Ghost in the Maze

by Moeller, Jonathan

  “Well, we did grow up together,” said Nasser, taking a sip of wine. “We both loved the same woman and had a falling out. He went into the arcane sciences, while I became a master thief without equal. Present company excluded, of course.”

  “Unlikely,” said Caina. “Callatas is over two hundred years old. You could not be a day over forty, unless you are secretly a necromancer who has used the blood of the innocent to sustain his life.”

  “Alas,” said Nasser, “nothing so prosaic.” He offered her the carafe. “Wine?”

  “I hate wine,” said Caina, “but it’s too late for coffee, so yes.” She poured herself a cup.

  “I have seen battle,” said Nasser, “but so have you.”

  “And what makes you say that?” said Caina, taking a sip of the bitter Istarish wine. Halfdan had been right. Caerish wine was superior to anything produced in Istarinmul. She wondered what he would say about this wine.

  The thought made her sad.

  “You keep your head well in a crisis,” said Nasser. “Not everyone can do that. Often men freeze when faced with mortal danger for the first time.”

  “Perhaps I commanded men in battle, too,” said Caina.

  “I think not,” said Nasser. “You are too young, for one. In the Empire, men only become centurions in their middle thirties. And you are too short, too small. I suspect you were a sickly child.”

  “I’m sure that was it,” said Caina. She was both amused and relieved that the fact she was a woman had simply not occurred to him. “So, if I am not a Legionary and I did not command men in battle, how did I come the Ghosts?”

  “If I had to guess,” said Nasser, “I suspect you come from an impoverished noble house. You turned to theft to support yourself, and eventually the Ghosts caught you. Rather than killing you, they recognized your skills, and brought you into their circle.”

  “Some of that is correct,” said Caina, “and some of it is not.”

  “Just as some of what you guessed about me is correct,” said Nasser, “and some of it is not.”

  “I suppose you won’t tell me which is which?”

  Nasser smiled. “That would ruin our fun.”

  “This is fun?” said Caina, raising her eyebrows.

  “There’s no need to lie on this matter,” said Nasser. “You enjoy our game as much as I do.”

  He was right about that. Nasser did not remind Caina of Halfdan at all, but their mutual lying reminded Caina of the games she used to play with her mentor.

  “This is too serious for a game,” said Caina.

  “The most enjoyable games of all,” said Nasser, “are always deadly serious. When your life is on the line, and your wits and mind and muscles are engaged to the fullest. That is when you are most alive. And speaking of staying alive, have you figured out if we shall be betrayed yet?”

  Caina gazed into her wine for a moment.

  “I don’t know,” she said at last. “I don’t know enough about them yet. Any one of them would have motive to betray us. Including you and me.” Nasser inclined his head. “But I intend to find out.”

  ###

  The next evening Caina donned the disguise of Marius of the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers and walked into the House of Agabyzus.

  Damla’s coffee house, like every other business that rented rooms in the city, was packed. The high lords and the emirs and the wealthy merchants preferred the Masters’ Quarter and the Emirs’ Quarter, and the Alchemists might lodge in the College itself, but the powerful men had guards and slaves and porters and servants and clerks, and they all had to stay somewhere. To judge from the large number of mercenaries and gray-clad slaves filling the booths and tables of the House, Damla’s guest rooms had been rented by the guards and scribes of some emir or another.

  Damla herself hurried over as Caina entered. As always, she looked poised and calm, though her eyes were bloodshot.

  “Master Marius, welcome,” said Damla.

  “Business has been brisk, I see,” said Caina.

  “Most brisk indeed,” said Damla. “With all the guests arriving for the Grand Master’s celebration, the city is full to bursting. I have had to hire on extra help.” She lowered her voice. “Free men, not slaves.”

  “Good,” said Caina.

  “I am glad you have come,” said Damla. “We have not seen you for over a week.”

  Caina shrugged. “I have been busy with the business of the Collegium.”

  They both knew what that meant.

  “Do you wish to see him?” said Damla.

  Caina nodded.

  “He is upstairs, in the third room,” said Damla. “Crowds make him nervous.”

