Ghost Mimic

by Jonathan Moeller

  GHOST MIMIC

  Jonathan Moeller

  Description

  Caina Amalas is the Ghost circlemaster of Istarinmul, the leader of the Emperor's spies in the city. Powerful enemies hunt for her, and Caina must ever be on the lookout for new allies.

  So when she stumbles across a plot to assassinate an influential emir, Caina must save his life.

  Otherwise the plot might kill the Ghosts of Istarinmul...

  Ghost Mimic

  Copyright 2016 by Jonathan Moeller.

  Published by Azure Flame Media, LLC.

  Cover image copyright inhauscreative | istockphoto.com & Milan Kopcok | Dreamstime.com & mvw@tut.by | Depositphoto.com..

  Ebook edition published April 2016.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Chapter 1: A Favor

  Times were bad, but business was good.

  I fear that is the nature of my business.

  My name is Damla, daughter of Torzamus, sister of Agabyzus, widow of Bahlar, and mother of Bahad and Bayram, and I own the House of Agabyzus, the best coffee house in the Cyrican Quarter and (if I may say so) one of the finest coffee houses in all of Istarinmul. Others may be more opulent, but the House of Agabyzus offers the finest coffee in the Padishah’s realm.

  The Balarigar herself said so, though I dared not tell anyone that.

  I had to play a dangerous game. I knew secrets that could get my entire family killed. I knew that the Balarigar was Caina Amalas. She was the Ghost circlemaster of Istarinmul, the leader of the spies of the Emperor of Nighmar, and my brother and I were part of her circle. The Grand Wazir had put an absolutely stupendous bounty upon her head, and if anyone ever realized that I had helped her, my life and the lives of my family were forfeit.

  And even if I had not been a Ghost, my family and I were still in danger.

  Times were perilous. The Inferno, the southernmost fortress of the Padishah’s realm, had been destroyed. The southern emirs had risen in rebellion against the Grand Wazir’s heavy-handed and inept rule. The Grand Wazir had called his armies to his side, and soldiers filled Istarinmul. Every day I heard a new rumor, each one more wild than the last. One day everyone was convinced that the rebel commander Tanzir Shahan was outside the walls of the city, ready to lay siege. Another day the rumors claimed that the Umbarian Order had allied with the Grand Wazir, sending legions of their sorcerous creatures to smash the rebellion.

  I heard all these rumors because the House of Agabyzus became a favorite meeting place for the khalmirs of the Grand Wazir’s army (officers, as they are called in other lands), and they spoke to each other as my workers and I served them coffee and cakes.

  Times were bad, but business was good. It was the nature of the Istarish people. The men and women of my nation have always preferred to come to coffee houses to exchange news, and with civil war brewing in the south, there was never any shortage of news…and therefore never any shortage of people wishing to drink my coffee and eat my cakes. I had to hire extra cooks and servers to meet the demand, and despite the rise in prices because of the unrest, I still met my expenses and turned a profit every day.

  It was still dangerous. Politics is a brutal game, and the Grand Wazir, rumor said, saw traitors everywhere. If I ever fell under suspicion, or if I was denounced as a spy for Tanzir Shahan, my family and I would be executed and the House of Agabyzus burned to the ground.

  And if the truth ever came out…well, I might see Grand Master Callatas himself before I died. Or the feared Lord Ambassador of the Umbarian Order, or the cowled masters of the Slavers’ Brotherhood.

  Caina Amalas had a lot of enemies…but she had saved my sons from slavery and death, she had saved my brother from prison, and I would not betray her, not for any reason.

  So I smiled and made polite small talk and poured coffee and served cakes…all while keeping my eyes and ears open.

  Therefore on the day the box arrived, on the day that trouble started, I wasn’t unprepared.

  I was sitting in the little office under the stairs, working on the ledger. Agabyzus did the House’s books whenever he visited, since he had a better head for numbers than I did. His tasks from Caina had kept him busy recently, and more and more he had been absent, fearing that the Umbarian Order had some secret plot against the city.

