Well, not everyone would die,thought Cain. But many would, and the survivors would lose their homes and their work. Old Agatha, Lukan, Lucretia, even the shop clerk in the square who spoke awkward Imperial so confidently. And everyone who had come to Fienna’s funeral, the people she took such care of… The pressure gripped his heart again, but in that moment of distress, pieces fell into place in his mind. Fienna, too, must have known about all this. She must have felt the same thing Cain was feeling right now.
And he finally understood why Fienna had been murdered.
17CAIN
Cain knocked on the door of the agents’ safe house near the docks. He still couldn’t quite grasp the magnitude of the situation he found himself in. Gladdis was planning to set off a chain reaction of Power generators to destroy the Capital and bring down the Empire. Or perhaps even trying to re-create the Star of Mersia, which according to Eldred could erase all life from the entire Imperial heartland. He had never heard of anyone even attempting such a thing. But that princess of Arland was said to be bold enough to take on an entire legion alone. Maybe this sort of plan required someone just as bold.
But it did not seem likely to him that the hero said to be facing an entire army by herself with only a sword would be plotting indiscriminate mass murder in a faraway city.
He found himself rooting for the princess before he’d even realized it. He hoped she would have nothing to do with what Gladdis was planning, so he could continue to root for her.
The door opened.
Septima wore her black stola. She was not wearing a different gown of the same color, but the exact same stola—the almost invisible spot that had appeared when her wineglass had been shaken by Lukan’s wiping of his bar was still there in the fold near her chest. There was a hint of powder under her eyes, perhaps to cover signs of exhaustion. She no longer smelled of perfume. A few strands of hair had come loose from her previously immaculate coiffure.
Devadas and the stout man looked similarly worse for wear. The stout man straddled a chair as he hugged its back, glaring at him with eyes full of suspicion. The giant Devadas leaned against a wall. Cain couldn’t tell whether he was dozing off or just had his eyes closed.
“You made it on time. Did anyone of interest come to the funeral?”
That hint of fatigue in her voice. Cain nodded.
“Was it someone you know?”
He shook his head. “Black coat, medium height, medium build, thick hair. It’s hard to describe. I never got a good look at his face.”
“You can throw a rock in the market square and hit someone with that description,” jeered the stout man. Cain still didn’t know his name.
Cain shrugged. “It’s hardly my fault he looks like everyone else.”
“You think because we paid you you’re Intelligence, too? You little—”
If it hadn’t been the stout man who called him “little,” Cain would have kept in his laugh. Something flew toward him and he ducked, hearing a shattering sound behind him. A jar had been smashed behind him. Not mad enough to get up from his seat, itlooked like. Just as Cain was wondering what he had thrown at the jar, Septima said, “Look.”
“What?”
Septima didn’t say anything at first. She bit her thumb, thinking, before taking a step toward Cain.
“Was there anything else?”
“What?”
“Was there anything else that happened, at all?”
“Not really—”
“The badger is lying,” said the stout man with a sneer, using a pejorative reserved for people from the northwestern provinces. “We know you bought a load of things in the market this morning. We thought you were going to make a run with the little money we gave you, but then you sent it off to a whorehouse instead?”
Cain was annoyed at himself; he hadn’t thought they would be following him. Why would they? The money had been a generous sum, but not enough to change a whole life. Even if Cain had made a run for it, the amount would have been nothing to Ministry agents. Why were they surveilling some minor informant like him when they were so busy they had no time to rest their bloodshot eyes?
Maybe that was the wrong way to think. Maybe to the agents of the Empire, a provincial informant was a mere tool. And an artisan should always know where their tools are.
Devadas was now leaning against the only exit out of the room. His glowering eyes were now open and trained on Cain. Who knew what these three would do to Cain if he misspoke. His spectacles slipped down, just a little, along his sweaty nose.
Cain felt the urge to tell them everything about the silent manand the squirreled-away Power generator. But not yet—he had to find Gladdis first, he had to find out for himself first. He looked for something convincing to say, quick.
“You’re not as smart as you look,” said Septima. “How disappointing.”
“Maybe the headquarters would get more out of him,” said the stout man menacingly. Cain knew of a few people who had been dragged into the Ministry headquarters in the old city and released. One of them was still able to walk on their own.
