I laughed a little at that.
“Mistress Damla?” said one of the other merchants, an old man who sold brassware in the Bazaar.
“Nothing,” I said. I started to reach for a cup of wine and realized that I needed to keep my wits sharp. “I am contemplating the peculiar nature of life, that is all.”
The merchant grunted, gave me an odd look, and started conversing with someone else.
Dozens of slaves issued from the kitchen doors, carrying trays of food. They laid platters upon the tables, and the guests began to eat with vigor as the music played and the dancers whirled, the bonfires throwing their long, flickering shadows across the courtyard. I ate only a little, just enough to avoid the appearance of rudeness, and drank nothing at all. From time to time I exchanged polite remarks with the guests near me, but my whole attention was upon Korim, Dinaka, and Kamal. Korim tore into his food with an appalling lack of manners. Had Bahad or Bayram eaten like that in public, I would have slapped them. Dinaka’s disdain for her husband was plain. Perhaps she had simply tired of his table manners, though that was a poor reason to kill a man.
Korim finished the first course, the second, and then the third, downing five goblets of wine in the process. Dinaka remained seated the entire time, ignoring her husband as he stuffed himself. Kamal hovered in the shadows behind them. The dancers whirled and spun before the bonfires, forming elaborate patterns of flickering shadows across the banquet. I met Caina’s eyes for a moment, and there was a flash of acknowledgment there, and she gave me a faint nod.
I had to keep watching. Kamal and Dinaka would make their attempt tonight. But when? Maybe Korim took a cup of wine before bed, and Dinaka would slip the poison into it then. Or…
Suddenly Kamal moved. He detached himself from the shadows of the door behind Korim and Dinaka and made his way across the courtyard. Another troop of slaves emerged from the kitchens. One slave headed for Korim’s table, bearing a tray laden with saffron rice and curried lamb. Even from a distance, I smelled the potent spices upon the dish. It was the perfect food to conceal a vile-tasting venom.
Kamal strode towards the kitchen slave and pointed. The slave frowned, looking over his shoulder, and as he did, Kamal’s hand moved. I saw the glint of a glass vial as he waved it over the dish of rice and lamb, saw a splash of liquid fall upon the food. It took an instant, and by the time the slave’s gaze turned back, Kamal’s hands were back in place, but I had seen it happen.
That was the dish.
Caina stopped her dance, her limbs glistening with sweat, and looked at me.
I murmured an excuse, got to my feet, and hurried to Korim’s table.
Kamal returned to the shadows behind Dinaka, and the kitchen slave placed the dish before Korim. Despite the quantity of food he had already consumed, the Hakim showed no sign of slowing, and his eyes lit up at the sight of the rice and lamb.
“Splendid,” he rumbled, taking a sip from his wine goblet. “Splendid indeed. Dinaka, you must try some.”
Dinaka did not even look at him, her expression frosty.
Korim shrugged and lifted his fork.
“My lord Hakim, wait!” I said, coming to a stop in front of his table. The watchmen nearby stiffened, hands dropping to their sword hilts. “My lord, wait. Do not eat that rice!”
Dinaka looked at me, her eyes narrowed, and I felt Kamal’s cold gaze turn towards me.
“Mistress Damla?” said Korim, blinking in surprise.
“My lord, I beg of you, do not eat of that food,” I said.
Caina moved closer. She wore sandals with ridiculously high heels, their leather straps curling around her calves, yet somehow she made no sound as she moved.
“Why not?” said Korim, astonished.
Briefly I wondered how he had managed to avoid getting himself assassinated already.
“The food has been poisoned, my lord Hakim,” I said.
Silence fell over the nearby tables, and I felt more and more people staring at me as the guests realized that something was wrong. Dinaka scowled at me with fury, while Kamal remained motionless and expressionless.
“Poisoned?” said Korim in astonishment. “Who would poison me?”
“That slave, my lord,” I said, pointing at Kamal. The disguised Kindred assassin gave no reaction. “I saw him pour something into your food.”
