The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Lady Messana and her friends seem quite taken with you,” said Halfdan.

  “I suspect they think of me as a kindred spirit,” said Caina. “After all, my father is cruelly forcing me to wed against my will to secure his business advantages.”

  Halfdan smiled. “Oh, I am, am I?”

  “I may have implied that,” said Caina.

  “Well,” said Halfdan. “I shall mingle, and see if I can overhear anything interesting. Do keep my daughter out of trouble, Arlann.” He snagged a flute of wine from a passing tray and headed towards a cluster of men in merchants' robes.

  “Shall we find trouble?” said Caina.

  “Lead on,” said Ark.

  She wandered through the rambling maze of Messana’s estate, exchanging polite remarks with the other guests. The party had spilled into a half a dozen other courtyards, and as many small gardens. Unlike Agria’s house, Caina doubted that Messana could hide any large number of slaves here. Unless Messana had a maze of vaults hidden below the grounds, there simply wasn’t room.

  An angry shout caught Caina’s ears. She recognized the voice at once.

  Agria Palaegus.

  Curious, she hurried into one of the gardens, Ark following her. She crouched behind a moss-covered boulder and settled to watch. Agria stood among the trees, her face contorted with rage as she shouted at a serving girl.

  “You stupid chit!” hissed Agria. “Can’t you do anything right? I told you to have him meet me here.”

  “But…but my lady,” stammered the girl, “he said to…”

  Agria backhanded the girl, who went sprawling. “Get out of my sight! I’ll find him myself.” The girl fled, sobbing, and Agria stalked into the trees.

  Caina rose, and Ark followed. She crept through the trees, trying to move as quietly as possible in her damnable skirt. Fortunately, Agria seemed too angry to notice anything. She strode down a gravel path, boots grating against the stone, and at last stopped in a small clearing. A worn statue of a man in antique armor stood in the center of the clearing, the white stone coated with moss. Agria stood near the statue and waited, arms folded.

  Caina crouched behind a tree to watch, Ark kneeling besides her.

  “What are we doing?” he whispered.

  “Watch her,” hissed Caina. “She’s up to something.”

  She felt a bit silly. No doubt Agria was arranging another tryst. Ducas would laugh himself sick. Still, Agria had to make contact with Icaraeus at some point. Messana’s rambling estate was ill-suited for hiding slaves, but perfect for a clandestine meeting.

  Twigs crackled, and two men strode into the clearing, while four more remained lurking in the trees.

  Caina’s breath caught in her throat.

  It was Naelon Icaraeus himself.

  He wore the rich clothes of a lord, the steel-warding bracers still strapped to his forearms. Tigrane stood at his side, wearing the livery of a man-at-arms. Agria whirled, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

  “You’re late,” she said.

  “Do forgive me, darling Agria,” said Icaraeus, his deep voice thick with sarcasm. “The Empire’s views on slavery are most…unprogressive. Consequently a poor slave trader needs to travel carefully.”

  “You worry too much,” said Agria. “The Legions could not find the ashes in a fireplace.”

  “And you worry too little,” said Icaraeus. “I told you, I did not plan to come to Marsis. A Ghost circle attacked the White Road Inn, and I barely escaped with my life.”

  Caina smirked.

  “Ghosts?” Agria’s laugh was scornful. “There are no Ghosts, my lord Icaraeus. Yes, the Emperor’s all-seeing spies, lurking in every shadow. Only fools blame their failures upon the Ghosts.”

  “You are a fool,” said Icaraeus. “My documents were lost in the fire. We can hope they were destroyed, but I will not trust to luck. The Ghosts probably know that you have been purchasing slaves in bulk for the last few years. Worse, they almost certainly know that I am in Marsis. It would not surprise me if a few Ghost spies attended this party even now.”

  Halfdan had been right. Icaraeus was clever.

  “I fear no man,” said Agria. She spread her fingers, flickers of green light dancing between them, and Caina felt the sudden crawling surge of sorcery. “Not after the powers I have mastered.”

  “Then you are indeed a fool,” said Icaraeus, voice heavy with annoyance. He sighed. “But, a fool with money. So I am willing to tolerate your eccentricities…for now.”

