Ovens that were dark now, their steel doors standing open.
The kitchen door rattled, and a woman laughed.
In one smooth motion, Caina pulled herself into an oven, the sooty brick rasping beneath her boots, wrapped her shadow-cloak around her, and went still.
A moment later the kitchen door burst open, and an Istarish man and a Cyrican woman stumbled inside, both wearing the gray tunics of slaves. Both were thoroughly drunk, and had difficulty keeping their balance.
The man pulled the woman close, and she melted into his arms with a moan. For a moment they swayed and staggered in front of the ovens. Caina remained motionless. Odd that she felt embarrassed. She was breaking into the palace of one of the most powerful men in Istarinmul. Yet she still felt embarrassed.
“We must not!” gasped the woman, pulling apart. “If the overseer finds us he shall have us beaten!”
“Mardos is tending to the master,” said the man with a smile. “And the master will be too drunk to do anything. Once the master is in bed with his concubines, the overseer will get drunk himself. The house belongs to us while the master and Mardos sleep it off.”
The woman laughed and kissed him again, and the man answered in kind, pushing her against the counter.
“No, no, not here,” gasped the woman. “Someplace comfortable. This way.”
She grabbed his hand and staggered from the kitchen, leading him deeper into the palace.
Caina let out a long breath, listened for any sign of movement, and climbed out of the oven. She heard only the sounds of the revels from the gardens outside. No screams or shouts – Ulvan’s men must have gotten the fire under control. She hoped it had not done too much damage to the Circus’s property.
She crossed the kitchen in silence, opened the far door, and stepped into the grand hall of Ulvan’s palace.
It reminded Caina somewhat of the grand dining hall in the Istarish Lord Ambassador’s residence in Malarae, at least until Ibrahmus Sinan’s flawed Elixir Rejuvenata had burned down the building. The hall was broad and wide, the floor covered in a glittering mosaic of stunning beauty, the walls painted with elaborate frescoes of hunters pursuing lions and gazelles across the steppes. Caina craned her neck, and saw that the hall rose the full six stories of the mansion, balconies ringing the walls, supported by slender pillars of gleaming blue marble. Three elaborate bronze chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the lights slathered in some alchemical concoction that would glow for years. They emitted a faint light, throwing tangled shadows everywhere.
In the corner, near the double doors to the gardens, a wooden platform connected to a set of chains. The chains went through holes in the floors of the balcony, all the way to the sixth floor, where they connected to an arrangement of pulleys and a windlass. Her guess had been right. Ulvan had a lift to pull himself to the upper stories of his palace.
Which meant that his bedchamber, and his keys, would be just where she had surmised.
She took a step forward, and the double doors swung open to admit a dozen Immortals.
Caina’s reflexes took over, and she ducked behind one of the slender pillars. Thankfully, the chandeliers did not put out much light, and shadows filled the hall. The Immortals stopped, and Ulvan walked after them, puffing and grunting, followed by Mardos and three of his original bodyguards.
“There is really no need for any of this,” said Ulvan, coming to a stop. Mardos offered a cloth, and Ulvan mopped his sweating brow. “The honor of having a guard of Immortals is great, but my own bodyguards will suffice until…”
“The Grand Master has commanded it,” said one of the Immortals, his voice a harsh rasp. His black cloak had red trim, no doubt the mark of an officer. “As has the Grand Wazir. You shall receive a bodyguard of Immortals, Ulvan of the Slavers’ Brotherhood. The matter is settled.”
That confirmed one of Caina’s suspicions. The Alchemists indeed used Immortals to reward their loyal supporters…and as watchdogs to make sure their supporters remained loyal.
“I will of course respect the wishes of the Grand Master,” said Ulvan. “Perhaps you can patrol the grounds.”
“No,” said the Immortal. “Some of my brothers shall patrol the gardens, but the rest shall keep watch over the corridors and stand guard at your bedroom door. You will have enemies, Master Ulvan, and you must remain vigilant.”
