Child of the Ghosts (15 page)

Chapter 15 - The Imperial Capital

They left Vytaagia, followed the Imperial Highway through the Disali hills, and returned to the rolling plains around the Bay of Empire. Soon they reached Croton, where only four years past, Caina had arrived, traveling by fishing boat with Riogan and Komnene and Halfdan.

It seemed a lifetime ago.

But instead of turning east for Disalia, this time they turned northwest, taking the Imperial Highway as it followed the coastline. Travelers filled the road, endless streams of merchant wagons piled high with goods, liveried couriers riding back and forth, detachments of Malarae’s Civic Militia patrolling the roads, proud in their chainmail, red cloaks, and plumed helmets. 

On the third day out from Croton, they reached the Megaros River, broad and placid, its surface filled with endless lines of cargo-laden barges and rafts.

And on the western bank of the Megaros stood Malarae, capital of the Empire of Nighmar.

Caina gaped at it.

She had never seen anything so vast. 

Halfdan told her that over a million people occupied Malarae, and Caina could believe it. The city stretched as far as she could see, even rising up the slopes of the mountains beyond the river. Countless warehouses lined the harbor and crowded the river’s banks, and ships beyond count filled the quays and docks. Beyond the docks she saw the vast mansions and soaring towers of the Imperial nobility. The Magisterium aided in their construction, using their sorcery to help lift and shape the stone, and some of the towers rose hundreds of feet over the surrounding city. Amidst the mansions she saw the vast halls of the merchant collegia, or the soaring domes crowning the temples to the Empire’s gods.

And beyond, sitting upon an outthrust spur of the mountain, stood the massive towers and buttressed walls of the Imperial Citadel, seat of the Emperors of Nighmar, a fortress-city in its own right. Five different Empires had risen from Malarae, spanning thousands of years of history, yet the Citadel had never fallen. The purple banners of the Emperors had flown from the Citadel’s battlements for centuries. 

Halfdan chuckled at her expression. “What do you think?”

“It’s…big,” said Caina.

Riogan snorted. “Eloquent.”

No bridges crossed the Megaros River, Halfdan explained, partly as an ancient defense against barbarian tribes from the east, and partly to keep the river clear for merchant traffic. So they took a massive ferry across the Megaros, a broad raft laden with travelers and merchants, tended by hard-faced rivermen who handled the craft with skill. They docked, and went ashore into a bustling market square. Caina saw dozens of varieties of fish for sale, along with squids and crabs and octopi and stranger things. 

“Fishmongers’ Square,” said Halfdan. 

“Where are we going?” said Caina.

“To teach you to be subtle,” said Halfdan.

“What does that mean?” said Caina.

To her surprise, he answered. “Haeron Icaraeus is active in Malarae. We need spies here. Our friends in the Vineyard have taught you to fight. Well and good. Now we shall teach you to be subtle. We will teach you how to be a spy. How to remain unseen, even in a crowd. How to blend in and remain unnoticed.” He smiled. “And I have just the right teacher in mind for you.” 

They crossed Fishmongers’ Square, making for the broad street that led into the city’s heart. Caina’s eyes darted back and forth, taking in the crowds. That man was a carpenter, obviously, to judge from his callused hands and heavy hammer. That woman, a seamstress. That man, a bricklayer. And that boy in the ragged shirt and…

Caina jumped forward, seized his wrist, bent it back. The boy squealed in alarm and tried to break away, but she held him fast.

“Give it back,” she said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he gasped.

She twisted him around to face Riogan.

“Give it back,” she said, “or that fellow will cut your throat.”

The boy dropped Halfdan’s belt pouch into her hand, and she released him. He sprinted away and vanished into the crowds.

“Very good,” said Halfdan as she handed the pouch to him.

“Was that a test?” she said.

“Not at all,” said Halfdan. “The fellow did pick my pocket. But you handed it very well.” 

“Theodosia,” said Riogan, “is going to love her.” 

“Well,” said Halfdan, “let’s introduce them, shall we?” 

###

They walked further into Malarae, along a broad avenue crowded with people. Massive statues stood on marble plinths, stone images of armored men on horseback, or warriors lifting their swords in defiance of unseen enemies. The Via Triumphalis, Halfdan called the street, and the statues depicted long dead Emperors and Lord Commanders who had defeated the Empire’s enemies, earning the right to a statue. 

