“Ever since I took command. Perhaps eight, nine years.”
The familiarity of Tattersail's name returned to Lorn then, like a mailed fist clenching her heart. She found herself sitting down again, and Dujek had taken a step towards her, genuine concern in his eyes.
“Your injury needs attending to,” he said gruffly. “I shouldn't have waited.”
“No, no, it's all right. Weariness, that's all.”
He studied her quizzically. “Would you like some wine, Adjunct?”
She nodded. Tattersail. Was it possible? She would know when she saw the woman. She would know then. “Nine years,” she murmured, “the Mouse.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She looked up to find Dujek before her. He offered her a goblet of wine. “Nothing,” she said, as she accepted it. “Thank you.”
As the double doors swung open both turned. In strode Tayschrenn, his face dark with fury as he confronted Dujek.
“Damn you,” the High Mage grated. “If you had a hand in this I'll find it, and that is a promise.”
Dujek raised an eyebrow. “A hand in what, High Mage?” he asked coolly.
“I've just been to the Hall of Records. A fire? The place looks like the inside of an oven.”
Lorn rose and stepped between them. “High Mage Tayschrenn,” she said, in a low, dangerous tone, “perhaps you could tell me why this matter of some fire in some bureaucrat's chamber should override all other considerations?”
Tayschrenn blinked. “I beg your pardon, Adjunct,” he said tightly, “but within the Hall of Records were the city's census lists.” His dark eyes swung past her to fix on Dujek. “Wherein all the names of Pales nobility could be found.”
“Unfortunate,” the High Fist said. “Have you begun an investigation? My staffs services are, of course, entirely at your disposal.”
“Unnecessary, High Fist,” the wizard drawled sardonically. “Why make all your other spies redundant?” Tayschrenn paused, then stepped back and bowed to Lorn. “Greetings, Adjunct. I apologize for this ungracious-seeming reunion-”
“Save your apologies for later," Lorn said levelly. She faced Dujek.
“Thank you for the wine and conversation,” she said, noting with satisfaction Tayschrenn's stiffening at that. “I trust there'll be a formal dinner this evening?”
Dujek nodded. “Of course, Adjunct.”
“Would you be so kind as to request Tattersail's attendance as well?”
She felt yet another flinch come from the High Mage, and saw in Dujek's gaze a new respect as he looked upon her, as if acknowledging her own skills in this brand of tactics.
Tayschrenn interrupted. “Adjunct, the sorceress has been ill as a result of her encounter with the Hound of Shadow,” he turned a smile on Dujek, “which I'm sure has been described to you by the High Fist.”
Not well enough, Lorn thought ruefully, but let Tayschrenn imagine the worst. “I'm interested in a wizard's evaluation of that event, High Mage,” she said.
“Which you shall have shortly.”
Dujek bowed. “I will inquire as to Tattersail's health, Adjunct. If you will excuse me, then, I can be on my way.” He turned to Tayschrenn and gave a curt nod.
Tayschrenn watched the one-armed old man leave the room, then waited for the doors to close once again. “Adjunct, this situation is-”
“Absurd,” Lorn finished hotly. “Dammit, Tayschrenn, where's your sense? You've taken on the craftiest bastard the Empire military has ever had the privilege of possessing and he's eating you alive.” She spun to the table and refilled her goblet. “And you deserve it.”
“Adjunct-”
She faced him. “No. Listen, Tayschrenn. I speak directly from the Empress. She reluctantly approved your commandeering the assault on Moon's Spawn-but if she'd known you so thoroughly lacked subtlety, she would never have permitted it. Do you take everyone else for fools?”
“Dujek is just one man,” Tayschrenn said.
Lorn took a large mouthful of wine, then set down the goblet and rubbed her brow. “Dujek's not the enemy,” she said wearily. “Dujek's never been the enemy.”
Tayschrenn stepped forward. “He was the Emperor's man, Adjunct.”
“Challenging that man's loyalty to the Empire is insulting, and it's that very insult that may well turn him. Dujek is not just one man. Right now he's ten thousand, and in a year's time he'll be twenty-five thousand. He doesn't yield when you push, does he? No, because he can't. He's got ten thousand soldiers behind him-and, believe me, when they get angry enough to push back, you'll not be able to withstand them. As for Dujek, he'll just end up being carried on the tide.”