The Immortal was more right than he knew.
Unfortunately, that meant Caina had to contend with the Immortals instead of Ulvan’s regular bodyguards, and the Immortals were more dangerous by far. And likely more diligent.
More Immortals filed through the doors to the garden, at least thirty, their black armor clanking as they marched.
Caina had to move, now.
Fortunately, the Immortals’ alchemical elixirs enhanced their speed and strength, but did not grant improved senses. She backed away behind the pillar, beneath the balcony, until she bumped against the wall. A quick look right and left, and she spotted a door a few paces away. Caina hurried to it, pulled it open, and closed it behind her without sound.
No shouts. The Immortals had not seen her yet, but they would. Unless she missed her guess, the Immortals would sweep the mansion, and then would station guards at all the entrances. Caina needed a distraction, something to lure the Immortals away so she could get the slaves out and escape herself.
But first, she had to elude the Immortals.
She found herself in a wide corridor running alongside the great hall. Wooden doors lined the walls, and statues of horses and chariots waited in niches. Caina hurried to one of the doors and peered inside. Beyond she saw a sitting room furnished in Istarish style, with a thick carpet and low round tables ringed in heavy cushions.
Caina ran down the corridor as silently as she could and checked a few more doors. She saw another sitting room, a small shrine to the Living Flame, and a room that held a small pool. But she needed stairs, she needed to find the damned stairs…
There. At the end of the corridor, a door opened into a narrow flight of stairs ascending higher into the palace. Ulvan used his private lift, and guests of high rank would use the grand staircase, but the slaves would employ the back stairs to move unseen, lest their presence offend the master.
Caina started up the stairs, reached the second floor, and the third. Narrow slits admitted light, and she saw that the gardens had emptied. Perhaps Ulvan had grown tired of his guests, or perhaps the unexpected fire had put a damper on the celebrations. Caina hoped that Damla and Cronmer and his family and workers had gotten away without incident.
A faint sound reached her ears.
A door had opened above. The fifth or sixth floor, she thought, followed by the sound of bare feet slapping against the stone steps. A slave, coming down as he or she went about his duties. Caina mouthed a silent curse and pushed open the door to the third floor.
She found herself on the third balcony overlooking the great hall, the black-armored forms of the Immortals standing guard below. Fortunately, they did not look up. No one ever looked up. A short distance away, a large rectangular hole yawned in the floor, four chains rising from it to an identical hole in the ceiling.
The shaft for Ulvan’s lift.
The chains shuddered, and Caina stepped to the edge of the balcony. On the sixth balcony, she saw four burly slaves working the windlass. She moved away from the railing, dropped flat to the floor, and peered over the edge of the hole.
The lift rose slowly, Ulvan and Mardos standing upon it.
Caina inched away from the edge, considering. For a moment she contemplated killing Ulvan and taking his keys. The slaver would not expect an attack, not here, not when surrounded by so many Immortals, and Caina could kill both him and his house slave before they could scream.
But there were too many risks. Ulvan might not have his keys with him. He could cry out before he died, alerting the Immortals. For that matter, even if she successfully killed him and made off with his keys, the slaves manning
the windlass would notice when the lift arrived with their master’s bloody corpse upon it.
Ulvan’s rumbling voice rose to her ears.
“Go to my harem,” said Ulvan, “and instruct the eunuchs to send a slave to my apartments.” He laughed. “Triumph always puts me in a lusty mood.”
“Will the presence of the Immortals not offend you, master?” said Mardos.
Ulvan laughed again. “Mardos, you shock me. The Immortals can watch and admire my prowess, if they like. But, no. They can stand guard outside the door.”
Caina scowled. If Ulvan reached his bedchamber and the Immortals stood guard over the door, she would never get inside. Not unless she found a way to distract them.
“As you wish, master,” said Mardos. “Which concubine shall I bid the eunuchs to send you?”
