Ghost in the Blood (The Ghosts) (9 page)

“But six million denarii in debt?” said Ducas. “I always thought Agria was stupid…but that’s suicidal. If she’s clever enough to master spells, then why is she dumb enough to go that deeply into debt?”

“Maybe she doesn’t care about money,” said Caina. “After her husband and child died, perhaps she turned to arcane sciences to fill the void. Maybe sorcery is the only thing that matters to her any more.” 

“Fine,” said Ducas. “She can cast spells. But who taught her? Hmm?” 

Caina had no answer for that.

“Someone had to have taught her,” said Ducas. “I am no magus, but from what I understand most men simply cannot pick up a book and teach themselves sorcery. Someone has to teach them. Who would have taught Agria?” 

“A foreign sorcerer, most likely,” said Ark. “The Magisterium would not teach anyone outside their order.”

“For that matter,” said Ducas, “you say Agria must have had forty or fifty captives in her basement. What happened to them? Surely she wouldn’t have sorcery enough to smuggle fifty manacled captives through the streets of Marsis.”

“She needn’t have bothered with sorcery,” said Jiri. “Covered wagons would have done the trick. Or barrels. Or she could have moved them through the sewers and the catacombs. Gods know that there are mazes enough below the streets. But I would like to know what Hiram Palaegus was doing in the bedroom of his dead brother’s wife.” 

“He was looking for something, I’m sure of it,” said Caina. “I wish I knew what.” And she wondered who this Jadriga was. 

“Too many variables,” muttered Radast. “Too many variables to balance the equations.” 

“He’s right,” said Halfdan. “We’ve too many questions, and not enough answers. Well, there’s only one cure for that. We find the answers.” He rubbed his jaw for a moment, thinking. “All right. Here’s what we’ll do.” 

The other Ghosts leaned closer, and Caina suppressed a smile. Much as Ducas, Jiri, and Radast might bicker, they all obeyed Halfdan. 

“Jiri. Do you have many informants in the neighborhood of the Citadel?” said Halfdan.

“Of course,” said Jiri. “Though for obvious reasons I cannot give you their names.” 

“That is only proper protocol. Have them focus their attention upon Lady Palaegus and her mansion,” said Halfdan. “Do you have any informers within her household?” Jiri shook her head. “Pity. Well, do what you can to recruit some.” 

“Agria is close friends with Messana Heliorus and Vorena Chlorus,” said Ducas, “and the names of their Houses appeared in Icaraeus’s records. We should look into them. Perhaps I shall seduce them and coax them into revealing their secrets.”

“A hard duty for the Empire,” sneered Jiri.

Ducas smirked. “I do what I can.” 

“See if you can secure invitations to their mansions as well,” said Halfdan. “They participated in that mummer’s show of mysticism with Agria, but it’s entirely possible they have real power as well. Be careful around them.”

Ducas snorted. “I hardly fear a wine-addled widow.”

“No, but you should at least be cautious around a sorceress,” said Halfdan. “Even if they lack the power to compel you against your will, they might have the skill to look into your thoughts. It would be disastrous if they learned anything about the Ghosts. Do your best to secure invitations. Anna will have a look around, and return later for a private tour.”

Ducas grinned at her. “And if I get Messana or Vorena into bed, I’ll let you watch. Or maybe even join in, eh?”

“That’s enough,” said Ark. 

“What?” said Ducas. “Do you fancy her?”

“I have seen her vanquish foes that could have killed us all in the space of three heartbeats,” said Ark. “You ought to show more respect.”

“Thank you,” said Caina. “But I can take care of myself.”

Ducas’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. 

“As for myself,” said Halfdan, as if the interruption had not occurred, “I shall investigate the nature of this sorcery. The more we learn about Icaraeus’s sorcerer, the easier it will be to take him down.”

“And how will you do that?” said Jiri.

Halfdan shrugged. “I have my sources.”

“I see,” said Jiri. She did not approve. “Be careful.”

“I shall,” said Halfdan. He beckoned to Caina and Ark. “Let’s return to Zorgi’s Inn. Tomorrow shall prove a long day, I think.” 

They left the workshop, the scratches of Radast’s chalk against the slate lingering in Caina’s ears.

Along with his warnings.  

###

It had been a long and exhausting day, and when Caina collapsed into bed at last, she hoped for neither dreams nor nightmares. 

As usual, she didn’t get what she wanted. 

In her nightmare Zorgi and Katerine wandered the cellars of Agria’s mansion, calling out for their lost son. Their voices echoed through the dark vaults, and the shadows twisted and writhed past the brick pillars, bloody light staining the stone floor. 

