“Some kinds of knowledge are not cheaply bought.”
“No,” said Maltaer with a sudden grin. “Very well, my dark lady. Ask your questions, and your humble servant shall answer to the best of his limited powers.”
“First, what’s in that bundle?” said Caina.
Maltaer gestured, and one of his men bent over the bundle and pulled open the canvas.
The faces of two dead men stared into the night. Caina walked closer, examined their features. After a moment she recognized both men. They had been with Lord Nicephorus at the banquet.
“Since I doubt that you are grave robbers,” said Caina, “I assume you killed these men?”
“And cheerfully, I might add,” said Maltaer.
“Who were they?”
“The fat fellow on the left is Sontanus, the one of the right Malaphon. Both were Nighmarian-born merchants of considerable wealth, and close confidants of our beloved Lord Governor.”
“And why did you kill them?” said Caina.
“Because they were the honorless scum of the earth,” said Maltaer. “In short, because they were slavers.”
Ark stepped to her side, his face an empty mask, his eyes on fire.
“Slavers. These men were slave traders?” said Caina.
“Oh, yes,” said Maltaer. “Rasadda is so overcrowded these days, and so many people are going hungry. Sontanus and Malaphon could find men and women willing to sell their children for a few coins. But less than you might think. So they snatched people off the streets, locked them in fetters, and shipped them away. They especially liked to go after girls and young women. It seems there is a taste for Saddai girls among the Alqaarin and the Anshani.”
“Does Nicephorus know about this?” said Caina.
“Nicephorus?” laughed Maltaer. “Nicephorus is in on it. He’s taking ten percent off the top.”
“What?” said Caina. She remembered Nicephorus complaining that he could not legalize slavery. Apparently he had decided to dispense with the law.
Maltaer licked his lips. “When our enterprising Lord Governor came to Rasadda, he decided to wring every last coin he could from his devoted subjects. So he expelled the Saddai peasants from their humble homes and converted their lands to pasture. He did not expect the peasants to flood the city. But, alas, Nicephorus saw a chance to make even more money. So he invited certain slave traders to the city and promised them protection from Imperial law, in exchange for ten percent of their profits.” He gave the corpses a casual kick. “Since then, fellows like this have been harvesting their merchandise from the hungry and the desperate.”
“Do you have proof of this?” said Caina.
“Of course,” said Maltaer. “I always thought someone like you might turn up one day.” He pointed to one of his men. “You. Go get the papers.”
The pirate nodded and vanished into the Sign, returning a moment later with a small bundle of papers. Caina took them, stepped closer to the light, and leafed through them. Letters. Pages torn from ledgers. Bills of sale and lading. Nicephorus had made a fortune from selling beef and cheese and leather, but he had made another fortune from selling children kidnapped from Rasadda’s streets.
Caina decided, then and there, that she was going to kill Nicephorus. The Emperor had sent Ghosts to kill governors who supported slave traders before. She would need to work out a proper way to do it.
But once she had, Nicephorus would not live out the day.
“I do so enjoy reading,” said Caina, “and a bundle of letters would indeed be a charming gift.”
“I thought so,” said Maltaer. “Do keep them.” He grinned. “May I assume that Lord Nicephorus’s residence in the realms of the living shall be…ah, brief?”
“Of course not,” said Caina. “The Emperor keeps neither spies nor assassins. When Nicephorus has a tragic yet fatal accident, the Emperor will have had nothing to do with it. Nor will anyone suggest otherwise. Am I clear?”
“As a lagoon on a bright day,” said Maltaer, “and no doubt just as lovely, beneath that cloak.”
Caina resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. “Fine words, my dashing captain. But I would prefer different words. Specifically, the answers to more questions.”
Maltaer sighed. “Like all women, you are insatiable. But ask your questions, dark lady, for if anyone can satisfy you, it is I.”
Caina doubted that he meant the questions. “Why are you killing slavers?”
Maltaer smiled, but his eyes glittered, the same sort of menacing glower she saw in Ark’s eyes. “I am an honest pirate, dark lady. And I detest slavers. Pity the crew of the slave ship that crosses my bow. For the sharks feast well on that day. And then I deliver a load of free men to my next port.”
