The Empire's Ghost

by Isabelle Steiger

  Marceline started in spite of herself. “Mouse?”

  The chandler laughed. “Oh, that’s just a bit of fun the other boys had with him when he was small—folk in the neighborhood have been calling him that ever since. But I’m sure he’s the one you mean: brown hair, couldn’t grow a beard if he tried, fond of big words? And of course the beautiful eyes—gods know I’ve heard enough young women go on about them.”

  “Ah,” Marceline said, nodding vaguely. “Yes, quite … quite so. Just like that.”

  “Thought so. Has he actually encouraged you, or are you just pining in secret? You wouldn’t be the first, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “Oh no, he doesn’t know me,” Marceline assured him. “I just … was curious about him.”

  “You and half a dozen others.” He leaned forward. “Listen, miss, I’ll tell you this for nothing: I’ve known Mouse since before he could see over this counter, and I’d do more than a little to help him, if he ever needed it. But that boy’ll make some woman happy, for a while, and then he’ll make her very unhappy. He may be handsome, and he may speak like half a hundred books put together, but he prefers dreaming to working, and he always has. And I expect he always will.”

  And this was the leader of the resistance? Either Tom’s rumors had vastly overestimated what that group had been up to, or the chandler didn’t know this Mouse half as well as he thought he did. “I … see,” she said, because she had to say something. “It’s not as if— I mean, I just thought—”

  “You’ve got a few years before you’ve got to be thinking about that anyway,” he said. “There’s no need to rush it.”

  “I believe I am older than I may appear,” Marceline told him, as primly as she could, “but I thank you for the advice. I have … much to think about.”

  She did, but not about romance. Now she knew what to look for—even had a name, of sorts—but she suspected that had been the easy part. The real challenge would be finding out where this Mouse was hiding his resistance.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The land, as far as Seth could tell, was generally more uneven in Esthrades, the gentle plains of Reglay replaced with abortive cliffs and sudden ravines. But where the grass of Reglay was usually scraggly and stiff, the dirt dry, here the grass was lush and springy, full of wildflowers and the odd oak or sycamore even on the rare occasions when you got out of the forest. The people tended to be a bit paler and fairer-haired, though Deinol said that was mostly due to all the northern refugees who’d been displaced when the Aurnians arrived from across the sea, from a home even they could no longer remember. They were still days away from the eastern sea, but sometimes Seth imagined he could sense it on the breeze anyway, though he’d admittedly never so much as seen any kind of ocean before. He asked Ritsu if he’d ever seen it, but Ritsu only said, “My father took me north to see the White Waste when I was very small, but I remember little save how cold it was. My fingers and the tip of my nose grew numb at night, and I cried. But I have never been to the eastern sea.” He considered it. “They say it is not cold, so I wonder if I might like it.”

  Seth knew what Deinol was going to say about Ritsu—honestly, he was surprised he hadn’t said it already. But even though he knew, and had known for days, he was still no closer to figuring out how he’d respond when Deinol finally did say it. He understood that they had to part ways with Ritsu eventually, but he just seemed so helpless—less experienced than Seth, in certain ways, though he could apparently wield a sword with deadly skill. Wouldn’t he just get into trouble again on his own?

  “Look sharp,” Deinol said, pointing at a village that had just come into view now that the forest was thinning out. “Fancy a drink? We might even be able to garner some useful information this close to Stonespire.”

  “That sounds good,” Seth said. Ritsu said nothing, as usual. When he said nothing, they’d learned to assume it was fine.

  Deinol led the way into town, more cheerful than he’d been for the past several days, and he didn’t slump even when he learned the place was too small to have a proper tavern. Was it the idea of being so close to Seren that put the extra bounce into his stride?

  “Say there,” he added to the farmer who told him the bad news, “do you get much gossip from Stonespire around here?”

  The man squinted at him. “We get some. These days it’s mostly speculation as to what her ladyship got up to out of Esthrades.”

  “Lady Margraine left Esthrades?” Deinol asked. “But she never does that.”