  They both knew what that meant, too. If one of the Teskilati happened to realize that Agabyzus had survived the destruction of the Widow’s Tower, that would be very bad. Though with so many foreigners and strangers in the city, not even the Padishah’s spies could be everywhere.

  Caina thanked Damla, climbed the stairs to the second floor, and knocked on the door to the third room.

  “Who is it?” came Agabyzus’s rough voice.

  “Marius,” said Caina.

  The door swung open a few inches, and Caina saw Agabyzus standing behind it, a loaded crossbow in his hands. He was dressed as a Sarbian nomad, his face and head concealed behind a false beard and turban.

  “Ah, good, you’re alone,” he said, lowering the weapon and pushing the door all the way open. “Come inside.” Caina followed him into the small room, which had a bed and a desk for furnishings. Agabyzus sat upon the bed, while Caina took the desk chair. “I’ve had to lie low. There was a Teskilati informer in the common room for most of the day, likely watching the guests for any undesirables. The man knows me on sight, so it seemed best to keep a low profile.”

  “A sound plan,” said Caina. “Have you received any letters from the Empire?”

  “I fear not,” said Agabyzus. “I have heard the same rumors of insurrection and civil war within the Magisterium, but no solid news.”

  Caina sighed. “Did you have a chance to speak to your informants with my questions?”

  “I did,” said Agabyzus. “We need to work out a way for me to leave you messages. I’ve had the information for two days, but no way to reach you.”

  “I’ve been busy,” said Caina. “Once this business with Nasser is over, we can set something up. What did you find out about Nasser’s associates?”

  “Several things,” said Agabyzus. “Kazravid. It seems he slept with one of his father’s concubines, and had to flee Anshan for Istarinmul. Ever since he has eked out a living from gambling, hunting, and occasional mercenary work, and since he prefers to live far beyond his means he owes large sums to several different moneylenders.”

  Caina nodded. “That matches what I have observed.” And it also made Kazravid susceptible to bribes. If he learned that Caina was the Balarigar, he would almost certainly try to kill her to claim the bounty.

  “The eunuch Tarqaz has been the property of Callatas for almost fifteen years,” said Agabyzus. “One of my informants at the Slavers’ Brotherhood passed me the record of the sale. Callatas bought both Tarqaz and his sister. Tarqaz has risen high in Callatas’s service, and is well-known within certain circles of the city. His sister disappeared years ago, and no one seems to know what happened to her.”

  “I think we can make a guess,” said Caina, remembering the corpses she had seen in the wraithblood laboratories. Tarqaz’s story, too, seemed accurate. Yet if they stole the Elixir Restorata from Callatas, Tarqaz would become a fugitive. Perhaps the eunuch would not prefer to give up his comfortable life as one of Callatas’s high-ranking slaves.

  “As for the magus Anaxander,” said Agabyzus, “I was not able to find out very much about him. He was once a brother of the Magisterium in Artifel, but ran afoul of the First Magus. From what I can tell, he researched how to summon and control spirits from the netherworld, a practice the Magisterium forbids.”

 
Caina frowned, remembering Ranarius and his research into elementals. “The First Magus tends to look the other way.”

  “Unless the magus in question uses his forbidden research to conspire against the First Magus,” said Agabyzus. “I suspect Anaxander was involved in a plot against the First Magus, and Decius Aberon is not a forgiving man.”

  “I’ve heard that,” said Caina.

  “The First Magus has a death writ on Anaxander’s head,” said Agabyzus, “and since coming to Istarinmul, Anaxander has supported himself by selling his talents to the highest bidder. He appears to spend most of his money on drinking himself to death.”

  Caina nodded. Anaxander could be easily bribed in so many ways – by Callatas himself, by the First Magus, or by simply collecting the reward for the Balarigar.

  “And Strabane?” she said.

