Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) (7 page)

The weapon looked new. There were no nicks upon the blade, no scratches, no rust. Given how Istarinmul’s populace tended to immediately steal anything left in public, Caina was surprised that it was still here. The steel would fetch a few coins. Caina saw no trace of any poison upon the blade. She held a hand a few inches from the weapon, but felt no aura of sorcery around it.

There was nothing. No spells, no poison, no signs of use or anything at all suspicious. Just a curved knife lying in the dust. 

A curved knife lying in the dust outside of her safe house.

Caina hated coincidences. They were almost always signs of an underlying pattern that she had failed to see.

A brief search through the rest of the alley failed to turn up anything useful. Most of the dust had been trampled to rock-like hardness, and what little loose dust remained bore hundreds of footprints. At last she sighed, tucked the little knife away with the valikon, and left the alley. 

She had work to do, and she could not waste time jumping at shadows.

On the other hand, the shadows concealed a lot of people who wanted to kill her.

No one disturbed her as she joined the crowds upon the streets and made her way to the Cyrican Quarter.

Chapter 4: Old Friends

A short time later Caina came to the Inn of the Crescent Moon. 

It was one of the Cyrican Quarter’s nicer inns, cheap enough that even merchants of middling prosperity could stay here, yet expensive enough to keep out wandering peddlers, caravan guards, and the poorer sort of mercenaries. It stood five stories tall, with the usual whitewashed walls and arched windows of Istarish architecture, though mosaics of gazelles and lions ornamented the doorframes. A wide courtyard surrounded the inn, ringed by a low stone wall.

A stray memory flickered through Caina’s mind. Here she had pretended to be a circus girl named Ciara, her skills with throwing knives winning her a place among Master Cronmer’s Traveling Circus Of Wonders And Marvels. She had donned a skimpy costume of red silk and thrown knives as the crowd roared in approval, and Caina had used that disguise to enter the palace of the cowled master Ulvan, freeing his slaves and destroying his reputation in the process. 

The thought cheered her. She had freed Damla’s sons that day, saving them and hundreds of others from a grisly death in Callatas’s wraithblood laboratories. Perhaps Morgant was wrong. Perhaps Caina had indeed done some good since coming to Istarinmul.

She nodded to the robed footmen at the door and made her way into the common room. Each table had its own gleaming brass lantern, with more hanging from the high ceiling. A balcony of polished wood encircled the room, and the floor had been worked in an elaborate mosaic showing a pair of Istarish noblemen hunting tigers through the Kaltari Highlands. A score of foreign merchants sat throughout the room, eating their breakfasts while grim-faced bodyguards stood watch.

A man in late middle age sat at one of the booths, wearing the turban and ornate robe of a minor magistrate of the Padishah’s government. He was thin, far thinner than a man of his age should have been, his cheekbones stark against the seamed bronze skin of his face. A close-cropped graying beard marked his jaw and chin, and he sorted through a pile of letters before him, his bony fingers twitching like the legs of a giant spider. 

Caina sat across from the robed magistrate, who looked up at her and nodded.

“It is good to see you,” said Agabyzus, the current nightkeeper of the Ghost circle of Istarinmul. 

“And you,” said Caina. Agabyzus had once been the circlemaster of Istarinmul’s Ghosts, but after Tanzir Shahan negotiated peace with the Empire, the Teskilati had wiped out the circle in one bloody strike. Agabyzus had been taken prisoner, and had languished in the Widow’s Tower until Caina rescued him. The ordeal had ruined his health, but Agabyzus was still a master of disguise, and he had a head full of secrets and a network of contacts scattered throughout Istarinmul and the Padishah’s domains. 

He could no longer wield a weapon, but Caina knew firsthand that a secret was often more dangerous than any blade. 

“This is a pleasant enough inn,” said Agabyzus, taking a sip from the coffee cup at his side. “Not as good as the coffee my family makes, of course, but I cannot complain.”

“That is good to know,” said Caina. She took a deep breath. “I am leaving the city in two days, and I do not know when I shall be back. Until then, you will oversee the circle.”

Agabyzus nodded. “I will do what I can. Is it the…business you have mentioned?”

“It is,” said Caina.

“A risky venture,” said Agabyzus, “but since your recklessness saved my life, I cannot object. I do have some business related to your proposed venture.”

“The gold,” said Caina. “You gave it to him?” 

