“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.”
Chapter 2 – A Ghost in the Stone
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…”
“You!” said Theodosia, stalking toward the first mate. “You loutish oaf! Where is the rest of my baggage? I thought my girl lost my unguents, but I think it was your men! They pinched my elixirs and plan to sell them, don’t they?”
A muscle in the first mate’s face twitched. “No one has touched your baggage, mistress. Lord Corbould commanded the captain to inform you when we arrived, and…”
“Where?” bellowed Theodosia in a voice that made the planks beneath Caina’s boots rattle. “Where is my unguent?”
The first mate made a hasty retreat.
Caina shut the door, and Theodosia chuckled.
“I think you frightened him,” said Caina.
“Well, the leading lady of an opera company is traditionally a dreadful harridan,” said Theodosia. “Myself, I never saw the point. It seems like ever so much work.”
“But,” said Caina, “no one would ever suspect a temperamental opera singer of being a spy for the Emperor.”
“Precisely,” said Theodosia. “Get ready.”
Caina nodded and got to work.
She stripped off her gray dress and donned a man’s clothes – trousers, boots, a ragged shirt, and a leather jerkin reinforced with steel studs. A worn cloak went over her shoulders, and a belt with a sheathed sword and dagger around her waist. Caina helped herself to Theodosia’s makeup and applied it to her cheeks and jaw, giving her face the illusion of stubble. She tugged her black hair forward, letting it fall in greasy curtains over her face.
When she finished, she looked like a ragged caravan guard. With luck, she could pass unnoticed on the streets of Cyrioch.
“My dear,” said Theodosia, looking her over, “you are positively disreputable.”
Caina grinned. “Thank you.”
“Get ashore and find Barius,” said Theodosia. “Marzhod and the local Ghost circle should have plenty of information on Cyrioch’s Kindred family.” The planks shuddered beneath their feet. “Ah…the pilot’s come aboard. Get up on deck, and go ashore as soon as you can.”
“I will,” said Caina.
“Caina,” said Theodosia, and for once her voice was grave. “Be careful. Cyrioch’s slums are not a safe place.”
Caina opened the door a crack. The corridor outside was deserted, though she heard the steady beat of a drum below as the rowers maneuvered the massive galley towards the piers. Then she slipped through the door, hurried through the corridor, and climbed into the dazzling sunlight.
Chaos reigned on the ship’s deck. The captain and first mate stood on the rear deck, bellowing orders, while sailors scrambled over the galley’s masts and rigging. Many of the singers and the stagehands of the Grand Imperial Opera had gathered on deck to watch the approach, and the sailors hastened past them with muttered curses.
Caina looked over the rail and saw the city of Cyrioch for the first time.
The poets called Cyrican Urbana the Shining City, and it was not hard to see why. Across the rippling waters of the harbor and the masts of maneuvering ships Caina saw a massive hill of peculiar white rock. The hill was called the Stone, and that strange white rock was found nowhere else in the world. An enormous palace of towering domes and delicate towers crowned the Stone - the Palace of Splendors, once the seat of the Anshani satraps of Cyrica, and now the stronghold of Cyrioch’s Lord Governor. Lesser palaces, the homes of Cyrica’s nobles, clung to the sides of the Stone and stood at its base.
The rest of Cyrioch sprawled between the Stone and the harbor like spilled detritus.
Caina saw basilicas and mansions built in the Nighmarian style and domes and slender towers in Anshani fashion. Endless squat warehouses of brick lined the harbor, holding the tea and grain and rice and cotton the Cyrican provinces shipped to the nations of the western seas. The ugly brick towers of tenements rose behind the warehouses. The great lords had dispossessed Cyrica’s small farmers generations ago, and now the remaining free citizens lived in those tenements, subsisting on the Lord Governor’s grain dole.
And upon the backs of their slaves.
The stench of the city filled Caina’s nostrils.
She made her way to the rail as the ship maneuvered toward a pier, the oars lashing at the water. A few of the sailors and the stagehands glanced her away, but no one stopped her. Caina had disguised herself as a caravan guard every day and wandered through the ship, and the sailors had thought her Theodosia’s bodyguard. She saw the other ships of Lord Corbould’s flotilla lined up at the quays, including Corbould’s massive flagship.