  The numbers in the ledger both pleased and frightened me. The House was doing well, and it felt strange to have prosperity in such troubled times. For that matter, it meant I had more to lose. On the other hand, if necessary I had enough money that my sons and I could flee the city for a safer land.

  Still, if Caina was right about what Grand Master Callatas planned to do, then perhaps no land would be safe…

  “Mother?”

  I blinked and looked up from the ledger, putting aside my worries for the moment. “Yes, Bayram?”

  The younger of my two sons, a sturdy lad of sixteen, stood in the doorway. He had his father’s black eyes and dark hair and bronze skin, and he looked so much like Bahlar that I sometimes felt my heart squeeze when I looked at him, though after five years the pain had become an old ache. Bahad was sober and serious, but Bayram was a charmer. His flashing white smile would break a few hearts when he got older.

  Right now, though, he looked serious.

  “One of the guests wants to speak with you,” said Bayram. “He says it is urgent.”

  “Which guest?” I said, getting to my feet. My legs ached. I had been awake since dawn, and it was nearly sundown.

  “Master Sankar,” said Bayram.

  I grimaced. Master Sankar was a courier for the Emir Turlagon, and had no qualms about using his master’s rank to get what he wanted. He had never stopped bothering me and my workers for additional favors, and more than once he had tried to seduce my serving girls. I had left strict instructions that none of my workers were to be alone with him.

  At least he paid his bill on time. I suppose it would damage Emir Turlagon’s standing if his hirelings refused to honor their debts.

  “Did he say what he wanted this time?” I said. “Flowers and rosewater for his bedding, no doubt.”

  Bayram smiled. “Actually, I believe he is departing.”

  “Oh, the Living Flame be praised.”

  “He does say he needs to speak to you, though,” said Bayram.

  I nodded. “Well, let us see what he wants.”

  I stepped out of the office and into the common room, arranging my face into the smooth, polite smile I used when talking with customers. Fortunately, since I wore sober widow’s blacks every day, I rarely had to deal with romantic attentions from the guests. Still, it had been five years since my husband’s death, and sometimes I thought I would like to get married again. The Living Flame knew I missed having a strong man upon whom I could rely. Yet the House of Agabyzus was to be my sons’ inheritance, and a marriage would interfere with that…

  I was tired, and my thoughts were wandering. I put such musings out of my head and headed for the table where Master Sankar sat.

  The common room was large, with windows facing the Cyrican Bazaar, the shutters open to admit light and air. Dozens of low round tables ringed with cushions filled the common room, while booths lined the walls where guests could converse in privacy. The common room was full to bursting, with every table filled, and a few weeks ago I had even set up tables and chairs
outside so people could drink coffee in front of the shop.

  Sankar offered me a lazy smile as I stopped by his table. “Ah, Mistress Damla. Truly, your beauty remains as radiant as ever.”

  I kept the distaste from my expression. Sometimes I daydreamed about having a man again, but definitely not this one.

  “It is good to see you, Master Sankar,” I lied. “How may I be of service?”

  His lazy smile did not waver. Sankar was a few years younger than me, lean and handsome with thick black hair and an easy smile. Yet that smile never seemed to touch his hard black eyes. They reminded me of the eyes of a shark, or perhaps the eyes of a statue. They revealed nothing of his thoughts, save for hints of malevolence.

  “Mistress Damla, your establishment has impressed me,” said Sankar.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said. “We desire to please our patrons.”

  “It has pleased me so much,” said Sankar, “that I wish to rent a room for Emir Turlagon when he arrives.”

  “Indeed, sir?” I said, surprised. Perhaps this would work out. Nobles typically stayed at their own palaces, or at the houses of their relatives, or at the opulent inn called the Gilded Throne in the Masters’ Quarter. Having a noble stay here for a few days, even a minor noble like Emir Turlagon, would raise the House’s prestige considerably.

