Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 05 - Ghost in the Stone (2 page)

It only distracted him for a half a second, but it was long enough. Caina sprang forward, her dagger flashing. Her blade opened the assassin’s arm from wrist to elbow, and the man growled in pain, dagger falling from his hands. He lunged at her, hands reaching for her throat, and Caina slammed her dagger between his ribs. The assassin went rigid, teeth peeling back from his lips in a snarl.

“Damn it,” muttered Caina. 

She had wanted to take the assassin alive.

The Kindred’s knees buckled, and the man collapsed to the floor. Caina wrenched her dagger and throwing knife free and cleaned them on the dead man’s clothes. She searched his pockets, but found nothing to indicate who had hired him.

The Kindred were not that foolish.

The cheering from the Basilica’s floor subsided. Caina returned her weapons to their hiding places and hurried from the triforium, leaving the assassin’s corpse behind. 

She wondered what the Imperial Guard would think when they found it.

###

That night Caina returned to the workshops below the Grand Imperial Opera.

The Grand Imperial Opera was a massive edifice of gleaming white marble, topped with a dome that rose two hundred feet over the surrounding streets. The great theater held ten thousand people, and the nobles of the Empire (and wealthy commoners) came to hear the legends and histories of the Empire told in song. 

The workshop beneath the stage was much less ornate. 

Thick pillars supported the ceiling overhead, and a small army of stagehands hurried through the workshop, moving panels of scenery and working the elaborate maze of ropes and pulleys for scene changes. A loud song filtered through the boards overhead, and Caina recognized the chorus from the Romance of Soterius, an opera about the Emperor who had freed the slaves and ended the War of the Fourth Empire for the sake of the slave girl who had won his heart.

Though Caina doubted that Soterius’s motives had been quite that pure.

She threaded her way through the chaos and found a man sitting at a table in the corner, eating a slice of bread and resting his leg on a stool. He was in his early fifties, with iron-gray hair and arms like tree trunks. He wore the leather jerkin and rough clothes of a common caravan guard, but Caina knew that he was much more than that.

In fact, he was probably one of the four or five most dangerous and knowledgeable men in the Empire. 

“Marina,” said Halfdan, speaking the alias Caina had chosen. “How was your visit to the Praetorian Basilica? I trust Lord Corbould gave a rousing speech.”

“He did,” said Caina, taking a piece of bread. She had not eaten since breakfast and was ravenous. “There was a keenly interested spectator, just as you predicted.”

Halfdan nodded. “What did the spectator think of the speech?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Caina. “He died before I could ask him.” She grimaced. “I wound up having to…deal with him.”

Halfdan nodded and got to his feet. “Come with me.” 

He led her to one of the narrow rooms on the far wall. Sometimes the singers used the stone vaults as changing rooms, and sometimes the Ghosts hid corpses down here. Halfdan closed the door, listened for a moment, and then nodded.

“We can talk freely,” said Halfdan. “The assassin is dead?”

“Aye,” said Caina. “A Kindred assassin, and I caught him just before he put an arrow into Lord Corbould’s throat. I tried to take him alive, but I had to kill him.”

“Don’t fret about it,” said Halfdan. “The Kindred assassin families are far too well organized to let the man who does the killing know who actually paid for it.”

“But that’s the important question, isn’t it?” said Caina. “Who hired the Kindred to kill Lord Corbould?”

“A very good question,” said Halfdan. “You are clever, my dear. What is the answer?” 

Caina sighed, leaned against the wall, and thought it over. 

“The Kindred are not cheap,” said Caina, “so it would have to be a powerful lord, someone within the Magisterium, or a wealthy merchant. But most of the nobles support the war against Istarinmul and New Kyre. The Magisterium hates the stormsingers of New Kyre and the Alchemists in Istarinmul, so they would not turn against Corbould, even though he dislikes the magi. And why would the merchant collegia hire the Kindred to kill him? They’ll make a fortune feeding and clothing the Legions. Was it a personal grudge? Or…”

Her eyes widened.

“Cyrica,” she said.

“You understand,” said Halfdan.

“The Cyrican provinces are the only place in the Empire where slavery is still legal,” said Caina. “Part of the treaty that ended the War of the Fourth Empire. You told me that the Emperor is sending Lord Corbould to Cyrica, to make sure the Cyricans don’t revolt.”

“Very good,” said Halfdan. “What I didn’t tell you is that both the Istarish and the Kyracians sent embassies to Cyrica, asking the Cyricans to join them against the Empire.”

