The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  "It's all right," said Caina. She shrugged. "It's been almost five years since Maglarion killed my father and left me barren. I should be used to it by now."

  "Some scars never really heal," said Theodosia.

  Caina sniffed, rubbed at her eyes. "That sounds like the sort of thing Halfdan would say."

  "Well, he did tell it to me," said Theodosia, and Caina laughed. "He also likes to say that the best cure for sorrow is work. So, let's keep you busy, shall we?"

  ###

  And true to her word, Caina kept busy. Theodosia knew countless tricks of makeup and disguise, and as the months went by she taught every last one to Caina. Soon Caina knew how to disguise herself as anything from a starving commoner to a highborn lady. From time to time Theodosia had her don a disguise, and walk unseen and unnoticed among the crowds of Malarae.

  It was a strange feeling, but one that Caina enjoyed.

  She spent time among the nobles' servants, regaling them with tales of Theodosia's erratic moods and irrational demands. Soon they shared lurid tales of their own. Many of the Restorationist nobles abused their servants, who in turn had little compunction about spying upon their masters.

  And many of the nobles had secrets, though most were harmless. One lord carried on affair with three different merchants' wives, another schemed to steal control of a copper mine from a rival, and still a third planned to embarrass the Lord Governor of the Pale at a ball.

  But sometimes the lords had darker secrets; correspondence with slave traders, or shelter for renegade sorcerers, or secret messages sent to the Empire's enemies.

  Caina suspected Theodosia sent Riogan, or someone like him, to pay those lords a visit.

  Theodosia kept Caina practicing different accents. Sometimes Caina spent the entire day speaking High Nighmarian with a Caerish accent, or Cyrican with a Saddaic accent, or Anshani with a Kyracian accent. She taught Caina to alter the pitch and tone of her voice, when to slur her words and when to speak faster, and soon Caina could disguise her voice with ease, picking from a dozen different voices and accents.

  Lucien's attentions to her did not flag, either. Caina would have been more impressed had she not known that he had slept with a dozen different women at the Grand Imperial Opera.

  One day he cornered her in a narrow hallway.

  "It grieves me," Lucien said, "to see you working so hard. Theodosia does not appreciate you, Marina."

  Caina shrugged. "She keeps me from starving, no? And she even let me go on stage once or twice."

  Lucien scoffed. "As an extra! Little more than scenery! You deserve more. You should be on stage with me, in jewels and in silks." He touched her shoulder for a moment. "I can arrange that."

  "I can't sing," said Caina.

  "You wouldn't have to," said Lucien. "Your beauty alone would fill the theater with song."

  Caina laughed. "That's a terrible line."

  But he did indeed look handsome. And he always smelled nice, too. Malarae stank of salt and fish and tar and worse things, as one might expect in a city of a million people, but somehow Lucien always managed to smell nice.

  "But," she said, "you are almost charming enough to pull it off."

  "Almost?" he said. "You wound me terribly. I think you are very bold, Marina."

  Caina shrugged. "Boldness has its uses."

  "Really?" said Lucien. "Then perhaps I shall be bold."

  And before she could react, he leaned closer and kissed her.

  That...felt nice. It felt very nice. He was good at it; undoubtedly he had had a lot of practice. A warm flush spread through Caina, her heart beating faster. Why shouldn't she enjoy herself? She wanted children, a family of her own, but that would never happen. Why shouldn't she indulge?

  Then Lucien's right hand came to rest on her left breast, his left digging into the waistband of her skirt, and the warm feeling went away.

  The reflexes Akragas had drilled into her took over, and both her hands clamped about Lucien's right wrist. Before he had a chance to shout, she twisted his right arm behind him, put her foot in the small of his back, and slammed him into the stone wall. Lucien toppled to the floor, eyes wide, blood pouring from his nose.

  And he started to cry.

  Caina stared at him, attraction dissolving into incredulous contempt. She hadn't even hit him that hard, certainly not hard enough to break his nose or loosen his teeth. And he was crying over it? She had been hit much harder than that.

  She had been hurt much worse than that.

  "You hit me!" said Lucien, gazing up at her in bewilderment. "Why?"

