Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes (9 page)

Caina shrugged. “Or he is, and his warning was to disassociate himself from any attacks on the emir.” 

“Regardless, we will heed his warning,” said Halfdan. “And speaking of the emir…”

Caina saw Tanzir Shahan walking towards them. The emir’s ceremonial robes of red and gold glittered in the light from the enspelled globes, and for an uncharitable moment Caina thought it made him look like a polished apple. Two Immortals followed him, grim and silent in their skull-faced helms, the blue glow of their eyes glimmering deep within the eyes of the black skulls. 

Caina felt herself tense, and fought to keep her expression calm. She had never been this close to an Immortal without fighting for her life. 

Halfdan bowed and spoke in High Nighmarian. “My lord emir. You honor us with your presence, and I am pleased to see you again.” 

“Yes,” said Tanzir. He swallowed. “It is good to see you again, ah…”

“Basil Callenius,” said Halfdan, smoothly stepping into Tanzir’s lapse of memory. “A master merchant of the Imperial Collegium of jewelers. And this is…”

“Anton Kularus!” said Tanzir. “Master of the House of Kularus.”

Corvalis bowed. “At your service, my lord emir.”

“Your establishment,” said Tanzir. “I would like to visit it on the morrow.”

“I would be honored,” said Corvalis.

Tanzir’s eyes lit up, and for a moment he reminded Caina of a child promised a treat. 

“We could talk…business, yes, that is how you say it?” said Tanzir. “There are many coffee plantations in the Vale of Fallen Stars. For Istarish coffee is the finest coffee in the world.” 

“I had heard,” said Corvalis, “that the men of Anshan grew the best coffee.”

“Nonsense!” said Tanzir. “Once we have peace, we shall have new opportunities. You can buy coffee from my plantations to sell in Malarae, and we shall both be rich. There is no finer pleasure than sitting with a cup of Istarish coffee and reading a book.” He looked wistful. 

“You mentioned, lord emir,” said Halfdan, “that you might wish to visit a book shop as well? There are several near the House of Kularus.”

Tanzir brightened again. “Are there? That would be splendid. It is hard to find works in High Nighmarian in Istarinmul, especially since the war began.”

“Of course,” said Corvalis. “If you have no objection, I would be happy to show you some of Malarae’s book shops.”

“Truly?” said Tanzir, smiling. “I did not think you would appreciate books, Master Anton.” He flinched. “Forgive me. I did not mean…well, it is rare for a merchant to spend time reading for pleasure…”

Corvalis laughed. “I fear your observation is correct, my lord emir. I have never held much interest in books.” He put his right hand on Caina’s back. “But Sonya has something of a passion for them.” 

Tanzir looked at Caina in surprise. “A woman? Truly?”

Caina shrugged. “I must have something to amuse myself while Anton is busy making money, no?”

“Indeed,” said Tanzir. “I suppose…I suppose that makes sense. In Istarinmul it is rare for women to read. In fact, if any of the female slaves are caught reading, Mother has them whipped and sold to the first dealer who will take them.” He swallowed. “Mother has strong opinions on the matter.”

She sounded, Caina thought, a great deal like Caina’s own mother. 

“While I will be occupied with business,” said Corvalis, “I am sure Sonya would be happy to show you the book shops of Malarae. If, of course, it would not be beneath the dignity of an emir.”

Caina appreciated his cleverness. If gave Caina a chance to keep an eye on Tanzir, and hopefully keep him away from any assassins. And perhaps she could learn if anyone else had targeted the hapless emir. 

Tanzir’s eyes kept twitching, and Caina realized he was trying very hard not to stare at the low neckline of her gown.

Well. That would be awkward. 

Caina would have to make sure she stayed in public with him. 

Though she suspected Tanzir might well faint from nervousness if he ever found himself alone with a woman.

“I would be delighted, of course,” said Caina. She reached over and patted Muravin’s arm. “But only if you let me borrow your bodyguard, Anton. I feel ever so much safer with him. And he is mute, yes? So my lord emir need not fear that he shall reveal any of your secrets.”

“Of course,” said Corvalis. “Your safety is ever my first concern, my dear.” 

And if more Bostaji came after Tanzir, Muravin’s skill with weapons would prove useful. 

“Propriety,” said Tanzir. “Yes, we must keep to propriety. And books. I look forward to the books. Also the coffee.” 

He stammered a few more words, turned, and marched away, the Immortals following like steel shadows. 

Corvalis lifted his hand to cover a cough, but Caina saw him laughing behind his palm. 

“The emir seems rather taken with you, Sonya,” said Halfdan.