“The one with red hair, I think,” said Ulvan. “That Natalia put a fire in my blood, I tell you. A pity she was diseased. Well, one can expect no less from circus performers and other such vermin.”
“She was far too lean for my taste, master, if I may say so,” said Mardos. “A woman ought to have wider hips and more curves.”
She expected Ulvan to take offense, but the Master Slaver only laughed. “You Cyricans!” said Ulvan. “You prefer your women plump. Well, every man has his own tastes, but…”
The door to the stairs opened behind Caina, and she heard the clatter of an Immortal’s armor.
And she was trapped between the Immortal and the lift shaft.
She had only an instant to react. Caina leaped over the shaft, shadow-cloak billowing around her. Ulvan and Mardos continued their lewd discussion, oblivious to her presence. Caina caught one of the ascending chains, pulled herself forward, and landed on the far side of the shaft. She rolled and ducked into a doorway in silence, grateful for all the long hours that Halfdan had made her practice stealth.
The Immortal stepped forward and gazed down into the shaft, blue light glimmering behind the skull-mask of black steel.
“Idiots!” bellowed Ulvan. “Keep the lift steady! Else I’ll have your hides.”
The Immortal gazed at the trembling chain Caina had grabbed, his armored hand twitching towards the hilt of his scimitar.
As if he sensed the presence of foes.
She reached up without looking, opened the door, and pushed it open behind her, her heart hammering against her ribs. She did a backward somersault into the room beyond, feeling thick Anshani carpet beneath her back, and pushed the door shut with her boot, grateful that Ulvan’s slaves had kept the hinges well-oiled and silent.
Caina found herself in a small bedroom. Thick Anshani carpets covered the floor and hung upon the walls. The bed was large and heaped with pillows. A wooden table stood near the window, and the only other piece of furniture was a massive wooden chest at the foot of the bed. The room was clean, but the air had a musty smell, as if few people ever set foot within it. A guest room, Caina thought, one that saw little use.
She heard a door open and close again.
The Immortal was making his way down the hall, checking the rooms one by one.
Caina had to hide. But if she tried to hide under the blankets, her presence would be obvious? Under the bed? No, the space was too narrow. Perhaps she could go out the window and hang from the sill. But the Immortal would notice the open window, and if she lost her grasp and fell…
The chest.
Caina opened the chest. The lock, thankfully, was ornamental, and the chest was empty. It was a tight fit, but she was flexible, and she pulled the lid down after her.
A heartbeat later the bedroom door swung open.
Caina could see nothing save for a faint ray of light through the ornamental keyhole. But she heard the creak of the Immortal’s armor, the rasp of his breath through the helmet.
A moment later the door swung closed.
Caina let out a sigh and considered her next move. Rushing into the mansion like this had been incredibly foolish. Yet there had been no other option. The slaves would be moved tomorrow, and if they made it to the Widow’s Tower, they would never come out again.
Yet Caina was still alive.
Now she just had to stay that way.
More, she was inside the palace, and she had the freedom to act.
Best to wait for a bit, she decided, until the Immortal had gone on his rounds and his suspicions had cooled.
Caina settled in and counted her heartbeats, flexing her muscles of her arms and legs to keep them from stiffening.
Chapter 11 - The Slaver’s Brand
An hour later, Caina lifted the lid of the chest.
The guest room was silent, with no sign of anyone. She straightened up and stepped out of the chest, rubbing her cramped legs, and crossed the room and listened at the door for a moment.
Silence.
She took a deep breath and opened the door. Beyond the balcony was deserted, and she heard neither footsteps nor the creak of armor. She edged onto the balcony and looked around, but there was no sign of any Immortals.
The Immortals had swept the house once, found no threats, and gone to guard the doors and Ulvan’s private chambers. Likely some of them had gone to sleep, rotating in shifts to guard the palace. Even men with superhuman strength needed to rest. Sooner or later the Immortals would sweep the corridors again, watching for intruders or thieving slaves.
