The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  Was she losing her mind?

  Why did she keep having dreams about the gray-clad child? Caina had never met a little girl like that. Did she represent something? Caina’s own desire to have children, maybe? But that was ludicrous. Caina’s dreams had always been filled with straightforward horrors before. Abstract symbolism was something new.

  She climbed out of bed, threw off her nightgown, and practiced her unarmed forms in the moonlight. She moved through kicks and punches, blocks and throws, grips and sweeps until her arms and legs ached and sweat poured down her face.

  Enough with night horrors. She had work to do tomorrow. With any luck, they could take down Icaraeus before the week passed.

  Caina collapsed into bed and sank into a black and dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 12 - The Dead Fish Tavern

  The last few evenings, Caina had dressed for dinner with the rich and powerful.

  Tonight, she dressed for the tavern.

  Caina had not bathed after practicing her forms, and she suspected the resultant odor would have made Agria Palaegus recoil in disgust. She donned the worn leathers and dusty wool of her mercenary disguise, raking her hair to fall in greasy curtains over her face. Some of Zorgi’s beer splashed over her jerkin and cloak, a wobbling stagger to her walk, and she was ready.

  Caina went out the inn’s window, through the shadowy garden, and went to find Halfdan and Ark. Both men waited in a nearby alley, likewise clad in ragged mercenaries’ garb.

  Halfdan grinned. “You look like you’re on your way to kill someone.”

  “Aye,” Caina answered in the same accented Caerish. “Someone looks at me wrong I’ll shove a foot of sharpened steel down his gullet.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Halfdan. “Well. Shall we?”

  They made their way through the streets, Caina keeping the stagger to her walk. Soon they reached the maze of stone piers, wooden walkways, shabby inns, and brick warehouses that made up Marsis’s docks. As before, the docks crawled with activity, even at night. Sailors and thieves and whores went about their business, or their fun, and crews and cranes still unloaded cargoes from the ships. Caina wondered if the unloading and loading ever stopped.

  A gaunt woman in a ragged dress came out of the shadows, her eyes sharp and hungry. “You’re looking for some company, aye?” she said to Ark.

  Ark didn’t look at her. “I am married.”

  “Married?” she laughed. “Like that matters! Come here, and I’ll make you forget your wife…”

  Ark whirled. The whore backed away with a terrified shriek, her eyes going wide.

  “What did you say?” hissed Ark. “What did you say to me?”

  The whore gaped at him. “I…I…”

  Caina grabbed his arm. “Stop this. Now.”

  Ark stopped, shaking with anger.

  “Now, now, my dearie,” said Halfdan in his thick Caerish. “My friend here isn’t right in the head, and I’m afraid you’ve set him off.” A gold coin glittered in his fingers. “How about you take this coin and forget that you ever saw us?” Something menacing appeared in his smile. “It would be…good for you.”

  The whore stared at him for a moment, trembling. Then she snatched the coin and ran.

  “You know,” said Halfdan, “the entire point of remaining inconspicuous is to avoid drawing attention. Terrifying whores is not…”

  “I know,” said Ark. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. The muscles of his hands twitched. “She…caught me off guard.” He looked around. “Here, of all places, in this damnable slaver-infested city. It will not happen again.”

  Halfdan nodded. “Good enough.” He beckoned, and they followed him.

  Caina looked at Ark. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

  “An odd thing for a mercenary to ask,” said Ark.

  “Fine,” said Caina, switching to same accent Halfdan used. “Are you going to turn tail and run on us, you damned dog?”

  Ark almost smiled. “I…you do not look at all like yourself.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I am only grateful,” said Ark, “that you do not look like Tanya, just now.”

  Caina nodded, and they kept walking. Soon they came to the Dead Fish Tavern, which smelled as its name suggested. Caina caught a glimpse of movement on the tavern’s roof, and another in a window across the street.

  “Lookouts,” she muttered. Halfdan nodded, then strode up the stairs and pushed open the door.

  The door, Caina noticed, had a charm against the Moroaica nailed into the frame.