  On the other hand, perhaps the emir wished to stay here to have a quiet dalliance with a mistress. Or to do something illegal or some other activity that would bring trouble down on my head.

  “Yes,” said Sankar. “The emir shall arrive in three days’ time. He has business in Istarish Cyrica, and will stay here for a single night before he departs. I shall require your finest room, and another two rooms for his body slave and his guards. I have been instructed to pay in advance.”

  “Of course,” I said as he handed over a small pouch of coins. “All shall be made in readiness.”

  “One other matter,” said Sankar, getting to his feet. “The rooms must be secured now. The payment will reflect that.”

  “Of course,” I said again. “May I ask why?”

  “Some of the emir’s possessions have arrived already, packed in a locked chest of iron,” said Sankar. “The emir has the keys with him. I will deposit the chest in his room, and leave it here until the emir arrives. Once he does, he shall unlock the chest and retrieve his property.”

  That set off a warning bell in my head. An individual noble might be that careless with his property…but one of his servants would not.

  “It shall be no trouble,” I said. “I will send for my porters at once.”

  Chapter 2: The Circlemaster

  My disquiet only increased when I saw the box.

  It was a large box, about two feet by four, and it had been constructed from solid steel. I couldn’t have moved it by myself, and it took two healthy men to move it comfortably. Strange designs covered the sides and lids of the box, and it had not one but three keyholes. Narrow vertical slits marked the sides of the box, and I had a suspicion that those slits held blades. Likely any attempt to break into the box would trigger a hidden trap.

  So Sankar had left a trapped box in my coffee house. I was not pleased about that.

  For that matter, it made me suspicious. If Emir Turlagon had valuables, why would he leave them in a coffee house? Why not leave them on deposit with the goldsmiths or one of the wealthier merchants?

  Maybe Sankar had failed to mention to Turlagon that the box was trapped. Maybe he was trying to kill Turlagon.

  That was the last thing I needed. A few months ago I had barely avoided having the hakim of the Cyrican Bazaar murdered under my roof. Having Emir Turlagon murdered inside the House of Agabyzus would be just as bad. The Grand Wazir would investigate, and his magistrates would ask questions, and it was entirely likely they might figure out that I and my brother were Ghosts.

  I stared at the damned box for a moment, considering what to do.

  Then I made up my mind, and went to send a message to Caina.

  ###

  Caina arrived around mid-morning the next day.

  It was another busy morning, and all my tables and booths were filled again, including the tables I had set up outside. Today my customers were the khalmirs of the Grand Wazir’s army and the various merchants with contracts for supplying that army with grain and carts and the thousand other things an army needed. I reflected that the Grand Wazir’s khalmirs seemed to spend more time sitting around drinking coffee instead of getting any work done.

  I wondered if that boded well for the rebels.

  We were busy enough that I helped carry out the trays of food and drink. I had set down a tray of coffee for a table of khalmirs and was on my way to check on the tables outside when Bahad caught up to me.

  “Mother,” he said. Bahad had a serious expression, but he always did. He looked more like his uncle Agabyzus than my late husband. Bahad, like Agabyzus, was happiest with a pile of documents in front of him. I hoped that he and Bayram would work together well in the future, that Bahad would deal with the bookkeeping and the inventory while Bayram charmed the customers. Of course, so many things could come between brothers…

  “Mother?” said Bahad, blinking.

  “Yes, forgive me, my son,” I said, blinking. “My mind wandered for a moment.” I would have worried that I was going senile, but I had so many fears of the future that I couldn’t help but think upon one or another.

  “There is a courier at the kitchen door,” said Bahad. “He wishes to speak with you.”

  “Have him leave his message,” I said, glancing at the crowds. “I will read it later.”

  Bahad lowered his voice. “It’s Master Marius.”