  "It's nice to be asked first, you know," said Caina, and left without looking back.

  Lucien left her alone after that.

  ###

  "Tonight, we shall disguise ourselves as men," announced Theodosia.

  Caina blinked. "We shall?"

  Theodosia opened the closet next to her mirror, dragged out a heavy brass-bound chest. "You've been keeping an eye on Lord Macrinius for me."

  "I have," said Caina. Lord Macrinius was a powerful Restorationist noble and a friend of the Magisterium, second only to Haeron Icaraeus in prominence. He also enjoyed the Grand Imperial Opera, attending almost every performance. Caina had been keeping very close watch over him. Macrinius invariably met with several Istarish merchants during the operas, and usually left with them.

  "Haeron Icaraeus," said Theodosia, opening the chest, "has been smuggling slaves into Malarae. We don't know what he's doing with them, or why."

  "He's working with Maglarion," said Caina, shivering at the memory. "I can guess what he's doing with them."

  "Whatever he's doing with them," said Theodosia, "we're going to stop him. Lord Macrinius has many friends in Istarinmul, and contacts among the slavers' brotherhood. He's buying slaves in the Istarish markets, and smuggling them into Malarae."

  "Can't the Harbormaster stop him?" said Caina.

  Theodosia rummaged through the chest. "Macrinius is smart enough not to bring his slaves into the city's harbor. He brings them ashore at one of those little towns along the Bay of Empire that turn a blind eye to smugglers. Then he has them transported via wagon to the city."

  "How do we stop him?" said Caina.

  "Simple," said Theodosia. "We find proof, irrefutable proof, that he purchased slaves and brought them into the Empire. We then make sure that proof just happens to find its way before the magistrates. Lord Macrinius then flees the Empire, if he's lucky...or loses his head, if he's unlucky. And if we're very lucky, we find the proof we need to bring down Lord Haeron, as well."

  "And that, I assume," said Caina, "is why we have to dress like men."

  "Exactly," said Theodosia, pulling clothing out of the chest. "I have a contact in Lord Macrinius's household. One of his clerks. The man's a spineless worm, but he hates Macrinius. For the right amount of gold, he can give us the proof we need. We're going to meet him at midnight in one of the dockside taverns."

  "This is like the plot of the 'Queen of Anshan'," said Caina.

  Theodosia grinned. "Precisely. Though I doubt I should sing an aria in the tavern. That might draw attention."

  They dressed as caravan guards. Hundreds of merchant caravans came to Malarae, and caravan guards were a common sight. Caina rubbed sweat into her black hair, let it fall in greasy curtains over her face. Then she applied makeup to her jaw and chin, giving her face a coating of rough stubble. She dressed in a ragged tunic, dirt-stained trousers, and heavy, worn boots. Over her clothes she put on a coat of leather armor with steel studs, a threadbare green cloak, and a belt with short sword and dagger around her waist.

  She barely recognized herself in the mirror. She looked like a man. A smallish man, but a man nonetheless. And Theodosia's transformation was even more dramatic. She looked like a grizzled veteran of a hundred battles, hard-eyed and capable.

  "How do I look?" said Theodosia, her soprano voice a shocking contrast to her appearance.

  "Terrible," said Caina.
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  "Splendid!" said Theodosia. Her voice changed to hissing rasp. It sounded as if she had been stabbed in the throat. "Let us visit the tavern."

  Caina concentrated, and answered in a new voice of her own, a snarling growl. "Aye."

  ###

  A short time later they came to the Hanging Pirate.

  The dockside taverns all had colorful names; the Hanging Pirate, the Captain's Wife, the Grey Fish Inn, the Grief Reef. No doubt each one had an amusing legend behind the name. But they all had the same crowds of drunken sailors and caravan guards and laborers, the air heavy with the smells of sweat and beer and ringing with laughter, argument, and off-key song. The only women were serving maids, or prostitutes.

  And yet Caina strolled unnoticed through all of them.

  Part of her mind wondered at that. But most of her mind focused on maintaining the disguise. On walking like a man, with a confident swagger. On glaring at anyone who looked at her wrong. And it worked. She looked like any other caravan guard looking to get drunk.