  The Dead Fish Tavern was crowded. Men sat at a long wooden bar, and on benches strewn throughout the room. The air stank of sweat, smoke, cheap beer, and dead fish. Caina spotted Tigrane at once. He sat in a corner, talking in a low voice to four other men, with another dozen listening in. Caina recognized some of them from the White Road Inn.

  And all of them looked up, hands twitching towards their weapons. Tigrane’s eyes narrowed, and Caina felt the weight of his gaze. She had been masquerading as a frightened maid at the time, but he had seen her without cloak and mask. He might recognize her.

  “Where can I get some damned beer?” bellowed Halfdan in Caerish.

  The bartender squinted at them. Like Tigrane, he looked like a sailor. No doubt his missing arm had forced him to stay ashore. “Aye? This is a sailor’s tavern. We don’t much care for landsmen here.”

  “Gods damn and blast it!” said Halfdan. “Me and my lads here guarded a caravan from Caer Marist, and walked every damn mile of the road. We’ve gotten thrown out of every damned tavern in this damned stinking city. Now, I’ve got a purse full of coin I want to spend, and I want to get good and drunk. You can either get me some beer, or you can go to hell!”

  Tigrane smirked, and nodded at the bartender.

  “Well, why not?” said the bartender. Tigrane turned his attention back to the men around him. “I’d sell my beer to the Solmonari themselves, if their coin was good.”

  Halfdan staggered to the bar. Coins were exchanged, and the bartender produced three enormous clay mugs of beer. Halfdan and Ark lifted their mugs and drank. Caina started to take a sip, then remembered that mercenaries quaffed. She let most of the beer splash over her jaw and chest, which was just as well, since it tasted vile.

  “Ha!” said the bartender, who seemed to have gotten over his earlier truculence. “Thirsty, weren’t you?”

  “Aye,” said Halfdan, wiping his mouth. “Mile after mile of dusty road, and not a decent inn in sight. Not anywhere! I should have gone to sea.”

  “Bah,” said the innkeeper. “Hardly better. Water as far as the eye can see…but you can’t drink a single damned drop of it. Nothing to eat but rotten bread and juiceless meat. And pirates and storms and devils out of the deeps as well.” He slapped his stump with his good hand. “A Kyracian stormdancer did this to me. Took my arm right off with one of those curved swords of theirs. Like a razor, it was.”

  “As if the road is any better,” said Halfdan. “Roads made of dust or mud, and bandits and devils in the hills, to boot.” He began telling an unlikely story about a lord’s daughter, a dashing bandit king, and a monkey. The bartender began to laugh at the more amusing points, and a few of the other patrons drifted over. Even Ark laughed once. Caina grinned behind her mug.

  Halfdan knew how to tell a story.

  Caina made another sloppy drink of the beer and wandered down the bar, closer to Tigrane. Neither Tigrane nor any of his thugs were listening to Halfdan’s story, their attention focused on their own discussion. One of the men looked up as Caina drew closer, hand twitching towards his weapon. Caina pretended not to notice and leaned against the bar, watching Halfdan.

  She wanted to hear what Tigrane was saying. Had to get closer, though. But how?

  She took another drink, spilling most of it on the floor.

  “Another!” she bellowed, slapping a copper coin on the bar.

  The bartender’s e
yes were still on Halfdan, but he nodded and shoved another mug in her direction. Caina picked it up, letting the motion spin her in a drunken spiral. She used the opportunity to take a good long look at Tigrane and his men.

  And at the open window in the wall behind them.

  “And then,” said Halfdan, gesturing with his mug, “and then the lady tells him that her horse has been in the stable all night!”

  There was a roar of laughter from Halfdan’s audience. Caina slammed her mug on the counter, beer sloshing over the rim.

  “Damn it,” she rasped. “He’s told that same story every day for the last two months. I’m sick of it, and I’m sick of him. Do you have a privy in this hole? I’ve got to take a piss.”

  The bartender jerked his head at the door. “The alley, out back. Piss on my floor and I’ll crack your head.”

  Caina stalked towards the door, scowling.

  “Your friend’s a sour one,” said the bartender.

  “Aye,” said Halfdan, “but he’s a stout one with a blade. Handy in a tight spot.”

  Caina stepped into the street and headed into the alley. Even without the bartender’s directions, her nose could have led her right to the privy hole, a simple shaft bored into the city’s sewer. Caina passed the hole, taking great care not to fall in, and looked up at the tavern wall.

