Return to Honor Read Free Page A

heard you at first. Now, if there’s not something I can get for you, I really must see to my other patrons.”
    Vlora snorted. Did she have a reputation that reached even into this shit hole? Or… “You can tell him that it concerns Field Marshal Tamas.”
    Gourina seemed to perk up at that. “Well, now. Why didn’t you say so? I’ll go see if he’s around.”
    Vlora didn’t wait for the old woman to come back and find her. She followed her toward one of the many back rooms, waving pipe smoke from her face. Olem, it seemed, couldn’t be bothered if it didn’t have to do with Tamas. Not that Vlora blamed him. He had only been made Tamas’s bodyguard and aide in the last few months. He had Tamas’s ear, and that meant that everyone who wanted anything from Tamas probably came looking for him.
    Gourina went down a passage at the back of the room, then knocked on a door before entering. Vlora stole up the hallway after her. She feared what she’d see inside, but she’d already come this far. An eyeful of the captain wouldn’t kill her.
    She was surprised to see a rather spacious room with a round table and half a dozen men and women quietly playing cards. The room was lit by a fireplace and a handful of torches. There were two privates, a sergeant, a pair of lieutenants, and Captain Olem with his back to the open window, a cigarette hanging from his bottom lip.
    Olem was a man of medium height, in his mid-thirties, with a pleasant, boyish face made serious by a neatly trimmed beard, though military regulation forbade anything but a mustache and muttonchops. He had a reputation as a soldier’s soldier, preferring to take food and recreation with the men rather than with the officers, and of course there was his Knack, which kept him from needing sleep.
    Vlora imagined he played a lot of cards.
    Olem’s head was tilted, listening as Madame Gourina whispered in his ear. He glanced toward where Vlora watched from the hall. A smile crossed his face—the kind a man gets when he tells himself a joke in his head—and he lifted a hand to Vlora, gesturing her inside.
    Vlora squeezed past Gourina.
    “Beer for the captain,” Olem called after Gourina as the madam left. “Unless you’d like something else? I don’t recommend the Starlish vodka. Tastes like troll piss.”
    “Beer is fine,” Vlora said. “Thank you.”
    The card game had stopped. Six sets of eyes stared at her expectantly, and Vlora was suddenly afraid of a repeat of what had just happened in the officers’ mess. Olem broke the silence. “Care to join us?”
    One of the lieutenants, a middle-aged woman with short hair, cleared her throat. “We’ve got a full table.”
    “Room for another chair,” Olem said, shooting her a glance.
    “No thank you, really,” Vlora replied, eyeballing the lieutenant. “I just needed to see you briefly, if I may.”
    Olem nodded, raising one finger. He squinted at his cards for a long, silent moment, then tossed one of them down on the table faceup.
    “Son of a bitch,” the sergeant said, tossing his own cards down in disgust.
    The crack of a smile appeared on Olem’s face. He gathered a handful of coins from the middle of the table and scooped them into a pile in front of him. “I’ll be back for the next round.”
    Vlora followed him out into the hallway, where Madame Gourina brought them both a glass of beer. The glasses were dirty and the beer bitter, but somehow it tasted better than what she’d been drinking at the officers’ mess.
    “Step into my office,” Olem said, kicking open the door across the hallway. He stopped, made a face, and said, “Let’s go down the hall.”
    Vlora caught a whiff of some ungodly smell before following Olem to an empty room near the end of the corridor. He opened the window and ashed his cigarette out it, then sat on the rumpled bed, gesturing for Vlora to take the chair.
    “Thank you,” Vlora said, sipping her beer. “You know, I expected a little better out of