The Empire's Ghost

by Isabelle Steiger

  “Was the old king killed?” Deinol asked.

  The barkeep shrugged. “That’s the rumor. It’s not as if I was there.”

  “Fair enough,” Deinol said. He took the ale, then slapped some coins down. “How do you like that?” he asked Seth once he’d taken his seat, gulping his drink down with relish.

  “What, the king’s death? Do you think it was Elgar?”

  “Who else would it be? None of the other rulers have anything to gain from killing him.” He scowled. “I suppose it’s only a matter of time before the war starts up again in earnest—a full assault against Reglay, just like with Lanvaldis or Aurnis all those years ago. Only Reglay will hardly take as long to conquer—it’s the smallest country on the continent, and it has no defenders to recommend it. Aurnis had the shinrian, Lanvaldis had its lauded army, and they still fell in the end. What does Reglay have? The ghosts of Mist’s Edge? A great help they’ve been so far.”

  Seth scratched at his neck, trying not to look too longingly at Deinol’s drink—it was water he wanted, and ale would just make him thirstier. Instead he looked toward the doorway, watching people trickle in and out. There was hardly anyone around, but he supposed that wasn’t unusual in the middle of the afternoon.

  A man who’d just walked in aimed a laugh in the barkeep’s direction. “You look even more sour than usual, Nott. Lose out on business yesterday?”

  “You know I did,” the barkeep growled, “and as it wasn’t you who profited from it, you can stop smirking.”

  The man held up his hands, still laughing. “Hey, if you scowl any more severely, you’ll crack your jaw. Is it my fault the louts in this town would rather gossip than drink?”

  The barkeep spat. “If it’s novelties they want, they can find murderers twelve for a bit on the road.”

  “Aye, Nott, but you didn’t see this one, did you? I wouldn’t have thought he could cut up a corpse.”

  “Has there been a murder?” Deinol called lazily, taking another gulp of his drink.

  The man turned to him. “Aye, stranger. Neighbor of mine got himself done in—member of the watch, I suppose I should call him, but this place is too small to really have any such thing. Some Aurnian swordsman cut him down in the middle of the night—claims he was provoked, but no one else was around to say different, were they? It’s a damned mess. Nobody knows what to do with him.”

  Deinol and Seth stared at each other. “It—it couldn’t be,” Deinol said at last.

  “Couldn’t it?” Seth whispered. “What if he came looking for us?”

  “Well, he wouldn’t be able to find us, would he? Besides, how could he possibly have beaten us here?”

  “Lucius traveled all over before he came to the capital,” Seth insisted. “He wouldn’t need to blunder around like we’ve been doing. And he’s efficient. He might have been able to overtake us.”

  Deinol shook his head. “It’s not possible. It’d be the strangest coincidence I ever heard of.” But he called back to the stranger nonetheless. “Do you know anything else about this swordsman?”

  “They say he’s brilliant,” the man said, with an easy shrug. “That’s why they’re so wary about letting him go—if he’s lying, and he did murder for some unsavory reason, they don’t want a fellow like that running free with a sword. He’s been mostly calm about it, though—won’t say much, or talk about where he’s from or where he’s going. Quiet sort, I guess, but you should’ve seen the body he left.” He jerked his thumb out the door. “He’s gotten quite a lot of visitors already, so go and see him if you like. We don’t have what you’d call a jail, but they’re keeping watch over him down by the big house to the east.”

  Seth exchanged another glance with Deinol. “We ought to just go look. It can’t hurt to know for sure it’s not him.”

  “Aye, aye,” Deinol said, throwing back the last of his ale and getting to his feet. “Right you are. We’ll go see this Aurnian wonder.”

  They didn’t have to ask directions again: there was a small crowd gathered outside one of the bigger houses, around what looked like a stable. A couple of men in boiled leather were standing guard next to one of the stalls, but several people were staring into it heedlessly, and Seth and Deinol drew up alongside them.

  Whoever the swordsman was, he certainly wasn’t Lucius. He was a bit short and very thin, with dark hair cut closely but unevenly about his face. But what struck Seth most about him was how young he looked—younger than Deinol, perhaps only two or three years older than Seth himself.

