Ghost Lock (4 page)

Then the explosion came.

A blast of fire erupted from the dagger, slamming
into two of the mercenaries. It knocked them from their feet, and
they rolled back and forth, trying to put out the fire. Khardav
looked at me in horror, and Markaine snapped his fingers, the
dagger returning to his grasp.

“How do you imagine,” I said, “Lord Cassander will
react when he learns you have interfered with the business of the
Order?”

That did it. Cassander Nilas had something of a
reputation.

Khardav and his men fled, helping their burned
comrades along. I crossed to the window and saw them flee across
the gardens, vanishing through the gate and into the street.

A moment the stunned Imperial Guards began to awaken,
and I let out a shaking breath.

“Remind me,” said Markaine, “never to play cards with
you, Lady Claudia. That was a most formidable bluff.”

I looked at Caina. “I learned from the best.”

###

The mansion was in an uproar.

The Imperial Guards were furious when they awakened,
and started sweeping the mansion, searching every nook and cranny.
I felt light-headed after the confrontation with Khardav, and
Martin took me to the solar, departing to supervise the Imperial
Guards.

Markaine and Caina remained with me as I held the
vial of purple liquid in my hands, concentrating my spells upon
it.

“It is definitely an alchemical elixir,” said Caina.
“I can sense that much. I’m not sure what it does, though.”

Markaine shrugged. “I’ve seen elixirs like it before,
though I cannot place it.”

I eyed him for a moment. “You’re not really a
painter, aren’t you?”

He grinned. “Of course I am. I’m the best painter in
Istarinmul.”

“Fine,” I said. “You’re not just a painter, are
you?”

The pale blue eyes flashed a little. “Let’s just say
I’m a man who keeps his promises.”

“Very well,” I said. “Then keep your secrets along
with your promises.” I cast another sensing spell, focusing upon
the nature of the alchemical sorcery within the elixir.

“Oh, but I like her,” said Markaine to Caina.

“We’ve been through quite a lot together,” said
Caina.

There was an understatement.

Suddenly my spell came into focus, and I understood
the nature of the sorcery within the elixir.

“Oh,” I said, my cheeks coloring with
embarrassment.

“What is it?” said Caina.

I set the vial gingerly upon the table. “The elixir.
It’s not dangerous. It’s not even all that powerful.”

“What does it do?” said Caina.

“Well,” I said. “Let us just say…” I considered my
words for a moment. “Let’s just say that if Caina or I drank it, it
would do nothing at all. But if a man drank this elixir, it would
augment his…ah, prowess for a few hours.”

Both Caina and Markaine stared at me.

Then Markaine threw back his head and laughed,
slapping the table. “You mean we almost killed over some long-dead
necromancer’s elixir of virility?”

“Then it’s not a weapon of sorcery?” said Caina. She
seemed more annoyed than amused.

“Not in the least,” I said. “We probably did Khardav
a favor by scaring him off. Cassander would be furious once he
found out he expended all this effort to acquire a useless
elixir.”

“Well, not necessarily useless,” said Markaine, still
chuckling, “depending on the state of Cassander’s health.”

The door opened, and Martin strode into the solar,
accompanied by Tylas, the centurion in charge of the Imperial
Guards. “The mansion is secure. Once you’ve recovered your
strength, I think you should recheck our wards.”

I nodded. “I shall.”

“Did you discover what that elixir does?” said
Martin.

“Yes,” I said, and I smiled as a thought occurred to
me. “And I think you should send it to Cassander with your
compliments.”

This time Caina did laugh.

THE END

Thank you for reading GHOST LOCK. If
you liked the story, please consider leaving a review at your ebook
site of choice. To receive immediate notification of new
releases, 
sign up for
my newsletter
(http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=1854)
,
 
or watch for news on
my 
Facebook
page
(http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jonathan-Moeller/328773987230189)
.
 
Turn
the page to read the first chapter of GHOST IN THE COWL, Caina
Amalas's first adventure in Istarinmul
.

***

Two weeks after she lost everything, Caina Amalas
stood on the ship’s deck and threw knives at the mast.