“Gods save me,” said Caina. She looked at Corvalis. “You had to mention the books, didn’t you?”

Corvalis shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it? You can keep an eye on Tanzir more easily, at least for a few hours. And I’ll find some excuse to accompany you. With the help of our mute friend here,” Muravin glowered at him, “we should be able to keep the emir safe from assassins.” 

Caina nodded, her eyes following Tanzir as he crossed the courtyard. 

“Sinan seems to have a great deal of contempt for him,” said Halfdan.

“It’s not hard to see why,” said Corvalis. “The emir is not the sort of man to inspire respect.”

“No,” said Caina, watching the servants following after the Immortals. “No, he’s not. With a brother like Rezir Shahan, it’s not surprising he learned to avoid drawing attention to himself.” She felt a moment’s pang of sympathy for Tanzir. Having Rezir as an elder brother, as the head of a noble House, could not have been a pleasant way to grow up. “Likely he never expected to become the emir, and hid himself away on his family’s estates with coffee and books. Now he has to negotiate peace between the Empire and the Padishah.”  

“Little wonder the Padishah sent him,” said Halfdan, “if he truly desires peace. Lord Titus will conclude negotiations in no time.”

Caina nodded. “I think…”

Her voice trailed off.

One of the servants following Tanzir, a short, muscular man, carried a tray of food in his hands. He looked little different than the other servants, and wore the same black livery. Yet his belt looked longer than the others, knotted at the side…and a pair of lead weights hung at the end of his belt.

“A bola,” hissed Caina. “That servant’s Bostaji.”

“Follow him,” said Halfdan, his face calm as he glanced at the servant. “Don’t kill him, not unless Tanzir is in danger. If you attack him, the Imperial Guards might kill you both before they bother to ask questions.”

“I will,” said Caina, and touched Muravin on the shoulder. 

The former gladiator nodded, the fake scars making him look fiendish.  

“Anton,” announced Caina loud enough for the others to hear. “I am not feeling well. I think I shall lie down.”

“There is a garden in the outer courtyard,” said Halfdan, “where guests can rest.”

“Go,” said Corvalis with an irritated flip of his hand. “Take my bodyguard, too.”

“As you wish,” said Caina with a sniff. She set off through the crowd, Muravin trailing after her…and kept her eyes on the disguised Bostaji. The servant broke away from the crowds and circled around the great stone mass of the Imperial Citadel.

“Where is he going?” muttered Muravin.

“The kitchens, most likely,” said Caina. “His tray is empty.”

“Might he have fed poisoned food to the emir?” said Muravin.

“I doubt it,” said Caina. The Bostaji headed with brisk strides towards a narrow door in the side of the Citadel. The entrance to the kitchens, Caina suspected. “The emir will not eat until the banquet proper starts. So that Bostaji might be slipping off to poison his food.” 

“If we go any closer, he will see us,” said Muravin.

“I know,” said Caina. “Wait a moment.”

She paused at the edge of the crowd, and the Bostaji vanished into the servants’ door.

“Go,” said Caina.

They crossed the courtyard. Caina reached for her ghostsilver dagger and loosened the weapon in its sheath. No one moved in the servants’ entrance, and Caina realized that she had seen no one else go in and out of that door.

Muravin reached for the door’s handle.

Caina put a hand on his forearm. Muravin stopped, looked at her, and Caina put a finger to her lips. She gestured to the side, and Muravin nodded and stepped to the right of the door.

Then Caina stepped forward, gripped the handle, and pulled open the door, ducking behind it as she did so.

And a throwing knife flashed out of the doorway.

Muravin sprang forward, sword leaping into his hand. Caina caught a glimpse of the Bostaji, his face a cold mask as he raised a dagger. But Muravin slammed the hilt of his sword into the Bostaji, staggering him. Before the assassin could cry out or raise his weapon, Muravin slapped his free hand over the assassin’s mouth, drew back his sword, and rammed it into the Bostaji’s chest just below the breastbone. 

The assassin went rigid, but Muravin drove him against the wall inside the door. A moment later he went limp, and Muravin eased him to the floor and tugged his blade free.

There was quite a lot of blood.

“I regret killing him,” said Muravin, in the same tone of voice he might have used to regret dropping a glass of wine. “Master Basil said we were not to kill him.”

“He would have killed us,” said Caina, looking around. No one had seen the fighting. She stepped into the corridor, taking care to keep her skirts away from the pool of blood, and searched the corpse. Again, as with the Bostaji on the roof, she found nothing useful. He wore his bola in place of a belt, and it had been disguised so well that hardly anyone would have noticed the lead weights. Caina found three more throwing knives in his pockets, but nothing else. 