“She is lying, my lord Hakim,” said Kamal in a quiet voice.
“Why should I do that?” I said. “Why should I make up such lies?”
“I…I do not know,” said Korim.
“She is lying to you, my husband,” said Dinaka. She had a lovely, musical voice, but fury burned in her eyes. “She desires you for herself, so she has made up this ridiculous story to gain your favor and approval.”
Caina moved closer along the base of the mansion, but no one paid any attention her.
I thought fast. “The Hakim is an august and noble man, and any woman would be honored to have him as husband.” A little flicker of rage went over Dinaka’s face. “However, why speculate when the matter is so easily put to the test, my lord? Simply have Kamal sample the dish before you. If he is innocent, he will do so without hesitation.”
Kamal hesitated. “It is not proper for a slave to eat from his master’s dish.”
“Come now,” said Korim with a wave of his thick hand. “There is plenty of food. Surely a single bite will not offend propriety.”
Kamal opened his mouth to answer, but it was Dinaka who spoke.
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “I will not tolerate these brazen accusations. I am the wife of a nobleman and a magistrate, and I should not have to suffer slanders from…from whorish tradeswomen!”
I saw an opening in the insult. “Forgive me, my lady Dinaka…but I said nothing of you.”
Dinaka opened her mouth…and then closed it again.
Korim frowned, scrutinizing his wife as if he had seen her for the first time.
“My lord, I beg of you,” I said. “Believe me or not as you will, but do not eat of that dish.”
Korim made an impatient sound. “The matter is easily settled. Kamal! As your master, I command you. You will eat this entire dish in front of these witnesses, now. If you consume it with no ill effects, I shall apologize before my guests and reward you with a purse of gold and your freedom. If not…”
“It,” said Kamal, his voice hoarse, “it would not be proper. I…I cannot…”
“Guards!” snapped Korim, and a half-dozen watchmen headed for the table. “Take Kamal and force feed him that food, now. Honesty shall be decided…”
“You fat fool!” said Dinaka, rising to her feet with a scream. “You will not touch him!”
Korim gaped at her.
“Dinaka,” hissed Kamal. “Be silent, or…”
“He is ten times the man you are, you quivering slug,” said Dinaka, “and after he slays you, I shall put your wealth and power to better use than you could ever imagine.” She yanked a dagger from her belt and lunged at Korim.
Everything happened at once then.
The watchmen shouted and ran forward, while the guests screamed. Kamal cursed and yanked a dagger from his slave’s robe. Dinaka shrieked, her face twisted with hate, and raised her dagger high to land a blow. I seized the poisoned dish from the table and flung it into Dinaka’s face. She stumbled back with a scream of fury, only for Kamal to shove her aside as he raced around the table.
Caina screamed in terror as Kamal went past her, raising her arms to cringe away from him, and Kamal took no notice of her. Yet she spun as he went past, her leg collapsing beneath her, and her right elbow drove into his back. Kamal went down with a stunned gasp, and Caina scrambled away from him. The Kindred rolled to his side, only for three of Korim’s watchmen to tackle him.
Two others seized Dinaka and dragged her back.
“My lord, look!” said one of the watchmen, pointing at her face. Angry red welts marked where the rice had struck her skin, as if she had been splashe
d in acid, and more from where the sauce had poured down her neck.
The venom. Korim flinched as he realized what he had almost eaten.
“Take her away,” he growled. “Take them to the Crows’ Tower!”
The watchmen dragged away Kamal and Dinaka, and the courtyard dissolved into chaos.
I eased through the crowd, forgotten in the chaos, and rejoined Caina as she got to her feet, wobbling a bit on those ridiculous sandals.
“Nice costume,” I said.
She smiled briefly. “You think so? Most of those old merchants did.” She looked at the chaos. “I suppose we gave Korim the best birthday present of all.”
“What’s that?” I said.
“His life.”
***
Chapter 6: Shadows
The next day Korim summoned me to his mansion, and I went.
“I should have seen it years ago,” he said, his voice heavy.
