Ghost in the Cowl (9 page)

Still, Damla did not move, did not flinch, and Caina admired the older woman’s courage. She had said she would do anything to save her sons, and she had not been lying.

Just as Caina would have done anything, anything at all, to save Corvalis. 

Caina flung another knife, and another, timing her throws to the thunder of the drum. Poor Damla shrieked for every throw, but thankfully remained motionless. Caina whirled, making her movements more of dance, moving in time to the beat. At last she came to the ninth and final knife, and she spun past the tray, her skirt billowing around her, and seized the blade.

And as she came out of the spin, she threw the knife.

It landed with a deep thud above Damla’s head.

A gasp went up from the observers, and then wild applause. 

Caina went to the board as the carpenters untied Damla. She took the other woman’s hand, and together they bowed to the crowds, once to the right, once to the left, and then finally to Ulvan’s dais. 

“That was…that was…” said Damla.

“Exhilarating?” said Caina.

“I am never doing that again,” said Damla. 

“Natalia of the Nine Knives and her lovely assistant Nuri, my lords!” shouted Cronmer. The carpenters took down the corkboard, while Timost hastened away with the tray. Caina walked back towards the tent, Damla following after. 

“Now what?” said Damla.

“Now we have something to eat,” said Caina, “and wait for the next time Cronmer calls us out. The celebration will likely go all night. I will have another chance to look around, and…”

A Cyrican slave in a gray tunic approached them. He was in his early forties, and looked healthy and well fed. His tunic was made from fine cloth, and he wore an ornamental steel collar. One of Ulvan’s house slaves, then, and one likely entrusted with a position of authority. 

“Natalia of the Nine Knives?” he said in Istarish with a heavy Cyrican accent.

“Aye, I am,” said Caina. “What do you wish?”

“My master Ulvan of the Brotherhood bade me to bring you to him,” said the slave with a mocking smile. “Your…performance has captured his eye, and he desires to speak with you. Immediately.”

Caina turned her head, and saw Ulvan staring at her and Damla with a predatory smile. He had been willing to forge documents to kidnap free men to sell as slaves.

So what would he do to acquire two women he found attractive?

Caina’s plan had given her a good look inside Ulvan’s grounds and palace…but had ended up with her standing barely dressed before three of the most powerful men in Istarinmul. 

Perhaps this had not been such a good plan after all. 

“Of course,” said Caina. “We should be honored.”

The slave bowed, that mocking smile still on his face, and gestured for them to follow him.

“I hope you know what you are doing,” hissed Damla.

“So do I,” said Caina.

Chapter 8 - The Master Alchemist

The cheers and applause continued as the Circus entertained the crowds, but silence seemed to close around Caina and Damla as they drew closer to Ulvan.

And his powerful guests. 

Ulvan sat upon the right throne, his bulk filling the chair, his dark, bloodshot eyes scrutinizing Caina. Erghulan Amirasku sat the center, in the place of honor. The Grand Wazir sat erect and straight, as if ready to leap into battle at the slightest notice. Callatas sat Erghulan’s left, his hands forming a tent before his face. His face gave away nothing, but his gray eyes were distant. 

Caina felt the potent sorcery radiating from the blue gem upon Callatas’s chest. She could see that the gemstone did indeed glow with a faint azure light. Was it a warding talisman, perhaps? Or a weapon Callatas wielded against his enemies?

Ricimer stood behind the Master Alchemist’s chair. He, too, looked preoccupied, as if Ulvan’s ascension was a distraction from more pressing business. 

A dozen Immortals stood guard around the dais, their glowing blue eyes eerie in their skull-masks of black steel. She could not see their expression, but she felt the predatory weight of their gazes against her bare skin like a chill wind. 

Caina knelt before the dais, and Damla did the same, her face a mask. The gravel of the path dug into Caina’s bare knees, and she kept herself from wincing, her expression calm as she waited for Ulvan or the Grand Wazir to speak. 

