Ghost in the Blood (The Ghosts)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  Hiram scowled. “No. I suppose not.” He sighed. “I am the bastard son of the old Lord Palaegus. Martin was my younger half-brother.” His stern face relaxed in a smile. “Traditionally, I suppose, bastard sons and lawful heirs are the worst of enemies. But Martin and I were always friends. Probably because I had no desire to become Lord of House Palaegus, and preferred to enter the Legions rather than to endure the banalities of politics. About ten years ago Martin married Agria, of House Marken.”

  “What did you think of Agria then?” said Caina.

  Hiram shrugged. “I bore her no ill will. She was charming and courteous, though haughty as any other woman of high birth. She bore Martin a daughter, Lydia, shortly after the wedding.” The smile turned pained. “Lydia…was a sweet child. She could make friends with anyone, and she had none of her mother’s hauteur. The servants adored her. Everyone did.”

  “What went wrong?” said Caina.

  “Jadriga,” said Hiram. He spat the word like something poisonous. Caina remembered him cursing Jadriga in Agria’s bedroom.

  “And who is Jadriga?” said Caina.

  “A charlatan,” said Hiram. “She came from the Imperial capital, claiming to be an astrologer, a seeress, in touch with the ‘sacred mysticism’ of women and other such nonsense. Well, noblewomen like to collect eccentrics, and Agria was fascinated by Jadriga. Martin should have had her thrown into the street.” He shook his head. “Jadriga poured poison into Agria’s ear from the first day. She told Agria that her husband and daughter were hindrances, chains holding her back from reaching her full potential.” His scowl deepened. “Agria would spend all her time with Jadriga, and the wives of Lord Heliorus and Lord Chlorus, chanting and burning incense and painting symbols upon the wall. Foolishness, all of it.”

  “No,” said Caina. “Agria has some arcane power. Perhaps she learned it from this Jadriga.”

  Hiram blinked. “She…does?” He shook his head. “That would explain some things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Why she changed,” said Hiram. “After she began meeting with Jadriga, her temperament changed entirely. She turned against Martin first, and then Lydia. She had screaming rages, beating the servants and smashing things when anything displeased her. And…you might think me mad, but she began to look younger, too.”

  “Younger?” said Caina.

  “Thinner,” said Hiram. “Fewer lines upon her face. Perhaps that was sorcery, too.” He gripped the hilt of his broadsword. “And sorcery would explain other things.”

  “What other things?”

  “How she killed Martin and Lydia,” said Hiram.

  “You’re sure she killed them?” said Caina.

  “I know it,” said Hiram. “I have no proof but I am sure of it. They both died of the weeping plague five years ago. The bodies were burned at once to keep the disease from spreading. And Agria did not care. Not a month passed before she began throwing lavish parties every week, and taking a different lover into her bed every night. It’s a miracle she hasn’t exhausted Martin’s money yet.”

  “She has,” said Caina. “In fact she is over six million denarii in debt.”

  “Six million?” said Hiram, shocked. “I knew that she was heedlessly extravagant…but to that extent?”

  “She’s not spending all that money on wine and jewels,” said Caina. “Is she?”

  “No,” said Hiram. He took a deep breath. “She is buying slaves, kidnapped from the countryside and the streets of Marsis. Hundreds and hundreds of them. And the gods only know what she is doing with them! She’ll hold a few dozen in the cellar for a few weeks, and then they disappear.”

  “Why do you think she is buying these slaves?” said Caina.

  Hiram shrugged. “I cannot imagine. Reselling them, I suppose, in order to cover her debts. There are mine owners and plantation farmers who are not choosy about where their labor comes from.”

  “Or traitors to the Empire,” said Caina.

  “What do you mean?” said Hiram.

  “You know of a man named Naelon Icaraeus?” said Caina.

  Hiram blinked in surprise. “Old Lord Haeron's son, isn't he? Banished from the Empire for treason and plotting with necromancers. There’s a vast bounty on his head, but no one has ever collected it.”

  “He has turned to slave trading to raise money,” said Caina. “Agria has been buying her slaves from him.”

