The Emperor beckoned, and Tanzir stepped to his side.
The emir licked his lips, looking back and forth over the crowd, and Caina saw the sweat dripping from beneath his turban. The man was plainly terrified, and for a moment of awful embarrassment Caina wondered if he would lose his balance and fall down the stairs in front of the assembled high nobles of the Empire.
“Yes,” said Tanzir in High Nighmarian at last. “Yes, peace. Our Padishah desires peace. With you. The Empire, I mean. But all of you are part of the Empire…so, yes, peace. Because the Padishah is wise. Very wise. And peace is good. So…ah, peace.”
He fell silent, and the Emperor coughed.
A smattering of polite applause went up from the crowd. Caina glanced at Sinan, saw a hint of contempt on the Alchemist’s face.
“Thank you for your wise words, emir,” said the Emperor without a hint of levity. “I look forward to hearing the results of your discussions with Lord Titus.” He turned back to the guests. “Meanwhile, I urge you to enjoy the hospitality of the Empire, as we prepare to inaugurate this new era of peace.”
The guests returned to their conversations.
“What shall we do now?” said Corvalis.
“Now?” said Halfdan. “Now we shall eat and drink.” He took a flute of wine from the tray of a passing servant. “This is the finest Caerish wine, and I urge you to avail yourself of the opportunity.” He smiled. “If drinking coffee all day hasn’t ruined your palette.”
“I can get drunk with the best of them,” said Corvalis.
“That is exactly what I mean,” said Halfdan. “Wine is…”
He fell silent, and Caina saw a man in a white robe walking towards them.
Ibrahmus Sinan.
Muravin looked away, as if scanning the crowd.
“Good evening, honored sir,” said Halfdan, switching to High Nighmarian. “You are a member of the honored emir’s party, if I may be so bold?”
“I am,” said Sinan. “You are?”
Halfdan bowed. “Basil Callenius, a merchant of the Imperial Collegium of jewelers.” He gestured. “This is Anton Kularus, an associate of mine, and his…companion, Sonya Tornesti.”
Corvalis bowed, and Caina gripped her skirts and did a curtsy.
“Indeed,” said Sinan, ignoring Caina. “I am Ibrahmus Sinan, a full brother of the College of Alchemists of Istarinmul. Fame of your coffee house has spread far and wide, Master Anton. It seems the emir himself wishes to visit.”
“Truly?” said Corvalis. “He would be welcome. All are welcome at the House of Kularus.”
Sinan smiled. “Provided they have coin to spend, of course.”
“Well,” said Corvalis. “A man must make a living however he can.”
“Might we be of service to you, learned one?” said Halfdan. “Do you wish to purchase some gems from me? I understand Alchemist can make potent arcane objects from the proper gemstones. Perhaps some emeralds, cut just so…”
“No,” said Sinan. “Rather, I have come with a warning for Master Anton.”
“Oh?” said Corvalis, lifting his eyebrows. Caina recognized the dangerous smile on his face. “I always appreciate warnings.”
“You should,” said Sinan. “Not all the nobles of Istarinmul approve of our Padishah’s wisdom in making peace with your Emperor.”
“From what I understand,” said Halfdan, “Rezir Shahan started the war, and lost both Marsis and his life. The wisdom of peace should be apparent.”
“It should be,” said Sinan, “but it was not apparent to Rezir, and it is not apparent to many in Istarinmul. Or in the Empire or Anshan, I imagine. And how easy to continue the war by murdering the Lord Ambassador in Malarae?”
“I confess,” said Corvalis, “such a thought had occurred to me, but such matters are far beyond a simple merchant of coffee.”
“They are,” said Sinan, “unless the Lord Ambassador is murdered at the simple coffee merchant’s establishment. The emir has taken quite an interest in your establishment, and wishes to visit tomorrow. An excellent opportunity for an assassin.”
Corvalis shrugged. “I have guards, and the emir has his Immortals. I’m sure Imperial Guards will accompany him as well.”
“Nevertheless,” said Sinan, “be on your guard. Make certain your workers are trustworthy.” He peered at Muravin. “Such as this disreputable fellow. What is your name?”