“And half the Cyrican nobles would, if given the chance,” said Caina. She felt her lip curl in contempt. “If the Cyricans swore to the Padishah or the Assembly of New Kyre, they wouldn’t need to worry about the Ghosts freeing their slaves.” She thought for a moment. “So Lord Governor Armizid Asurius paid the Kindred to kill Lord Corbould?”

“His father, more likely,” said Halfdan.

Caina frowned. “I thought Armizid was Lord Governor of Cyrica.”

“He is,” said Halfdan, “but only because his father doesn’t want to bother with the work of holding an actual magistracy. Lord Khosrau Asurius was once good friends with Haeron Icaraeus. After Haeron died in that incident with Maglarion, Khosrau Asurius has gained most of Haeron’s old supporters. Khosrau also owns half the land in Cyrica, and the Cyrican nobles respect him. If he wants to leave the Empire, they will follow. Lord Corbould is paying a visit to Lord Governor Armizid…but the real negotiations will take place when Corbould talks to Khosrau.”

“And if Khosrau assassinates Corbould during the negotiations,” said Caina, “then the Emperor will blame him, and the Cyrican nobles will have no choice but to join Istarinmul.” 

“You grasp the problem,” said Halfdan. “The war is a stalemate right now. Our fleet cannot stand against the Kyracians, but the Istarish cannot defeat the Legions. If the Cyricans join the enemies of the Empire, that situation could change rather quickly.” 

“And you are telling me this,” said Caina, “because you want me to do something about it.” 

“Aye,” said Halfdan. “Lord Corbould is leaving Malarae for Cyrica Urbana in a week. I would like you to accompany him.” 

Caina nodded. “How should I disguise myself? As Countess Marianna Nereide?”

“No,” said Halfdan. “Unmarried young noblewomen go on tours of the Empire…but they rarely visit the Shining City of Cyrica. No, you will disguise yourself as Marina, the maid of the leading lady of the Grand Imperial Opera.”

Caina blinked. “Theodosia is going to Cyrica?”

“So she is,” said Halfdan. “To prove his hospitality, Lord Khosrau will hold a series of celebrations and festivals in Corbould’s honor. And to show his own generosity, Lord Corbould will bring the finest entertainments from the Imperial capital at his own expense. Chariot-racing teams from the Imperial Hippodrome, for one. And the Cyrican nobles are mad for Nighmarian opera, so Lord Corbould will also pay to bring the Grand Imperial Opera to the Shining City.” 

“And our task,” said Caina, “will be to keep Lord Corbould alive.”

Halfdan nodded. “Corbould Maraeus is arrogant, rigid, and utterly inflexible. Yet he is the most powerful lord in the Empire and a strong supporter of the Emperor. And if anyone can convince Lord Khosrau to stay with the Empire, Lord Corbould can. Yet if he is assassinated, it will be an utter disaster…and Cyrica will break away from the Empire.” 

“Then,” said Caina, “we shall have to make certain that Lord Corbould is not assassinated.”

“Aye,” said Halfdan. ” I also want you to find who paid for his death. The Kindred do not come cheap, and someone with a great deal of money paid for Corbould to die.” His voice dropped. “And if you find the man who hired the Kindred, Theodosia will pass word to the Ghost circle in Cyrioch…and he will never be seen again.”

Caina gave a slow nod. 

The Ghosts of the Empire, the eyes and ears of the Emperor, were not above assassinating treasonous nobles and magistrates. With Theodosia, Caina had helped bring about the downfall of Lord Macrinius, who had kidnapped people to sell as slaves. She had killed Anastius Nicephorus, the Lord Governor of Rasadda, whose greed and corruption had almost driven the Saddai to revolt. She had helped kill Agria Palaegus, who had plotted with Jadriga to free the imprisoned demons below Black Angel Tower…

Caina closed her eyes.

So much death.

That assassin in the Praetorian Basilica. She hadn’t meant to kill him, but she had, and she had killed him without the slightest flicker of hesitation or regret. True, he would have murdered Lord Corbould. But once she would have regretted his death.

Now she felt nothing at all.

How hard and cold she had become.

“Caina?” said Halfdan, his rough voice gentle. “Is anything amiss?”

“No,” said Caina, opening her eyes. “I’m fine.” 

Two weeks after killing the assassin in the Praetorian Basilica, Caina blinked awake, a dark dream fading from her mind. 

“We’re here,” said a woman’s voice, rich and rolling.