We sat in his opulent audience hall, Korim slumped in his formal chair of office. The sturdy wooden chair creaked beneath his bulk. His loyal scribe waited at his right hand, and a troop of watchmen guarded him.
“I am sorry, my lord,” I said. “It…must be a grievous blow.”
“How did you know?” he said. “I never even suspected.”
I told Korim about the nails in the cake and the discovery of the letter with his seal, omitting Caina’s part in events.
“You have done me a great service,” said Korim. He sighed. “I cannot blame Dinaka, not really. I wed her to secure commercial advantages with her father. I had no wish to be cruel to her, so I let her do whatever she wished. Clearly this was a mistake.” He sighed again. “I will not bring charges against her. I shall simply divorce her quietly, and send her back to her father in Istarish Cyrica with her dowry.”
“That is…most generous of you,” I said.
Korim gave an indifferent shrug. “I am already a laughingstock. What is one more jest?” He scowled. “The Kindred assassin, though. His life is forfeit.”
“I bow to your wisdom, my lord,” I said.
“Mistress Damla,” said Korim. “Why? Why did you tell me? You have been paying…ah, gifts to me for years. If I died, you would be rid of the obligation.”
I shrugged. “If you died, my lord, the Padishah and the Wazir of the Treasury might replace you with a harsher man. And…you did not deserve to be murdered by your wife and her lover.”
“Thank you,” said Korim. “You have my gratitude. If you have need of my assistance, simply ask, and I shall aid you however I can.”
His gratitude took more concrete forms as well. As I left, his scribe presented me with a document that remitted the House of Agabyzus from the land tax for the rest of my life.
###
Later that afternoon I supervised in the House of Agabyzus, and Caina walked through the door, wearing the guise of Ciaran the courier. Again I was amazed at how thoroughly she had transformed herself. Gone was all trace of the whirling, lithe dancer that had drawn the eye of Korim’s guests.
I had Bahad bring us some coffee, and we retreated to one of the booths.
“How did it go?” said Caina.
“Well,” I said. “At least I think so. Korim is grateful. If I ask him for a favor, he will likely grant it.”
“Good,” said Caina.
“He spared his wife, you know,” I said. “I thought he would have had her put to death.”
Caina shrugged. “Perhaps your assessment of him was right. He may be corrupt, but he is not such an evil man for all that.” She grinned. “If you are considering a new husband, perhaps you should consider him.”
“Certainly not,” I said, grinning back. “Your ankles must hurt, after dancing in those ridiculous sandals for the better part of an hour.”
“Don’t remind me,” said Caina. “The unarmed forms are tiring, but that dance is more exhausting by far.”
“You speak of me remarrying,” I said, “but perhaps we should think of you. Put on that costume and perform the dance again, and you shall capture any man you wish.”
“You are teasing me, but you are still too kind,” said Caina. For a moment she hesitated. “And…no. Sometimes I think about that…no. My life is too dangerous. Anyone who knows me is in danger. I cannot…bring anyone else into that danger.”
“I understand,” I said. “Do you think we’ll need that favor?”
“Someday,” said Caina. “Not soon. But someday.” She smiled. “You did well, Damla. Thank you.”
I smiled. My name is Damla daughter of Torzamus, and I am a merchant of coffee. I am not a spy or an assassin or a warrior.
But I am a Ghost…and I will do what I can to aid the woman who saved my sons as she labors to save others.
THE END
Thank you for reading GHOST NAILS. If you liked the story, please consider leaving a review at your ebook site of choice. To receive immediate notification of new releases,sign up for my newsletter (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=1854), or watch for news on myFacebook page (http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jonathan-Moeller/328773987230189). Turn the page to read the first chapter of GHOST IN THE COWL, Caina Amalas's first adventure in Istarinmul.
***
GHOST IN THE COWL Chapter 1 - Istarinmul
Two weeks after she lost everything, Caina Amalas stood on the ship’s deck and threw knives at the mast.