No clues, no hints, nothing. Save for his unusually muscled build, the dead assassin looked like any other servant of the Imperial Citadel. The Bostaji knew how to blend into their surroundings. 

She shook her head and straightened up, and Muravin cleaned his sword on the dead man and sheathed his blade.

“Come,” said Caina. “We’ll have to tell Basil to let Tylas know about the corpse…and to keep watch for any additional assassins.”

But no Bostaji showed themselves for the rest of the night. 

Chapter 9 - Diplomacy

The next morning Caina awoke, tired and groggy. 

The Emperor’s banquet had dragged on until midnight, and Caina had kept watch for any additional assassins. Yet Tanzir had returned to the Lord Ambassador’s residence at the foot of the Imperial Citadel safe and sound, and Caina and Corvalis had retreated to their townhouse for a few hours of sleep. 

She was alone when she awoke. Corvalis often slept worse than she did. She climbed to her feet and worked through the unarmed forms until sweat dripped down her face and her arms trembled from exertion. After she bathed and arranged her hair in an elaborate crown, noting that she would need to apply more of Theodosia’s vile-smelling dye soon. She dressed in a teal gown, again cut lower than she would have preferred, the curved dagger on her hip and knives hidden in her boots, jewels flashing on her fingers and in her ears. 

She examined herself in the mirror and gave an approving nod. She looked quite good, which pleased her…and that thought troubled her. 

For she was not truly Sonya Tornesti, mistress of Anton Kularus. She was Caina Amalas, Ghost nightfighter, and she had disguised herself as everything from a countess to a scullery maid. The gowns and jewelry were only another disguise and nothing more. She was a Ghost, and she would use whatever disguise served her best, whether rags or a fine gown. 

But she liked wearing the gown, in a way she had not liked wearing the armor of a caravan guard.

And she liked that Corvalis could see her like this. 

She pushed aside the thought and went join Corvalis.

He awaited her in the entry hall, sword in hand as he worked through a number of thrusts. Like Muravin, he moved with the brutal efficiency of the trained killer. Unlike Muravin, he looked good doing it. It was odd that she had fallen in love with an assassin, a former member of the Kindred. Yet he had left the Kindred, had risked everything to save his sister’s life. And now he helped the Ghosts to fight against the magi and the corrupt lords, the men who had turned Corvalis into what he was.

She descended the stairs and kissed him. 

“Well.” Corvalis grinned, sliding his sword back into its sheath. “You are glad to see me.” 

“If you brought a book with you,” said Caina, “you could read while you waited.”

He laughed. “Books are your amusement, not mine. Reading is…a tool, like a whetstone or a hammer. You use it when you need it, and then set it aside. Like when I receive a letter from Claudia at Caer Magia. I read it to learn what she says, not for the pleasure of the act itself. I will never fathom how you can do it for amusement.”

“It would give you something to occupy your time while you wait for me to prepare,” said Caina.

He grinned. “You could prepare more quickly.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “It takes more work for a woman to make herself ready for a gathering than a man. You need only put on a coat, shine your boots, and make certain you don’t have any cheese stuck in your teeth.” 

“Well,” said Corvalis. “You do look lovely.”

“Thank you,” said Caina. 

His hands slid down her hips and tugged her closer. “Though you would look lovelier with nothing on at all.”

She smiled. “Bold man. Later.” Her smile faded. “After we’ve kept Tanzir alive for another day. Thank you for coming along.”

“He is visiting my coffee house,” said Corvalis. He barked his harsh laugh. “Though it is actually your coffee house. I just playact as the owner. Theodosia would be proud.”

“I hope that does not trouble you,” said Caina.

“Why would it?” said Corvalis. “Certainly it is an improvement over murdering my father’s enemies.” 

“And thank you for coming along to the book shops later,” said Caina. “I confess I would not enjoy fending off Tanzir’s advances all afternoon, but I doubt he would have the nerve with you nearby.” 

“I doubt he would have the nerve if you were alone with him in a locked room,” said Corvalis. “Our emir does not seem the bold sort.”

“No,” said Caina. “With a brother like Rezir, can you blame him? And if his mother is anything like Rezir…little wonder Tanzir prefers not to put himself forward.”

“You sound sympathetic,” said Corvalis.

“I am,” said Caina. “His mother reminds me of mine.”

“He is besotted with you, that is plain,” said Corvalis. He made a show of looking her up and down. “Not that I could blame him.” 