  “She is consorting with an attainted traitor to the Emperor?” said Hiram, aghast. “Agria always meets with two men when she buys slaves. I followed one of them…”

  “That is Tigrane,” said Caina. “A former pirate captain. The other man is Icaraeus.”

  “Gods of the Empire,” spat Hiram. “Is there nothing that woman won’t do? She squandered her wealth. She is buying slaves. She murdered my brother and his daughter! And now she is dealing with a traitor to the Empire?”

  “You know she is buying slaves,” said Caina. “Why haven’t you gone to the magistrates, or to Lord Governor Corbould Maraeus?”

  “Who would believe me?” said Hiram, bitterness in his voice. “I have no proof, only the things that I alone have witnessed. I am the bastard half-brother of Martin’s widow. Without impervious proof, any accusation I level will be seen as a jealous bastard attempting to usurp Agria’s lawful rights. And I have no impervious proof.” He looked at her. “Do the Ghosts?”

  “Not yet,” said Caina. “But we will, soon. Especially if we have your assistance.”

  Hiram nodded. “You have it.”

  “Good. Have you followed Tigrane before?”

  “Several times,” said Hiram. “He drinks at the Dead Fish Tavern frequently. He usually has a dozen other men with him. I don’t dare approach him by myself, and I can’t bring the troops of my cohort into the city without a proper warrant.”

  “Which you cannot obtain without impervious proof,” said Caina.

  Hiram nodded. “How can we obtain such proof?”

  “You will continue to keep an eye on the Dead Fish Tavern,” said Caina. “Naelon Icaraeus is the priority.”

  “But Agria…”

  “If we take down Icaraeus, we shall have all the proof we need to deal with Agria,” said Caina.

  What she did not say was that they might just kill Agria anyway. The Emperor took a dim view of nobles who dabbled in the slave trade. More than once he had ordered their covert deaths. And Caina suspected that the Emperor would not care how Naelon Icaraeus died, so long that he did.

  “What about Martin and Lydia?” said Hiram. “Will you get justice for them?”

  “Agria will pay for what she has done,” said Caina. One way or another. “Do not approach her directly.”

  Hiram snorted. “I haven’t exchanged more than pleasantries with Agria in years.”

  “I am serious,” said Caina. “She has mastered a level of sorcery that permits her to control the minds of men. If she has the least inkling that you’re a threat to her, she might force you to kill yourself.”

  Hiram frowned, and nodded. “How shall I contact you if I find something useful?”

  “You will send a message, sealed with your tribune’s authority, to Ducas, a tribune of the Twentieth Legion,” said Caina. “He will know what to do with it. And I may call upon you later.”

  “Good,” said Hiram. He half-turned, looking in the direction of Agria’s mansion. “This is the best news I’ve heard in a long time. Maybe at last Agria will…”

  Caina took the opportunity to slip out of the alley and settle into a doorframe. Her cloak settled around her, merging with the shadows. A moment later Hiram burst in the street, looking back and forth.

  “How the devil did he do that?” he muttered. Then he gave a short, sharp shake of his head and stalked away, hand still resting on the hilt of his broadsword. Caina waited until he had vanished from sight, counted to a hundred, and started back to Zorgi’s inn.

  ###

  It took longer without a proper rope, but Caina
scaled the wall, rolled over the railing, and pushed open the doors to their rooms.

  Halfdan sat at the table, sipping from a glass of wine. Ark sat besides him, cleaning his broadsword and daggers. They both looked up as she entered.

  “Good to see that you’re not dead,” said Ark.

  “I should have checked with you first,” said Caina. “But I saw the opportunity.”

  Halfdan waved a hand. “You know what you’re doing. I wouldn’t have brought you to Marsis if you didn’t. We found your dress in the coach, and your cloak and weapons gone. Since it was rather unlikely that Ducas had finally seduced you, I figured that you had seen something that needed investigating. So. What was it?”

  Caina told him about following Tigrane, and about meeting Hiram in the alley near the Dead Fish Tavern.

  “Hiram knew Agria was up to something,” said Caina. “He just didn’t know the extent.”

  “Assuming he told the truth,” said Halfdan.

  “I think he did,” said Ark. “When I met him, it was plain that he hated Lady Palaegus.”

  Caina nodded in agreement.