“No,” said Caina, “no, no, don’t look, you must not look, you dare not…”

Zorgi and Katerine stopped before the iron portcullis, looked into the stinking, shadow-choked room, and screamed when they saw the rotting corpses hanging from rusted chains. 

Men in black robes emerged from the twisting shadows, knives glittering in their hands, and Caina screamed and tried to cover her naked flesh. 

The girl in the gray dress watched in silence, the silver comb glittering in her hair. 

Chapter 9 - The Informant

Caina awoke at noon with her head pounding and a foul taste filling her mouth. 

She rose and washed out her mouth with a swallow of mixed wine. After that she practiced her unarmed forms until sweat dripped down her face and her arms trembled from exertion. 

A hot bath, and she felt much better. Nightmares she had, but exercise and a hot bath did much to drive them from her mind. She put on a simple dress and cloak and went to the common room in search of food. 

Zorgi bustled over, smiling beneath his huge mustache. “Ah, fair maiden. You rise from your sleep at last, like the Queen of Cinders herself.”

“The Queen of Cinders?” said Caina. “I hope that isn’t a commentary on my complexion, master innkeeper.”

“Of course not. It’s an old Szaldic story,” said Zorgi. “The Queen of Cinders offended a powerful Solmonari, and he trapped her behind a wall of living flame. Only the love of a truehearted champion could break the spell.” He winked. “Perhaps you found your own truehearted champion last night, eh?” 

“Perhaps,” said Caina. The story reminded her too much of Kalastus and his pyromancy. "But for now, I would settle for finding some lunch.”

“Of course,” said Zorgi. “I shall fetch you something at once.” He smiled again and hurried to the kitchens. Caina watched him go. Men never smiled that much unless they had something to hide.

Pain, perhaps. 

Ark sat at a table, drinking a mug of Zorgi’s famed beer, and she sat down across from him. 

“I thought,” said Ark, “that you would sleep the day away.” A smile flickered across his hard face. “A merchant’s spoiled daughter, indeed.” 

“It is all part of the masquerade,” said Caina. “Besides, it was a long night.”

Ark grunted an acknowledgment. “And dreams, I suppose.”

“Yes,” said Caina, her voice low. “And you?”

Ark shook his head. “I have not slept well since we came to Marsis.” He drew a dagger and examined the edge. “Too many memories. Most of them bad.” 

Caina hesitated. “My father’s friend. The locksmith. What do you think of him?”

Ark shrugged. “He’s a madman, that’s plain, but skilled at his craft, otherwise he’d be starving in the streets. Your father says he’s reliable. That’s good enough for me.” 

“He counts the number of children who go past his window,” said Caina. “He says the numbers have gone down, and thinks that they’ve been taken.” 

“He told you that?” said Ark. “He counts everything, obsessively. When I first met him, he tried to count the links in my mail shirt.”

“What about beggars?” said Caina. “Have you seen any in Marsis?” 

Ark frowned. “Now that I think about it, no.”

“What about five years ago?” said Caina. 

“There were beggars everywhere,” said Ark. “At the gates, in the markets, at the docks…but now, I haven’t seen a single one.” He leaned towards her. “You think…ah, your father’s enemy has taken them?” 

“I don’t know,” said Caina. “The locksmith thinks so. But beggars? Surely they would make poor merchandise. Why go to the bother?” 

Zorgi returned, bearing a plate of food. “Some bread and cheese, my fair maiden. And some mixed wine, since your father says you have little head for spirits.”

“Thank you,” said Caina. “Master innkeeper, where are all the beggars?”

Zorgi blinked. “Your pardon?”

“Beggars,” said Caina, giving an airy wave of her hand. “My father has taken me all over the Empire, and every city that I have ever seen has had beggars. I always give them a coin at the gate. It’s what I do whenever I come to a new city.”

“It grieves me that I cannot answer your question,” said Zorgi. “In years past Marsis had many beggars. They would gather at my back door after sunset, and I would give them the day’s leftovers, anything I could not use for tomorrow’s meals.” He shrugged, and Caina saw something like unease in his dark eyes. “Yet in recent years fewer have come, and no beggars now come at all. I cannot say why. Perhaps they have all found work.”

“Yes, I am sure that is it,” said Caina. “Thank you.”

She ate, thinking over what Zorgi had said, while Ark drank his beer and sharpened his daggers. 

“Speaking of my father,” said Caina, “where is he?”

Ark shrugged. “He went to speak with the sources he mentioned last night.”

Sources who knew something about sorcery. Caina suppressed a shiver. She had known several experts of arcane science, and none of them had been good men. Several had been insane, murderously so. 

