Ghost Mimic

by Jonathan Moeller

  “It took less time than I had initially calculated,” said Nerina. “In all probability the Strigosti made the locks upon this box simpler in order to expedite the more efficient killing of thieves.”

  “Yes,” said Caina. “Which will come in handy when we open the box inside the Scratched Penny.”

  “Well, that should be easy enough,” I said. “We just walk in, unlock the box, and then depart.”

  Caina shook her head. “We cannot let Sankar or anyone else see us. The point is to have the assassination attempt fail so badly that the masters of the Teskilati blame it upon the bumbling of their agents. If they know we deliberately foiled their plan, they will simply try again, or find a way to retaliate against us. We need…”

  I heard running footsteps in the hallway, and the door opened again.

  “Mother?” said Bahad, sticking his head into the bedroom.

  “Bahad,” I said. “What’s wrong?” I had told him not to disturb us. If the meeting had gone sour, I had no doubt that Sankar would have tried to use my sons as hostages. Yet I knew Bahad would not interrupt for anything unimportant.

  “Emir Turlagon is here,” said Bahad.

  Caina blinked in surprise.

  “Are you sure?” I said.

  “He stormed into the common room and demanded to see you at once,” said Bahad. “Bayram is trying to slow him down, but the emir demands to see his room and his trapbox.”

  I looked at Caina.

  “Well,” said Caina. “Damn.”

  “It seems Sankar incorrectly calculated the duration of time,” said Nerina. Bahad gave her an odd look. I suspected Nerina Strake inspired that reaction quite often.

  “Or he lied,” said Malcolm.

  “Or,” said Caina, “Turlagon realized that the Teskilati are after his life, and decided to flee before they kill him.”

  “What are we going to do?” I said, fighting a growing since of panic. “He is an emir. The watchmen and the magistrates will listen to anything he has to say.”

  “I don’t know,” said Caina. “But there is an opportunity…”

  The door burst open once again, and Bahad jumped away with a yelp, bouncing into Azaces. The big Sarbian didn’t even so much as flinch.

  An overweight Istarish man in his middle thirties stalked into the increasingly crowded little bedroom. He wore fine robes of green and blue, a belt of black leather around his waist, a scimitar at his belt, and a jeweled turban upon his head. He had a bushy black beard, and the face behind it was livid with anger.

  And maybe a little fear. Caina was right. This man knew that the Teskilati were after him.

  “Which one of you,” said the robed man, “is Damla?”

  I drew breath to answer, but Caina spoke first.

  “Who are you?”

  The man drew himself up. “I am the Emir Turlagon, a noble of the Padishah’s realm. Now. Which one of you is Damla? Or shall I summon my guards and have you put to the question?”

  I started to speak once again, but Caina spoke first.

  “I am Damla, mistress of the House of Agabyzus, my lord emir,” said Caina.

  Wait. What?

  “How might I be of service?” said Caina. For some reason she had started speaking Istarish with a thick Szaldic accent.

  “You can serve me,” rumbled Turlagon, “by giving me access to my property. My courier Sankar should have left it here yesterday, along with a room rented for my use, and your boy has been putting me off. I…”

  Caina burst into tears.

  I stared at her in astonishment. So did everyone else. The contrast from the cold, commanding “Atagaria” was shocking. I had known she was a capable actress, but it was remarkable to see how quickly she could change her mood on command.

  Emir Turlagon scowled. Most men, I had noted, reacted to a crying woman in one of three ways. Some rushed at once to help her. Some ignored her out of embarrassment or indifference. And some reacted with contemptuous scorn. Turlagon fell into the third camp.

  “What are you blubbering about, woman?” said Turlagon. “Where is my property?”

  “It was stolen,” said Caina, wiping at her tears. It made the kohl around her eyes run, which in turn made her look all the more pitiable. “I tried to stop him, but he was too strong for me…”

  “Who?” demanded Turlagon.

  Caina shook his head. “If I ever spoke of it, my lord, he said he would return and sell me and my family into slavery for betraying him.”