  “Good,” said Halfdan. “I’ve heard of this Dead Fish Tavern. It has an evil reputation, and is supposed to be a den of thieves. It seems like the sort of place someone like Tigrane would frequent, and it’s entirely possible he’s operating out of there.” He rubbed his chin for a moment, thinking. “We’ve no engagements for tomorrow night. So we’ll stir up the Dead Fish Tavern and see what floats to the top. If we get lucky, we might find Icaraeus himself, or discover where to find him.”

  “And when we find him?” said Caina.

  “We capture him and bring him to the Emperor,” said Halfdan. “And if not, then we kill him.”

  “Finally, something to look forward to,” said Caina.

  ###

  Again the nightmare came.

  This time Caina fled through a maze of black stone, her heart racing, sweat pouring down her face, terrified sounds escaping from her lips. The walls blurred and slipped, shifting between black marble and the trees of Messana Heliorus’s grounds. Her bare feet slipped on the slick stone, and she fell with a scream, her head and wrist cracking against the floor.

  The solemn girl in the gray dress stood nearby, watching her, the silver comb glittering in her hair.

  Caina rolled over just in time to see twisted black shapes lunge around the corner, reaching for her with jagged yellow claws…

  ###

  She awoke with a shriek, tearing the blankets away as if they were poisonous things. She looked around in a panic, expecting to see the girl in the gray dress, or the black twisted shapes.

  But she saw nothing. The room was empty of everything but moonlight and shadows. She saw no trace of the solemn girl, or the snarling black shapes, or any of the experiences that had left scars upon her mind.

  Caina shuddered and rubbed her hands against her forehead. They did not shake, which was a relief, though they came away wet with sweat.

  Was she losing her mind?

  Why did she keep having dreams about the gray-clad child? Caina had never met a little girl like that. Did she represent something? Caina’s own desire to have children, maybe? But that was ludicrous. Caina’s dreams had always been filled with straightforward horrors before. Abstract symbolism was something new.

  She climbed out of bed, threw off her nightgown, and practiced her unarmed forms in the moonlight. She moved through kicks and punches, blocks and throws, grips and sweeps until her arms and legs ached and sweat poured down her face.

  Enough with night horrors. She had work to do tomorrow. With any luck, they could take down Icaraeus before the week passed.

  Caina collapsed into bed and sank into a black and dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 12 - The Dead Fish Tavern

  The last few evenings, Caina had dressed for dinner with the rich and powerful.

  Tonight, she dressed for the tavern.

  Caina had not bathed after practicing her forms, and she suspected the resultant odor would have made Agria Palaegus recoil in disgust. She donned the worn leathers and dusty wool of her mercenary disguise, raking her hair to fall in greasy curtains over her face. Some of Zorgi’s beer splashed over her jerkin and cloak, a wobbling stagger to her walk, and she was ready.

  Caina went out the inn’s window, through the shadowy garden, and went to find Halfdan and Ark. Both men waited in a nearby alley, likewise clad in ragged mercenaries’ garb.

  Halfdan grinned. “You look like you’re on your way to kill someone.”

  “Aye,” Caina answered in the same accented Caerish. “Someone looks at me wrong I’ll shove a foot of sharpened steel down his gullet.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Halfdan. “Well. Shall we?”

  They made their way through the streets, Caina keeping the stagger to her walk. Soon they reached the maze of stone piers, wooden walkways, shabby inns, and brick warehouses that made up Marsis’s docks. As before, the docks crawled with activity, even at night. Sailors and thieves and whores went about their business, or their fun, and crews and cranes still unloaded cargoes from the ships. Caina wondered if the unloading and loading ever stopped.

  A gaunt woman in a ragged dress came out of the shadows, her eyes sharp and hungry. “You’re looking for some company, aye?” she said to Ark.

  Ark didn’t look at her. “I am married.”

  “Married?” she laughed. “Like that matters! Come here, and I’ll make you forget your wife…”

  Ark whirled. The whore backed away with a terrified shriek, her eyes going wide.

  “What did you say?” hissed Ark. “What did you say to me?”

  The whore gaped at him. “I…I…”

  Caina grabbed his arm. “Stop this. Now.”

  Ark stopped, shaking with anger.

