I felt sick. “Like a vial of Hellfire.”
“Usually the Strigosti employ poison gas,” said Nerina. “Though I calculate Hellfire would work just as well. Probably even better, since the metal box would not burn, and therefore would direct the eruption of the Hellfire towards whomever opened the box.”
“And burn down the building,” I said, still queasy. That damned thing could have killed everyone in the House of Agabyzus.
“The box holds a sufficient quantity of Hellfire for that, yes,” said Nerina.
“Why would the Strigosti make such an evil thing?” I said. “It seems a waste.”
“Traps for thieves,” said Caina, her voice grim. “A man buys two Strigosti trapboxes, one real, one like this one. The real one he hides. The fake one he leaves out in the open, and when a thief picks the lock, he gets a cloud of poison gas in the face.”
“Or Hellfire,” Nerina added.
“At least the poison gas would not burn down my coffee house,” I said, though a poisoned emir in my best room would be almost as bad. “Emir Turlagon is going to be here in two days. What am I going to do?”
Caina thought for a moment. “Are you still on good terms with the hakim Korim?”
“Yes,” I said. “I send him a cake every week.” Korim was the magistrate responsible for overseeing the businesses of the Cyrican Bazaar. A few months ago Caina and I had kept his wife and her lover from poisoning him, and in gratitude he had remitted the House of Agabyzus from taxes for the rest of my life. Nevertheless, I sent him that cake every week. In Istarinmul, it was good to have powerful friends.
Caina nodded. “All right. Here is what we’ll do. I am certain the Teskilati are planning to kill Emir Turlagon and make it look like an accident.” I shuddered at the mention of the Teskilati, the Padishah’s secret police. My brother had never told me of the tortures he endured in the Widow’s Tower, but I had seen the lasting scars on his flesh. “If he opens that chest, the Hellfire kills him and the House of Agabyzus burns down and destroys all the evidence.”
“How neat and tidy,” I said, making no effort to disguise my anger.
“For the Teskilati,” said Caina.
“Why do they want to kill this Turlagon fellow?” said Malcolm.
“He’s planning to join Tanzir Shahan and the rebels,” said Caina. “So, for that reason, we are going to foil this plot and keep him alive. We all know what Grand Master Callatas intends. Every one of you has suffered from his plans.” I looked at Nerina’s pale eyes, at the premature gray in Malcolm’s hair and beard. “So we’re going to make sure the Teskilati don’t assassinate Turlagon, and we’re going to make sure the plot fails so badly that the Teskilati don’t try something like this again. At least not at the House of Agabyzus.”
“I like the idea,” said Malcolm. “But how the devil are you going to pull that off? I don’t think you have another army of living corpses at your beck and call.”
I gave Caina an incredulous look.
“Long story,” said Caina. “Nerina, how quickly can you make keys for the trapbox?”
“About twenty-two to thirty hours,” said Nerina. She offered a dreamy, contented smile. “There will be very many equations to balance.”
“Damla, send a message to Hakim Korim,” said Caina. “Tell him that Emir Turlagon’s box was stolen.”
I frowned. “That will damage the House’s reputation.”
“Do you really want more nobles staying there?” said Caina.
I thought of all the trouble that had come since Sankar’s visit. “Come to think of it, not really.”
“It won’t matter,” said Caina, “because I am certain Sankar is a Teskilati agent, and I suspected he was ordered to kill Turlagon and make it look like an accident. Korim has Teskilati agents in his household, and they will pass the news to Sankar. The masters of the Teskilati aren’t forgiving of failure, and Sankar will rush to find out what happened. Then we can set a trap for him.” Her eyes grew colder. “One that disposes of him and keeps the House free from any danger.”
I hesitated. Once I would have quailed at something like this. We were plotting the cold-blooded murder of a man. Yet after Caina had rescued my sons from the Brotherhood, I had grown more willing to contemplate action I would have abhorred before. And Sankar was hardly an innocent. He had planned the murder of Emir Turlagon, and he would have destroyed the House of Agabyzus and killed the Living Flame knows how many people in the process.
“What do you want me to do?” I said.
Caina offered a tight smile. “Become an actress.”