“The Kyracian?” said Agabyzus. “Yes. He met me at the lamp seller’s booth in the Cyrican Bazaar and gave me the code phrase. Just as you said, he proved his identity to me by freezing a cup of wine solid.” He snorted. “A useful skill when the days are hot. I haven’t had chilled wine in years.”

“He is a useful man to have around,” said Caina. With that gold, Kylon would make his way to the Alqaarin Quarter and hire the Black Wolves. Caina had dealt with the mercenary company in Rasadda, and their captain Dio was a ruthless and clever man. Given the enormous bounty upon her head, Caina would prefer that he not remember the black-cloaked shadow that he had met in Rasadda. 

“I shall ask no more upon the matter,” said Agabyzus. “What else would you have of me?”

“Kuldan Cimak,” said Caina. “What do you know of him?” 

“A minor emir,” said Agabyzus at once. “His ancestral lands are along the northern edge of the Trabazon steppes, a bit south of the Alqaarin Road. The estates are poor and support little more than subsistence farming, so Cimak himself is on the edge of impoverishment.”

“What is he like?” said Caina. “Cimak himself, I mean?”

“A wastrel and a drunkard with literary pretensions,” said Agabyzus. “His tastes in wine and women aggravate his perpetual poverty. I suspect that is why he was forced to accept the position of one of the Lieutenant of the Inferno’s khalmirs. Probably to pay his debts, or most likely to protect him from his creditors. A magistrate of the Padishah’s government cannot be prosecuted for debt until his term of office expires. Which is why so many of the hakims and wazirs hold onto their magistracies as long as…ah.”

His dark eyes narrowed, and he nodded.

“What is it?” said Caina. Agabyzus was clever, and had a knack for discerning the truth from scraps of information. Given the other things she had asked him to do, it was likely he had realized what she planned. 

“You don’t care about Kuldan Cimak,” said Agabyzus in a low voice. “You are more interested in his new office.”

Caina nodded. “The less you know, the better. We are playing a game with high stakes.”

“I understand,” said Agabyzus. “And if your work is indeed taking you to the Inferno…you are playing a surpassingly deadly game.”

“What can you tell me about the Inferno?” said Caina.

“Very little myself,” said Agabyzus. “Only rumor and hearsay. It is a name of dread among the Istarish, for those who enter the fortress never return. But that is why you had me bring Moryzai here, was it not? To speak with him of his experiences?”

“It was,” said Caina. “I would like to talk to him at once, if possible.”

“It has been arranged,” said Agabyzus, gathering up his papers.

“Wait,” said Caina, thinking of some of the things Morgant and Samnirdamnus had told her. 

Agabyzus went motionless. 

“How likely,” said Caina at last, “do you think the possibility of civil war within Istarinmul?”

Agabyzus considered the question. “Increasingly likely.”

“Why?” said Caina. 

“Because we have no Padishah,” said Agabyzus. “At least not one who exerts a visible hand. Nahas Tarshahzon disappeared years ago, as did his sons. The Grand Wazir and the Grand Master claim to rule in his name, but…well, they are not the Padishah. If we had a Padishah, a strong Padishah, he could bring the emirs and the Brotherhood to heel. Erghulan Amirasku likes to think of himself as first among equals, but the other emirs…”

“Place rather more emphasis on the ‘equal’ part, I imagine,” said Caina. 

“You imagine correctly,” said Agabyzus. “And Erghulan sides with the interests of the Brotherhood and the Grand Master. The southern emirs have never liked the northern nobles, and Erghulan is of the north. Sooner or later Istarinmul is going to explode.”

Caina nodded, closed her eyes, and opened them again. “Did we do this?”

“I’m sorry?” said Agabyzus. 

“Did we start the civil war?” said Caina. “With the…things that we have done?”

With the things that she had done, the choices she had made. 

Agabyzus mulled the question for a moment.

“Start it?” said Agabyzus. “Well, no war has begun yet. We haven’t started anything. Did we accelerate it? Certainly. War would have come eventually, but I daresay we sped it up.”

“I see,” said Caina, keeping the guilt from her face. 

“But it is better this way, I deem,” said Agabyzus. “If the southern emirs had risen against the Brotherhood and Callatas a few years ago, they would have been crushed utterly. Now, though…now the Brotherhood has been weakened, and in their desperation they have made many enemies. When the war comes, Callatas and Erghulan and the Brotherhood shall have far fewer allies.” He lowered his voice. “And we know the true reason for the Grand Master’s actions, do we not? With that knowledge, we have a better chance of victory.”