  Turlagon drew himself up, trying to look imposing. “You would sooner brave the fury of an emir of Istarinmul than the wroth of a common criminal? You shall have much more to fear, woman, if you do not answer my questions.”

  Caina looked at him, shivered, and started to cry louder.

  “Answer me, woman!” roared Turlagon, stepping forward. He completely ignored the glares from Malcolm and Azaces. Evidently he considered them beneath his notice, despite the fact that either man could have killed him with ease.

  I began to suspect that Emir Turlagon was not all that bright, and Sankar might have been overthinking his assassination attempt.

  Caina nodded, swallowed, and wiped at her running eyes once more. “Sankar. It was Sankar.”

  Turlagon’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

  “He…he said that your lordship was a traitor, that you were planning to join the rebels, and so the Teskilati would execute you,” said Caina. “So he took your trapbox, my lord, this morning, just a few hours before you arrived. I…I am sorry. I could not stop him. He was too strong…”

  “Where did he go?” said Turlagon.

  “To a tavern called the Scratched Penny,” said Caina, sniffling. “He said his confederates would wait…”

  “His confederates!” roared Turlagon. “I knew that rat was up to something!” He reached down, seized Caina’s wrist, and yanked her to her feet. “You will come with me to the Scratched Penny. If you have led me false, you shall die. If you have told the truth, you shall live.”

  “Sister,” moaned Caina. She met my gaze, and for an instant her eyes were clear and cold. “The package I told you about, remember to deliver the package…”

  “Enough,” said Turlagon. “You can attend to your business matters if you survive. Come!”

  He dragged Caina from the room, thumping down the stairs and shouting for his guards.

  For a moment I stood in silence with Bahad, Nerina, Malcolm, and Azaces.

  “Mother?” said Bahad.

  I let out a long breath. “Go downstairs and mind the House, Bahad. I think I shall have to depart for a few hours.”

  Bahad nodded and hastened away.

  Malcolm looked at Nerina. “Can you cry on demand like that?”

  “I do not believe so,” said Nerina. “I suppose I would have to make myself sad first, and whenever I become sad, I do equations in my head until I feel better.”

  “For the sake of the Living Flame,” I muttered, pushing across the room to the window. “I am the only sane one here?”

  “In all probability, yes,” said Malcolm.

  I peered out the shutters and saw Emir Turlagon and six armored guards striding through the Cyrican Bazaar, heading for the street that led to the Scratched Penny. Caina walked in their midst, still sobbing a little. They hadn’t bound her hands, but with six armed men surrounding her, they wouldn’t need to bother.

  “She wants us to sneak the trapbox into the Scratched Penny while she distracts Turlagon and Sankar,” I said. A wave of panic rolled through me. I was a coffee merchant, not a spy or a Ghost nightfighter! How did I keep getting into these messes? It wasn’t as if I went out and looked for trouble. Caina was good at this sort of thing. I had Nerina and Malcolm and Azaces with me, but I could tell all three of them were used to listening to Caina.

  I swallowed, gathering my courage.

  If Caina could pretend to be me…well, I could pretend to be her.

  “All right,” I said, straightening up and forc
ing calm into my voice. “You’ve got the trapbox here?”

  “It’s in our wagon in the courtyard,” said Malcolm.

  “Very well,” I said. “We will break into the Scratched Penny, open the box, and escape before the building burns down.” I took another deep breath. “What could go wrong?”

  “Well,” said Malcolm, “first, we…”

  “I don’t want to know,” I said. I could imagine it myself all too well.

  Chapter 5: Nothing Ever Goes According To Plan

  A short time later we stopped in an alley behind the Scratched Penny.

  The tavern looked a great deal like the House of Agabyzus from the outside, though unlike me, the owner had not bothered to keep up with maintenance and the building looked worn and rundown, the whitewash peeling to reveal the rough brick beneath. The tavern also gave off a distinctly unpleasant odor, a mixture of sweat and rotting food and unemptied chamber pots and chimneys that hadn’t been swept in decades.

  One would think the Teskilati would prefer more pleasant accommodations.

  Right now, the Scratched Penny’s vile scent did not hold my attention.