But for now, Caina had a free hand to act.
She glided around the balcony to the back stairs, shooting a quick look over the railing. Six Immortals stood guard below, motionless as black statues, though fortunately they did not look up. Caina reached the stairs and climbed until she reached the top floor. She listened at the door for a moment, heard nothing, and then stepped onto the balcony.
The sixth balcony looked like all the others, save for the massive windlass and the coiled chains. Around the corner from the windlass, two Immortals stood motionless before a door. The door to Ulvan’s bedroom, Caina realized.
It stood ajar.
Caina blinked. Ulvan or Mardos must not have closed it after them. Why bother? The Immortals stood guard over the door, and nothing could get past them.
Not even Caina.
She could, however, find a way to distract them.
She stepped back for into the stairwell, thinking. What could she use to lure the Immortals away from the door? If she tried to fight them, they would kill her in short order. Perhaps she could fake an attack by assassins or mercenaries, use that to lure the Immortals away. Of course, she had no means of doing so. But…
She smiled behind her mask.
Despite their name, the Immortals would not live forever, and fire could kill them as easily as any other man.
She felt the weight of the remaining flasks in her satchel.
Fire was an excellent distraction.
She looked around for a suitable target. Doors lined the balcony, likely leading to more bedrooms and sitting rooms. From their vantage point, the Immortals could see almost all of them, save for three blocked from their line of sight by the windlass and its pulleys.
But they would see smoke and flame billowing from those doors.
But what about the Immortals in the great hall? Caina needed something to distract the Immortals in the entire palace.
The kitchen.
Caina hastened down the stairs.
Corvalis would laugh, if he could see her now. So would Halfdan. When forced to improvise, her plans frequently involved setting things on fire. She could almost imagine their teasing.
Caina reached the bottom of the stairs, glanced around the corridor, and returned to the kitchen. It was past midnight, but the ovens were still dark. The kitchen slaves had not yet risen to begin the day’s cooking. A short search located the pantry, and several large sacks of flour.
Along with a few jugs of cooking oil.
Caina dumped the flour over the counters and threw handfuls of it into the air, keeping well away so it did not mark her black clothing. Then she
tipped over three jugs of cooking oil, pouring them across the floor. The fourth, the smallest, she kept for herself.
Then she drew a smoke bomb and dumped the flask into the mix.
In a few minutes the kitchen would become an inferno. The fire would not last long, but it would draw attention.
Caina hurried back up the stairs to the sixth floor, cursing at faint gurgling noise from the jug of oil. She returned to the sixth balcony and crept into the first bedroom. It looked little different than her hiding place upon the third floor, save that both the room and the bed were larger.
And it was on the top floor, so it had a hearth with a chimney.
Caina reached into her satchel, drew out the robe and turban, and hacked them in half with her dagger. She stretched one of the ragged halves from the hearth to the thick Anshani carpet, and poured another smoke bomb upon the torn robe. She dumped half the jug of cooking oil onto the carpet. The carpet was dry, and sucked up the oil like sponge. Everything in Istarinmul was dry. It never rained here.
Which made it all the easier to burn.
She went to the next guest room and repeated the procedure, leaving the empty jug behind. Then she crept back onto the balcony and moved behind the windlass, making sure to keep it between her and the Immortals. When the fires started, she suspected the Immortals would run to see what was happening, and she would have only a few moments to act.
Caina reached the windlass itself, a massive disk of steel and wood wrapped with chains, and waited. It would not take long for the smoke bomb in the kitchen to react with the air, and when it did, it would mix powerfully with the cooking oil and the flour…
She heard a distant whooshing noise, followed by the rattle of armor as one of the Immortals stepped to the railing.
“What is that?” said the Immortal. “Sounded like a fire.”
“The kitchens, I think,” said the second Immortal from Ulvan’s door. “Likely the cooks have started the ovens.”
Ghost in the Cowl Page 13