  The young man—or boy, or whatever he was—had been sitting listlessly in a patch of straw, his chained wrists resting on his knees, but then he looked up at Seth, his eyes widening and then focusing. “Sebastian?” he asked.

  Everyone turned to stare at Seth then, even Deinol, and he shrank under their gaze, too stunned to say anything at first. “You know this one?” one of the men standing guard asked.

  “Um,” he said. “No, I’m Seth. I don’t … I don’t think I know him.”

  They looked unconvinced. The prisoner was looking about him, his eyes darting from face to face. “Did I say something strange again?” he asked.

  The man who’d spoken before rested one hand atop the stall door. “Did you say this boy was a friend of yours?”

  The prisoner stared at Seth again, cocking his head. “No,” he said. “He looked a bit like Sebastian, but I was mistaken.”

  “That’s more words than we’ve got him to say in the past six hours,” the guard muttered to Seth.

  “What are you going to do with him?” Seth asked.

  “What can we do, if he won’t talk?”

  “I did talk,” the prisoner pointed out mildly. “They asked me to explain what happened, and I did. But then they said I was lying. I wasn’t, but they said I was. After that, there was nothing left to do.”

  “You wouldn’t answer questions.”

  “I did,” the prisoner repeated. “They said I was lying. Then they asked me more questions. I didn’t see the point of answering. How is it that anyone should ask a man to say more after they’ve already decided he’s a liar?”

  “A man?” the guard retorted. “I see a boy.”

  The prisoner shook his head. “I am older than I look, I think. I haven’t been a boy for a long time.”

  “Oh? And how long is that?”

  “Since Aurnis fell,” the prisoner said, and leaned his head back against the wood.

  Seth touched his mouth. “I don’t think he’s lying,” he said to the guard, although doubtless that would sound ridiculous.

  The man shrugged. “I know. Doesn’t seem like he’d be a good liar, does he? But I swear this is more than he’s talked in days. I’ve been coaxing him since my watch started.” He looked at the prisoner, then nodded at Seth. “You like this one, eh? Even if he’s not your friend?”

  “I don’t know this one,” the prisoner said, not unkindly. “But he put me in mind of Sebastian, and I liked Sebastian.”

  “Where is this Sebastian now?”

  The prisoner had seemed animated enough before, but now he slumped, as if collapsing in on himself. “I don’t know.”

  “Is it him you were looking for?”

  “No.”

  “But you were looking for someone.”

  The prisoner hesitated. “Yes. Or … no. I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  The prisoner shook his head, burying his face in his hands. “I … there’s someone I’d like to find, but I don’t know where to look. So I wasn’t actually looking. I wasn’t doing much of anything.”

  “I see,” the man said, but he didn’t look like it. “That’s … illuminating.”

  “Might be he’s a simpleton, Geoff,” the other man standing guard said.

  Geoff sighed, scratching his stubble. “Gods know.” If the prisoner minded being talked of like that, he didn’t show it.

  Deinol tugged on his sleeve, but Seth kept looking at Geoff. “Th
ey’re not going to hurt him, are they?”

  He twitched his shoulders uncomfortably. “I don’t think he deserves that, but … well, a man’s dead.”

  “Many men are dead,” the prisoner said. “I killed some of them, but not all.”

  Geoff threw up his hands. “There, you see? What am I supposed to do about that?”

  Seth peered down at the prisoner. “Listen,” he said. “You don’t want them to hurt you, do you?”

  “No,” the prisoner agreed. “Why would I?”

  “So then you have to explain what happened.”

  “I did.”

  “Well … explain it again. Explain it to Geoff.”

  The prisoner tucked his chin between his knees. “The man they want to know about asked me why I was there. I said I was still figuring it out, which was true. He got angry—maybe because he was drunk, but I don’t know—and asked if I mocked him. I said I wasn’t, which was also true. He asked me where I came from, and I said I wasn’t going to tell him. He said he was a member of the watch, and I didn’t say anything because I had nothing to say. He asked if I mocked him again, and I said no again. Then he said I had to answer his questions, and I said I didn’t and wouldn’t, which was true. Then he drew his sword, and he started to say something else, but I killed him before he could finish it.”