“During your raids,” said Ark, cutting in to Caina’s response, “have you ever freed a woman named Tanya? She would be of Szaldic descent, with blue eyes and black hair.”
“Tanya?” said Maltaer, face thoughtful. “No, I am afraid not, my hulking friend. Szaldic slaves are rare in this part of the world. Most go to New Kyre, or to Anshan, but not to Istarinmul or to Alqaarin. Especially now that Nicephorus has flooded the market with Saddai slaves.”
“I see,” said Ark, lapsing back into silence.
“Ah, a loved one?” said Maltaer. “I am sorry, my hulking friend. You see, my dark lady? Slave traders are the scum of the world, and any honest man who finds one should put him to the sword. So that is why I killed these men.”
Caina nodded. “You burn the corpses. Why?”
“About a year ago people started turning up dead, burned to death,” said Maltaer. “The work of some mad sorcerer, I presume. A horrible way to die. Naturally I thought of doing the same to the slave traders. But fuel is expensive, and dragging them up the pyramids while they are alive is far too much work. So instead we kill them, drag their bodies up the stairs, and roast them for a bit in the sorcerous pyre. Then we deposit the corpse in a convenient location and make our escape. That way the mad sorcerer takes the blame for our heroic deeds, and we escape to fight another day. He already has much blood on his hands, so why not a little more? Lord Nicephorus would not appreciate our valiant acts.”
“No, he would not,” said Caina. “I commend your cunning.”
Maltaer bowed again. “You warm my heart, my dark lady.”
“How many have you killed in this way?” said Caina.
“Seven scoundrels have met their just fate at our hands. Not counting the fine gentlemen at our feet, of course.”
Caina did the calculations in her head. With seven dead…that meant the only people the pyromancer had killed were Rasadda’s Ghost circle, Vanio and Romarion’s business partners, and the one magus. That meant the pyromancer had had contact with the magi, the Ghosts, Romarion’s circle of merchants, and most probably the Sons of Corazain. But who fit that description?
“Who do you think is behind the other burning deaths?” said Caina.
Maltaer shrugged. “Some mad sorcerer, no doubt.”
“Yes,” said Caina, “but which mad sorcerer?”
“I do not know,” said Maltaer, “but were I to guess, I would blame someone within the Magisterium. They are almost worse than slavers, cruel and wicked.”
“I know it well,” said Caina. Better than he knew it, probably.
“In the Empire we have the Magisterium,” said Maltaer, “and in Istarinmul they have alchemists, in Anshan occultists, in New Kyre storm dancers and storm singers, and in Rasadda they used to have Ashbringers. But they are all sorcerers, if different kinds, and sorcerers are always wicked men. And since the Ashbringers are all dead, that leaves only the Magisterium.”
He made a compelling sort of sense, if not for the fact that neither Kalastus nor Ephaeron could have been behind the deaths. Caina doubted that Maltaer knew anything useful about the Sons of Corazain or the Ghosts of Rasadda. But Romarion had been a merchant captain, hadn’t he? Perhaps Maltaer knew something of him.
“Anothe
r question,” said Caina. “Do you know of a merchant named Septimus Romarion?”
Maltaer blinked.
He looked at his men.
His men looked back at him.
And they all burst into roaring laughter.
“A merchant?” said Maltaer. “Is he calling himself a merchant?”
“From what my sources have told me, yes,” said Caina.
“Septimus Romarion the merchant,” said Maltaer, still shaking his head. “My dark lady, Romarion is a pirate. He likes to masquerade as a respectable merchant now, but he’s still turns quite a profit on stolen cargoes smuggled through Mors Crisius. He even has a full time agent there, a man named Vanio. Romarion used to ply the Alqaarin Sea, and has a price on his head in every port from here to Istarinmul. We worked together from time to time, and helped each other out when the Alqaarin got it into their heads to hunt us down.” He sighed. “Romarion was a fine pirate, generous with the loot, and wouldn’t do business with slavers. I liked him until he turned to a dishonest line of work.”
“Why did he retire from piracy?” said Caina. She wondered if Romarion had known about Vanio’s slave-dealing on the side.