  “From the Kaltari Highlands,” said Agabyzus. “He was a free man, not a slave, and came to Istarinmul and voluntarily enrolled in the gladiatorial schools. Some free men do that, as the rewards are high, though they often come to a bad end. Strabane was an effective fighter – brutal, even. I saw him fight once, and he dominated his opponent. Eventually he killed a gladiator owned by one of the more prominent cowled masters, and was forced out of the gladiatorial games. Since then he has worked as a mercenary and an enforcer for various criminal groups.” He scratched at his fake beard. “And acquired a reputation as a thief, most likely from working with Nasser.”

  “What about Laertes?” said Caina.

  “A Legion veteran,” said Agabyzus. “Reached one of the lower ranks of centurion in the Seventeenth Legion, saw fighting against the barbarian tribes of the Imperial Pale. From what I have learned, he took his discharge bonus and tried to open an inn at one of the towns along the Bay of Empire. The inn failed, and he wound up working with Nasser. He lives in the Alqaarin Quarter. Married with six children, five of them daughters, and his wife thinks he works as a captain of guards for a minor emir.”

  “Six children? Truly?” said Caina. “Finding dowries for five daughters would be challenge.”

  “And the bounty on the Balarigar,” said Agabyzus, “would provide the funds.”

  “So,” said Caina. “Any one of them has the motivation to betray us.”

  “That is so,” said Agabyzus. “Nerina Strake might do so as well.”

  “I doubt that,” said Caina, but she was not certain. “She needs distractions, something to occupy her mind…”

  “Like you do?” said Agabyzus. For all his ragged appearance, for all the suffering he had endured, he was still quite perceptive.

  “Something like that,” said Caina. Corvalis was always in her thoughts…but for weeks she had been so busy that she had simply not had the time to dwell upon his death, to brood to the point of despair as she had during her first night in Istarinmul. Work, Halfdan had always said, was the best medicine for sorrow…and she had certainly put his advice to use.

  “And Nasser himself, of course,” said Agabyzus.

  “I doubt that,” said Caina.

  “Why?” said Agabyzus. “You seem very quick to trust him. Too quick, I fear. Forgive my questioning, but as your nightkeeper it is my duty to advise and counsel you.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” said Caina, “and there are very few in whom I can confide. You are one of them.”

  “Thank you,” said Agabyzus. “That is most kind.” He smiled. “Nor does it answer the question.”

  Caina laughed. “That is true.”

  “This could all be an elaborate plot to capture you,” said Agabyzus. “Nasser Glasshand is famed for his cunning and boldness. Creating a ruse of this complexity would be exactly the kind of plot he would employ.”

  “You are right,” said Caina. “But there are two arguments against that. The bounty upon Nasser’s head?” Agabyzus nodded. “A great deal of it comes from Callatas himself, personally, and it’s a substantial sum. He hates Nasser for some reason. And Nasser, in turn, hates Callatas.”

  “Why?” said Agabyzus.

  “I don’t know,” said Caina. “But it is plain enough. Why steal from Callatas? Surely other Alchemists can create Elixir Restorata. And the things he has said to me…he wants to stop Callatas and the Apotheosis, whatever it is. I don’t know why, but Callatas is his enemy.” She shrugged. “Or I am a fool, and he is a very skilled actor.”

  “Then you intend to see this through?” said Agabyzus.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “One way or another. Searching Callatas’s laboratory…this is the best chance I have to learn what he intends, to discover what the Apotheosis really is.” She rubbed the ring upon her left hand, feeling the tingle of its latent sorcerous power. “And I am really tired of wearing this damned thing. Disguising myself is hard enough. Having to wear the same ring in every disguise makes it far harder.” She shrugged. “What do you think?”

  “It is probably the best available choice,” said Agabyzus. “It is very risky…and you do have a knack for taking insane risks. But I cannot object to that. If not for your boldness, I would be dead or still locked in the Widow’s Tower, and Callatas would have murdered my nephews to create wraithblood.”

  “That is why I am taking a risk,” said Caina. “To stop that from ever happening again.”

  Agabyzus nodded. “Then may the Living Flame be with you.”

  ###

  That night Caina sat in the common room of the House of Agabyzus and drank coffee.