  “That,” said Agria, “and the consequences of breaking your contract, hmm?”

  ”Enough of this,” said Icaraeus. “To business.”

  “Very well,” said Agria. “We need more slaves. When can you procure them?”

  “Soon,” said Icaraeus. “We had the right number at the White Road Inn, but the damnable Ghosts involved themselves. Replacing them will take time.”

  “Time?” said Agria, annoyed. “What, are you kidnapping some blackskins from halfway around the world? Half a million people live in Marsis, most of them useless. Snatch some from off the street. I’ve told you, I’m not picky about my slaves.”

  Icaraeus sighed. “My dear, I’ve explained to you before. We cannot keep doing that. We’ve already taken everyone who wouldn’t be missed. Kidnap too many people off the street and someone will notice. Especially now that we’ve drawn the attention of the Ghosts.”

  “That is your problem,” said Agria. “I still expect results. When can you supply the slaves?”

  Icaraeus glanced at Tigrane.

  “Perhaps a week’s time, my lady,” said Tigrane. “My lads and I have our eye on a few likely targets.”

  “Did I ask you to speak, churl?” said Agria. “Keep your mouth shut.” She looked at Icaraeus. “A week’s time?”

  Icaraeus nodded. “Perhaps ten days.”

  Agria scowled and looked at the sky. “She won’t be happy. But if it’s the best that can be done…do it. As soon as possible.”

  “And you will have the money to pay for them?” said Icaraeus. “Rumor has it that you and your little…coven have overextended your finances.”

  “I have higher concerns than money now,” said Agria.

  “But I do not,” said Icaraeus.

  “Fear not, mercenary,” said Agria. “You’ll have your precious money. And you’ll not break your contract, either. You know the consequences if you do.”

  Icaraeus burst out laughing. “These threats, Agria? You really think to threaten me?”

  Agria smiled. “Oh, no. Not at all. Because if you fail…you know I’m not the one to whom you will answer. Am I.”

  That stilled Icaraeus’s laughter. Caina wondered who they were talking about. Nicorus’s mysterious necromancer, perhaps?

  “This was such a pleasant evening,” said Icaraeus. “Really, we should do this more often.” He extended a mocking little bow in her direction. “Until we meet again, dear lady.”

  Icaraeus strode into the trees, Tigrane following at his heels, and the rest of his men fell in around him. Agria glared after them for a moment, hands curled into fists. Then she whirled and stalked down the gravel path, her heels scraping against the ground. Caina took a deep breath and climbed to her feet, brushing grass and leaves from her skirt.

  “Was that him?” said Ark. “Was that Icaraeus?”

  Caina nodded.

  “We should take him, now,” said Ark. “Before he gets away.”

  “We can’t,” said Caina. “He has too many men with him. Besides, he and Tigrane have those bracers.” She hurried to the path. “Follow me.”

  “If we’re not going to take him,” said Ark, “what are we going to do instead?”

  “We’re going to follow him,” said Caina. “If we’re lucky, he’ll lead us back to his ship or his hideout. Then we’ll get Ducas’s cohort, and capture them all in one blow. We might even find enough evidence to haul Agria and her friends before the magistrates.”

  They returned to the
nearest courtyard. Caina looked around, trying to locate Halfdan…

  A cold hand settled on her shoulder.

  “Oh, there you are,” said Messana. “I’ve been looking all over for you. The others and I would like to slip away for a moment, just the three of us, and we’d love it if you could join us.”

  “I…” said Caina. She wanted to scream in frustration. “Yes. Of course. I would be glad. Arlann, go tell my father about what we discussed. Immediately.”

  “At once,” said Ark. He hurried away.

  Messana led Caina through the rambling maze of the villa, to a small room off one of the courtyards. The room had been decorated in much the same way as Agria’s solar; the same white candles, the same table, the same faux-mystic symbols painted on every surface. Agria sat on a couch besides Vorena Chlorus, speaking to the other woman in a low, urgent voice.

  “It’s the last step, you know,” said Agria. “The last step. You need to take it. I did, and look at me now. I’ve never been happier. It’s not such a steep price.”