“About five years ago, a storm drove him to an island about two hundred miles south of here,” said Maltaer. “Unmapped island. Off the charts. Probably no one had set foot on it for centuries. Romarion and his crew found a ruin there. Some old-time Saddai fortress, still intact. Apparently it was old Corazain’s secret retreat, and when Corazain burned down Rasadda, everyone who knew of its location perished with the city. Full of those ugly Saddai statues, and old books, too…”
His words hit Caina like a thunderbolt.
“Wait,” said Caina. “Wait, wait just a minute. Did you say books?”
Maltaer bowed. “That I did. The library of Corazain the Ashbringer himself. Even a couple of books written by old Corazain himself, from what I gather. Well, rich fools will pay a pretty penny for both old Saddai statues and old Saddai books, so Romarion and his crew made a killing. They all retired and went into business together. Poor fools.”
“Those books,” said Caina. “Corazain’s books. Who did Romarion sell them to do?”
“Alas, I know not,” said Maltaer. “Some rich scholar, no doubt.” He laughed. “He got enough money for them, and those old statues, that’s for certain. I’m jealous.”
“Don’t be,” said Caina, her mind racing. “I can tell you right now that those books brought Romarion nothing but woe.”
“Ah,” said Maltaer. “My answers have failed to charm you, I see.”
“Not at all,” said Caina. “You’ve been a tremendous help.”
Maltaer brightened. “Have I?” He bowed over her hand again, kissing the gloved fingers. “Then perhaps we might withdraw to…”
Caina opened her mouth to answer, and a breeze whispered through the alley.
Her skin began tingling.
Caina stepped back in alarm, looking back and forth. She half-expected to see Maltaer, or perhaps Ark, erupt into raging flames. But the tingling was faint, distant, rather like the breeze itself. Maltaer looked up at the sky, his face troubled.
“You can feel that?” said Caina.
“Aye,” said Maltaer. “That’s sorcery.”
“I can feel it too,” said one of the pirates. “Like a prickling in my bones.”
Caina frowned. This did not feel nearly as violent as Ostros’s death, nor even the spell Kalastus had flung at her, yet it felt somehow…larger. Like the first hint of a mighty ocean swell.
Or the first few gentle drops of rain that heralded a storm.
“Someone is working mighty sorcery,” muttered Maltaer. “Alas, my dark lady, I fear our courtship will have to wait until another time. Best to be indoors tonight, I think.”
“And I thank you for your answers,” said Caina. “But my business has become urgent.”
“One warning, my charming dark lady,” said Maltaer. “Your hulking friend. Someone is looking for him.”
“Who?” said Caina.
“Mercenaries,” said Maltaer. “The Black Wolves. A bad sort. They wandered past the Sign earlier today, and asked for someone who matched your friend’s description. And they were led by a strange fellow, wrapped up in a cloak with a hollow voice. I was sure they meant your friend harm, which means that they undoubtedly mean you harm. I would beware them, for they are dangerous men.”
“I know,” said Caina. “I thank you for the warning.”
Maltaer bowed, and he and his sailors retreated back into the Sign, dragging the dead slavers after them. Caina whirled and ran to the street, Ark hurrying after her.
“What is it?” said Ark.
“I’m a fool, I’m a blind fool,” said Caina. “How could I have not seen it earlier?”
“Nicephorus is a slaver,” said Ark.
“I know, but that’s not important now,” said Caina.
“What?” said Ark. “The man is a monster, and…”
“Listen to me!” said Caina, looking around. “I couldn’t figure out how someone had learned pyromancy. The Magisterium slaughtered all the Ashbringers and no doubt destroyed their books and scrolls. But Romarion got lucky, found an untouched ruin. I thought he had only plundered statues from the ruins. I never thought he might have found a book. How could I have been so blind?”
“What’s so important about these books?” said Ark.
“Because our pyromancer learned his spells from those books.”
Ark blinked, and then his breath hissed through his teeth.