Muravin turned, blinking, and for an alarmed moment Caina was certain Sinan would recognize him.
“He is mute,” said Caina, making sure her Szaldic accent was thick. “He was once a slave, yes? His cruel master, he cuts out his tongue to make sure his secrets are safe. Then he flees to Cyrioch, and Anton finds him, gives him a job.”
Sinan gave her an annoyed look, his lips pressed together.
Corvalis shrugged. “I don’t own slaves, but I have secrets that must be kept.”
“Yes, the price of coffee in Malarae,” said Sinan. “A dire secret, I’m sure.” He looked at Muravin, and for an instant seemed so angry that Caina thought he might attack. “Heed my warning, Master Anton. It is amazing how quickly a merchant can fall into penury when a nobleman is murdered under his roof. If you will excuse me.”
He strode away, his robes flowing behind him.
Muravin let out a long breath. “I fear he recognized me. He seemed most wroth.”
“Have you forgotten that you are mute?” said Halfdan. “Good thinking, by the way.”
“Thank you,” said Caina. “And I don’t think he recognized you, Muravin. You said he used to be a slave?” Muravin nodded. “I think…I think he doesn’t like to be reminded of what he was. That sometimes happens when a man climbs from poverty to wealth. Anything that reminds him of the past infuriates him, because it reminds him of who he used to be.”
“That was quite profound,” said Halfdan.
“Why, thank you,” said Caina.
“And likely accurate,” said Halfdan. “Still, he thought to warn us against assassins. We can be confident he is not involved in the plots against Tanzir’s life.”
Caina shrugged. “Or he is, and his warning was to disassociate himself from any attacks on the emir.”
“Regardless, we will heed his warning,” said Halfdan. “And speaking of the emir…”
Caina saw Tanzir Shahan walking towards them. The emir’s ceremonial robes of red and gold glittered in the light from the enspelled globes, and for an uncharitable moment Caina thought it made him look like a polished apple. Two Immortals followed him, grim and silent in their skull-faced helms, the blue glow of their eyes glimmering deep within the eyes of the black skulls.
Caina felt herself tense, and fought to keep her expression calm. She had never been this close to an Immortal without fighting for her life.
Halfdan bowed and spoke in High Nighmarian. “My lord emir. You honor us with your presence, and I am pleased to see you again.”
“Yes,” said Tanzir. He swallowed. “It is good to see you again, ah…”
“Basil Callenius,” said Halfdan, smoothly stepping into Tanzir’s lapse of memory. “A master merchant of the Imperial Collegium of jewelers. And this is…”
“Anton Kularus!” said Tanzir. “Master of the House of Kularus.”
Corvalis bowed. “At your service, my lord emir.”
“Your establishment,” said Tanzir. “I would like to visit it on the morrow.”
“I would be honored,” said Corvalis.
Tanzir’s eyes lit up, and for a moment he reminded Caina of a child promised a treat.
“We could talk…business, yes, that is how you say it?” said Tanzir. “There are many coffee plantations in the Vale of Fallen Stars. For Istarish coffee is the finest coffee in the world.”
“I had heard,” said Corvalis, “that the men of Anshan grew the best coffee.”
“Nonsense!” said Tanzir. “Once we have peace, we shall have new opportunities. You can buy coffee from my plantations to sell in Malarae, and we shall
both be rich. There is no finer pleasure than sitting with a cup of Istarish coffee and reading a book.” He looked wistful.
“You mentioned, lord emir,” said Halfdan, “that you might wish to visit a book shop as well? There are several near the House of Kularus.”
Tanzir brightened again. “Are there? That would be splendid. It is hard to find works in High Nighmarian in Istarinmul, especially since the war began.”
“Of course,” said Corvalis. “If you have no objection, I would be happy to show you some of Malarae’s book shops.”
“Truly?” said Tanzir, smiling. “I did not think you would appreciate books, Master Anton.” He flinched. “Forgive me. I did not mean…well, it is rare for a merchant to spend time reading for pleasure…”
Corvalis laughed. “I fear your observation is correct, my lord emir. I have never held much interest in books.” He put his right hand on Caina’s back. “But Sonya has something of a passion for them.”