It was a way to pass the time and keep herself from
thinking too much. To distract herself from the memories that
flooded her mind if she was idle for too long. Sometimes she locked
herself in her cabin for hours and performed the exercises of
open-handed combat she had learned at the Vineyard long ago,
working through the unarmed forms over and over again until every
muscle in her body throbbed and spots danced before her eyes.

But if she stayed alone too long, her thoughts went
to the dark places. To New Kyre and the blaze of golden fire above
the Pyramid of Storm. To Sicarion laughing as he drove his dagger
into the back of the man who had raised Caina. To the Moroaica,
weeping as the white fire blazed behind her.

To Corvalis, lying dead upon the ground of the
netherworld.

And when her thoughts went there, Caina found herself
gazing at the veins in her arm, thinking of the knives she
carried.

She retained enough of her right mind to realize that
she was not thinking clearly, that her mood was dangerous.

So when that mood came, she went to the deck and
threw knives at the mast.

At first the sailors were alarmed, but they soon grew
accustomed to it. They had been told that she was a mercenary named
Marius, a courier for the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers,
delivering contracts now that trade between Istarinmul and the
Empire had opened up again. An important passenger could be
forgiven an eccentricity or two.

That, and she never missed the mast.

Soon the sailors ignored her, even without Captain
Qalim’s orders. Caina suspected that the sailors would have reacted
rather differently if they knew that beneath the disguise “Marius”
was actually a twenty-two year old woman, but she did not care.

She could not bring herself to care about very
much.

So she threw knives at the mast, the blades sinking
into the wood. Compensating for the motion of the waves and the
wind kept her mind busy. Pulling the knives out of the mast and
sharpening the blades anew kept her hands occupied.

The sailors ignored her, but Caina nonetheless
attracted an audience.

When the Emperor had sent her on a ship from New
Kyre’s harbor, she had expected to share the vessel with cargo.
Kyracian olive oil, most likely, or perhaps Anshani silk. The
Starfall Straits had been closed to trade for nearly a year, and
cargoes had piled up in New Kyre’s warehouses.

She had not, however, expected to share the ship with
a circus.

More specifically, Master Cronmer’s Traveling Circus
Of Wonders And Marvels.

Caina flung another knife, the blade sinking into the
mast, and Master Cronmer himself approached.

Cronmer was huge, nearly seven feet tall, with the
shoulders and chest of a titan. He was bald, with a graying
mustache cut in Caerish style, and wore a brilliant red coat. She
saw the dust on his sleeves, and knew he had eaten bread and cheese
for breakfast, along with the vile mixed wine the ship carried.

“Master Marius,” boomed Cronmer in the Caerish
tongue. “You should come work for me.”

Caina shook her head. “I am already employed.” She
made sure to keep her Caerish accent in place, her voice gruff and
raspy, as Theodosia had taught her to do.

“Bah,” said Cronmer. “Fetching papers for those dusty
old merchants? You should join my Circus. We’ll use your talent to
create a stupendous knife-throwing show, my boy.” He grinned behind
his bushy mustache. “Aye, you’ll throw knives at some lusty
Istarish lass, your blades will land a half-inch from her skin, and
she’ll melt into your arms in the end…”

“Working for the Collegium,” said Caina, “pays
better.”

Spending the voyage throwing knives at the mast and
brooding had likely been a poor idea. A spy needed to remain
inconspicuous, and Caina had not bothered to do so. If she was to
rebuild the Ghost circle of Istarinmul, she would have to take
greater care.

But she could not bring herself to give a damn.

“Mere money,” said Cronmer, striking a pose. “What is
that compared to the roar of the crowd, of a woman in your arms,
of…”

“Cronmer,” said a woman with a heavy Istarish accent.
Cronmer’s wife, a short Istarish woman named Tiri, hurried to his
side. She looked tiny next to her massive husband, and they
bickered constantly, but they had been married for twenty years and
had six children. “Leave the poor man alone. The life of the circus
is not for everyone.”

Cronmer rumbled. “But the Traveling Circus Of Wonders
And…”

“Can’t you see?” whispered Tiri into Cronmer’s ear.
Caina heard her anyway. “Can you not see that he has lost someone?
Likely when the golden dead rose. Do not pester him.”

Caina wondered how Tiri had figured that out. On the
other hand, Caina had spent the last two weeks throwing knives into
the mast and staring into nothing. It was hardly a mystery.