  “Aye, you don’t have to tell me. But she did it this time, and all of a sudden, too. Went to Reglay on parley, or so they say, but it wasn’t as if I was there.” He rubbed his nose. “Hasn’t been a quarter-court since her father—people liked ’em then, ’cause Lord Caius’s judges tended to give better judgments than Lord Caius himself. But no one knew what kind of people she’d appoint.”

  “Well?” Deinol asked. “So what happened?”

  The farmer laughed. “Nothing very interesting, and that’s the best news if you ask me. Captain Ingret has good men, simple men, and it’s largely them as handled it. In a pinch you want a mind like her ladyship’s, I’m sure, but it’s not as if she was gone for very long.”

  Deinol frowned at him. “Do you … do you like Lady Margraine?”

  The man snorted. “Like? Do you like a hailstorm? Like’s got nothing to do with it.”

  “But you … I’m sorry, I always thought that everyone, er, resented her.”

  “Like you Hallerns resent your jumped-up commoner?” The farmer laughed again. “I lived most of my life under her father’s rule. For the change alone I’ll not complain of her. Hell, if she murdered the man herself, I’d not hold it against her, foul crime though it be. Doubt even she could poison a fellow Margraine, though.”

  Deinol twitched his nose. “I never said I was a Hallern.”

  The man leaned on his spade. “Didn’t have to. Hallerns always ask that.” He wiped his brow, then scratched at his hairline. “My wife loves to say how she’s not quite right, but even she nodded that proud head of hers when the marquise repealed the headless law.”

  Seth had heard that expression before, years ago—someone had mentioned it in front of Roger, and he had filled the Dragon’s Head with half-drunken expostulations. “The headless law was … about thieves, wasn’t it? The punishment for thieves?”

  “Aye. Well, the bad headless law was, anyway—Caius’s headless law. The punishment for thieves,” the farmer said, “was death. Any thief, any theft, and your head rolled. No exceptions. Caius Margraine was mighty proud of himself for it, but anybody who still had a head could tell he’d lost his to think of it.”

  “Why?” Ritsu asked, tilting his own head.

  Then Roger’s words came back to him. “Because,” Seth explained, “then wherever you have a thief, you also have a murderer. There will always be people who steal when they become desperate enough, no matter the penalty for it. And if your life is forfeit already, why wouldn’t you commit any other crime to save yourself?”

  “Too right,” the farmer said, and sighed. “I think Lord Caius did understand, eventually, but the man was too damn proud to take it back if he did. She did it near as soon as she took the throne. Delighted in it, the wife said, as she always delighted in spiting him, but it’s the end that matters, isn’t it? Even if her ladyship is unnatural, if Lord Caius was natural, I much prefer her sort.”

  “Ah, the magic, is it?” Deinol asked, grinning. “We get those stories even in the capital. I think Elgar himself likes them—dark rituals are probably a better excuse for the loss of his men than simple incompetence.”

  The man scratched his chin. “Eh, the magic may be and it may not, and if the tales are to be believed, magic used to be the most natural thing in the world. No, it’s her temperament the wife harps on. They say she’s all ice and stone on the inside, not like a proper woman at all. But I’ve never seen her, and she’s got no cause to be soft on
my account—or anyone’s, I guess, unless she gets married.”

  Seth cleared his throat. “Um, Deinol, weren’t you going to ask about…”

  “Ah, that’s right!” Deinol rubbed his palms together. “Sorry about that; the conversation got clean away from me. I was wondering if you know much about one of the marquise’s servants.” They thought she was one of Lady Margraine’s servants, anyway, but perhaps Deinol thought it was safer to start with that than with Seren’s name.

  “I might,” the farmer said. “Is it one of the famous ones? Gravis Ingret is captain of the guard, and was under her father—he’s been a member of the guard for almost thirty years now; everybody knows him. Glad to see him, too, even when Lord Caius was alive—a more reasonable man you’re not likely to meet. On the other hand—”

  “It’s a woman we’re seeking after,” Deinol interrupted. “Seren Almasy, I believe, is her name.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “Seren Almasy,” he repeated. “Aye, that’s her name all right. Seren Almasy, so they say, is her ladyship’s butcher. She’s only been around a couple of years, but word travels fast enough, and if it’s to be believed, no one’s ever happy to see her.”