Caina nodded. She had not considered it in that light. Part of her wondered if it was a simple justification, but Agabyzus’s logic rang true. 

“One other thing before we talk with Moryzai,” said Caina. She drew out the curved little knife from the valikon’s bundle and placed it on the table. “Do you recognize this weapon?”

Agabyzus squinted at it. “I fear not.” He grimaced. “Ugly little thing. It looks…somewhat like the skinning knives the Teskilati torturers use in their work.”

“Then it’s a Teskilati weapon?” said Caina, alarmed. She had eluded the Padishah’s secret police so far, but if the Teskilati had been watching her safe houses…

“No,” said Agabyzus. “It’s much too small for that. Too fragile.” He scratched at his bearded chin. “I would say that it’s the sort of knife a physician would use for surgery, but…”

“But those kind of knives are usually straight,” said Caina, remembering the collection of blades that her teacher Komnene had used for medical work. 

“Where did you find it?” said Agabyzus. “It doesn’t look as if it has ever been used.” 

“In the street outside one of our safe houses,” said Caina. “The one in the Old Quarter, a bit north of the Bazaar.”

“Perhaps someone thought to send you a message,” said Agabyzus.

“They should have left a damned note,” said Caina, shaking her head. “But a message from whom? If it was the Teskilati or the Kindred or the Umbarians, they wouldn’t play games like this. They would have just kicked down the door and killed me. Why leave a knife on the ground?” 

“Maybe someone accidentally dropped it,” said Agabyzus.

“Do you really believe that?” said Caina. 

“No. Not under the circumstances,” said Agabyzus. “I shall have enquiries made among our friends in the Old Quarter. Maybe one of them know something. Perhaps it is just as well that you are leaving the city for a time. If someone is indeed following you, it would be easier to elude them in the open spaces of the steppes…”

“Or to find and trap them,” said Caina. “Come. Let us speak to Moryzai. I would not want him to get impatient and leave while I brooded upon my fears.” 

Agabyzus snorted. “I forgot you have not yet met Moryzai. I fear it would take more than impatience to make him leave his dinner.” They stood, Agabyzus tucking his letters away in a satchel. “I should warn you. His manners are rather…uncouth.” 

“It takes more than uncouth manners to frighten me,” said Caina. Agabyzus nodded and led her to the corridor that opened into the Inn of the Crescent Moon’s private dining rooms. Merchants who wished to conduct their business in privacy typically rented them, and Caina had used them herself more than once. Agabyzus walked to the third door and pushed it open, and Caina followed him inside. The smell of spicy Istarish food filled her nostrils. A gleaming table dominated the room, its surface covered with dishes, and an enormous man sat at the far end, eating curried rice and lamb with vigorous enthusiasm. Standing up, he would not have been much taller than Caina, yet he had to weigh three hundred and fifty pounds. He wore a robe that could have served as a tent, and sweat trickled from beneath his turban. To judge from his lack of eyebrows and beard, the man was likely a eunuch. Denied one indulgence of the flesh, eunuchs sometimes turned to others, which explained the food piled upon the table. 

“Moryzai,” said Agabyzus. 

“Ah,” said the big man, looking up from his food. His voice was high and phlegmy and gurgled as he spoke. Despite that his Istarish was clear and formal, even stately. “So this is your mysterious employer? Am I am last to be granted the honor of an interview?”

“She is,” said Agabyzus. “This is Moryzai, the finest forger in all of Istarinmul. He creates fake writs and proclamations so detailed that not even the Padishah’s own scribes can detect the forgery. I have employed his services for our business on your behalf many times.”

“Bah,” said Moryzai, gesturing with his fork. “The Padishah’s own scribes are clumsy imbeciles. The great danger of my work is that I shall create a forgery so perfect that the lack of incompetence will immediately proclaim it a fake.” He speared a bit of lamb upon his fork, swallowed it with a sigh of pleasure, and then pointed the utensil at Caina. “Just as you, my dear, are obviously fake.”

“Oh?” said Caina. 

This ought to be amusing. 

“Our mutual acquaintance,” Moryzai nodded at Agabyzus, “does not share the details of his business, but it is quite clearly illegal, and I have no wish to speculate upon it further, lest I be overburdened with knowledge and become a liability to your organization. But an organization such as yours, whatever it is, is almost always governed by a hard and ruthless man. The thought of a pretty young woman in her twenties ruling a criminal organization is, frankly, too ludicrous to believe. You ought to be on the arm of some fat merchant or dancing for the pleasure of an emir.”