  In truth, it was nice to relax a little. Not that she could ever completely relax, not while pretending to be Marius of the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers or any of her other aliases. She had to constantly be aware of her posture, her voice, her stride, her mannerisms. Even the slightest thing could give her away. But Marius was known here, and Caina liked the House of Agabyzus, so she could relax a little here.

  But her guard never went down completely.

  Part of the reason her guard never down stood upon the dais, reciting poetry as Mazyan kept time on his drum.

  Tonight Sulaman gave the crowd an epic of Nasser Glasshand, the legendary master thief. In the poem Nasser went to the Vale of Fallen Stars to rob the emir in his palace, armed with nothing but his wits and his silver tongue. Nasser spun an elaborate web of lies, and soon walked away with most of the emir’s wealth. To judge from the name, the emir would have been the grandfather of Rezir and Tanzir Shahan, which meant the story had taken place eighty or ninety years ago.

  It must have been only a tale. Nasser could not have been older than forty-five at the most. Perhaps Sulaman had concocted the story himself. Or perhaps it was based on the truth, something that Nasser had done recently. Or maybe the Glasshand was a title, an identity passed down from thief to thief over the generations.

  One more mystery in the maze of mysteries that surrounded her.

  At last Sulaman finished his recitation, and the crowd erupted with applause. The Istarish enjoyed their poems, and they especially delighted in the stories of the thieves and assassins who had brought the powerful and the haughty low. Many of the merchants and guards and even some the slaves moved forward, throwing coins into the wooden bowl at Mazyan’s feet. Caina got to her feet and dropped some silver coins in the bowl, and she felt Sulaman’s solemn eyes upon her, dark and deep in his lean, ascetic face.

  “A moment, courier,” growled Marius. “The poet wishes a word with you.”

  Caina waited until the crowds had thinned. Mazyan scooped up the coins as Sulaman thanked Damla for her hospitality. The poet turned to go, Mazyan beckoned, and Caina followed them outside as she had before. The Cyrican Bazaar was dark and closed for the night, and in the distance Caina saw the domes of the Golden Palace and the towers of the College of Alchemists, agleam with their own sorcerous lights.

  And beyond that, she glimpsed the domes and spires of Callatas’s own palace.

  “A fine story, master poet,” said Caina.

  Sulaman inclined his head. “I am pleased that you think so.
”

  “Was it true?” said Caina.

  “Poetic license is always taken for the sake of the tale,” said Sulaman. “But did such events happen? They did.”

  Caina frowned. “Rezir Shahan’s grandfather has been dead for decades. Nasser is not old enough to steal from him.”

  “Many things are lost in the mists of history,” said Sulaman. “Including many things that should not have been.”

  “For the gods’ sake,” said Caina, and Mazyan scowled at her tone. “I know you have aided me. I know you sent me to Nasser to aid him. But can you not give me a single straight answer? Something that isn’t couched in riddles and poetic flourishes?”

  To her surprise, Sulaman smiled. “You have your secrets. Nasser has his secrets. And I, too, have my secrets. Your secrets protect you, Master Marius, and if your secrets became known, you would die and anyone who knew your secrets would be in danger.” The poet spread his hands. “So it is with my secrets.”

  “What kind of enemies does a poet have?” said Caina.

  “The duty of the poet is to speak to the truth that lives in the hearts of all men,” said Sulaman, “and there are many who would prefer that truth remained hidden.” He hesitated. “There is one thing I can tell you.”

  “Sir,” said Mazyan, “this is unwise.”

  “Perhaps,” said Sulaman, “but the choice is mine to make. Listen to me well. Among certain families of Istarinmul, there is both a gift and a curse that is passed from heir to heir, bound in the blood.”

  “And what is this cursed gift?” said Caina.

  “Foresight,” said Sulaman. “Time is a tapestry, and every man weaves a thread as he walks through life. The gift allows us to see those threads, and to behold glimpses of the past and the shadow of the future that may yet be.”

  “Then you are a prophet?” said Caina, dubious.

  Sulaman’s smile was sad. “You do not believe me? This may persuade you otherwise.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath…and Caina felt the faint prickle of sorcerous power.

  She hissed in alarm and yanked a dagger from her belt, and Mazyan growled and drew his sword.