She thought of the scar on her belly, and tried to push the memory away. 

The Inn’s door swung open, and Halfdan entered, resplendent in his master merchant’s robe. He crossed the room and stood over their table.

“Ah, daughter, you’re up,” said Halfdan. “Sleeping until noon. A sure sign that you require a husband. But, never fear, I have good news for you.”

Caina lifted her eyebrows. “What’s that?” 

“Tomorrow night, I have secured invitations to the house of Lady Messana Heliorus. Like Lady Agria, she is holding a grand ball.” Halfdan smiled, his eyes glinting. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself.” 

“Oh, I shall,” said Caina. “I have heard ever so much about Lady Messana, and I am looking forward to meeting her. And touring her magnificent home.” 

Ark snorted and took another drink of beer.

“That leaves tonight free,” said Caina. “What shall we do? A quiet dinner at the Inn?”

“I have something a little more exciting in mind,” said Halfdan. “Do you still have that gown you wore, when we visited the Ragman’s Inn?”

Halfdan meant the ragged armor and clothes of a mercenary. “I most certainly do. You taught me not to be wasteful, after all.”

“Good, good,” said Halfdan. “I think we’ll pay a visit to an old friend of mine. One who can shed light upon certain business concerns.”

A source who knew something about arcane sciences.

Caina forced a smile. “How wonderful.” 

###

After dark, she changed. 

Caina donned the studded leather armor, the sword and dagger, the grimy clothes, and the ragged cloak of a poor mercenary, the same clothes she had worn at the Ragman’s Inn. She hooked a grapnel into the bedroom window, and went down the rope and into the darkened gardens. She paused only long enough to rake her hair over her face and to rub some dirt across her jaw and cheeks. 

Then she vanished into the night.

Ark and Halfdan waited a short distance away, lurking in the mouth of a shadowed alley. Ark looked as he always did, though he had traded his chain mail for a leather jerkin and a cloak that looked as if it had been used as a horse blanket. Halfdan had abandoned the rich robe of a master merchant for the leather and wool of a mercenary, weapons hanging at his belt. 

“Who comes?” said Ark. “Name yourself.”

“Aye, damn and blast you,” said Caina in thick Caerish, “I’ll walk where I please.”

Ark stepped forward, drawing his broadsword, until Halfdan’s hand settled on his wrist. 

“Glad you could join us,” said Halfdan, in the same accented Caerish. 

Ark looked at her, blinked, and let go of his sword. “I shall never get used to how you can simply cast off one persona and take up another.”

“Practice,” said Caina. “Shall we go?”

Halfdan nodded and led them away from the Citadel and the mansions of the rich and into the docks. The homes of the lords and wealthy merchants had a silent dignity after dark. Not so the docks. Firelight and noise poured from every tavern and every public house, voices and laughter and music and the occasional scream blending together. Guards stood before the warehouses, weapons in hand, watching the streets with cold eyes. Gangs of youths prowled through the lanes, looking for trouble. The slender shadow of Black Angel Tower jutted over the rooftops, visible even at night. 

A dangerous neighborhood. The sort of place a press-gang might operate with impunity. Or, perhaps, a gang of well-organized slavers. 

Halfdan turned down a narrow lane. The houses here looked decrepit, their walls crumbling, their doors and windows gaping black holes. The docks stank of salt and tar and dead fish, but the air here smelled different. Like rotting meat, perhaps, mingled with a chemical stench. 

Caina shared a look with Ark. 

“These houses are abandoned,” said Caina.

“Aye,” said Halfdan. “No one comes here. Save the most desperate.” 

“This source of yours,” said Caina. “Who is he?”

“A former brother of the Magisterium,” said Halfdan.

Caina’s breath hissed through her teeth.

“He was an influential master within the Magisterium, until he made the mistaken of using his sorcery to force a woman into his bed. As it happens, the woman was the favorite mistress of the First Magus. The First Magus took a…rather fearful revenge, and expelled the man from the Magisterium. Now he lives here, eking out an existence by selling his skills to the highest bidder.”

“And you trust this man?” said Caina.

“Not in the least,” said Halfdan. “He’s quite dangerous.”

“A rogue magus?” said Caina. “How do we know he isn’t working with Icaraeus?”

“For the same reason that we can extract useful information from him,” said Halfdan.

“And that is?”

“He’s a coward,” said Halfdan. “He’s only alive because the First Magus wanted him to suffer, and he knows it. He won’t dare do anything to draw the displeasure of the Magisterium. Or the magistrates, or the Ghosts, for that matter. And here we are.” 

