“Why, Anton, how very sweet of you,” said Caina, walking towards them, the heels of her boots tapping against the polished floor. She spoke with a thick Szaldic accent, as Sonya Tornesti was Szaldic.
She took Corvalis’s hands and kissed him.
“Will you be taking lunch with us today, sir?” said Talzain.
“I fear not,” said Corvalis. “Business calls, I am afraid. Basil Callenius has some…interesting proposals, and I will meet with him at the House of Kularus. I do not expect to return until tonight.”
“Commerce,” said Talzain, “is ever a harsh taskmaster.”
“Truly,” said Corvalis, and he took Caina’s hand and led her from the entry hall.
They stepped outside. The fog had burned away, the sun rising in the eastern sky. Traffic moved back and forth before the house, mostly couriers carrying messages and maids and cooks on their way to the markets.
“It always amazes me,” murmured Corvalis, closing the front door behind them, “how perfectly you can imitate an accent.”
Caina shrugged. “It is merely practice, no?”
“And you sound,” said Corvalis, “exactly like Tanya.”
“But of course,” said Caina. “Where do you think I learned the accent?”
“You don’t even speak Szaldic,” said Corvalis.
“I speak more than I did,” said Caina. “And Sonya Tornesti grew up in Varia Province, surrounded by Szalds, even if her family spoke Caerish.”
Corvalis laughed. “You think of everything.”
“Halfdan was right,” said Caina. A fine coach rattled towards the townhouse, pulled by two brown horses. “The best lies are true.”
“Speaking of which,” said Corvalis, brushing some dust from the sleeve of his coat, “it’s time for me to go lie.” The coach stopped before the house, and Corvalis extended a hand. “Shall we?”
He led Caina to the coach and opened the door. She climbed inside, red skirts gathered in her hands, and saw Halfdan sitting upon one of the seats. Muravin sat across from him, between Mahdriva and the door, and glowered at Caina.
“Is this why we must stop, Basil Callenius?” said Muravin. “So you can acquire prostitutes to comfort you?”
Caina heard Corvalis chuckle and resisted the urge to kick him.
“She is no prostitute,” said Halfdan.
“Indeed not,” said Caina in Istarish, settling next to Halfdan. “Or do you forget our first meeting in the courtyard, when Nalazar and his men pursued you?”
Muravin looked at her for a moment, and then his eyes widened. “The woman of the shadows?”
Caina nodded.
“By the Living Flame,” said Muravin. “I would never have recognized you.”
“I have heard it said that the Ghosts vanished into the shadows,” said Mahdriva, her face tired. She wore one of Tanya’s dresses, and though her belly bulged against the front, it was too long and loose for her. “But if you can disguise yourself so well, you have no need of shadows.”
“Shadows,” said Caina, “have their uses.”
“Where are you taking us?” said Muravin.
“A safe house,” said Halfdan.
“What kind of safe house?” said Muravin.
“The kind of safe house,” said Halfdan, “where you can get the best coffee in Malarae.”
Muravin looked puzzled.
###
A short time later, the coach stopped in the Imperial Market.
A million people lived in Malarae and the surrounding villages, and the city had hundreds of markets and thousands of shops. The Imperial Market was the richest and the most prestigious in the city and perhaps the Empire. The market sat at the base of the rocky crag that supported the Imperial Citadel itself. Marble paved the square, and statues of gods and heroes and long-dead Emperors lined the market or stood before the buildings. The richest merchants’ collegia kept their halls here, lining the square in glittering marble facades. Smaller shops sold luxuries from across the Empire, wives of wealthy merchants and the seneschal of powerful lords examining the wares.
And at one end of the square, overlooking it all, sat the House of Kularus.
“What is this place?” said Muravin, peering through the coach’s windows.
“The only place,” said Halfdan, “to purchase coffee in the city of Malarae. Or the Empire itself.”
Mahdriva blinked. “In Istarinmul, even slaves drink coffee. Why is it so popular here?”
“About a year ago,” Caina heard herself say, “I did a favor for some powerful men in the south. They asked if I wished a reward.”