  Deinol folded his arms. “So she is a killer, then.”

  “Oh, the finest. And fantastically efficient, or so I hear. Her ladyship wants to reason with a problem, she sends Captain Ingret; she wants to get rid of a problem, and it’s Almasy’s turn.”

  “I see.” Deinol’s mouth was grim, and it looked strange on him, warped and odd. “So if I wanted to see Almasy, I should go to Stonespire?”

  “Nobody wants to see Almasy,” the farmer said, “but normally that’d be right, aye. The marquise does send her off from time to time, but she always goes back again.”

  “That’s good to know,” Deinol said. “Thank you.”

  The farmer shrugged. “It’s nothing to me. If you’ve got some quarrel with Almasy, though, it’d be wise to give it up.”

  Deinol grinned. “Oh, nothing like that,” he lied. “I try not to quarrel with women, though they sometimes decide to quarrel with me.” He cocked his head. “If there’s no proper tavern in this place, do you mind telling me where there is one?”

  The man pointed down the road. “Follow that southeast, and it won’t take you two hours to reach it.”

  “Much obliged.” He touched his sword. “Come on, Seth.”

  Seth walked silently along at his side, trying not to think about what he’d just heard. He knew Seren had killed people, of course—Deinol had certainly killed enough people—but there was something about what the farmer had said.…

  “Pardon me,” Ritsu said softly, at Deinol’s elbow, “but I believe that man has some business with you.”

  Deinol whipped his head about. “What man?”

  In answer, Ritsu nodded at a nearby stand of trees; a man was leaning against the closest one, looking at them intently.

  “I don’t know him,” Deinol said. “What makes you say he has business with us?”

  “He began to stare at you about halfway through your conversation with the other fellow,” Ritsu said, “and he has not stopped since, though occasionally he blinks.”

  Deinol hesitated, frowning. “Well,” he said at last, “perhaps we should see what he wants, then.” He glanced at Seth. “Do you want to stay here?”

  “Of course not,” Seth said.

  Deinol laughed. “Come on, then.”

  The man held up a hand as they approached, though Seth couldn’t tell if he was greeting them or warning them not to get too close. Either way, Deinol slowed his pace, his own hand held out in front of him. “Afternoon,” he said. “Was there something you wanted?”

  The man sniffed. “Seemed to me like there was something you wanted. Or someone, more like.”

  “What, Seren Almasy?” Seth winced; Deinol was nothing if not direct. He doubted Lucius would have charged ahead so brazenly. “She a friend of yours?”

  The man laughed. “Hardly. Is she yours?”

  “Nothing near it, I promise you.”

  “But you’ve an interest in finding her even so,” the man said.

  “Aye, I told the other fellow as much.” Deinol shrugged. “I’ve business to settle with her, that’s all.”

  “You’re not the only one, I can tell you that.”

  “Does that mean you’ve business with her as well?”

  “Not I,” the man said. “But I know those who do, and where you might find them.”

  Seth’s gut gave a good twist at that, and he had to stop himself from clutching at Deinol’s arm. Deinol himself looked far less surprised, let alone less reluctant, than he could have wished; he barely twitched at the man’s pronouncement. “That sounds convenient.”

  “Hardly,” the man said again, with another laugh. “I hear any man who wants to settle anything of note with Seren Almasy needs more than a little courage.”

  Deinol drew himself up. “Well, sir, you’ll find I don’t lack it. I still haven’t heard a place, or a name.”

  The man hesitated, but only for a moment. “In Giltgrove you’ll find the Russet—Inn of the Russet Hound, it properly is, but no one calls it that. You ask there for Horace Greenfield, might be you’ll find someone who can help you.”

  “Someone I can help, you mean.”

  The man grinned. “Well, friends help friends alike, don’t they?”

  Seth swallowed hard. “Deinol—”

  Deinol ignored him. “And what’s in it for me if I do help?”

