I wrinkle my nose at him. “Northerner.” Then I take a sip and make a much worse face. The kindest thing that can be said is that the powder gave it a verystrongbouquet. “Saints and martyrs, Junior. If this doesn’t make me feel a hundred times better, I am going to be very mad that I wasted this bottle.”
“I warned you,” he laughs. I didn’t miss the flash of relief when I called him Junior.
“Ugh.” I start shuffling the cards, then lay them out. He waffles a moment, then picks the middle. It’s the Knight of Shields.
“Here we go,” he says. “Ask.”
I stack up the cards and flip through them. I don’t want to hurt him, but grief is a house on fire. It needs to burn itself down. “Tell me about Klemens.”
His throat moves. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. How you met, his bad habits, his favorite pastry. Tell me why you gave a damn about him.”
Emeric stares into his mug, gathering himself. When he speaks, he’s somewhere far from this room. “My parents were bookbinders up in the northwest, near the Bourgienne border. My father also kept books for the locals. When he was murdered, the bailiff just said there was no proof of the culprit. But I went through Father’s desk. His last appointment was with the bailiff. When I looked through the bailiff’s accounts, they weren’t adding up. Father kept clean books, he would have noticed . . . but I was eight. The sheriff just brushed me off.”
“And you took it to Klemens.” I tip my head awkwardly. “I . . . saw a little of it, in the Tears, from your cloak. I didn’t mean to.”
“I don’t mind.” Emeric half shrugs. “Hubert was on his way back to Helligbrücke, but he heard me out. It was enough to investigate, and he was the only reason the bailiff faced justice. Then Hubert told my mother I would do well with the prefects.”
“You solved a murder when you were eight,” I say wryly. “With math. I think ‘well’ may be underselling it.”
He cracks a smile. “The stipend didn’t hurt either. I’m the oldest of four, and my mother wasn’t ready to remarry. It was a way to keep a roof over our heads without forcing that on her. Besides, I wanted to be Hubert. You know the saying, little thieves and great ones?”
I nod.
“I’ve always hated it. It’s everything wrong with the empire, that we punish people who are usually just trying to survive, when people like the margrave get away with whatever they want. Prefects can makeanyoneanswer to the Low Gods. So we moved to Helligbrücke, and Hubert kept an eye out for me in the training academy.” Rue seeps into his voice. “I needed it. Turns out no one likes being shown up by a little know-it-all.”
This is when I realize: This is why he keeps tripping me up, finding truths that catch me in the throat. Our lives are very different, but we both speak the brittle language of loneliness.
Emeric continues. “When his partner retired, he pushed the academy to let me take the first initiation early, so I could start working cases with him as an apprentice. He was . . .” His voice catches, halts. I pass his kerchief back. “He never let me forget how fallible easy answers can be. Like today. But he always listened. He never made me feel like a nuisance because I was right.” Emeric presses his lips together. “He slept in all the time, and then he would be cranky because he missed breakfast. Pastries . . . he didn’t like them, but he would eat candied almonds by the handful. Then he would brush the sugar on his coat, just to annoy me. And I’m pretty sure he would have tried to convince you to join the prefects too.”
“That would be a terrible idea,” I say immediately. “Do you know how fast I would get thrown out?Sofast.”
“NoticeI’mnot trying to convince you,” Emeric returns.
My mouth quirks at that. I raise my mug. “To Hubert Klemens.” Emeric raises his silently; I don’t think he can speak right now. We sit in the quiet a moment. Then I add, “I meant it, earlier. We’re going to bring Adalbrecht down.”
It takes another moment for Emeric to answer, and when he does, there’s iron in his words. “Whatever it takes.”
There’s a sudden thud from the far wall. The wall my room shares with Emeric’s.
Both of us stare at the plaster, holding our breaths. I don’t see anything, but a low, muffled scrape seeps out, like furniture’s being dragged over the floor.
Poldi crackles with vexation. “I’ll see what’s afoot.” The fire dims as he vanishes.
“Tell me your notes aren’t in there,” I whisper.
Emeric shakes his head. “I’m keeping them at the outpost.”
“Nachtmären,” growls from the fireplace when thekoboldreturns. “Making a proper mess. Want me to run ’em off?”
“Do the honors,” I tell him with grim satisfaction. This time his crackling is downright gleeful as he slips away.
The noises from next door abruptly cease. There are a few muffled bangs, then a hush. Poldi pops up in the hearth again, wheezing a bit. “Tougher this time. The bodies ought to vanish with the next bell.”
“You’re a treasure.” I turn back to Emeric. “Right, so, you’redefinitelynot going back in there until Ragne returns.”
That odd look slips through his face again. “If you insist.” Then he sets his mug down as I shuffle the cards once more. “You asked me about Hubert to . . . help, didn’t you?”