“What did you ask for?” said Mahdriva. “Riches?”
“All the coffee beans in the warehouse of a dead merchant,” said Caina, “and the freedom of one slave. And this,” she gestured at the House of Kularus, “is the result.”
The coach stopped, and Muravin and Mahdriva donned hooded cloaks. Corvalis opened the coach’s door and climbed out, and Caina followed him.
The House of Kularus rose over them, five stories topped by a small dome. Statues stood in niches along the walls, showing various victorious lords and Emperors from the Empire’s long history. The statues looked marble, but Caina knew they were plaster, painted over to look like stone.
It was cheaper.
The smell of roasting coffee filled her nostrils, along with the low murmur of conversation from within the House.
“It sounds as if business is good,” said Corvalis.
“A coffee house?” said Muravin. “You think to hide us in a coffee house? Madness.”
“We do, but it is not madness,” said Caina. “Follow us.”
She slipped her arm into Corvalis’s, and footmen opened the doors at their approach. Inside, sunlight fell from the oculus in the dome overhead, supplementing the light from the enspelled glass spheres lining the walls. Tables and chairs filled the floor, and five stories of balconies climbed the walls, providing booths where men could converse in privacy. Servants hurried to and fro from the kitchens, carrying trays of coffee and food.
“It is larger,” said Muravin, “then I expected.”
“It is,” said Caina.
It had worked better than she had thought. While in Catekharon, she had seen how the Anshani and the Istarish conducted business in coffee houses. No doubt a great many secrets were discussed over coffee, secrets that could benefit the Ghosts. Caina had brought Khaltep Irzaris’s coffee beans back from Catekharon in hopes of starting a coffee house in Malarae and gaining new information for the Ghosts.
The cover story had been easy enough to arrange. Anton Kularus, a mercenary guard in the employment of Basil Callenius, had received the coffee beans as a reward for saving the lives of the Sages during Mihaela’s mad attempt to create the glypharmor. In gratitude, Basil Callenius had arranged for his friends in the Imperial Curia to give Kularus the exclusive right to sell coffee in Malarae. Kularus had opened his House…and business had boomed. Now many prominent lords and wealthy merchants preferred to conduct business at the booths and tables at the House of Kularus. Anton Kularus also controlled the coffee trade into Malarae, and that income combined with his coffee house had made him a wealthy man.
And every last one of the maids, servants, porters, footmen, and cooks reported everything they saw and overhead to the Ghosts. Already the Ghosts had stopped assassination attempts on Lord Titus Iconias and some of the other lords who supported the Emperor using the information gleaned from the House of Kularus, and Caina had tracked down two different rings of Istarish spies.
Of course, the capital thought the coffee house belonged to Anton Kularus, but in truth, it belonged to Caina…and it had made her wealthy. But she had little use for money.
She looked at Mahdriva, at the curve of the girl’s belly.
Money could not buy her what she really wanted.
“Master Anton!” said a voice.
A short man of Anshani birth hurried towards them, clad in an immaculate black coa
t and trousers. He was not much older than Mahdriva, but already he had dark circles under his eyes and a hint of gray in his jet-black hair.
Given that his sister had been murdered and transformed into an enspelled suit of armor, Caina was not surprised.
“Shaizid,” said Corvalis, greeting the former slave who managed the House of Kularus. “How is business?”
“Well, Master Anton,” said Shaizid with a bow. “Many fine lords grace your House, and we are pleased to serve them.”
“And to take their coin, eh?” said Corvalis.
“Well,” said Shaizid. “That is the purpose of commerce.” He turned to Caina and offered a bow, deeper than the one he had given to Corvalis. “And you, Mistress Sonya. It is always good to see you.”
“And you, Shaizid,” said Caina, keeping her Szaldic accent in place. She had avenged his sister’s death at the hands of Mihaela and Torius Aberon, and he would do absolutely anything she asked of him. Just as Tanya and Ark would do anything she asked of them, for saving Nicolai from the Moroaica and the slavers.
