Free The Crimson Campaign by Brian McClellan Page B

face. I could make an entire suit to match.”
    Adamat pretended to think on this for several moments. The jacket was obviously tailored. He could see a slight discoloration at the waist, where a rip had been patched, and he realized that this might be the actual jacket Lord Vetas had been wearing. “This looks like the right size. Can you tailor it for me now?”
    “Unfortunately, no. This particular jacket belongs to someone. He’s picking it up in a few days. I could have a new one made up for you in…” He paused to think. “A week. Just let me take your measurements.”
    Adamat patted his pockets. “I seem to have left my own checks at home. I only have my employers’. I will not be able to make a payment today.”
    “You’re obviously a gentleman, sir,” Haime said. “You may just give me your address.”
    Adamat didn’t have an address to give to him. He didn’t want to risk any word of this reaching Vetas. That risk was already high, as Haime might mention the attempted purchase to Vetas just as a matter of course. Adamat withdrew his pocket watch. “I have an appointment in less than an hour,” he said. “I must make it. Let me come back early next week for measurements.”
    Haime’s face fell. A good salesman never let a mark go out the door without a commitment to buy. “If that works best for you.”
    “It does,” Adamat said. “I’ll be back, don’t worry.”
    Adamat hurried across the street and found SouSmith waiting at the café.
    “Any sign of Vetas or any of his eyes?”
    SouSmith shook his head.
    “Let’s go,” Adamat said.
    “Breakfast still coming.”
    Adamat checked to make sure the tailor wasn’t watching him through the window of his shop before taking a seat next to SouSmith. “The tailor isn’t involved directly,” Adamat said. “He bought and sold the property for one of his clients: I think it’s Vetas. I saw the same jacket Vetas was wearing the last time I saw him, all the way down to the tailoring.”
    “You sure?”
    “I don’t forget, remember?” Adamat tapped the side of his head. “I could tell that the lines of that jacket matched perfectly. Unfortunately, the tailor wouldn’t give me Vetas’s name or address.”
    “Dead end.”
    “No. Vetas – or, more likely, one of his men – is coming to pick up that jacket in the next few days. It was being mended. I’m going to stake out the tailor and watch for who picks up the jacket. I’ll follow them and find out where Vetas lives.”
    “Where you want me?” SouSmith’s breakfast arrived: four poached eggs with Novi goat cheese. He grinned as it was set in front of him and set about eating quickly.
    “Nowhere,” Adamat said. “I can’t risk you being recognized. I can wear a disguise. You, however, can’t.”
    SouSmith sniffed. Through a mouthful of egg, he said, “Can’t leave you to follow him alone.”
    Adamat knew the risks. If Vetas or his man was good enough to mark Adamat, he could very well be a dead man. But SouSmith was a liability in this kind of work. He was easily recognized, and even if he wasn’t, his size made him less than ideal for following someone.
    “I’ll do it alone,” Adamat said.
     
    Tamas lay in the tall grass of a knoll beneath the Adran Mountains and watched through his looking glass as the Kez army prepared to assault Budwiel.
    Morning dew soaked his combat uniform. The cloud cover was low on this day and a rolling fog clung to plains outside of Budwiel. The air was heavy with moisture. He knew it would foul guns on both sides, but when Tamas looked toward Budwiel, he noted a ray of sunshine peeking through the clouds to bathe the city and clear the air.
    No doubt Mihali’s indirect participation in the battle.
    And they would need every bit of his help. Tamas swung his looking glass back toward the Kez. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of their army. Rank upon rank of tan uniforms with green trim stretched for what seemed like forever. Long