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a man of your reputation.”
    Olem’s eyebrows rose, and Vlora immediately cursed herself silently.
    “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. Powder mages didn’t get drunk, not like other people. But that didn’t mean a third beer had been a good idea. “That didn’t come out like I meant it to.” She once again felt herself going red. Here she was again, wasting more time. Tamas’s message had been clear—she wasn’t getting any help. No sense in even looking for it. “Sorry, I should go…”
    The shadow of a smile appeared on Olem’s lips. “No, no. I’m curious where you’re going with this.”
    “Look, I’m sorry, it’s just…” she trailed off.
    “Go on,” Olem said. The smile grew. She expected it to turn cruel or condescending, but it touched his eyes in a way that said he was laughing with her and not at her.
    Vlora looked around. Well, she was here, wasn’t she? Might as well dig her grave a little deeper. “The whorehouse. You’ve got a reputation as a gentleman. Private in your, er, affairs.” Pit, she didn’t even know if he was married.
    “I come here for the company, not for the whores,” Olem said.
    “I thought the whores were the company in a place like this.”
    “They’re better people than you think, but I’m here for the infantry. Far more fun to play cards with people in that room over there”—he jerked his head—“than with anyone at the officers’ mess. There are exceptions, certainly, but…”
    “Like Colonel Verundish?”
    Olem nodded. “Like Verundish. You know her?”
    “We’ve been friends for a few years. Took me under her wing when I started taking soldiering seriously. She’s the one who recommended I come find you, actually.”
    “Oh? So what kind of help are you looking for?”
    He didn’t question her coming to him, even though he knew better than anyone that she was on Tamas’s shit list. Vlora silently thanked him for that. “I’ve got an assignment to find a man named Wohler. He was the head of Charlemund’s personal guard until the villa, and now he’s on the run. Tamas wants him brought in.”
    “And the field marshal sent you to me?”
    “No, that was Verundish. Tamas, well, he made it clear I’m not getting any more help.”
    Olem cocked one eyebrow. “Oh?”
    “Look, I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t for Verundish. She said you might know where the guards are hiding out in the city. I honestly don’t have any idea where to start, and…”
    “And?” Olem urged.
    “And I have to leave to join Tamas on the front in two days. If I fail, Wohler gets away.”
    Olem took a drag on his cigarette, found it had gone out, and relit it with a match. Smoke curled out his nose, his eyes narrowed, and he stared thoughtfully at a spot over Vlora’s shoulder. The silence dragged on for nearly a minute as he puffed hard, smoking the cigarette down to his fingertips before discarding it.
    “Look,” Vlora said to break the silence, “I don’t want to put you in a position of going against Tamas.”
    “This Wohler,” Olem said as if he hadn’t heard her. “You’ve asked after any friends or relations he may have in the city?”
    “Yes,” Vlora said. “I interrogated his captured compatriots and asked around at a dozen different chapels. He doesn’t have anyone he would go to ground with.”
    “Everyone has someone,” Olem mused.
    “Not everyone,” Vlora said quietly.
    Olem glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was going to hate him if there was pity in his eyes, but he merely rolled a new cigarette and held it out to her.
    “Don’t smoke,” she said.
    He shrugged and lit it for himself. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment before his face lit up. “Attached to a retinue a thousand miles from home. The man’s going to have a mistress.”
    “You think so?”
    “He’s a captain in the Prielight guard. He certainly will have the money for one. If he doesn’t drink or gamble with anyone else, then he has to