That troubled her, for the cold part of her mind, the part trained by the Ghosts and hardened by experience, saw how she could use her friends as weapons.
But today, at least, she need not ask anything so demanding of Shaizid.
“Shaizid,” she said, “these are my kinsmen, visiting from Varia Province.” She gestured at Muravin and Mahdriva, swathed in their cloaks. “They are tired from travel, and wish to rest. Anton said they could use the guest quarters.”
“Ah,” said Shaizid, nodding. He, too, was a Ghost. “This way, mistress.”
“Anton,” said Caina to Corvalis. “I must make sure my kinsmen are comfortable.”
“Go,” said Corvalis. “I have business to discuss with Master Basil anyway.”
Caina wagged a finger at Halfdan, the jewels on her hand flashing. “And do not let him drink too much coffee, yes? Otherwise he shall be up all night, and I will not get any sleep.”
“My solemn word upon it,” said Halfdan, amusement in his eyes.
“This way, mistress,” said Shaizid. Caina beckoned, and Muravin and Mahdriva followed them across the floor. Shaizid took them through the kitchens and into the cellar. Sacks of coffee beans stood against the wall, harvested and shipped north from the great plantations of Anshan. Shaizid stopped before the wall and slid aside a brick, revealing a hidden lock. He opened it with a key, and a hidden door swung open to reveal a concealed room. Within was an armory and a workshop, the shelves on the walls stocked with weapons, armor, and other useful supplies.
“A curious inventory,” said Muravin, “for a coffeehouse.”
“I told you,” said Caina, dropping her accent and switching to Istarish, “the Ghosts have safe houses. This is one of them.”
Shaizid opened another door on the far side of the armory, revealing a room furnished as a barracks. “You should be comfortable enough here, sir,” he said to Muravin in Anshani-accented Istarish. “I assume Mistress Sonya wishes your presence kept secret, yes? Well, within the House of Kularus, her wishes are law. You will be well-fed while you are here, and we shall keep you hidden.”
Mahdriva crossed to one of the cots and lay down at once.
“It is good that Mahdriva can rest here,” said Muravin. “But I shall need to keep watch.”
Caina nodded. “I expected as much. But Nalazar and the Kindred will be looking for you, and there are materials you can use for a disguise on the shelves in the armory. I suggest you disguise yourself as an Istarish mercenary. If anyone asks, say Anton gave you a job as a guard.”
“We can find livery to fit him, mistress,” said Shaizid.
Muravin chuckled. “From pit slave to Arena champion to guard at a coffee house. The wheel of fate spins in peculiar directions. But it shall be as you say.” He hesitated. “Sonya Tornesti…thank you for your kindness. I admit, you are a most peculiar woman, but without your aid, Mahdriva and I should surely have perished.”
“I told you,” said Caina. “I don’t like slavers. Rest here for a while. We will speak later.”
She left the barracks and stepped into the armory, closing the door behind her.
“Who are they, mistress?” said Shaizid. “If I am allowed to know.”
Caina shrugged. “A former gladiator and his pregnant daughter. The Istarish Kindred murdered his other daughters and their husbands. I need a safe place to hide them.”
“They shall be kept safe, mistress, I swear it,” said Shaizid. “And the Ghost circles of Malarae know the identities of several of the local Kindred, though we have been unable to find their Sanctuary. We will not permit any of them to come near the House of Kularus.”
“I doubt the assassins from the Malarae family will be involved,” said Caina. “The Istarish Kindred pursued them north.”
“It will be difficult to watch for them,” said Shaizid, “with the new Lord Ambassador visiting the city.”
“I know,” said Caina. Had the Kindred merely wanted to use Tanzir Shahan’s arrival to mask their attacks? Yet they couldn’t have known that Muravin would flee to Malarae. “But, please, watch for them anyway. And make sure Muravin stays out of trouble.”
“It will be as you say, mistress,” said Shaizid.
They returned to the main floor. Shaizid bowed once more and returned to his work, and Caina paused for a moment, looking over the balconies of the House of Kularus. Men and women sat at the tables and booths, laughing and talking. Some of them were enemies of the Emperor, and yet they came here to drink coffee and exchange news and negotiate contracts. To enjoy themselves in the company of others.