The lane ended in a sagging wooden house. It loomed over the street like a dead tree, the chemical stench stronger here. Caina felt a constant faint tingle against her skin, and realized that this former brother of the Magisterium had laid protective spells over his home. Halfdan strode up to the door and pounded, the echoes ringing. 

A little iron plate in the door slid aside. “Leave me, dog!” The voice bubbled and rasped, as if choked with phlegm. “Return on the morrow, and I might deign to see you. If you are worthy of receiving my assistance.”

“Nicorus,” said Halfdan, switching to High Nighmarian. “So good to see you.”

A horrified gasp came from within the door. “You!” 

“No need for fear,” said Halfdan. “I only wish to talk.”

“Leave me at once! I dare not speak with you, I dare not. The Magisterium and the Ghosts are mortal enemies. If the First Magus learned that I aided you, he would kill me. Leave me!” 

“You’ve aided me before,” said Halfdan, “and you’re still alive, aren’t you? But refuse me, and you shall earn the displeasure of the Ghosts. And that might be harder to survive.” 

“Very well,” said Nicorus. “But your pet thugs stay outside.” The door rattled open.

“No,” said Halfdan.

Caina followed Halfdan and Ark into a cavernous, dimly lit room. Wooden shelves lined the walls, laden with jars, vials, books, scrolls, and bones. Various preserved organs and dead animals floated in jars of brine. The only light came from dying coals in a pair of corroded bronze braziers. The air in here stank of chemicals, rotted meat, and mildew. Nicorus himself was a squat man in a greasy brown robe, his skin the color and texture of kneaded dough. 

His eyebrows were missing, and he had neither beard nor hair.

Caina suddenly grasped the nature of the First Magus’s vengeance and shuddered. 

“What do you wish of me, Halfdan?” said Nicorus, white hands brushing against the side of his filthy robe. “Be quick about it.”

“I wish only the answers to a few simple questions,” said Halfdan. 

“Questions, questions,” said Nicorus. “You Ghosts are forever asking questions.” His glittering eyes settled upon Caina and narrowed for an instant. “Do you ever like the answers you find?”

“That would depend upon the answers you give me,” said Halfdan. “I need to know about the local chapter of the Magisterium.”

“No,” said Nicorus, taking a step back. “No. I dare not anger the Magisterium further. Their anger has already cost me too much.” 

“And their anger may cost you more, if you don’t answer my questions,” said Halfdan.

Nicorus bared his yellowed teeth and lifted his hand in the beginning of a spell. Caina reached for her weapons. “Is that a threat?”

Halfdan remained unruffled. “Merely a promise. Out of curiosity, have you heard of a man named Naelon Icaraeus?”

“Lord Naelon Icaraeus, you mean?” Nicorus tilted his head to the side. “The eldest son of the disgraced Haeron Icaraeus, as I recall. Like his father, he wants to be Emperor, and he now commands the slaver gangs of the western sea.” 

“And now he is using sorcery, as well,” said Halfdan.

Nicorus sneered. “What is that to me? Do you think I am fool enough to aid him? You Ghosts have been seeking him for years, and sooner or later you will catch him. I have nothing to do with him.”

“No,” said Halfdan. “But suppose the Magisterium starts to investigate tales of sorcery-wielding slavers. And they know a former master of their order resides in Marsis. Who do you think they will blame?”

Nicorus said nothing, but Caina saw the sweat bead on his pallid forehead. 

“So, I’m not threatening you, Nicorus,” said Halfdan. “I merely offer you a chance to escape the Magisterium’s wrath.” He gave a lazy shrug and turned towards the door. “But if you don’t want my help…”

Caina stifled a grin.

“Damn you,” hissed Nicorus. “Very well. Ask your questions.” 

“Icaraeus is using sorcery. I want him, and I want his sorcerer,” said Halfdan. “Do you think someone from the local chapter could be aiding him?”

“Perhaps,” said Nicorus. “Describe this sorcery to me.”

“My associate saw it,” said Halfdan, nodding at Caina. “He will describe it to you.”

“He?” said Nicorus. “Do not lie to me, Halfdan.” His eyes fixed upon Caina. “A woman Ghost? A harlot, no doubt. Seducing unwitting fools, and opening her legs for them so that she might devour their secrets whole.”

“As if you would know,” said Caina.

Nicorus shivered, his snarl returning, and Caina felt a spike of sorcerous power against her skin. 

“Enough,” said Halfdan. “Tell him.” 

Caina did. She described the bracers that Tigrane and Icaraeus had worn, and told Nicorus how her knife had twisted and shattered when it struck Icaraeus’s skin. She said nothing about Lady Agria’s set of bracers. If Nicorus was involved in this business, she did not want to tip him off.