  The confrontation on the street drew the eye.

  Turlagon, his six guards, and Caina stood outside the main doors to the tavern, Turlagon ranting and shouting threats. Four hard-bitten men with the look of mercenaries stood before the tavern doors, speaking much more politely, but they did not move. Very soon they would come to blows. Turlagon might kill Caina. Or he might kill her and return to take further vengeance on the House of Agabyzus. Or all this shouting would draw the attention of the watchmen or, worse, the Immortals…

  It was time to get on with it.

  I slipped back around the corner. The courtyard behind the Scratched Penny was deserted, ringed on the other three sides by sagging brick warehouses. Azaces and Malcolm stood near the back wall, holding the trapbox between them. Azaces had been strong enough to carry the box up the stairs, but not all the way from the House of Agabyzus. If he dropped the thing and the Hellfire containers shattered…no, better to have two men carrying it.

  Nerina stood at the narrow back door, muttering numbers to herself as she worked with her lock picks. I glanced at the narrow windows overhead. All of them had closed shutters, but I wondered if the Teskilati watched us even now. Perhaps Turlagon’s diatribe had drawn the attention of every Teskilati agent in the tavern. Of course, sending someone through the back during a distraction was an obvious tactic.

  Still, maybe the Teskilati were surprised that the man they had planned to kill had turned up on their doorstep.

  I looked back at Nerina, resisting the urge to tell her to hurry. The woman might be mad, but she wasn’t stupid, and she knew that we had very little time…

  The lock clicked, and Nerina pushed the door open. Behind I saw a dusty, disused kitchen, a little larger than the kitchen in the House of Agabyzus.

  “Inside,” I whispered. “Quickly!”

  We hastened into the kitchen. I tried to walk as quietly as I could, but I winced with every sound we made. I had seen Caina move in utter silence, but I didn’t have her skill. I looked back at Azaces and Malcolm, intending to tell them to set the trapbox down here, but I thought better of it. The kitchen had been built of brick, and it was at the back of the building. The ceiling beams would catch fire, but that might take some time, and even with Hellfire the fire might not spread through the entire tavern.

  “The cellar,” I whispered, pointing at a door. Nerina nodded and tried the cellar door. It swung open on silent hinges, and I saw that they had been oiled. Perhaps the Teskilati used the cellar often. We headed down the stairs into the gloom, and I saw the glow from scattered lanterns. Nerina produced a small crossbow from somewhere beneath her robe, and I drew my dagger from my belt, though it would be a feeble weapon against Teskilati killers.

  Heavy wooden pillars supported the cellar, and to my disquiet one corner had been set up as a torture chamber, with a steel rack and chains and pincers and the other tools of the torturer’s ghastly art. Another corner had been closed off with a brick wall and a steel door, creating a strong room. Except the door to the strong room stood open, light spilling into the cellar, and with a shock I recognized Sankar’s voice coming from within the room.

  “This is not my doing,” said Sankar. “I followed the plan to the letter.”

  “Have you?” said another man’s voice, cold and hard. “It was your plan, Sankar, and we chose to follow it at your suggestion. I am not pleased, and I suspect those who hold authority over us will not be pleased as well.”

  “I could not have foreseen these difficulties!” said Sankar, a hint of fear entering his voice. “How was I to know that the thieves would trace me? And how was I to know that oaf Turlagon might actually be clever enough to catch the Cyrican woman?”

  I gestured, and Azaces and Malcolm set the trapbox on the dusty floor.

  “Are you that stupid?” said the cold voice. “Obviously the thieves followed you and seized the trapbox. This Atagaria bitch thought to play a double game with you and Turlagon, and likely went to him to sell you out. She bit off more than she could chew…and it seems that Turlagon saw through her lies when you could not!”

  “I came here to set a trap for her,” said Sankar. “Both Turlagon and Atagaria are in the street. We can kill them both, we…”

  “We cannot,” said the cold voice, growing angry. “There are too many witnesses, and one cannot kill an emir of Istarinmul in broad daylight without severe repercussions! No, there is only one way out of the mess you have created for us, Sankar.”