  “Now, now, my dearie,” said Halfdan in his thick Caerish. “My friend here isn’t right in the head, and I’m afraid you’ve set him off.” A gold coin glittered in his fingers. “How about you take this coin and forget that you ever saw us?” Something menacing appeared in his smile. “It would be…good for you.”

  The whore stared at him for a moment, trembling. Then she snatched the coin and ran.

  “You know,” said Halfdan, “the entire point of remaining inconspicuous is to avoid drawing attention. Terrifying whores is not…”

  “I know,” said Ark. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. The muscles of his hands twitched. “She…caught me off guard.” He looked around. “Here, of all places, in this damnable slaver-infested city. It will not happen again.”

  Halfdan nodded. “Good enough.” He beckoned, and they followed him.

  Caina looked at Ark. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

  “An odd thing for a mercenary to ask,” said Ark.

  “Fine,” said Caina, switching to same accent Halfdan used. “Are you going to turn tail and run on us, you damned dog?”

  Ark almost smiled. “I…you do not look at all like yourself.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I am only grateful,” said Ark, “that you do not look like Tanya, just now.”

  Caina nodded, and they kept walking. Soon they came to the Dead Fish Tavern, which smelled as its name suggested. Caina caught a glimpse of movement on the tavern’s roof, and another in a window across the street.

  “Lookouts,” she muttered. Halfdan nodded, then strode up the stairs and pushed open the door.

  The door, Caina noticed, had a charm against the Moroaica nailed into the frame.

  The Dead Fish Tavern was crowded. Men sat at a long wooden bar, and on benches strewn throughout the room. The air stank of sweat, smoke, cheap beer, and dead fish. Caina spotted Tigrane at once. He sat in a corner, talking in a low voice to four other men, with another dozen listening in. Caina recognized some of them from the White Road Inn.

  And all of them looked up, hands twitching towards their weapons. Tigrane’s eyes narrowed,
and Caina felt the weight of his gaze. She had been masquerading as a frightened maid at the time, but he had seen her without cloak and mask. He might recognize her.

  “Where can I get some damned beer?” bellowed Halfdan in Caerish.

  The bartender squinted at them. Like Tigrane, he looked like a sailor. No doubt his missing arm had forced him to stay ashore. “Aye? This is a sailor’s tavern. We don’t much care for landsmen here.”

  “Gods damn and blast it!” said Halfdan. “Me and my lads here guarded a caravan from Caer Marist, and walked every damn mile of the road. We’ve gotten thrown out of every damned tavern in this damned stinking city. Now, I’ve got a purse full of coin I want to spend, and I want to get good and drunk. You can either get me some beer, or you can go to hell!”

  Tigrane smirked, and nodded at the bartender.

  “Well, why not?” said the bartender. Tigrane turned his attention back to the men around him. “I’d sell my beer to the Solmonari themselves, if their coin was good.”

  Halfdan staggered to the bar. Coins were exchanged, and the bartender produced three enormous clay mugs of beer. Halfdan and Ark lifted their mugs and drank. Caina started to take a sip, then remembered that mercenaries quaffed. She let most of the beer splash over her jaw and chest, which was just as well, since it tasted vile.

  “Ha!” said the bartender, who seemed to have gotten over his earlier truculence. “Thirsty, weren’t you?”

  “Aye,” said Halfdan, wiping his mouth. “Mile after mile of dusty road, and not a decent inn in sight. Not anywhere! I should have gone to sea.”

  “Bah,” said the innkeeper. “Hardly better. Water as far as the eye can see…but you can’t drink a single damned drop of it. Nothing to eat but rotten bread and juiceless meat. And pirates and storms and devils out of the deeps as well.” He slapped his stump with his good hand. “A Kyracian stormdancer did this to me. Took my arm right off with one of those curved swords of theirs. Like a razor, it was.”

  “As if the road is any better,” said Halfdan. “Roads made of dust or mud, and bandits and devils in the hills, to boot.” He began telling an unlikely story about a lord’s daughter, a dashing bandit king, and a monkey. The bartender began to laugh at the more amusing points, and a few of the other patrons drifted over. Even Ark laughed once. Caina grinned behind her mug.