“Flatterer,” said Caina. “Come. Let us welcome the Lord Ambassador to the House of Kularus.”

She turned to go.

“Caina,” said Corvalis, voice quiet.

She looked back at him. She remembered the first time she had met him in Cyrioch, when he had been hunting the master magus Ranarius to save his sister Claudia from her prison of living stone. 

“Be careful,” said Corvalis. “I would be…upset if anything happened to you.” 

She felt a pang. 

Something would happen to her, sooner or later. Caina had taken tremendous risks as a Ghost, had gambled her life again and again. So far, she had won out in the end. But someday she would be a half-step too slow, and then she would die.

Or the same thing would happen to Corvalis. 

She shivered, and suddenly understood the deeper allure of the gowns and the jewelry.

Because she did not want to give up the life she now shared with Corvalis. Not for any reason. 

“I love you,” said Caina.

He smiled. “I love you, too.” He extended his arm. “Shall we?” 

###

Tanzir Shahan arrived an hour and a half late, which was earlier than Caina had expected.

Merchants and nobles packed the House of Kularus, filling every booth and table. Caina suspected most of them wanted to speak with the Lord Ambassador to gain some advantage in trade or prestige. Shaizid’s team of servants and maids hurried back and forth, carrying trays of coffee and food, and the smell of roasting coffee and baking cakes filled the air. 

“Here they come,” murmured Corvalis.

Caina stood with Corvalis and Halfdan on the main floor, near the table they had reserved for the emir and his companions. The footmen pulled open the main doors, and a pair of black-armored Immortals strode into the House of Kularus, the eerie blue glow shining from deep within their black skull helms. 

A hush fell over the coffee house.

Shaizid hurried forward and bowed. “Master Anton, I wish to present Lord Titus of House Iconias and the Lord Ambassador of Istarinmul, the emir Tanzir Shahan.” 

Lord Titus walked through the doors, followed by a pair of Imperial Guards. Tanzir walked at his side, breathing heavily, sweat glistening on his face. The day was growing hot, and Caina suspected the walk had not been pleasant for him. 

Corvalis bowed. “My lords, I welcome you to the House of Kularus.” 

“Master Anton,” said Titus, looking around. “So this is where my seneschal has been buying all that marvelous coffee.” 

“Indeed, my lord,” said Corvalis. “Your patronage honors us.”

Tanzir’s expression brightened as he took in the coffee house. “That smells…yes, that smells delightful. Master Basil. I am surprised to see you here. I thought you sold jewels.”

Halfdan shrugged. “Master Anton is a friend of mine. And I do enjoy coffee. Though I much prefer wine.”

Titus laughed. “A man of taste!”

“Wine has its place,” said Tanzir, “but there is nothing better than coffee in the morning.” 

He looked at Caina, started to say something, and then closed his mouth. 

“I cannot disagree,” said Corvalis. “My lords, we have a table waiting for you.” 

Tanzir and Lord Titus seated themselves first, while Halfdan and Corvalis followed, and then Caina sat next to Corvalis. Shaizid clapped his hands, and a small army of maids and servants issued from the kitchens, bearing trays laden with food and drink. 

“For you, my lord emir,” said Shaizid with a bow, “Istarish coffee, grown on the plantations in the Vale of Fallen Stars.”

Tanzir blinked, and for the first time, Caina saw a genuine smile on the young emir’s face. “Truly? How did you obtain this? Trade between Istarinmul and the Empire has stopped since the war began.”

“I have my sources,” said Corvalis. “It did cost a small fortune.”

“Superb,” said Tanzir, taking a sip. “I did not think to find proper coffee so far from civilized lands.”

“Among us northern barbarians?” said Titus.

Tanzir flinched. “I…I did not mean any offense, my lord. I…”

Titus laughed. “Forgive my small joke. I suppose we are all uncivilized barbarians to our neighbors.” 

“Perhaps,” said Tanzir, some of his nervousness fading. “But that was a brilliant idea, Master Anton. Opening Malarae’s first coffee house, I mean. We of Istarinmul have enjoyed coffee for centuries, as have the men of Anshan…but it never made its way north. You were clever to think of it.”

“Thank you, my lord emir,” said Corvalis. “The person to think it up was clever indeed.”

He squeezed Caina’s hand under the table. 

“Indeed,” said Tanzir. He waved a hand at the crowds. “I imagine…well, I suppose all sorts of plotting and intrigue goes on here. The coffee houses of Istarinmul are rife with such things.”

That was a more astute observation than Caina had expected. 

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know about such things,” said Corvalis. “I am only a simple merchant of coffee.” 