  No one looked at her twice.

  "You there!" said one of the prostitutes, stepping into Caina's path. The woman was haggard, her eyes shining with a feverish light. "You looking for a good time? You seem like a handsome lad."

  Caina was so surprised that she almost forgot herself, but practice kept her expression indifferent, her stance amused. "Aye? What're you charging, then? I won't pay more than a clipped copper."

  The prostitute took offense. "A clipped copper! Scoundrel! I'll..."

  "Enough of that," snarled Theodosia. "We've business. You can tumble the local ladies later."

  She led Caina through the tavern crowd.

  "I'm offended," murmured Theodosia into Caina's ear, speaking in her normal voice. "No whores propositioned me."

  "Perhaps I look nicer," said Caina.

  "That must be it," said Theodosia. "Do you see our friend?"

  Caina scanned the Hanging Pirate's common room and nodded. "That has to be him."

  A nervous-looking man sat at a table in the corner, huddled over a clay mug of wine. Unlike the rest of the men, he did not look as if he had ever raised his fist in anger. His clothes were clean and neat, and ink stained his narrow fingers.

  He would probably get robbed on his way home.

  "Aye, that's him," said Theodosia, returning to her disguised voice. "I wonder why the fool wanted to meet in the Hanging Pirate, of all places."

  "Let's find out," said Caina.

  They crossed the room. Theodosia dropped into the chair opposite the man, slouched and confident. Caina stood over them, keeping an eye on the crowd.

  "I'm waiting for someone," said the man, fidgeting.

  "Well, we're someone," said Theodosia. "See, I heard a funny rumor. They say there's a clerk who works for Lord Macrinius, a man named Otton. That he's tired of his lord treating him like a slave, wants to see his lord pay. But Lord Macrinius is powerful and rich. So the clerk looks around for someone who can bring Macrinius to ruin."

  Otton licked his lips, stared at them for a moment. He looked around.

  At last he leaned forward.

  "You're...you're Ghosts?" he whispered.

  "The Ghosts are a fool's tale," said Theodosia. "But we're no friends of Macrinius, I tell you true. So if you have something we can use against him...aye, we will use it."

  "I can't do it," said Otton, shaking.

  For a moment Caina thought Otton would leave, but he kept talking.

  "I can't do it any more!" said Otton, burying his face in his hands. He shuddered for a moment, then looked up. "Lord Macrinius...Lord Macrinius is buying slaves. At first I didn't care, thought it nothing more than another cargo. But then I saw one of the...the 'shipments'...the children crying...gods!"

  He buried his face in his hands again.

  "Here, man," said Theodosia, picking up the clay mug. "Drink. It'll clear your head."

  Otton nodded and drank. "I...I can't do it any more. I can't sleep. I hear the children crying all the time, even in my dreams. I can't live like this. I have to do something. Here." He reached into his coat, drew out a book, and shoved it at Theodosia.

  "What's this?" said Theodosia.

  "A copy of a ledger," said Otton. "My master is a very frugal man, and keeps track of every copper coin. This is the record of his slave dealings. The ships they came on, the number of slaves, the amount he paid for them, where he stored them. All of it."

  "You've put yourself at great risk, doing this," said Theodosia, paging through the ledger. "This could ruin Lord Macrinius. If he finds out about this, he will have you killed."

  "I know that," said Otton, rubbing his face. "And if he kills me...well, he kills me. At least I'll face the gods with a clean conscience." He shoved away from the table and stood. "Do what you will with it. I'm done."

  He left.

  Theodosia sat in silence for a moment. And then she said, "That man near the door, do you see him?"

  Caina nodded, taking care not to stare. The man leaned against the wall, watching the crowd with a cool eye. Lean and clean-shaven, he looked as if he knew how to handle a weapon.

  He was obviously not a sailor or a mercenary guard.

  "He's been watching Otton," said Theodosia. "Macrinius probably hired him to keep an eye out for disloyal servants."

  Caina took a deep breath. "I think he's a Kindred assassin."

  Theodosia cursed. "You're sure?"