  The window was a dozen feet above her, the faint sound of voices leaking into the night.

  Caina took a deep breath, regretted it, and scrambled up the crumbling brickwork. She yanked the dagger from her belt and jammed it into the rotted mortar below the windowsill. Boots braced against the wall, she hung below the window.

  She could hear every word Tigrane and his thugs spoke.

  “Too much of a risk, I say,” said a man’s voice.

  “You know what His Lordship always says,” came Tigrane’s voice. “No profit without risk.”

  “His Lordship’s not the one taking the risks on this raid,” said a third voice. “You know what the Legions do to slavers, when they capture them? Crucifixion. You ever seen it, Tigrane? Not a pretty way to go. Takes days. They don’t even have the breath to scream, at the end.”

  “Don’t be such a woman, Vardan,” said Tigrane. “Risk, you say? Well, there’s hardly any risk in this. We’ll snatch a few dozen women and children out a single tenement at the docks, and burn the place to ashes when we’re done. Those tenements are firetraps. The Legion will assume some fool kicked over a lantern and burned the building down while we walk away with the profits.”

  “After His Lordship takes his cut,” said the first voice.

  “Idiocy,” said Tigrane. “If not for His Lordship’s brain, where would we be? On pirate ships or brigand gangs. Or on the bottom of the sea, or rotting by the roadside…or nailed to a cross somewhere, eh, Vardan?”

  “Don’t joke about that, Tigrane.”

  Tigrane snorted with laughter. “And there’s always enough left for us after His Lordship takes his cut. Another four or five years and none of us will ever need to work again. His Lordship’s clients pay ridiculously well.”

  “I don’t know,” said another voice. “Too much of a risk. Better to take the money now and run.”

  “You’re a fool, Rhicon,” said Tigrane, voice hard. “You know how His Lordship feels about traitors. Run now and he will find you. Then you’ll wish you had been crucified. Because we’ve a quota to fill, and maybe we’ll just turn you over to His Lordship’s clients. To them, one slave is just as good as another.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” said Rhicon. “Who said anything about backing out? I’m loyal, Tigrane, you know it. Who stuck with you after that business at Hruzac, eh? When the Ghosts were on our tails?”

  Caina blinked. Hruzac. She knew that name.

  Ark’s long-vanished wife had come from the village of Hruzac.

  “Gods of the brine,” spat Tigrane. “Don’t talk to me about Hruzac. That was a damned mess. But enough of that. Are you in? Or are you out?”

  “I’m in,” said Rhicon.

  “So am I,” said Vardan.

  One by one the other men chimed in, adding their support to the venture.

  “Good,” said Tigrane. “Here’s the plan. The tenement on Dockyard Street. You know it?”

  Caina heard a rumble of assent.

  “It’s mostly apartments,” said Tigrane, “rented by dockworkers and their families. Well, most of the dockworkers in that tenement work the night shift. We hit the place at midnight, when they’re all working. We’ll only need to snatch up the children, the women, and the old men and women. Easy pickings.”

  “His Lordship’s clients must be mad,” grumbled Vardan. “Who in their right mind pays top price for children and women? Young lads with strong backs and virgin girls, that’s where the money is.”

  “I’ve met His Lordship’s clients,” said Tigrane, “and trust me, they are mad. All of them.” His voice dropped, so low Caina had trouble hearing it. “Especially the…chief one. The witch woman. Don’t repeat this, especially not to His Lordship, but she’s dangerous. I fear no man, and I feared no woman save for my dear dead mother, but this one...well, I wouldn’t cross her for all the gold in the Emperor’s palace. She’s cruel, and she’s got power…like the Magisterium, but worse. But…if she wants slaves of any age, and she’s paying good coin for them, who am I to care?”

  A roar of laughter came through the window. Halfdan must have finished another of his stories.

  “Blood witcheries and black sorcery,” said Vardan. “It’ll be the death of us, mark my words.”

  “It might be the death of the slaves,” said Tigrane, “but not of us.”

  Blood witcheries. What did that mean? Caina had a suspicion, and she did not like it. She remembered Agria’s talk of “blessings”, and shivered.