“Just so long as I don’t have to wear that skimpy costume again,” I said.
Nerina snapped her fingers. “The circus! Now I remember where I have seen you before.”
I closed my eyes and sighed.
Chapter 4: Hard Bargains
The next day at the House of Agabyzus started like any other.
The first wave of patrons arrived when I opened my doors at sunrise, mostly minor merchants and journeymen wishing a cup of coffee before they went to their labors. Once they departed, the second wave arrived, more prosperous merchants who had the leisure to sleep in. As they filtered out and the various khalmirs filtered in (no doubt from the whorehouses where the Grand Wazir’s officers always seemed to lodge), I kept careful watch for either Sankar or Caina. Caina had expected Sankar to arrive sometime in the late morning, and she hoped to arrive before he did.
I busied myself with the familiar routines of managing the House and overseeing my workers. Every time the door opened, I glanced in its direction, fearing to see Sankar returning or Caina arriving.
Around mid-morning, the door opened, and I looked up as two men armored in chain mail stepped into the common room, scimitars at their belts. For a moment I feared that Sankar had hired thugs for his return, or brought the Padishah’s soldiers, but then with a wave of relief I recognized Azaces and Malcolm. The tall Sarbian towered over the shorter Caer, which made for an odd sight.
Caina came after them.
For a moment I did not recognize her.
I had seen her wear many disguises, masquerading as caravan guards and scribes and minor officials of the Padishah’s court, but for all that, I had only seen her dress as a woman a few times. Given the dangerous nature of her work, I understood her reasons. Yet today she had dressed herself in the blue gown of an Istarish noblewoman, tight across the bodice and sleeves with a long, flowing skirt, the sleeves and hems adorned with black scrollwork. A blue headscarf covered her black hair, and she wore a silver choker chain with a sapphire the size of an egg against her throat, similar jewelry glittering upon her ears and fingers. She had even applied makeup, making her eyes look larger, her lips redder, her cheekbones sharper. The overall impression was one of wealth and cold loveliness. It was indeed a pity that there were no young men upon whom she had her eye, for she would surely draw his attention with…
Ah! I am indeed turning into a meddlesome old woman, damn it all. At least that would serve me well when it came time to find wives for Bahad and Bayram.
I hurried across the room as I would for a noble guest. “Welcome, my lady, to the House of Agabyzus. Be welcome here and take your ease.”
Caina gave me an aloof look. “I desire a private room.” She spoke with the slurred accent of a noblewoman from Istarish Cyrica. “My guest shall arrive presently, and we shall require coffee and cakes.”
“Of course, my lady,” I said. “This way.” I gestured to Bahad, and he ran to set up one of the rooms as we had discussed as I led Caina and the two men across the common room.
“Is everything ready?” said Caina in a quiet voice, the Cyrican accent vanishing.
“Aye,” I said. I took a deep breath. “And I am ready to play my part.” I hesitated. “Why are you dressed like that?”
Caina smiled. “A bit overdone, isn’t it? Sankar likely expects to speak with a hardened master thief, not a pretty young noblewoman. Anything that rattles
his expectations will be helpful.”
“It is a pretty dress,” I said, “and you wear it well.”
This time the smile almost touched her eyes. “Why, thank you. It is a pretty dress, isn’t it? I don’t often get to dress this way any longer. I might as well enjoy it.”
“A pity there are no young men courting you,” I said. “It would…”
She froze a little when I said that, just a little, but from someone as self-controlled as her it was almost like a shout. I was thunderstruck. There was a young man? She had seemed distracted ever since the destruction of the Craven’s Tower.
“Maybe,” said Caina, “I shall tell you about that sometime.”
She climbed the stairs with Malcolm and Azaces, Bahad showing the way. As it turned out, she timed it perfectly. About three minutes after she vanished up the stairs, Sankar stormed into the common room, still wearing the leather armor of a noble courier. He looked around, and his black eyes narrowed as he saw me.
“Mistress Damla,” he hissed as he stalked across the room.
I swallowed. “Master Sankar.” Caina wanted me to show fear, and as I looked at Sankar’s soulless eyes, I had to admit that showing fear was not difficult.