Soon they left the docks and the working neighborhoods behind, and came to the city’s wealthier districts. Caina stared at gleaming mansions and soaring towers, their facades adorned with statues and reliefs, at lush gardens and bubbling fountains. They passed through plazas lined with shops selling countless luxuries and rarities, silks and spices and gems from Anshan and Istarinmul.

Finally, they stopped before a building with a columned facade and a high dome that rose two hundred feet over the plaza.

“What is this?” said Caina. “A temple?”

Halfdan laughed. “Hardly. Welcome to the Grand Imperial Opera.” 

“The opera?” said Caina, her lip crinkling. Her mother had loved the opera, had often complained how she missed the Imperial opera companies in Malarae and Artifel.

“Of course,” said Halfdan. “Actors and singers generally come from the dregs of the Empire. The nobility and the wealthy merchants hold them in disdain…but come to their shows anyway. And since the nobles hold them in disdain, they don’t bother to hold their tongues in front of actors.”

“And so the Ghosts have many friends among the actors and musicians,” said Caina.

“Quite right,” said Halfdan.

He led them around the flank of the massive building, away from the grand entrance, to a narrow wooden door in the back. Halfdan knocked, waited. An iron plate in the door slid aside, and Caina saw the gleam of eyes. 

“Sign?” growled a voice in High Nighmarian.

“Let tyrants beware,” said Halfdan in the same language, “let the wicked fear, and let the sorcerers tremble, for in the shadows wait the Ghosts.”

The voice grunted. “Good enough. It’s been a while, Basil.” 

“So it has,” said Halfdan. “Is she here?”

“Aye. Primping, as usual,” said the voice. “She’ll want to see you.” 

The door swung open, and they walked into a narrow stone corridor, lit only by glowing glass globes hanging from the ceiling. Caina remembered those spheres from Maglarion’s lair and shivered. 

“They use enspelled globes for light?” said Caina.

“Everyone in Malarae does,” said Halfdan. “The capital’s Magisterium chapterhouse manufactures them by the thousands, sells them cheaply but at great profit. It’s how the Magisterium finances itself, mostly.” 

The corridor ended in an enormous workshop with a wooden ceiling supported by massive wooden beams. Workmen hurried back and forth, swarming over some sort of wooden construction, hammers and paintbrushes in hand. They were building sets for the opera, Caina realized. She saw vast trapdoors in the ceiling, with pulleys and ropes ready to raise the sets as needed. 

Halfdan steered them through the chaos until they came to a row of doors on the far wall. One of the doors stood open, light spilling into the gloomy workshop. Inside Caina saw a woman sitting upon a stool, admiring herself in an large mirror. The woman was in her late thirties, perhaps her early forties, with long blond hair and pale gray eyes. She was a bit plump, but tall enough to bear the extra weight with grace. 

She turned at their approach, and her face lit up with a brilliant smile. 

“If it isn’t Halfdan!” said the woman in High Nighmarian, her voice rich and rolling. “You rascal!”

“Theodosia, my dear,” said Halfdan. “You’re looking well.”

“Flatterer,” said Theodosia, planting a kiss upon Halfdan’s cheek. “I look old and used up, a withered crone, and cannot get even the most desperate of men to look at me.”

“You are many things,” said Halfdan, “but used up is not one of them.” He sighed. “A pity we are not alone. I could prove you wrong most effectively.”

Caina blinked. This was a side of Halfdan she had not seen before. 

“Easily accomplished,” purred Theodosia. She leveled a finger at Riogan. “You. Wait outside. Try not to kill anyone.” She paused for a moment. “Unless it’s really necessary, of course.”

Riogan gave a sardonic little bow, something almost like a smile flickering over his lips. “Your discretion fills me with pride, great lady.”

“Bah. I am not a lady, and you know it,” said Theodosia, but she smiled as she said it. 

Caina turned to follow Riogan.

“No,” said Theodosia. “You stay.”

Caina stopped, and Riogan shut the door behind him. 

“So,” said Theodosia, turning to the mirror once more. The table before the mirror held a truly astonishing array of cosmetics and wigs. “How bad is it?” 

“Bad enough,” said Halfdan. “You remember what I told you about Maglarion, I trust?”

Theodosia’s eyes flicked to Caina, just for a moment. “Aye, I do.”

“He’s apparently started working with Haeron Icaraeus,” said Halfdan. 