Caina turned her head. She lay on a hard bunk in the cramped cabin she shared with Theodosia, grimy light leaking through the narrow window. She heard the steady lap of waves against the ship’s hull, the groan of the mast, the thumps of boots against the deck. A hot, wet breeze came through the window, heavy with the smells of salt, gull dung, and waste. 

“The ship’s not moving,” said Caina, voice scratchy.

“Aye, we’ve arrived,” said the woman’s voice. 

Theodosia leaned against the cabin’s door. She was a vigorous woman in her early forties, with gray eyes and pale blonde hair, and tall enough to carry the extra weight she had put on in the last few years. “You could probably tell from the stench coming through the window. Cyrioch is something of a sty.”

Caina rubbed her face. “In High Nighmarian its name is Cyrica Urbana, and the poets call it the Shining City.”

Theodosia gave an indelicate snort. “Only by poets standing upwind of it. Though the Stinking City doesn’t sound nearly so pleasant in a song.” She glanced out the window. “The harbormaster won’t let us enter the harbor. Fear of the Kyracians, I suspect. They’ll send out a pilot to take us the rest of the way in. Of course, they’ll take Lord Corbould’s ship first. Lord Corbould’s hired entertainment will just have to wait. So we have ample time to get ready.”

Caina sat up. She felt woozy, and her head throbbed with pain.

“Are you all right?” said Theodosia. “You were having a nightmare, I’m sure of it.”

In the dream Caina had sprinted down the darkened streets of Marsis as Istarish slave traders prowled through the city. Time and time again Caina heard Nicolai screaming, and she raced through a maze of dockside alleys, trying to find the boy. Yet no matter how frantically she searched, no matter how she eluded the slave traders, she could never find the boy.

The reality was different. Caina had rescued Nicolai and returned him to his father and mother. Ark and Tanya had stayed in Malarae, and Ark had bought a foundry with the money he received for Naelon Icaraeus’s death. Tanya was pregnant with their second child, and Nicolai was safe. 

That wasn’t enough to stop the nightmares.

“I’m fine,” said Caina, getting to her feet. 

“Yes,” said Theodosia, “and I am the Shahenshah of Anshan. When was the last time you slept the night?” 

“I’m fine,” said Caina, again. 

“I doubt that,” said Theodosia.

“I don’t like traveling at sea,” said Caina, which was true enough. “Six days on this boat would give anyone sleepless nights.”

“Ship, dear,” said Theodosia. “We’re on a ship. Sailors get offended if you call their ship a boat. But we’re almost to Cyrioch, and we need to get ready.”

“Do you need my help?” said Caina.

Theodosia grinned. “I most certainly do not. You are quite helpful, my dear, but I have been preparing for performances on my own since I was fifteen. Why, I once had only five minutes to prepare before I sang an aria before Emperor Alexius himself. And the man…”

“Stood and applauded at the end,” said Caina, having heard the story before.

Theodosia laughed. “Impudent child! I can prepare on my own.” She lowered her voice. “And your task is more important. Find Barius, and…”

“And find out,” said Caina, voice quiet, “if the Cyrican provinces will stay in the Empire.” 

And if the nobles of the Cyrican provinces would throw in with the Padishah of Istarinmul or the Assembly of New Kyre. 

Caina shivered and closed her eyes for a moment.

“Do you think,” she said, “the Kindred will try to kill Lord Corbould at the docks?”

“No,” said Theodosia, “no, too soon. If Lord Khosrau Asurius has decided to leave the Empire, then he’ll…”

Someone pounded on the cabin door. 

Theodosia gave a sharp nod. 

Caina stepped towards the door, raking her hands through her hair to make it look more disheveled. Not that it needed much help - after six days without a proper bath, her hair was a tangled mess. Theodosia sat on the bed and looked through the chest against the wall, and her rich voice rose in theatrical rage.

“Marina!” she said. “Did you remember to pack my unguent of rose petals? Do you expect me to sing for the Lord Governor without my unguent of rose petals? If you forget them, I shall beat you black and blue! Or I’ll sell you to the Cyricans as a kitchen drudge!” 

Caina pulled the door open. The ship’s first mate, a sour-faced man of Mardonish birth, gave her a suspicious look. 

“Aye?” said Caina, putting a thick Caerish accent into her words. “Why are you troubling my mistress? She is an artist and must prepare for her performance.”

“We have arrived outside Cyrioch’s harbor,” said the first mate. “Your mistress…”