  I mouthed the word “keys” to Nerina, and she nodded and knelt before the trapbox while Azaces and Malcolm drew their swords. Nerina put a key into the first lock and turned, and it released with a loud click. I winced at the noise, but the men in the strong room did not seem to hear. She released the second lock to a similar click.

  “Turlagon’s death must look like an accident,” said the cold voice, “so we shall hand the corpse of his traitorous courier over to him.”

  “What?” said Sankar, shocked.

  “He can keep the Atagaria woman to do with as he pleases,” said the cold voice. “Perhaps she will reveal the location of the trapbox after sufficient torture, and he will then perish when he opens it. Kill him.”

  “No!” shouted Sankar, and steel rang on steel. I shot an urgent look at Nerina, and she opened the third lock. This time five clicks rang out in rapid succession, followed by the groan of relaxing metal and the noise of grinding gears.

  The trapbox had unlocked.

  Before I could react, Sankar stumbled out of the strong room, bleeding from a half-dozen mortal dagger wounds, and collapsed to the floor, his blood seeping into the dirt. Several men with daggers stepped after him, gazing at his corpse. One of them saw us, and an expression of utter surprise went over his face.

  For a moment I froze.

  What would Caina do?

  The answer came to me.

  Caina would burn down the building and escape in the confusion.

  I stepped back and ripped open the heavy lid of the trapbox, placing it between me and the Teskilati agents. As I did, I heard a cracking, shattering noise as the counterweights in the lid shattered the clay flasks of Hellfire lining the box’s interior.

  A red glow started to come from the box.

  “Run!” shouted Malcolm, and we all obeyed, sprinting for the stairs. The cold-voiced man shouted orders, and the Teskilati agents started after us, but by then were racing up the stairs. Nerina slammed the door behind her as we reached the kitchens, but I doubted that would slow them for long. I wondered how long it would take for the Hellfire to ignite. Caina had said that Hellfire burned when exposed to air, and…

  It did not take all that long.

  The floor heaved beneath my sandals, and the cellar door ripped off its hinges, followed by a howling gout of crimson flame that lashed at the walls. The heat of it struck me, and I ga
sped and followed the others as they sprinted into the courtyard. Already I heard the roar of the fire spread through the Scratched Penny, followed by shouts of alarm and the cry of fire.

  I ran back into the alley, peering at the main street. Flames had begun to dance in the windows, and the doors to the common room burst open, men spilling into the street. Emir Turlagon bellowed in rage, demanding that Sankar surrender himself, but none of the men slowed. I saw Caina backing away from him, her ornate skirts gripped in either hand, her blue eyes wide as she stared at the burning building.

  Then she saw me and broke free from Turlagon’s stunned men, who made no effort to stop her.

  All five of us fled into the alley and retreated to the House of Agabyzus.

  Chapter 6: Mimicry

  I expected reprisals. I expected the Teskilati to descend upon the House of Agabyzus in wrath, or for Turlagon to show up and threaten to bring a lawsuit against me.

  Yet none of that happened.

  “Turlagon has fled the city,” Caina told me over coffee a few days later, dressed once again as the courier Marius. Her current costume was a far cry from the beautiful young noblewoman who had taunted Sankar and wept before Turlagon. “The fire that destroyed the Scratched Penny was obviously started by Hellfire, so I think even Turlagon managed to figure out that the Teskilati were after him. He left the city within an hour of the fire, and is likely on his way to Tanzir Shahan and the rebels.”

  “What about the Teskilati?” I said. The House was as busy as usual, and in a few moments I would need to get to work. But as important as the House was, there were more important things. The lives of my sons, for one.

  And my work with the Ghosts had helped me preserve both their lives and the House.

  “They have not shown a scrap of interest in the House of Agabyzus,” said Caina. “Most of the Teskilati in the Scratched Penny were killed in the explosion.” Once that would have inspired guilt, but not any longer. “I think our gambit worked. The Teskilati will assume that their agents at the Scratched Penny made a botch of their task and blew themselves up.”