“That explains how the pyromancer learned his art,” said Caina. “And that’s how we’re going to find him, Ark. When Romarion tells us who bought those books, we’ll have our pyromancer. Think about it. The murderer knows that pyromancy is a forbidden art, so he starts by killing Romarion’s partners, everyone who knows he bought the book. And when the Ghosts start investigating, he kills them too. And if Tadaia is right and a pyromancer can devour stolen life force, he’s started killing the magi to steal their arcane strength. But we’ve got to find Romarion, now.”
The breeze increased in strength for a moment, and the tingling against Caina’s skin pulsed.
“The breeze,” said Ark, his voice troubled. “It’s blowing in the wrong direction for this time of night.”
“Remember Ostros?” said Caina. “There was a breeze right before the spell killed him. Whatever’s causing this can’t be good. We’ve got to get to Romarion at once.”
“How will we get into his mansion?” said Ark.
“Oh, we’ll find a way,” said Caina. “We’ll find a way even if I have to tear down his doors with my bare hands.”
Chapter 23 - Burning Swords
Maltaer had promised her charming gifts, so Caina stole his wagon.
It was a battered light wagon, harnessed to a pair of sturdy horses. No doubt Maltaer had planned to use it for convenient corpse transportation. Caina needed a fast way to reach Romarion’s mansion, and the empty wagon fit the bill. Ark swung into the driver’s seat, taking the reins, and Caina climbed up beside him.
“This isn’t stealthy,” said Ark. The wagon creaked and groaned with every step of the horses. He drew his broadsword, gripping it in one hand while he held the reins with the other.
“The time for stealth has passed,” said Caina. “Cover your face, though. If Romarion sees you, he might realize who I am.”
Ark nodded and tore a strip from his cloak, winding it about his face in a crude mask. Then he snapped the reins, urging the horses to a run. They surged forward, the wagon rattling. Every bounce and jolt made Caina’s hip and shoulder ache, but she didn’t care. The strange breeze still whistled through the streets, and her skin tingled and crawled with the presence of sorcery.
She thought the pyromancer might have decided to rid himself of Romarion.
They passed a few knots of people. Some were Sons of Corazain, looking for trouble, torches and weapons in hand. Others were common Sadd
ai peasants, drawn out by the strange breeze. Yet all looked fearfully at the sky as the flames of the torches danced and flickered.
They came to Romarion’s home. The mansion lay silent and dark, the windows empty, the grounds draped in shadows. Ark reined in the horses, and the wagon creaked to a stop.
“Ark,” whispered Caina, “look.”
The gate to the grounds stood open and unattended.
Ark nodded and climbed off the seat, sword raised. Caina gripped a knife in either hand, and followed him. The mansion’s front doors lay in shattered ruin. Someone had taken an axe to them.
The faint smell of burnt flesh drifted in the air.
Caina hissed and stepped through the shattered doors.
A crimson glow from the pyramid fires shone through the skylight, illuminating the cavernous atrium. Dark, huddled shapes lay motionless on the floor. Dead bodies, Caina saw. The burned smell was stronger in here, though not so overpowering as it had been in Vanio’s townhouse.
“Guards,” muttered Ark, turning one of the corpses over. “Romarion’s guards.”
“That one was his cook,” said Caina. “They died fighting. All of them have weapons. But…there’s no blood.” Caina frowned, knelt, and tore open a dead guard’s tunic. “Look at this.”
A sword thrust between the ribs had killed the guard. Yet there was no blood. Instead the wound looked seared, the flesh around the cut charred and blackened.
“It’s like he was stabbed with a red-hot iron,” said Caina.
“Who fights with a hot iron?” said Ark.
“I don’t know,” said Caina. She took a quick look over the rest of the bodies. All of them had the strange wounds. “This is still sorcery, I’m sure…but different. Something new.”
“Romarion is probably dead, then,” said Ark.
Caina felt a dead neck. “Still warm. They can’t have been dead for more than an hour.” She rose. “Romarion might be alive. We’ll check his…”
A boot clicked on the mosaic floor.
Caina whirled, her blades coming up, while Ark lifted his sword. A man walked into the atrium, a sword dangling from one hand. His face was slack, expressionless, his eyes glassy. Caina had last seen that expression on the face of her father. He wore black armor, the sigil of an opened book with two eyes upon the pages enameled on the breastplate.
Ghost in the Flames (The Ghosts) Page 25