“You may rise, Natalia of the Nine Knives,” said Ulvan at last, gesturing with his right hand, the thick fingers glittering with rings. 

“Thank you, my lord Master Slaver,” said Caina. 

Ulvan loosed a rumbling chuckle. “Well, not quite yet. But soon enough, eh? Your knife throwing has quite pleased me. As has your…dancing.”

Caina lowered her eyes, her mind racing. “Thank you, my lord.” Damla remained rigid at Caina’s side, her fear evident. 

Erghulan laughed. “Humbly spoken for a deposed warrior queen of the Szaldic nation.”

Caina offered a timid smile. “That is just a story for the crowds, my lord Wazir. Something to make them clap and throw coins, yes? Everyone comes to see Natalia of the Nine Knives throw knives. No one would come to see a poor girl from Varia Province.”

“Perhaps not, girl,” rumbled Ulvan. “You would draw the eye wherever you went, I think.” 

“My lord is too kind to his humble servant,” said Caina. 

Erghulan grunted. “For a circus girl you are…surprisingly well-spoken.”

Caina shrugged. “My lord is too kind, and has no interest in my tale.”

“Indulge my curiosity, my dear,” said Ulvan with a wave of his hand. 

“Of course,” said Caina. “Our father was a Szaldic-born man, a merchant of Mornu in Varia Province in the Empire of Nighmar. When I was a child I often accompanied him on his journeys, and learned to speak with many kinds of people. Alas, he died, may the Living Flame rest his soul, and my sister and I live with my aunt in Istarinmul. We have made our way in the world as best as we can.” 

“Your sister?” said Ulvan, his eyes shifting to Damla.

Damla said nothing, a tremor going through her limbs, though Caina could not tell if it was from rage or fear. 

“Well, woman?” said Ulvan. “Can you not speak for yourself?”

“Please forgive my sister, my lords,” said Caina. “She is very shy, and not used to speaking to men of such honor and stature.” Damla caught the hint and gazed at the ground. 

“Your sister?” said Erghulan. “You look nothing alike.”

“Half-sister, in truth, my lord,” said Caina. “I fear Father had a taste for Istarish girls.”

Ulvan and Erghulan both laughed. Callatas only frowned, and seemed to come out of his reverie. His cold gray eyes focused on Caina, seeming to examine and weigh her, like a scholar considering a document. 

“Well, it seems your father was a man of good taste, then,” said Ulvan. “I cannot fault a man for his appetites.”

“Given your lust for both food and slave girls,” said Erghulan, “it would be most hypocritical.”

“Indeed,” said Ulvan “Though Szaldic women with their blue eyes and pale skin…they do have a certain charm of their own.”

“My lord is far too kind,” said Caina, “to his humble servant.” 

Ulvan started to open his mouth, but Callatas spoke first.

“A question for you, child,” he said, his voice dry and dusty.

Both Ulvan and Erghulan looked at the Grand Master of the Alchemists. Ulvan seemed slightly annoyed, but Caina did not miss the faint flicker of tension that went through both the slaver and the Grand Wazir.

They were afraid of Callatas.

“Of course, my lord Alchemist,” said Caina. 

“What,” said Callatas, “do you think of all this?”

Caina had no need to feign confusion at his question. “The…festivities, my lord? They are very splendid, and Master Ulvan is most generous to his performers. Or the palace? It is a grand house, so pleasing to the eye…”

“Are they?” said Callatas. “Or are they hopelessly corrupt?”

Erghulan gave a weary sigh. 

“I…do not understand, my lord,” said Caina. 

“Do you know what the essential nature of life is, child?” said Callatas. 

“To…not be dead, my lord?” said Caina. Ulvan chuckled.

Callatas did not smile. “The essential nature of life is that of predator and prey. The wolf and the sheep. The lion and the gazelle. The strong devouring the weak until their strength fails and they, too, are defeated and devoured in turn. Endlessly this cycle turns, over and over again.”