It was a way to pass the time and keep herself from thinking too much. To distract herself from the memories that flooded her mind if she was idle for too long. Sometimes she locked herself in her cabin for hours and performed the exercises of open-handed combat she had learned at the Vineyard long ago, working through the unarmed forms over and over again until every muscle in her body throbbed and spots danced before her eyes.
But if she stayed alone too long, her thoughts went to the dark places. To New Kyre and the blaze of golden fire above the Pyramid of Storm. To Sicarion laughing as he drove his dagger into the back of the man who had raised Caina. To the Moroaica, weeping as the white fire blazed behind her.
To Corvalis, lying dead upon the ground of the netherworld.
And when her thoughts went there, Caina found herself gazing at the veins in her arm, thinking of the knives she carried.
She retained enough of her right mind to realize that she was not thinking clearly, that her mood was dangerous.
So when that mood came, she went to the deck and threw knives at the mast.
At first the sailors were alarmed, but they soon grew accustomed to it. They had been told that she was a mercenary named Marius, a courier for the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers, delivering contracts now that trade between Istarinmul and the Empire had opened up again. An important passenger could be forgiven an eccentricity or two.
That, and she never missed the mast.
Soon the sailors ignored her, even without Captain Qalim’s orders. Caina suspected that the sailors would have reacted rather differently if they knew that beneath the disguise “Marius” was actually a twenty-two year old woman, but she did not care.
She could not bring herself to care about very much.
So she threw knives at the mast, the blades sinking into the wood. Compensating for the motion of the waves and the wind kept her mind busy. Pulling the knives out of the mast and sharpening the blades anew kept her hands occupied.
The sailors ignored her, but Caina nonetheless attracted an audience.
When the Emperor had sent her on a ship from New Kyre’s harbor, she had expected to share the vessel with cargo. Kyracian olive oil, most likely, or perhaps Anshani silk. The Starfall Straits had been closed to trade for nearly a year, and cargoes had piled up in New Kyre’s warehouses.
She had not, however, expected to share the ship with a circus.
More specifically, Master Cronmer’s Traveling Circus Of Wonders And Marvels.
Caina flung another knife, the blade sinking into the mast, and Master Cronmer himself approached.
; Cronmer was huge, nearly seven feet tall, with the shoulders and chest of a titan. He was bald, with a graying mustache cut in Caerish style, and wore a brilliant red coat. She saw the dust on his sleeves, and knew he had eaten bread and cheese for breakfast, along with the vile mixed wine the ship carried.
“Master Marius,” boomed Cronmer in the Caerish tongue. “You should come work for me.”
Caina shook her head. “I am already employed.” She made sure to keep her Caerish accent in place, her voice gruff and raspy, as Theodosia had taught her to do.
“Bah,” said Cronmer. “Fetching papers for those dusty old merchants? You should join my Circus. We’ll use your talent to create a stupendous knife-throwing show, my boy.” He grinned behind his bushy mustache. “Aye, you’ll throw knives at some lusty Istarish lass, your blades will land a half-inch from her skin, and she’ll melt into your arms in the end…”
“Working for the Collegium,” said Caina, “pays better.”
Spending the voyage throwing knives at the mast and brooding had likely been a poor idea. A spy needed to remain inconspicuous, and Caina had not bothered to do so. If she was to rebuild the Ghost circle of Istarinmul, she would have to take greater care.
But she could not bring herself to give a damn.
“Mere money,” said Cronmer, striking a pose. “What is that compared to the roar of the crowd, of a woman in your arms, of…”
“Cronmer,” said a woman with a heavy Istarish accent. Cronmer’s wife, a short Istarish woman named Tiri, hurried to his side. She looked tiny next to her massive husband, and they bickered constantly, but they had been married for twenty years and had six children. “Leave the poor man alone. The life of the circus is not for everyone.”
Cronmer rumbled. “But the Traveling Circus Of Wonders And…”
“Can’t you see?” whispered Tiri into Cronmer’s ear. Caina heard her anyway. “Can you not see that he has lost someone? Likely when the golden dead rose. Do not pester him.”
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