Titus snorted.

“A gift for you, my lord,” said Corvalis, sliding something across the table. “A book, since you seemed fond of them. A history of the emperors of Nighmar, written in High Nighmarian.”

Again Tanzir smiled. “A thoughtful gift, master merchant. Thank you. I shall read it with great pleasure and remember your kindness.”

“Sonya picked it out,” said Corvalis.

“Indeed?” said Tanzir, picking up the book. “I am grateful. Yes. Grateful.” He took a deep breath and looked at Caina. “A question. I would like to ask you a question. About the book. If you please?”

“Of course,” said Caina. “What do you wish to know?”

“Um,” said Tanzir. “I would like to ask you a question out of earshot of the others.” He looked at Corvalis. “It is…nothing untoward, nothing forward. But it is improper for an Istarish emir to show too much interest in Imperial history. So just a brief question.”

That was perhaps the single clumsiest seduction attempt Caina had ever heard.

“Of course, my lord emir,” said Corvalis. “If you do not object, Sonya?”

“I would be honored,” said Caina, rising and smoothing her skirts. Her mind worked, trying to find a way to turn him down in a way that would spare his pride. If he took offense at her rejection, that would make it all the harder to keep him alive. “We can speak quietly over here.”

Tanzir rose, grunting with the effort, and followed her to a corner of the House near the kitchen doors. If they spoke quietly, no one would overhear them. Yet they were within sight of Corvalis and the others. 

“What did you wish to ask, my lord emir?” said Caina, bracing herself.

Tanzir looked at her, licked his lips, and Caina saw dread, utter dread, in his black eyes.

“Help me,” he whispered. 

“My lord?” said Caina.

“Help me find the Ghosts,” said Tanzir.

Of all the things he could have said, Caina had not expected that. For an irrational instant she was annoyed that he had not tried to seduce her, and then dismissed the thought as absurd. 

“I’m sorry?” she said at last.

“The Ghosts,” said Tanzir, clutching his book to his chest like a shield, “the spies and assassins of the Emperor of Nighmar.”

“The Ghosts are just a story,” said Caina.

“They’re not!” said Tanzir, his tone urgent. “I know they’re not. And I know they’re here.” For a terrible instant Caina wondered how she had given herself away, but Tanzir kept talking. “In Istarinmul spies frequent the coffee houses. Everyone in Istarinmul has their spies.  The emirs have spies, the Alchemists, the slavers’ brotherhood, everyone, and they all come to the coffee houses. Why else would the Emperor allow a coffee house to open in Malarae? So the Ghosts can spy.” He lifted a finger. “I know the Ghosts are real. Rezir was so sure he would conquer Marsis…but instead the Balarigar appeared and freed the slaves and slew Rezir. Who else could the Balarigar be but a Ghost nightfighter?”

Caina realized she had underestimated him. “Even if you are right,” she said, “why are you talking to me? Do you think I am a Ghost?”

“Are you? I don’t know,” said Tanzir. “I don’t even know if there are women among the Ghosts. But I am certain that Master Basil knows some of the Emperor’s spies. Or, at least, Master Anton does. I dared…I dared not approach them, nor Lord Titus. They might betray me, or spread rumors about me. But if I approached you and you were not a Ghost …I could say that you tried to seduce me, and I rebuffed you as beneath me.”

“How flattering,” said Caina.

“But…please, tell me,” said Tanzir, still clutching his book. “Can…can you contact the Ghosts for me?”

“Let us say, for the sake of argument, that I can,” said Caina, dropping her Szaldic accent. Tanzir’s eyes widened at that. “If you could contact the Ghosts…what would you say to them?”

“That my mother,” said Tanzir, “is going to kill me.”

“Your mother,” said Caina. “Why?”

“Because she rules House Shahan,” said Tanzir. “She never questioned Rezir. He was a strong man, a man who made House Shahan respected and feared. But now that he is dead, the dowager amirja does as she wishes…and I am only still alive because she needs a public figurehead.” 

“So if she needs you as a public figurehead,” said Caina, “why is she trying to kill you?”

“Because she wants the war to continue,” said Tanzir. “Our foes among the nobles of Istarinmul held wide lands near the Argamaz Desert, lands your Empire has now seized. The Emperor might grant those lands to the Padishah in exchange for peace…which will strengthen the enemies of our House.”

“If your mother kills you, won’t she need a new figurehead?” said Caina.

Tanzir sighed. “She already has one. My younger brother Morazir. He’s like Rezir, but crueler and stupider. He will do whatever Mother tells him, so long as he has enemies to kill and slaves to torture.”