Tanzir looked at Caina in surprise. “A woman? Truly?”
Caina shrugged. “I must have something to amuse myself while Anton is busy making money, no?”
“Indeed,” said Tanzir. “I suppose…I suppose that makes sense. In Istarinmul it is rare for women to read. In fact, if any of the female slaves are caught reading, Mother has them whipped and sold to the first dealer who will take them.” He swallowed. “Mother has strong opinions on the matter.”
She sounded, Caina thought, a great deal like Caina’s own mother.
“While I will be occupied with business,” said Corvalis, “I am sure Sonya would be happy to show you the book shops of Malarae. If, of course, it would not be beneath the dignity of an emir.”
Caina appreciated his cleverness. If gave Caina a chance to keep an eye on Tanzir, and hopefully keep him away from any assassins. And perhaps she could learn if anyone else had targeted the hapless emir.
Tanzir’s eyes kept twitching, and Caina realized he was trying very hard not to stare at the low neckline of her gown.
Well. That would be awkward.
Caina would have to make sure she stayed in public with him.
Though she suspected Tanzir might well faint from nervousness if he ever found himself alone with a woman.
“I would be delighted, of course,” said Caina. She reached over and patted Muravin’s arm. “But only if you let me borrow your bodyguard, Anton. I feel ever so much safer with him. And he is mute, yes? So my lord emir need not fear that he shall reveal any of your secrets.”
“Of course,” said Corvalis. “Your safety is ever my first concern, my dear.”
And if more Bostaji came after Tanzir, Muravin’s skill with weapons would prove useful.
“Propriety,” said Tanzir. “Yes, we must keep to propriety. And books. I look forward to the books. Also the coffee.”
He stammered a few more words, turned, and marched away, the Immortals following like steel shadows.
Corvalis lifted his hand to cover a cough, but Caina saw him laughing behind his palm.
“The emir seems rather taken with you, Sonya,” said Halfdan.
“Gods save me,” said Caina. She looked at Corvalis. “You had to mention the books, didn’t you?”
Corvalis shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it? You can keep an eye on Tanzir more easily, at least for a few hours. And I’ll find some excuse to accompany you. With the help of our mute friend here,” Muravin glowered at him, “we should be able to keep the emir safe from assassins.”
Caina nodded, her eyes following Tanzir as he crossed the courtyard.
“Sinan seems to have a great deal of contempt for him,” said Halfdan.
“It’s not hard to see why,” said Corvalis. “The emir is not the sort of man to inspire respect.”
“No,” said Caina, watching the servants following after the Immortals. “No, he’s not. With a brother like Rezir Shahan, it’s not surprising he learned to avoid drawing attention to himself.” She felt a moment’s pang of sympathy for Tanzir. Having Rezir as an elder brother, as the head of a noble House, could not have been a pleasant way to grow up. “Likely he never expected to become the emir, and hid himself away on his family’s estates with coffee and books. Now he has to negotiate peace between the Empire and the Padishah.”
“Little wonder the Padishah sent him,” said Halfdan, “if he truly desires peace. Lord Titus will conclude negotiations in no time.”
Caina nodded. “I think…”
Her voice trailed off.
One of the servants following Tanzir, a short, muscular man, carried a tray of food in his hands. He looked little different than the other servants, and wore the same black livery. Yet his belt looked longer than the others, knotted at the side…and a pair of lead weights hung at the end of his belt.
“A bola,” hissed Caina. “That servant’s Bostaji.”
“Follow him,” said Halfdan, his face calm as he glanced at the servant. “Don’t kill him, not unless Tanzir is in danger. If you attack him, the Imperial Guards might kill you both before they bother to ask questions.”
“I will,” said Caina, and touched Muravin on the shoulder.
The former gladiator nodded, the fake scars making him look fiendish.
“Anton,” announced Caina loud enough for the others to hear. “I am not feeling well. I think I shall lie down.”
“There is a garden in the outer courtyard,” said Halfdan, “where guests can rest.”
“Go,” said Corvalis with an irritated flip of his hand. “Take my bodyguard, too.”