“It sounds very terrible, my lord,” said Caina. “Like the tribesmen of the Argamaz, or the nomads of the steppes. It is good to live in the Most Divine Padishah’s city, where such things do not happen.” 

That was a lie, given that one of the men before her had kidnapped Damla’s sons. And that Callatas had likely murdered dozens of unborn children to ensure his longevity. 

For the first time Callatas smiled, a cold, indulgent smile. “That is the nature of life. Even here, in Istarinmul, where the masters rule and the slaves serve…and then the masters eat the slaves in turn.” 

“All men must respect the Padishah’s laws and decrees,” said Caina. 

“Laws are the artifice of a civilization,” said Callatas, “and civilization is a false edifice. An attempt to break the circle of predator and prey. A folly, for the circle cannot be broken. All things made by the mind of man fail in time – laws, kingdoms, empires. But the essential nature of mankind never fails, our endless cycle of violence and death, of predator and prey. This is the only thing eternal about mankind…and therefore we must perfect it. Embrace it to its fullest degree. Only then shall a higher order of man arise. What do you think of that, child?”

Caina thought it sounded utterly insane. Little different from the speeches Sicarion had given to justify his murders and cruelty. Caina wondered if Callatas had ever met Sicarion.

Or if he had ever met the Moroaica.

“I…do not know, my lord,” said Caina, bowing. “Please forgive me. I am only a humble girl, and such philosophies are beyond my comprehension.” 

“Yes,” said Callatas, settling upon his throne, the distant look returning to his face. “I suppose they are.” 

“The Grand Master is a man of great learning and wisdom,” said Ulvan, “but I fear his deep thoughts are far beyond my comprehension. I am a man of far simpler tastes and pleasures.” His smile was just short of a leer. “And you have pleased me greatly, Natalia of the Nine Knives.” 

“Thank you, my lord,” said Caina.

Ulvan clapped his hands, and the household slave stepped forward. “Mardos! A purse of gold for Natalia and her sister. Thirty golden bezants, I think, in celebration of my ascension.” His leer widened. “And perhaps you and your sister could dance for me in private after the festivities, yes?” Before Caina could answer, he turned his head towards the Immortals. “You, take Natalia and her sister to my bedchamber, and keep them there until I arrive.”

Mardos bowed, and started towards Caina and Damla, accompanied by four Immortals.

Damla stiffened, her eyes widening with sudden fear. 

Caina calculated the risks. She had only seen the public areas of Ulvan’s palace, and here was a chance to find his inner sanctum, his keys, his strong room, and his records. She wanted to get inside, and this was a golden opportunity to do so. But Damla would be with her, and Caina did not know how much danger the older woman could endure.

And Caina did not have any of her tools and weapons, and no way of getting past the Immortals. And the gods only knew what kinds of cruelties a man liked Ulvan enjoyed.

If the Immortals took them into Ulvan’s bedchamber, the odds that she and Damla would come out alive again were low. 

Yet Ulvan was clearly a man of tremendous lusts and appetites, one who could afford the most expensive foods and the most beautiful slave women as his concubines. 

He would be used to perfection.

Caina flinched, hissed, and raised her hands to her head.

“Is something amiss?” said Ulvan.

“No, my lord, of course not,” said Caina. “It’s just that…ah! It itches!”

“Itches?” said Ulvan.

Caina reached up, pulled off her wig, and started scratching the black stubble of her hair.

Ulvan’s eyes got wider. 

“You foolish woman!” said Caina. Damla blinked in surprise. “You said the herbs would take care of the lice! You said that apothecary knew what he was doing! Then…ah!” She scratched more vigorously, tucking the wig under her arm. “Then why does it itch so damned much?”