Theodosia swore, several times. 

“Undoubtedly Lord Haeron thinks that Maglarion is working for him,” said Halfdan, “but I suspect Maglarion has his own ideas.”

“No doubt,” said Theodosia. “What does he want?” She scoffed. “Lord Haeron, he is a rich fool, and like all rich fools, he wants to be Emperor. But what does Maglarion want?”

“That is one of the things I would like you to discover,” said Halfdan. 

Theodosia sighed. “I shall try. My eyes and ears watch Lord Haeron night and day. But, oh, a fat fool he may be, but he is as clever as a snake. Very cautious, very careful. He has left no evidence we can use against him.”

“Then perhaps we should simply kill him,” said Halfdan.

“Easier said than done,” said Theodosia. “He guards himself most carefully, and is clever enough to hire competent guards.”

“Well,” said Halfdan, “we’ll just have to be cleverer, won’t we?”

Caina blinked. “You’re the circlemaster of Malarae.”

Both Halfdan and Theodosia looked at her. 

“I told you she was clever,” said Halfdan.

“Indeed you did,” said Theodosia. She smiled and tapped one finger against her lips. “Halfdan also said you were most observant. Tell me what you see about me.”

Caina shrugged, looked at Theodosia for a moment, and then at the room. 

“Well?” said Theodosia. 

“You’re a widow,” said Caina, “and you have at least two children, both sons. They probably went into the Legion or the Civic Militia.” 

“The scar from the ring,” said Theodosia, tapping her finger, “and the candles?”

“Yes,” said Caina. It was common for mothers with children in the Legions or the militias to light votive candles to Markoin, god of soldiers. 

“What else?” said Theodosia. 

“You’re carrying at least three knives,” said Caina, “two in your boots, one in your belt, and I would wager that you have more that I haven’t been able to find. You’ve had a bad cold, and only just got over it. And you dye your hair.”

Halfdan burst out laughing. 

“I most certainly do not!” said Theodosia, touching her hair. 

Caina shrugged. “But you have all those bottles of dye on the table, and I can see the stains where your hair brushed the walls while still wet.” 

Theodosia sniffed. “How did you know about the cold?”

“The spots on the mirror, from sneezes,” said Caina. “You haven’t cleaned them off.” 

“So I see,” said Theodosia, tapping her finger against her lips again. “Well, Halfdan said you were clever, and I see he was right. No doubt he had Riogan teach you to kill, hmm? There is more to being a Ghost than killing and fighting. You must know how to disguise yourself. How to blend in, whether you are dancing at a noble ball or strolling the slums. You must know how to mask yourself so well that your best friend and dearest lover could not recognize you.”

“How?” said Caina.

“Why, I shall teach you,” said Theodosia, spreading her arms. “For I am Theodosia of Malarae! I first strode upon the stage of the Imperial Opera as a girl of fourteen, and I have played every part and sung every aria from the ‘Queen of Anshan’ to the ‘Slave of Istarinmul’. First, let us see what you can already do. Can you sing?”

“Sing?” said Caina, nonplussed.

“Yes. Can you sing? It is a simple question,” said Theodosia.

“I don’t know,” said Caina. “I’ve never really tried.”

“Well, then, sing this,” said Theodosia, and she sang a phrase in her rich, rolling voice. 

Caina hesitated, took a deep breath, and sang the phrase. Or tried to, anyway.

Theodosia winced. “Ah, so you cannot sing. Well, I simply won’t use you on the stage, that is all. Halfdan tells me you can speak many languages, yes?”

Caina nodded.

“Though I sing best,” said Theodosia, switching to Caerish, “in High Nighmarian, since all the greatest arias are written in High Nighmarian.”

Caina answered in Caerish. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know. I have never been to Malarae, before today.” 

“Is that so?” said Theodosia, switching to Kyracian. “It must have been an impressive sight, coming into the city for the first time. I was born here, and Malarae is the queen of cities.”

“There are very many beautiful buildings,” said Caina in the same language, “and all those statues. It must have been dreadfully expensive.

Theodosia laughed, and started speaking in Anshani. “There have been Emperors for thousands of years, and each one wants to be remembered as a great ruler. So every Emperor throws up a new theater, or a new tower, and names it after himself, in hopes that he will be remembered as a great Emperor. The construction makes a dreadful lot of noise, but we do get many fine buildings out of it.”