  Geoff winced, tugging at his forelock. “You don’t think you might’ve heard him out before you offed him?”

  The prisoner shrugged. “He drew his sword on me. Clearly he had decided that words were insufficient.”

  “He might’ve just been trying to threaten you.”

  “He had no business threatening a better swordsman than he was.” He looked at Seth. “That’s an explanation, isn’t it?”

  “Er,” Seth said. “Did you say it like that the first time?”

  “I said I killed him because he drew his sword on me.”

  “Well, but you don’t always try to kill people who do that, do you? Or else you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I surrendered,” the prisoner said. “At that point I could see why they were upset.” He stared glumly at the straw at his feet. “I didn’t want to kill him. I probably wouldn’t have, if I’d thought better of it. But I was taught to strike quickly, and without hesitating.”

  “Who taught you that?” Geoff demanded.

  The prisoner fidgeted. “Many people,” he said, finally.

  “Do you like talking in riddles?”

  “They are not riddles to me,” the prisoner said.

  Deinol shook his head. “Seth, he’s daft. What do you want with him?”

  “He isn’t,” Seth insisted. “There’s nothing wrong with what he said. And he … he shouldn’t have killed that man, but the man shouldn’t have drawn on him. He might’ve been killed himself, if he hadn’t struck first.”

  Geoff pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead. “Well, I don’t suppose I can let them punish him too harshly after that, can I? But to just let him go…” He stared helplessly at the prisoner. “You’ve got a strange sense of things, friend, that’s for sure.”

  “Are we friends?” the prisoner asked; he looked almost embarrassed. “I … rather thought you didn’t like me.”

  If it had been anyone else, Seth would’ve suspected irony in the words, but the prisoner looked so earnest that he couldn’t. Geoff clearly didn’t know what to make of him either, and finally turned to Seth. “Listen, you there,” he said. “Boy. You’ve got to stay on until he can repeat that to Haytham. He never started answering my questions until you came along.” He nodded to his companion. “Jem, fetch Haytham. Tell him the prisoner’s got more to say.”

  After Jem left, Deinol stepped out awkwardly from behind Seth. “Now, look here. This really has nothing to do with us. We were just passing through, and we can’t stop to dawdle, anyway.”

  Geoff didn’t look impressed. “The boy seems to want to make sure justice is done. Don’t you, lad?”

  Seth nodded. “I do.”

  Deinol smacked his forehead. “Not this again. Remember what happened the last time you decided to help a stranger?”

  What happens to weak people? Seth had asked Seren. He tried to put it out of his mind, to ignore the itch at his neck. “You’re stubborn, too, aren’t you?” he asked. “You don’t quit something just because it doesn’t turn out the way you hoped the first time. If I can help straighten this out, why shouldn’t I?” At least it’s something I can do, he didn’t add.

  Deinol threw up his hands. “Gods, have it your way. Never say I hindered any friend of mine from his noble undertakings.”

  Haytham was an older man with a thick white beard and a heavy gait. “Are you in charge here, then?” Deinol asked when he saw him.

  Haytham laughed. “We’re not important enough to warrant any lordlings or officials here, I’m afraid. People have liked the way I handled things in the past, so sometimes they call on me to take care of ’em again. Especially for things like this—nobody wanted to be the one to have to pass judgment on this poor fellow.” He looked down at the prisoner. “Well? Jem tells me he’s decided to talk.”

  “And how,” Geoff agreed. He nodded at Seth. “It’s this one got him to speak.”

  “Ah, I don’t think it was me exactly,” Seth said, blushing under Haytham’s intense scrutiny. “It was more like he … saw me, and then felt like talking.”

  “Do you, then?” Haytham asked the prisoner. “Got more helpful things to say than last time, I hope?”

  “You should tell him what you told me,” Seth said, when the prisoner hesitated. “Just say it the same way you said it before.”