  I blinked, a mixture of fear and relief going through me. “Master Marius”, courier for the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers, was the false name and identity Caina had used when we had first met. My message had indeed reached her.

  “I will see him at once,” I said. “Can you take over here?” Bahad nodded, and I hurried into the kitchen. A blast of heat washed over me as I stepped into the kitchens. My father, when he had built of the House of Agabyzus, has possessed the foresight to build multiple ovens, and all of them were in use as my cooks prepared cakes. Another counter ran the length of the wall, holding coffee presses, and other workers toiled there to prepare hot coffee.

  I slipped out the back door and into the courtyard behind the House of Agabyzus. The courtyard was usually deserted and dusty, with a dry fountain in the center. I couldn’t remember the fountain ever having water flow through it.

  Caina Amalas leaned against the back door, waiting for me.

  She was a lovely young woman, black of hair and blue of eye, yet her powers of disguise were such that if I hadn’t known better, right now I would have sworn that she was a man. She wore the dusty leather armor and clothes of a courier, a satchel slung over her chest, a short sword and dagger at her belt. Some makeup made her look older and added the illusion of stubble, and her black hair hung in greasy curtains alongside her face. It was an excellent disguise, and if I never met her before, it would have fooled me completely.

  It had fooled me, come to think of it, when we had first met.

  A stray detail caught my attention. She wasn’t wearing a wig. She had been growing her hair out after the destruction of the Craven’s Tower in the Saddaic Quarter. In fact, she had seemed distracted ever since, almost as if…

  Almost as if she was falling in love. It seemed out of character for someone like Caina Amalas, master thief and the Balarigar, but she told me that she had loved a man once before. Perhaps that occupied her thoughts. A woman like Caina Amalas needed a warrior, a strong right hand upon whom she could rely…

  Once again I rebuked myself.

  I was not yet forty, but maybe I was indeed going senile. Or maybe I was transforming into the sort of meddlesome old woman who tried to arrange marriages for every unmarried person she encountered.

  “Thank you for coming,” I s
aid.

  “Well,” said Caina with a smile, “I haven’t had a cup of your coffee for a few weeks, and I needed to rectify that.”

  “We shall do that at once,” I said, trying to find a way to articulate my fears. “I…would not have summoned you unless it was important, and…”

  “Of course not,” said Caina. “You are worried, aren’t you? What’s wrong?”

  “I think,” I said, “someone is planning to assassinate an emir in the House of Agabyzus.”

  Caina said nothing, blinking a few times. To be honest, she had unsettling eyes. Blue eyes are uncommon but not exactly rare in Istarinmul, but hers were an oddly intense shade of blue that put me in mind of mountain ice, of implacable glaciers grinding down mountains.

  “That is a problem,” said Caina. “Let’s have a look.”

  We went into the kitchen. I offered to buy her a cup of coffee, but Caina insisted upon paying, and I didn’t argue. Both my father and my husband had been fond of saying that you shouldn’t interrupt someone who is giving you money, and I had found that to be sound advice.

  I led Caina through the common room, her cup in hand, and we climbed to the top floor, to the rooms that Sankar had rented for Emir Turlagon. The floor was presently deserted, so I started to tell Caina the story.

  “A man named Sankar stayed here for several days,” I said. “Before he left, he told me that his master the Emir Turlagon would be arriving in a few days and wished to rent rooms.” She gave me a sharp look at the name, but I kept talking. “He paid in advance, and left a peculiar metal box in the emir’s room. Sankar claimed that it held valuables, and that the emir would unlock the box and retrieve his property.”

  “That is strange,” said Caina as we walked down the hall to the House’s best room.

  “I agree,” I said.

  “For one,” said Caina, “an emir would not leave his valuables in a coffee house. Certainly an emir’s servant wouldn’t leave his master’s valuables in a coffee house, not if he wanted to keep his position.” We stopped before the door, and I fished the keys from my belt pouch. “And there’s something worse.”