“Ah…yes,” said Damla, catching on. “It is your own fault, foolish child! If you would bathe more than once a month, you would not be so filthy! And carrying on with every pox-addled mercenary that happens to wander through the city! Little wonder you itch! A thousand baths for a thousand days would not be enough to wash you clean…”

“Forgive my sister, my lord,” said Caina, still scratching her head. “We would be delighted to perform for you in private, whatever you…”

“No need,” said Ulvan, disgusted. “You, pay her.” Mardos came forward and gingerly deposited a small pouch of gold in Caina’s hand. “I suggest, Natalia, that you attend to your personal hygiene with the same diligence as your knives.”

“It is her fault, my lord,” said Caina, pointing at Damla. “I…”

Erghulan laughed. “It seems you dodged an arrow, Ulvan. Or perhaps a thousand tiny, biting little arrows.”

Ulvan scowled. “I…”

“Enough,” said Callatas. “You two, return to your employer.” He waved a hand at Caina and Damla. “Ricimer, Ulvan. A word with me.” He rose to his feet, and Ricimer followed his master like a white-robed shadow.

“Now?” said Ulvan. “In the middle of the festivities?”

“Yes,” said Callatas with asperity, “now.” 

Ulvan sighed, but heaved himself out of his throne. The three men walked towards the grand entrance to the palace, leaving Erghulan to oversee the celebration. Caina’s eyes followed the Master Alchemist. There were a number of trees and bushes ringing the foundation of the palace, providing excellent cover for anyone who wanted to overhear them.

And she badly wanted to hear what Callatas and Ulvan had to say to each other. 

“You heard the master,” said Mardos, stepping away as if he feared to catch Caina’s lice. “Away with you.”

Caina walked away, Damla following.

“The Living Flame preserve us,” hissed Damla once they were out of earshot. “He would have killed us. He would have done worse than kill us.”

“Aye,” said Caina, her mind working. 

Tiri and Tozun rushed to meet them.

“Are you all right?” said Tiri. She wore a brilliant red gown with black trim, making her look fierce and lovely. “I feared that Ulvan would take you both. He is a cruel man, and if he were not paying us a fortune….”

“Oh, it was all right,” said Caina, lifting her wig. “I happened to mention that I have lice, and that rather cooled his ardor.”

Tiri laughed. “Good thinking.” She shook her head. “Perhaps it would have been better to take the Circus to the Empire. The lords of the Empire are as arrogant as the emirs, but at least they never try to take our attractive performers as slaves.” 

“I think Nuri needs to lie down for a spell,” said Caina. 

“Yes, in the tent,” said Tozun. “Father won’t call you for another few hours yet. A few more acts to rotate.”

“Thank you,” said Caina, and she hurried forward as fast as her high-heeled sandals would allow. 

The tent was deserted, and Damla sat upon a chest of clothes, shivering. 

“That was terrifying,” she said. “Those were most powerful men in Istarinmul. They…they could have done whatever they wanted to us.”

“Aye,” said Caina, pulling off her sandals and handing them to Damla. “But we’re not dead yet.” She opened up another chest, yanked out a blue robe and turban, and donned them over her skimpy costume.

“What are you doing?” said Damla. 

Caina pulled out a dark cloak and scarf and draped them over one arm. “I’m going to spy on Ulvan and Callatas. I want to hear what they’re saying.”

“Are you mad?” said Damla, aghast. 

“Most likely,” said Caina. “Wait here.”

Before Damla could answer, Caina slipped out the back of the tent, walking as fast as she could without drawing attention to herself. With the help of the poor lighting, hopefully she would look like another middling merchant come to Ulvan’s celebration in hope of gaining the patronage of the powerful. She circled past one of the gladiatorial matches, moving closer to the ring of bushes surrounding the palace, and waited until she heard a cheer from the crowd, every eye drawn to the gladiators. 

Caina ducked into the bushes, throwing the dark cloak around herself and pulling the hood over her head. No one shouted an alarm, and she crept through the bushes, her bare feet making no noise against the soil, until she came within earshot of the broad marble stairs leading to the palace’s main doors. 

Ulvan, Callatas, and Ricimer stood upon the stairs, speaking in low voices.

“A waste of money and time,” Callatas said.