  The prisoner was thankfully able to repeat most of what he’d said, and Haytham listened faithfully, pursing his lips every so often. “Why did you not tell it like this from the first?” he asked once the other man had finished.

  “I am … not used to speaking to large groups of people at once,” the prisoner said. “It fatigued me.”

  “But the boy didn’t fatigue you?”

  The prisoner considered it. “I liked his face. He reminded me of Sebastian.”

  “Sebastian?”

  The prisoner sighed. “My friend. You all ask so many questions—or else you ask the same ones endlessly.”

  “We’re trying to help you,” Haytham said.

  “It would help me to be unchained, and to be allowed to go. And to get my sword back,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

  “Yes, well, before we go that far, we’ve got to make sure you won’t harm anyone else.”

  “I have told you I have no intention of harming anyone else,” the prisoner said.

  Haytham shook his head. “You said if they didn’t impede you. But when we asked what it was they might impede, you wouldn’t answer. When we asked you what you intended and where you were going, you wouldn’t answer.”

  The prisoner did not dispute his words; he frowned, looking at the straw. “I suppose I do not know what I might wish to do,” he said at last. “I do not know where I should go.”

  “You can’t go home?” Haytham asked.

  The prisoner hesitated again. “Perhaps I can,” he said, “but I do not wish to. Not now.”

  Haytham stroked his beard. “Well, I don’t think you can stay here. That’s the thing.”

  The prisoner shrugged. “Then I’ll leave.”

  “And go where?”

  “I don’t know. But I don’t need to be here any more than I need to be anywhere else.”

  Haytham stepped back from the stall. “Well, Geoff?”

  But Geoff was looking at Seth and Deinol. “You two. You’re passing through?”

  “Oh no,” Deinol said. “Oh no, I don’t think I like where this is going.”

  Seth ignored him. “Aye. Headed through Cutter’s Vale, most likely.”

  Geoff nodded at the prisoner. “So just make sure he goes with you.”

  “Make sure the murderer goes with us?” Deinol repeated.

/>   “Well, you don’t have to give him his sword back,” Geoff pointed out. “You’re a much bigger man than he is, and you’ve got the boy, haven’t you? What’s he going to do to you? Just take him a day or two away from here, and then you can let him go where he likes.” He paused, remembering Haytham’s presence. “That sound all right?”

  Haytham sighed. “I suppose.”

  “Gods, but you folk have strange ideas of justice,” Deinol said. “I assume you’re happy, Seth? Now that you’ve gotten us involved with yet another eccentric killer. Are you drawn to them?”

  “It won’t matter much to us,” Seth said. “And this way they don’t have to hurt him.”

  “You can even keep the shackles on if you like,” Geoff added. “But I’m with the boy; I don’t think he plans you harm.”

  Deinol waved him away. “Come on, I’m not heartless. You can take the bloody chains off, and the fellow can come with us.” He peered at the prisoner. “Speaking of, what’s your name?”

  The prisoner bit his lip.

  Deinol rolled his eyes. “Come on. Am I going to have to get Seth to ask you?”

  The prisoner shook his head. “Ritsu,” he said. “Ritsu Hanae is my name.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The worst thing about people with a talent, Roger, Gran had said once, is when they’re damned stupid at everything else. And the second worst thing is when they love money too much. She’d paused, scrunching up her face. Wait, maybe I’ve got that backward. Let me think on it.

  Either way, Gran had been right in the main, as she always was. And the worst thing about Tom Kratchet was that he was precisely one of those people. So Roger just kept spinning the coin between his fingers, watching the way Tom’s eyes followed it, as he knew they would. Tom rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. “That’s not even real, Halfen, and you know it.”

  Roger tossed the coin and caught it again, brought it to his mouth and bit down. “Oh, I don’t know, Tom. Tastes pretty real to me.”

  “And what if it is? I’ve seen its like before.”

  “Aye, in other people’s pockets.” He leaned forward, hiding the coin in his fist. “Look here, Tom. There’s just one thing I’ve got to know.”