  Tigrane was talking. “We’ll gather here two nights hence. Make certain that you are here by midnight. Vardan, round up the necessary wagons. Seven or eight ought to do it. I’ll provide the collars and the bracers, as usual.” She heard the smirk in his voice. “Our clients’ sorcery might be black…but it does come in handy from time to time, eh?”

  “It does at that,” said Vardan. “Whips and chains erode resale value. Too much risk of scarring. The collars are much cleaner.”

  Caina wondered what that meant.

  “We’re agreed, then,” said Tigrane. “Midnight, at the Dead Fish Tavern. Two nights hence. Any man who’s late will lose his share of the profits.”

  There was a general rumble of assent.

  Caina listened for a while longer. The conversation split up into several smaller ones. Tigrane lamented to Vardan how it was impossible to get decent Caerish whiskey in Marsis. Rhicon began discussing some sort of card game with another man. Apparently, they had finished discussing business.

  She pulled her dagger free and dropped back into the alley just as a drunken man wobbled around the corner, fumbling with the front of his pants. His bloodshot eyes widened as he saw her.

  “Wha?” he managed. “What were you doing?”

  “The smell,” said Caina, nodding at the privy hole. “It’ll drive you right up the wall.”

  The drunkard gave the privy hole a suspicious look.

  Another gale of laughter greeted Caina as she opened the door. Halfdan had half the bar gathered around him. Only Tigrane and his men remained in their corner, watching everything with cold eyes.

  “Enough talk!” bellowed Caina, staggering towards Halfdan. “Damn it, I’ve had enough watery beer. I want a woman, the cheaper the better.” She pointed at the bartender. “There a decent brothel near here?”

  “Down the street, four blocks,” said the bartender. “My old mate Severus owns it. Pretty young things he has, too. Assuming his bouncers don’t bear the tar out of you for that smart mouth.”

  “Well, you heard him,” said Caina to Halfdan. “Let’s go.”

  “It’s been a while since I had a woman,” said Halfdan. He finished off his mug
and dropped some coins upon the counter. “I think I’ll go make some pretty young thing my lady love…for an hour or so.”

  “Come back any time,” said the bartender, scooping up the coins. He glared at Caina. “Don’t bring your friend.”

  Caina offered a rude gesture in response, and followed Halfdan and Ark into the darkened streets. Halfdan led them into a deserted alley, glanced around, and nodded.

  “You said we were to remain inconspicuous,” said Ark. “Telling jokes to a crowd of drunks, in front of our enemy’s men, is not the best way to do it.”

  Halfdan grimaced. “You may be right. But…they’ll only remember a drunken old caravan guard telling stories. Not spies.” He grinned at Caina. “And his sour friend, of course. I trust you found something interesting in the privy?”

  Caina took a deep breath. “Oh, yes.” She told them what she had overhead of Tigrane’s plan.

  “We have to stop them,” said Ark, voice fierce. “We cannot allow these…these dogs to snatch innocent women and children from the streets of Marsis.”

  “We won’t,” said Halfdan. “But this is our chance. Tigrane is leading the raid, you said?”

  “It sounded that way,” said Caina.

  “But not Icaraeus himself,” said Ark.

  “No,” said Halfdan. “But this is our chance to find where Icaraeus is hiding. If we capture Tigrane, we can get him to talk.”

  “Torture?” said Ark. He seemed eager at the prospect.

  “No, too unreliable,” said Halfdan. “We’ll use…other methods. He’ll talk until his lips bleed.”

  “Where will we get the men?” said Ark. “It sounds like Tigrane might take twenty or thirty men on this raid. We’ll need at least as many.”

  “Ducas’s cohort,” said Halfdan. He scratched his jaw. “He can’t take his troops into the city proper without warrant from the Lord Governor…but if he receives word of a slaver raid, he’ll have ample justification for taking action.”

  “Hiram would be willing to help, as well,” said Caina.

  Halfdan shook his head. “Ducas is a Ghost, and will do as I command. Hiram is not. Too much uncertainty. If we bring him the evidence he needs to bring down Lady Palaegus, I’m sure he’ll bear the Ghosts no grudge.”