  “You’re right, of course,” said Vorena, fiddling with her hair as she spoke. “It’s just…I don’t know. I suppose I have some misplaced sentiment over the whole business. I still can’t quite bring myself to do it.”

  “Do you doubt the power that we’ve learned?” said Agria. “That I’ve shown you?”

  “No, no, of course not,” said Vorena, too quickly.

  “Ah,” said Agria with a smile. “You do, don’t you? No reason for shame, my dear. Do I look like a priest? I ask you to take nothing on faith. I will give you proof…which is what tonight is all about, isn’t it?” She looked up and smiled. “Oh, Messana. There you are. And Anna! So good of you to come.” She stood up and kissed Caina’s cheek, her lips dry and cool.

  “I’m glad I could come,” said Caina, as Agria guided her to a seat. She wanted to slip away as soon as possible, before Icaraeus and Tigrane escaped. But Agria and her friends might let slip some useful information.

  “So am I,” said Agria. “Tonight you’re going to see something wondrous. I told you that our arts could bestow blessings of beauty and health and love. I know you didn’t believe me.”

  “But, my lady,” said Caina, “it’s just that…”

  “Now, now,” said Agria with an indulgent smile. “I was once much as you are. Weak, fearful, living on the whims of first my father and then my husband. But not now. And tonight, my dear, you will see proof.” She looked at Vorena. “Did you bring it?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Lady Chlorus. She held up a lock of hair. “I had to bribe his barber for it, but the cost was little enough.”

  “That’s…somebody’s hair?” said Caina.

  “Yes,” said Agria. “A certain master of the Imperial Collegium of Armorers has been so gauche as to refuse our dear Vorena’s advances. Nor has he provided her with rich gifts, as he ought. So we are going to give him a bit of…encouragement.”

  She lifted the silver chalice Caina had seen in her bedroom. Messana lit the candles, one by one, filling the room with flickering light. Agria set the chalice on the table and drew herself up.

  Caina felt the sudden faint prickle of sorcery.

  “Now,” said Agria, “let us begin. The hair, Vorena.”

  Vorena dropped the lock of hair into the chalice. Agria began to chant in an odd voice, making precise gestures with one hand. Caina didn’t recognize the language. It sounded vaguely Szaldic, but…older, somehow. The pressure of sorcery grew stronger, and Caina felt a twinge of nausea.

  “The blood, Vorena,” said Agria, her voice rasping.

  Vorena swallowed, but lifted a dagger, her other hand over the chalice. She pricked her finger, and a few drops of blood fell into the silver bowl.

  A blood spell, Caina realized.

  Necromancy.

  Agria resumed her chant, faster this time. Her voice rose to a shout, and she thrust a finger into the blood.

  The pressure against Caina’s skin felt like needles.

  There was a flash of light, and green flames roiled inside the chalice, devouring blood and hair alike. Not even ashes remained. Caina felt another surge of sorcerous power, so sharp that she almost threw up. Then it faded bit by bit.

  Agria’s breath came in a hard rasp, her eyes closed, her expression ecstatic.

  “What…what happened?” said Caina, making her voice small. “There was a light…”

  “A blessing,” said Agria. “That’s what happened.”

  “Did it work?” said Vorena.

  Agria smiled. “Of course it did. Come and see for yourself.”

  She rose, and they followed her into a courtyard. Agria prowled through the grounds, looking back and forth. Then she stopped and pointed. A middle-aged man in the black-and-silver robes of the Imperial Collegium of Armorers stood nearby. He had the build of a blacksmith, with a salt-and-pepper beard, and was handsome in a rough sort of way. His expression was glassy, his jaw slack.

  The same expression, Caina realized, that she had seen on the guard in Agria’s bed.

  “It…it worked?” whispered Vorena.

  “Yes,” said Agria. “He is yours. To do with as you please.”

  A smile spread over Vorena’s face, lust and hatred and gloating exultation all rolled together. Caina shuddered. Her mother had often smiled like that, when she’d gotten her way. The results were rarely pretty.

  “Come here,” called Vorena.

  The armorer walked over, movements stiff and wooden.