The galley pulled up to the stone quay, and Caina saw dozens of men in rough gray tunics waiting for them. Slaves, no doubt owned by the city’s harbormaster, ready to assist with unloading the ships.
Rage shivered through her at the thought. Caina’s mother had sold her to Maglarion in exchange for his necromantic teachings, and Maglarion had relied on Istarish slavers as his hirelings. She hated slavers, and as weary as she had grown of killing, the deaths of a few more slave traders would not trouble her at all…
But for now, she had to remain calm.
The ship bumped against the quay, and the porters hurried forward with a gangplank. The sailors and the porters wrestled the opera company’s cargo onto the deck. Caina grabbed the railing, vaulted over it, and landed on the quay, her legs collapsing beneath her. A few of the slaves gave her curious looks as she straightened up and walked off, but none made any move to stop her.
Caina left the docks, passed the warehouses, and made her way into Cyrioch.
She recalled the map of Cyrioch she had memorized during the voyage. The district south of the docks was called Seatown, filled with warehouses, tenements, and sailors’ taverns and brothels. Barius, the Ghost nightkeeper Theodosia had sent her to meet, owned a pawnshop on the southern edge of Seatown.
She left the warehouses behind, making her way through the narrow streets. The sun blazed overhead like a torch, and the humidity made sweat trickle down her face and back. The massive brick tenements towered over her, but even their shadows brought little respite from the heat.
Traffic crowded the streets – the freeborn Cyricans preferred light clothes of bright colors, red and orange and yellow. Some of the men wore turbans in the Anshani style. The women covered their heads with scarves, and usually moved in the company of a husband or a brother or a son. The Cyricans considered that any woman who went in public with her head uncovered was a prostitute, free for any man that could take her.
Just as well that Caina had disguised herself as a man.
Slaves in their gray tunics were everywhere.
From time to time small gangs of men followed her. Caina suspected that unwary foreigners traveling through Seatown might find themselves snatched off the streets and sold to the Istarish slavers’ brotherhood. She rested her hand on her sword hilt and scowled, and none of the gangs closed. P
erhaps they wanted easier prey.
The hulking tenements thinned, and Caina found herself in a small market square. Vendors sold pots and jars and food of questionable quality, while taverns and small shops lined the square. Women in bright clothing moved from stall to stall.
Barius’s pawnshop awaited on the far side of the square.
Caina stopped, moved in the shadows beside an empty stall, and stared at the pawnshop.
Something was amiss.
The pawnshop’s windows were shuttered, but its door stood ajar by a few inches. Caina suspected the merchants of Seatown kept their doors locked and opened them only when a paying customer arrived.
So why had Barius been so foolish to keep the door open? Had he let in a customer and forgotten to close the door?
Or had someone forced the door and not bothered to close it?
Caina watched the pawnshop, but no one approached, and she saw not a hint of activity from within.
She crossed the square, keeping her walk casual, but her eyes swept her surroundings for any hint of danger. If someone had attacked Barius, they might now lie in wait for any other Ghosts.
But no one looked in her direction.
Caina stopped at the pawnshop door and listened.
Utter silence.
She took a deep breath, slipped a dagger into her hand, and pushed open the door.
Barius’s pawnshop was a dank, narrow vault of a room, its walls lined with wooden shelves. Pots, pans, clothes, shoes, and the occasional sword rested on the shelves. A wooden counter stood near the far wall, a pair of scales and a set of weights resting on its surface.
There was no trace of Barius or of anyone else.
Though the door to the shop’s back room stood open.
Caina stepped around the counter, dagger raised, and into the back room.
Shelves lined all four walls of the back room, holding valuable goods – metal plate, jewelry, rolls of silk, and all the other things Caina supposed Barius didn’t want kept in the public eye. Another door on the far wall opened into the alley behind in the pawnshop.
And in the middle of the back room stood single strangest statue that Caina had ever seen.
Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 05 - Ghost in the Stone Page 2