  “Besides the satisfaction of knowing your business is concluded, you mean?” The man shrugged. “Have to ask the boys at the Russet about that one.”

  “Well,” Deinol said. “Perhaps I will, then.”

  “And perhaps they’ll take a shine to you,” the man said, touching the brim of his hat. “Afternoon.”

  The three of them were entirely clear of the village before anyone spoke. Then: “Ritsu,” Deinol said, so suddenly that Seth jumped, though Ritsu didn’t, “you may as well know it now: we’re looking for a very dangerous woman. I … doubt I could defeat her, if it came down to an even fight. But we’ve got to find her anyway.”

  Ritsu nodded. “All right.”

  Deinol sighed. “I’m telling you this … I’m telling you this because I assume you won’t want to continue traveling with us if that means following the trail of a skilled killer. And, well, we’ve taken you far enough away from that village, and I’ve come to think you’re … sensible enough. I won’t object to your leaving, if that’s what you want.”

  Ritsu stopped, tilting his head. “You won’t object … to my leaving?”

  “That’s what I said. You’re free to go. Here, you can even have the sword back, if you want it, though I still say you should get another one.”

  But Ritsu moved back a step, his brows drawing together. “You won’t object to my leaving,” he said again, “but … you would object to my staying?”

  “Er,” Deinol said. “You mean to say you wouldn’t?”

  Ritsu shrugged, but he was worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. “I would … prefer to stay with you, if I could.”

  “Did you not hear what I said? We’re seeking vengeance.”

  “I heard.” But that clearly didn’t trouble him.

  Deinol threw up his hands. “So, what, you think you can just stand around staring like that while we’re … well, to be fair, while we’re probably being killed by Almasy before we even have time to negotiate, but still and all…”

  “She won’t kill us,” Seth said. “She won’t kill us unless she has to, and we’re not going to kill her, so she doesn’t have to.”

  Deinol laughed. “Well, maybe I’d like to kill her if I could, but I’m not stupid enough to bet on it.”

  This wasn’t anything to laugh about. Not for the first time, Seth wished Lucius were with them. “You’d like to kill her? Deinol, you can’t do that!”

  “No, I probably can’t. But a
s for her not wanting to kill us…” He scrubbed at his face. “Boy, were you not listening back there? She kills whoever Lady Margraine tells her to kill. It’s like I told you, it’s like I told Lucius—” He broke off guiltily at the mention of the name, and he and Seth looked away from each other, both probably hoping the same thing: that Lucius would ever forgive them for this. “I told you,” Deinol tried again, “that killing’s all of who she is. I told you that, but you didn’t want to listen. Does she have to go beyond threats and actually slit your throat before you’ll believe it?”

  Seth kept his fingers well away from the itch at his neck, but he couldn’t meet Deinol’s gaze. He thought suddenly of the first time he’d ever seen Seren, of how she’d helped him escape their shared cell, disappointing as the ultimate results had been. She could have just left him there; he was none of her concern, and more of a hindrance than anything. But she hadn’t done that.

  “You weren’t even talking to me,” he said at last, still keeping his eyes away from Deinol’s face. “You were talking to Ritsu. You were telling him how he wouldn’t be able to just stand and watch if we ran into trouble with Seren. That’s true,” he added to Ritsu. “Even if we found her alone, which we probably won’t, she’s very skilled.”

  “But you don’t want to kill her,” Ritsu said slowly. “Isn’t that right?”

  Seth nodded, and he did look at Deinol then, daring him to contradict him.

  “Then what is your business with her?” Ritsu asked.

  Seth saw his own sheepishness reflected in Deinol’s face, and he scratched the back of his neck, thinking it over. The most honest answer, he guessed, was that neither of them was exactly sure, but even Ritsu might think it was crazy to come all this way without knowing your own reason for doing it. So he thought about what else he could say that was true, and finally he found his answer. “It … It’s like you said, Ritsu. I lost to her, and I want to know why. If there’s something she knows that I should learn, then I want to know it too.” I know what happens to weak people, Seren had said, but it had to be more than that. It had to be.