  “Come with me,” purred Vorena. “We have much to do.”

  They vanished into the shadows together.

  “Do you see now?” said Agria to Caina, voice low. “Do you see what our arts can do for you? Is there some man your desire to make your slave? We can make him so – tonight, if you wish it. And we can do so much more. Our blessings can keep age and time at bay, can give you many obedient sons while preserving your beauty. All this can be yours. You need only follow our teachings.”

  “I...I…” said Caina. What she had seen horrified her.

  And yet to her distress, some part of her yearned for it. She wanted children, she wanted a husband to love, and she would never have either. What man would wed a barren wife? Yet Agria’s arts promised all that. And perhaps her blood spells could smooth away Caina’s scars, so that she might bear children of her own…

  Blood spells.

  Blood had to come from somewhere.

  And Agria purchased slaves.

  That thought stiffened her resolve.

  “I…don’t know,” said Caina. “Forgive my timidity, my lady, but this is all so…overwhelming. I didn’t know such things were possible.”

  “Of course,” said Agria. She smiled. “Yes…I reacted in much the same way, at first.”

  “But…your teachings, you say,” said Caina. “I would like to learn more of them. I would like that very much.”

  At least until Caina could bring down both Agria Palaegus and Naelon Icaraeus.

  “And you shall,” said Agria. “You will become one of us yet.”

  Caina fervently hoped not.

  “Might I lie down for a bit?” said Caina. “I do not feel well.”

  Agria frowned. “If you are discomforted by what you have seen…”

  “No, no,” said Caina, thinking of a suitable lie. “It…well, it is my time of the month, and I sometimes get a bit dizzy.”

  “Oh! You should have said so,” said Agria. “Messana, dear, please take her someplace where she can lie down.”

  Messana took Caina’s arm and guided her to a small bedroom off one of the courtyards. “A bit small, but it does have a bed.”

  “That’s all I need,” said Caina. She feigned leaning on the wall for balance and lay down. Messana smiled at her, closed the door, and returned to the party. Caina closed her eyes, listened, and counted to a hundred. No one came.

  Caina went out the window, cursing under her breath as the long skirts tangled in her legs. S
he hurried along the villa’s perimeter, keeping an eye out for the others. There was no trace of Ark, Halfdan, or Ducas. Had they all gone in pursuit of Icaraeus? Had Halfdan decided to kill Icaraeus then and there? Caina wondered if he had found a countermeasure to the enspelled bracers.

  At last Caina found herself at the edge of the villa’s grounds, looking at the street. Halfdan’s coach sat where they had left it, the horses flicking their tails impatiently. She saw no trace of Halfdan and the others.

  She did see Tigrane, walking away from the grounds. No doubt he and Icaraeus had split up to throw off any pursuit. Yet if Caina could follow him, he might lead her to the rest of Icaraeus’s gang. Perhaps to Icaraeus himself.

  Caina made a decision. She jumped the wall and hurried to the coach, moving as fast as her ornate clothes would allow. Once she reached the coach, she threw open the door and climbed inside, risking a glance over her shoulder. Tigrane seemed not to have seen her. She closed the door and ducked below the window, pulling a wooden box from beneath the seat.

  She entertained no thoughts of using the coach to pursue Tigrane. He couldn’t help but notice a massive coach pulled by a pair of draft horses chasing after him.

  He might not notice a Ghost nightfighter, wrapped in a shadowed cloak.

  Caina stripped out of her expensive dress and pulled her nightfighter garb and weapons from the box. Too bad she didn’t have time to wash away the perfume, but with any luck, she wouldn’t get close enough for Tigrane to notice. She donned her mask, pulled up the hood, and slipped into the street.

  She saw Tigrane vanish around a corner, heading towards the docks.

  Caina followed.

  Chapter 11 - Pursuit

  Tigrane began singing as he walked. At first Caina wondered if he had gone mad, but then it made sense. Naelon Icaraeus was a wanted man, his description known from one end of the Empire to the other. Tigrane looked like any other old sailor. Anonymity was a better defense than stealth. He needn’t skulk from shadow to shadow, hiding in corners and lurking behind statues.