“I entrusted my master’s property to your keeping,” said Sankar, “and it has been stolen from beneath your roof! This is outrageous! I shall bring a lawsuit before the hakim of the Cyrican Bazaar for your negligence! I…”
I let out a quiet little sob, and Sankar stumbled over his tirade in mid-sentence.
“Sir,” I whispered. “I had no choice. They broke into the House in the middle of the night and held a knife to my throat. I had to do as they wished.”
Sankar growled. “That is…”
“They want to talk to you,” I said.
He blinked. “What?”
“They told me to bring you to them,” I said, my voice trembling, a little quiver in my jaw. “They are waiting upstairs.”
He started at me, and I guessed at his thoughts. Simple thieves would have made off with the box, or been killed by its traps. Some other organization was at work here. Lord Tanzir’s spies? (I wondered if he had any.) The Kindred? The College of Alchemists? A rival faction within the Teskilati? A spy, Caina had told me, had to stay paranoid to stay alive, and I saw the wheels turning behind Sankar’s eyes as his paranoia kicked in.
“Very well,” said Sankar. “Take me to them.” He straightened up, his hand brushing the hilt of his scimitar. “You will keenly regret any treachery, woman.”
I gave him a frightened nod and led the way up the stairs to the second floor. I stopped before the room Caina had chosen and pointed to the door. “Here.”
Sankar smirked. “You first.”
I nodded, took a deep breath, and opened the door. Beyond was a small bedroom, equipped with a narrow bed, a pair of chairs, and a table. Malcolm and Azaces stood silent by the walls. Caina sat at the table, taking a calm sip of her coffee.
Sankar stared at her, and Caina offered him a cold smile.
“What is this?” said Sankar.
“Thank you, mistress Damla,” said Caina with that slurred Cyrican accent. “Do remain. It would be best for all concerned that you contribute to our discussion.”
“What is this?” said Sankar. “State your purpose, woman.”
“Master Sankar, welcome,” said Caina. “You arrived as I expected. Would you care for some coffee? It is the Istarish custom to discuss business over coffee. I find it an enjoyable practice, and you and I have business.”
“Who are you?” said Sankar.
“I suppose,” said Caina, “you can call me Atagaria.”
Sankar barked a harsh laugh. “The old Cyrican goddess of thieves and tricksters? A little obvious.”
“Well,” said Caina, “it will serve for now. Who I really am is of little interest. What I want is of far greater importance.”
“You stole the emir’s trapbox,” said Sankar.
“By myself?” said Caina. “It was ever so heavy. My friends carried it out for me. Regrettably, the first two locksmiths we hired to open it died in considerable pain. Therefore we permitted mistress Damla to inform the local hakim of the crime…and you turned up.”
“What do you want?” said Sankar. I saw his hand twitch towards his scimitar hilt. Likely he thought that Caina had lured him here to kill him and take the keys to the trapbox.
“Not your life, certainly,” said Caina. She spread here hands. “Where, I ask, would be the profit in that? No, we have invited you here to make a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” said Sankar. I saw his wariness. Likely he feared the consequences of failing his masters in the Teskilati, but if he was clever, there was a way to recover from this setback.
“I presume there are two sets of keys to the trapbox,” said Caina. “One held by your master the emir, and one held by you, his trusted servant. I propose you bring us the keys, and in exchange, we will give you a portion of the wealth contained within the box.”
Sankar said nothing. He knew that opening the box would lead to a catastrophic explosion. Above all he would want to get the trapbox back with its supply of Hellfire intact.
“You are wasting your time,” said Sankar. “The box contains nothing but the emir’s legal documents. Valuable to the magistrates, surely, but you will be unable to turn them into ready coin.”
“Come now, Master Sankar,” said Caina. She lifted the coffee and took a sip, as calmly as if she sat alone in the common room. “I know how much that kind of Strigosti trapbox weighs, and it is considerably heavier than it should be. The emir has secured a supply of gold within the box, has he not? For I did not choose my target at random. I know Emir Turlagon offended the Grand Wazir, and I know he is fleeing the city to join the rebels in the south. A man fleeing the city will not waste time with legal documents. No, he will take as much money as he can carry.”