“Yes, well,” said Cronmer, a hint of chagrin on his
face. “If you ever get tired of working for fat old merchants,
Master Marius, come see me. The Circus shall be at the Inn of the
Crescent Moon for the next week, and then we shall perform before
Master Ulvan of the Brotherhood of Slavers.”

Caina had no wish to visit the home of an Istarish
slave trader, but it caught her curiosity. “What does a slaver want
with a circus?”

“A celebration,” said Tiri. “He has been elevated to
a Master of the Brotherhood, endowed with his own cowl and brand.
Traditionally the newly-elevated Masters throw lavish celebrations,
and he has hired the Circus for that purpose.”

“Just as well,” said Cronmer. “The Kyracian nobles
were humorless folk. Too enamored of their own traditions to enjoy
the Circus. Well, Master Marius, if you change your mind, the Inn
of the Crescent Moon is in the Cyrican Quarter.”

Caina nodded, barely hearing him.

“We had best gather the others, husband,” said Tiri,
“for we shall put in before noon.”

Caina blinked and looked over the ship’s rail.

Istarinmul rose before her.

She yanked the knives from the mast, returned them to
her belt, and walked to the prow.

The city was huge, larger than New Kyre and almost as
large as Malarae itself. The Padishah’s capital occupied a jut of
land that almost reached the southern end of the Argamaz Desert.
The resultant Starfall Straits gave the Padishah his power. The
domains of Istarinmul were far smaller than the Empire of Nighmar
or the vast lands ruled by the Shahenshah of Anshan. Yet the
Padishah of Istarinmul could close the Starfall Straits, blocking
off traffic from the Cyrican Sea and the Alqaarin Sea, and halt the
world’s commerce. Kyracian merchants visited every port in the
world, but Istarinmul could close half the world’s ports to the
other half.

And ships from Istarinmul ranged across the seas,
buying and selling slaves.

Even through her apathy, Caina felt a twinge of anger
at that.

But for now Caina gazed at Istarinmul. The city
gleamed white from walls whitewashed to reflect the hot sun of the
southern lands. In the city’s core rose a massive palace of
brilliant white marble, its domes and towers sheathed in gleaming
gold. The Golden Palace, where the Padishah sat and governed
Istarinmul with his nobles and magistrates. It faced another,
slightly larger palace, a towering edifice of white stone and domed
towers, gleaming crystals lining its roofs. It was the College,
where Istarinmul’s Alchemists carried out their secret studies.

It was a beautiful building, and the crystals lining
the towers gave off a brilliant gleam in the sunlight.

Caina’s knowledge that the Alchemists transmuted
their foes into crystalline statues to forever adorn the walls of
the College rather ruined its beauty.

Cronmer stomped away, shouting commands to his
performers. Captain Qalim, a tall man of Anshani birth, spoke to
his first mate, who bawled curses and threats as the ship turned
toward Istarinmul’s western harbor. Tiri lingered for a moment,
gazing at Caina.

“What is it?” said Caina. “Do you think to recruit
me, too?”

Tiri shook her head. “No. It is just…have you ever
been to Istarinmul before?”

“I have not,” said Caina.

“Then be careful,” said Tiri. “You are an able-bodied
young man, but Istarinmul is a dangerous place for the unwary. If
you offend the Alchemists or the emirs, they will kill you. You are
Caerish, yes?” Caina nodded. “An emir or an Alchemist can kill a
foreigner, and the hakims and the wazirs – ah, the magistrates,
they are called in the Empire – would not blink an eye. And do not
go alone into strange neighborhoods. The Collectors of the Slavers’
Brotherhood are everywhere, and they often kidnap foreigners and
forge the papers of servitude. If you are not careful, you might
end up in the mines or pulling oars upon one of the Padishah’s
galleys. And the Teskilati, the secret police, have eyes and ears
everywhere. If they think you are a spy for the Emperor, they will
make you disappear.”

Caina felt a twinge of annoyance, but pushed it
aside. Tiri was only trying to warn her. And Istarinmul was a very
dangerous place.

“I will take care,” said Caina. “The Collegium has
rented a room for me, and I have no intention of going out after
dark or alone anywhere. The sooner I am gone from Istarinmul, the
better.” That was a lie, but there was no need to burden Tiri with
the truth.