Caina looked at them, an odd feeling settling over her.
She had done this. Shaizid managed it, and Corvalis acted as a figurehead…but the House of Kularus was hers. She had masqueraded as many things since joining the Ghosts nearly eleven years ago – a merchant’s daughter, a Countess, an opera singer’s maid, a mercenary soldier, an Istarish soldier, and a score of other disguises. Yet she had always thought of herself as a nightfighter of the Ghosts.
She had never thought she would become a woman of commerce.
And to her surprise, Caina liked it.
Theodosia had told her that no one could remain a Ghost nightfighter forever. Could Caina do this instead? She enjoyed this life, the intrigue and the plotting and the work required of business. And she could continue to gather information and knowledge for the Ghosts.
For a moment she saw herself wed to Corvalis, the two of them ruling Malarae’s coffee trade together.
But she pushed aside the vision and joined Corvalis and Halfdan at their table.
For now, she was a nightfighter of the Ghosts, and she had work to do.
“Our guests are comfortably settled,” said Caina, sitting next to Corvalis.
“Good,” said Halfdan. “They should be safe enough here. It would take a bold assassin to sneak past so many witnesses.”
“And bold assassins,” said Corvalis, “are usually dead assassins.”
“You’re bold enough,” said Caina.
He grinned and squeezed her thigh underneath the table. “Oh, aye, but I’m not an assassin any longer.”
“Speaking of assassins,” said Halfdan, “we need to keep watch. Tanzir Shahan arrives within a week. He’ll likely stay at the Lord Ambassador’s official residence, a mansion not far from the Imperial Citadel. That would be the likely place to kill him.”
“Aye,” said Corvalis. “An arrow from a rooftop would be too chancy. Better to slip some poison into his breakfast and have done with it.”
“It would have to be a potent poison,” said Halfdan. “The Alchemists are the best apothecaries in the world, and the emirs have access to antidotes that can do everything short of raising the dead.”
“And a poison might be too subtle,” said Caina, her eyes wandering around the balconies. “The point is to have Tanzir murdered in Malarae and cast the blame upon the Emperor. A poison can alway
s be mistaken for a sudden illness, but it’s hard to misinterpret a dagger through the…”
She blinked.
“What is it?” said Corvalis.
Caina peered at the third-floor balcony, trying not to make it look obvious.
“What is it?” said Corvalis again, glancing over his shoulder.
“I think,” said Caina, “that I just saw Nalazar.”
Corvalis whispered a curse. “Should we kill him?”
“No!” said Caina. “Not here, at least. It would look a bit odd if Anton Kularus started killing patrons at his coffee house.”
“Perhaps he followed us here,” said Halfdan.
“No,” said Caina, thinking it over. “He wouldn’t recognize either me or Corvalis. We had our masks on when we fought him. He probably didn’t even realize he was fighting a woman.” A thought came to her, and she laughed out loud.
“What?” said Corvalis.
“Our own reputation works against us,” said Caina. “All men know both coffee and secrets can be bought at the House of Kularus…and so Nalazar came here to find our friends.” She stood. “Wait here. I’ll see who is meeting with him.”
“Do as you think best,” said Halfdan.
“Slap me,” said Corvalis.
“Why?” said Caina.
“If you simply walk after Nalazar, it will look suspicious,” said Corvalis. “But if you storm off to sulk after we’ve had a quarrel, no one will think anything of it.” He grinned. “Sonya Tornesti has a bit of reputation for…tempestuousness.”
“Good,” said Caina. “I’ve worked hard at that.”
“Then I can walk after you to apologize,” said Corvalis, “and give you assistance, should you need it.”
Caina smiled. “Clever man.”
She took a deep breath, drew back her arm, and slapped Corvalis as hard as she could manage. His head snapped around, his eyes bulging wide, and he rubbed his jaw, though she saw the amusement in his green eyes. A sudden silence fell over the surrounding tables, and Caina felt every eye on her.
Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes Page 5