For a long moment Sankar said nothing.
“Supposing all that you say is true,” said Sankar, “what do you propose?”
“It’s time to leave Istarinmul,” said Caina. “The realm is about to rip itself apart in civil war. Maybe the emir Tanzir shall win, or maybe the Grand Wazir shall win. Either way a lot of people shall die, and I prefer to be gone by then, living off the gold from Turlagon’s trapbox.” She smiled. “Perhaps you shall enjoy your own share from the emir’s trapbox.”
Sankar hesitated just long enough to make it believable. “How much of a share?”
“Ten percent seems reasonable,” said Caina.
Sankar shook his head. “A third.”
“A quarter, then,” said Caina.
“Done,” said Sankar. He hesitated. “How do you suggest we proceed?”
“Rationally, with precautions for both sides,” said Caina. “Bloodshed costs too much. I shall rent a room at the Inn of the Crescent Moon this evening. Arrive alone, with the keys, and we shall unlock the trapbox together. Are these terms acceptable?”
“Entirely,” said Sankar. “You have a deal, Mistress Atagaria. I’ve had enough of Emir Turlagon’s arrogance, and I intend to get out of Istarinmul before the Grand Wazir hangs the emir and all of his men. I shall meet you at the Inn of the Crescent Moon at sundown.”
“A pleasure,” said Caina, sipping some more coffee.
Sankar nodded and strode out of the room.
For a moment I stood in silence, watching Caina, who kept sipping the coffee.
“Do you think it worked?” I said.
“Probably,” said Caina.
“Oh, it worked, mistress Damla,” said Malcolm. He started to spit, caught my glare, and thought better of it. “He was just like the Lord Lieutenant’s underlings when they made a mistake at the Inferno. The bastard knows it’s his head if he doesn’t pull this off, and he sees a chance to save himself.”
Azaces nodded as he crossed to the window and peered outside.
“He’s going to go round up a squad of soldiers,” said Caina. “Ma
ybe even Immortals, if he has the authority. Then he’ll set up a trap for us at the Inn of the Crescent Moon. He gets the trapbox back intact, and if he captures us alive, he has a few prisoners to sell as slaves.” She finished her coffee and set down the cup. “But first, he’s going to visit the nearest Teskilati safe house…and I think we’re about to find out where it is.”
I heard light footsteps in the hallway, and the door opened. Nerina Strake stepped into the room, dressed in the dusty robes and turban of the Istarish nomads who wandered the Trabazon steppes south of the city. She was much too pale to pass as Istarish, but the nomads tended to be shorter than the city-dwellers, and she was definitely short enough to play the part.
“I returned nine hundred and forty-seven seconds sooner than I calculated,” announced Nerina.
“Did you see where Sankar went?” said Malcolm.
“Aye, I did,” said Nerina. “He did not go far…”
“He went around the corner to the Scratched Penny, didn’t he?” said Caina.
Nerina blinked. “Yes. How did you calculate that?”
“I’ve thought the Teskilati had a safe house or a hidden room in that tavern,” said Caina, “but I’ve never been able to prove it. Sankar just confirmed it.”
“I am not surprised,” I said. “That tavern is a place of ill repute. I am surprised that the hakim never ordered it closed.” The Cyrican Quarter was one of the safer quarters in Istarinmul, partly because of the presence of so many watchmen, but mostly because the merchants of the Cyrican Bazaar and the docks hired so many guards to keep watch over their wares. The Scratched Penny was the exception to that rule. It had a reputation as a den of thieves, and according to rumor it was the best place to buy wraithblood in the Cyrican Quarter.
“Probably the hakim never ordered it closed,” said Caina, “because the Teskilati wished for it to remain open.”
“Knowing the hakim, he received a handsome bribe for it as well,” I said.
“Likely,” said Caina. “Nerina, were you able to make the keys?”
Nerina nodded and reached into her robe, producing three fresh-cut steel keys. From what Caina had told me, the first two keys would disarm the traps upon box, while the third would unlock the lid itself. Of course, the blade traps might have been disarmed, but opening the lid would shatter the Hellfire containers and expose the dangerous substance to air.
Ghost Mimic Page 3