  Caina watched as the assassin touched the dagger in his belt. "Pretty sure."

  The assassin stretched, finished his mug of wine, and left.

  "Let's go," said Theodosia. "Or else Otton's going to meet the gods even sooner than he thought."

  They hurried across the Hanging Pirate's common room.

  "The two of us can't take a Kindred assassin in a straight fight," murmured Caina.

  "Of course not," said Theodosia. "Which is why it's not going to be a straight fight."

  Caina nodded. She approved.

  They stepped into the narrow dockside street, the cobblestones slick, the air heavy with the scents of gull dung and dead fish. Otton walked with his hands in his pockets, his head down. The Kindred assassin followed, making no effort to conceal his movements. And why bother? Caina doubted a man like Otton would notice a herd of rampaging elephants in his path.

  "Otton," called the assassin.

  Otton stopped, turned.

  Caina started running.

  The assassin drew his dagger, and Otton's eyes bulged. "Lord Macrinius knows well to how to repay disloyalty."

  Caina snatched a throwing knife from her sleeve and flung it.

  The blade buried itself in the assassin's bicep. The man spun with a bellow, and sent his dagger hurtling at Caina's face. She twisted to the side, boots skidding on the damp cobblestones, and the blade clattered against the ground. The assassin yanked another dagger from his belt and lunged at her, ignoring his wounded arm. Caina jumped back, the dagger blurring past her head. The Kindred assassin kept coming, slashing and hacking.

  So he didn't see it when Theodosia stepped behind him and buried a dagger in his back.

  The assassin shuddered, back arching in agony. Theodosia ripped her blade free and slashed it across his throat. The assassin toppled, landing facedown in a pool of his own blood.

  She handled a dagger well, for an opera singer.

  "Just as well we're near the harbor," muttered Theodosia, cleaning the dagger on the dead assassin's pants. "Easiest way to dispose of corpses."

  "You...you killed him!" said Otton.

  "Aye," said Theodosia. "There are some loose bricks against that wall. We'll need them to weigh down the body."

  Caina nodded and started collecting bricks. Fortunately, the street remained deserted, save for Theodosia, Otton, and the dead assassin.

  "That man was a Kindred assassin," said Theodosia, speaking in her normal voice.

  Otton looked ill.

  "Macrinius probably hired him to hunt down
anyone who might betray him," said Theodosia.

  "Then Lord Macrinius knows," said Otton. "I'm finished."

  "No," said Caina, dropping the bricks on the corpse. Like Theodosia, she spoke in her own voice. "You'll disappear with us, and we'll dispose of the corpse. Lord Macrinius while realize that something is amiss, but he won't realize how serious. Until it's too late."

  Theodosia gave her an approving nod. Then she stripped off her cloak and wrapped the corpse in it, pausing for Caina to add the bricks.

  "You'll go into hiding with us," said Theodosia. "Safer that way. Less chance Macrinius will track you down."

  "If...if you say so," said Otton. He blinked. "Wait...you're both women?"

  Theodosia grinned. "Welcome to the Ghosts."

  "But you're women!"

  "Then I'm glad we have a strong man like you along," said Theodosia, "to help carry the corpse to the harbor. Now grab his damned feet and lift."

  Otton sighed, but helped lift the dead assassin.

  Chapter 18 - Downfall

  "I have no head for figures," said Theodosia after they returned to the safety of the Grant Imperial Opera. "Go through this ledger. Tell me if it has anything useful."

  So Caina did. She spent the entire next day reading the ledger, with Otton explaining the more obscure parts of it to her. The poor man was frightened of her, but he kept orderly records.

  Then Caina looked over the final page. Her eyes widened, and she ran to Theodosia's room.

  "This is it," said Caina, pointing at the ledger.

  Theodosia looked up from her mirror. "This is what?"

  "How we're going to get Lord Macrinius, and maybe even Lord Haeron, too," said Caina. "See this entry, this one here?"

  Theodosia squinted at the page. "Macrinius paid ten thousand denarii to the Istarish slavers' brotherhood for three dozen slaves."

  "But that's not the important part," said Caina. "He's already paid for the slaves...but they're not going to arrive for another three days."