his eyes. “Let’s have a quick rundown of your options, Soreana. If you’d like, you can play the good little Blackhat. If you do that, I’ll be forced to hand you over to the fine gentlemen outside, who will torture you for every scrap of information and then execute you.”

Soreana swallowed hard. The average Blackhat signed on to rough up neighborhood malcontents, not to embroil themselves in dangerous guerrilla warfare.

“Or,” Michel continued, “you can tell me what I want and I’ll make sure your pockets are filled with gold. We’ll give you a job or put you on the next ship to the Nine or give you a whole slew of other options.” Michel removed his pocket watch and looked at the hands. “I’ll give you thirty seconds to decide.”

Soreana looked from Michel to Tenik to the guard. She licked her lips.

“Ten seconds left,” Michel told her.

“I’ll be safe?” she asked.

Michel smiled kindly. “I’ve eaten better since I switched sides than I ever did under the Blackhats. The brothels are better, the pay is better.” Not precisely true, but a good enough set of lies for the moment. “Five seconds.”

He could see her waffling. He watched the last few seconds tick by, silently willing her to talk, then dropped his watch back into his pocket without bothering to hide his annoyance. “Sorry, Soreana. Take her away.”

“Wait!” She awkwardly surged to her feet, stumbling into the wall. “I’ll take the offer. Please.”

Michel glanced at Tenik, who shrugged as if to say, This is your game. “Yes?”

“Just promise me that no one will find out I talked.”

“I think that can be arranged. Where is je Tura?”

“I don’t know where je Tura is, but I can tell you about Marhoush.”

“Go on.”

“He switched safe houses two nights ago. He moved to the house on King’s Street in Lower Landfall. But you won’t find him there, not now. He’s supposed to be meeting with someone important in an hour.”

Tenik visibly perked up. Michel took a step closer to her. “Who? Je Tura?”

“I’m not sure. I just know it’s supposed to be in Claden Park at four o’clock. He’s been going to these meetings every other day for two weeks.”

“All right.” Michel took a deep breath. This was the next link in the chain, but he’d have to move fast. Claden Park was clear on the other side of the plateau. “I’m going to find you later and get everything you know about the Blackhats. For now, we’re going to make sure everyone downstairs thinks you’ve been executed. Give me your best scream.”

The fastest route across the plateau turned out to be surrounded by a dozen Dynize soldiers on the backs of galloping horses. Michel clung to his saddle in terror as they rounded the western base of the plateau and then cut southeast. They arrived at Claden Park with just minutes to spare, which Michel used to get his feet back under him before borrowing a looking glass from one of the soldiers and scouting out the north end of the park.

Claden was a bit of marshland that had, at one point, been part of a Brudanian lady’s estate. Early on in her life she’d filled in the marsh and had it planted with willows and beech as a garden for her sickly husband. Their great-grandson had bequeathed the land to the public—along with a generous endowment for policing and upkeep. Rumors had swirled for years that local industrialists were leaning on Lindet to develop it, and Michel wondered what would happen to the land under Dynize rule.

For now, it was still a park about the size of six city blocks. Traffic passed through a narrow road running down the middle, and a few squatters’ tents had popped up in the overgrown lawns. Michel swept the looking glass back and forth until he saw a middle-aged man sitting on one of the benches, surreptitiously reading a newspaper.

“Heads down,” he told the soldiers. “You need to look like you’re just passing by and not like you’re waiting for something. Do a circuit around the park, then head down that street there”—he pointed to a street leading to the industrial quarter—“and post someone at the corner to wait for my signal.”

Michel split from the group, Tenik in tow, and headed in the opposite direction around the park.

“Marhoush is waiting on the bench there—don’t look!” Michel told Tenik. “Whoever he’s meeting hasn’t arrived yet, and will probably wait for your soldiers to go before they approach.” Michel kept walking at a leisurely stroll. After he reached the midpoint, he stopped behind a tree and kicked at a rock, hands in his pockets like any loitering Palo on a hot afternoon. “Flip your coin,” he told Tenik.

They had to wait only a few moments before a figure approached Marhoush, sitting down on the bench next to him. Michel watched out of the corner of his eye for a moment, then moved a few dozen yards down the road to get a profile look of Marhoush’s contact. He slid the soldier’s looking glass from his sleeve and held it up to his eye. He blinked, rubbed the lens, and looked again.

Without a word, he handed the glass to Tenik.

The figure sitting next to Marhoush was one who had burned herself into Michel’s memory a week earlier. She had a soft face and medium-length red hair, and she lounged with a casual ease next to Marhoush. She was dressed like a Palo in a low-quality brown cotton suit. It was, without a doubt, Devin-Forgula.

“Why is she meeting with a Silver Rose?” Michel whispered.

“I have no idea.”

“Do we bring her in?” Michel asked.

Tenik lingered with the looking glass to his eye for an uncomfortably long time before finally lowering it. His face looked like he’d just eaten an unripe lime. “You’re certain that this Marhoush is still a loyal Blackhat?”

“Mostly certain,” Michel replied.

“Mostly.” Tenik chewed on the word. After a few moments, he said, “No. She is one of Sedial’s and if we make accusations we must be prepared to back them up. We take this to Yaret as soon as he can see us.”