Murder at the Kinnen Hotel by Brian McClellan Read Free Book Online

that?” he asked.
    If White was aware that her little display had had a profound effect on Adamat as well as Teef, she didn’t show it. She stood up, springing on the balls of her feet like a woman thirty years her junior. “We’ll have to talk with one of the big bosses.”
    “That would be both immensely difficult and, I think, unnecessary.”
    “Oh?” White asked.
    “We have a clue,” Adamat said. “Teef said the man was a pitrunner.”
    “I’m not familiar with the term.”
    “It’s a derogatory slang for a barrowman. Someone who works in the mines up in the northern mountains, rolling wheelbarrows out of the deepest coal pits. It’s one of the worst, hardest jobs in Adro.”
    “You think he’s a convict? Someone from the Mountainwatch?”
    “No,” Adamat said. He half-closed his eyes, running through the information stored in his mind. “If I recall correctly, which I usually do, pitrunner is geographically specific. Refers to barrowmen in the Kemptin Region, in mines owned by the Kemptin family.” He finally forced himself to look White in the eye. “Employment records should be available at the Public Archives. Are you any good at research?”
    “Quite.”
    “We need information on all the barrowmen who worked there over the last two years.”
    “That sounds … tedious.”
    “Paperwork is a fantastic way of tracking people down because they rarely bother to cover their trail even when they should. If you can take care of that, I’ll do a little sniffing and see if I can find out who the powder mage’s cousin is among the Brickmen.”
    “I thought you said that wouldn’t be necessary.”
    “I don’t think it will. But it doesn’t hurt to have two leads. I won’t try to approach him without you.”
    White’s nostrils flared and she watched Adamat for a moment before giving a curt nod.
    Adamat walked with her out to the street, where she took their cab and headed north toward the Public Archives. He waited until the cab had disappeared before going looking for his own. It would have been easier to just share a cab. Their destinations were quite close indeed. But Adamat didn’t want her to know that.
    He found the closest cab and paid the driver before getting inside.
    “Where to, sir?”
    “Sablethorn Prison,” Adamat said. It was time to talk to Ricard Tumblar.
    Across the city square from the precinct building sat Sablethorn Prison. It was a black, basalt obelisk of a building, a nail jutting from the city center high into the sky in testament to the Iron King’s merciless imprisonment of those who opposed him. It was as much, if not more, a statement to the public than the guillotine permanently fashioned in the center of the square.
    The sheer size of the building meant it served as incarceration for political prisoners and dissidents, as well as the city jail. Its proximity to the First Precinct building only made it all the more convenient.
    Adamat showed his credentials to the jailer just inside the big main doors and was directed up three flights of stairs where another jailer took him down a long hall and thumped twice on a thick wooden door before unlocking and opening it for Adamat.
    “Just give a yell if you need anything,” the jailer said.
    It was a small room with a single barred window that faced away from the main square. There was a cot, a chair, and a table with writing implements. The only light came from the glow of coal stove in one corner, next to which squatted Ricard Tumblar.
    He still wore the same jacket he had on yesterday morning. His hair was frayed, his clothes rumpled, the collar of his shirt stained with wine and sweat. He glared up at Adamat in hurt confusion.
    As if I had anything to do with you being in here . “How much did you have to bribe a guard to get a noble’s cell?” Adamat asked.
    “Just a hundred krana,” Ricard said. “I guess they were told to put me with the rabble, but I did a favor for the head jailor’s cousin a few