“As you wish,” said Caina with a sniff. She set off through the crowd, Muravin trailing after her…and kept her eyes on the disguised Bostaji. The servant broke away from the crowds and circled around the great stone mass of the Imperial Citadel.
“Where is he going?” muttered Muravin.
“The kitchens, most likely,” said Caina. “His tray is empty.”
“Might he have fed poisoned food to the emir?” said Muravin.
“I doubt it,” said Caina. The Bostaji headed with brisk strides towards a narrow door in the side of the Citadel. The entrance to the kitchens, Caina suspected. “The emir will not eat until the banquet proper starts. So that Bostaji might be slipping off to poison his food.”
“If we go any closer, he will see us,” said Muravin.
“I know,” said Caina. “Wait a moment.”
She paused at the edge of the crowd, and the Bostaji vanished into the servants’ door.
“Go,” said Caina.
They crossed the courtyard. Caina reached for her ghostsilver dagger and loosened the weapon in its sheath. No one moved in the servants’ entrance, and Caina realized that she had seen no one else go in and out of that door.
Muravin reached for the door’s handle.
Caina put a hand on his forearm. Muravin stopped, looked at her, and Caina put a finger to her lips. She gestured to the side, and Muravin nodded and stepped to the right of the door.
Then Caina stepped forward, gripped the handle, and pulled open the door, ducking behind it as she did so.
And a throwing knife flashed out of the doorway.
Muravin sprang forward, sword leaping into his hand. Caina caught a glimpse of the Bostaji, his face a cold mask as he raised a dagger. But Muravin slammed the hilt of his sword into the Bostaji, staggering him. Before the assassin could cry out or raise his weapon, Muravin slapped his free hand over the assassin’s mouth, drew back his sword, and rammed it into the Bostaji’s chest just below the breastbone.
The assassin went rigid, but Muravin drove him against the wall inside the door. A moment later he went limp, and Muravin eased him to the floor and tugged his blade free.
There was quite a lot of blood.
“I regret killing him,” said Muravin, in the same tone of voice he might have used to regret dropping a glass of wine. “Master Basil said we were not to kill him.”
“He would have killed us,” said Caina, looking around. No one had seen
the fighting. She stepped into the corridor, taking care to keep her skirts away from the pool of blood, and searched the corpse. Again, as with the Bostaji on the roof, she found nothing useful. He wore his bola in place of a belt, and it had been disguised so well that hardly anyone would have noticed the lead weights. Caina found three more throwing knives in his pockets, but nothing else.
No clues, no hints, nothing. Save for his unusually muscled build, the dead assassin looked like any other servant of the Imperial Citadel. The Bostaji knew how to blend into their surroundings.
She shook her head and straightened up, and Muravin cleaned his sword on the dead man and sheathed his blade.
“Come,” said Caina. “We’ll have to tell Basil to let Tylas know about the corpse…and to keep watch for any additional assassins.”
But no Bostaji showed themselves for the rest of the night.
Chapter 9 - Diplomacy
The next morning Caina awoke, tired and groggy.
The Emperor’s banquet had dragged on until midnight, and Caina had kept watch for any additional assassins. Yet Tanzir had returned to the Lord Ambassador’s residence at the foot of the Imperial Citadel safe and sound, and Caina and Corvalis had retreated to their townhouse for a few hours of sleep.
She was alone when she awoke. Corvalis often slept worse than she did. She climbed to her feet and worked through the unarmed forms until sweat dripped down her face and her arms trembled from exertion. After she bathed and arranged her hair in an elaborate crown, noting that she would need to apply more of Theodosia’s vile-smelling dye soon. She dressed in a teal gown, again cut lower than she would have preferred, the curved dagger on her hip and knives hidden in her boots, jewels flashing on her fingers and in her ears.
She examined herself in the mirror and gave an approving nod. She looked quite good, which pleased her…and that thought troubled her.
For she was not truly Sonya Tornesti, mistress of Anton Kularus. She was Caina Amalas, Ghost nightfighter, and she had disguised herself as everything from a countess to a scullery maid. The gowns and jewelry were only another disguise and nothing more. She was a Ghost, and she would use whatever disguise served her best, whether rags or a fine gown.
Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes Page 9