Child of the Ghosts (19 page)

The slaves. Kidnapped from their homes, no doubt.

Suddenly Caina did not feel so bad about killing the guard. 

Five of Macrinius’s men kept watch. Three sat at a wooden table, laughing and playing cards by the light of a lantern. A fourth man leaned against a pillar, watching the game, and a fifth walked back and forth before the iron bars. 

The three men playing cards drank from a barrel of wine sitting against one pillar, from time to time filling their clay cups with it.

Riogan caught Caina’s eye, gestured at the barrel. She nodded and crept towards it, taking care to remain silent. The thick pillars holding up the roof provided plenty of cover, along with the tangled black shadows thrown by the lanterns. Step by step she drew closer to the barrel. 

At last she reached it, and her hand dipped into her belt, drawing out a small pouch. It held another of the powders that Komnene had taught her to make. Caina opened the pouch and number the entire contents into the barrel. 

Then she settled against a pillar to wait.

The men kept playing cards, laughing and drinking, and soon refilled their cups. Yawns replaced laughter, and their speech grew slurred and slow. Then one man fell face-first onto the table, wine spilling across the floor. 

The man pacing before the iron bars turned. “What’s this? Bad enough you’re drinking on watch. Now you’re sleeping?”

“Marl,” said one of the seated guards, his eyes heavy. “I think…I think there’s something wrong with the wine…” 

Then he, too, passed out. 

Marl scowled, and the man leaning against the pillar straightened up. “Bah! They drank themselves senseless. Lord Macrinius will have our…”

Then Riogan exploded out of the darkness, a dagger in either hand, and killed the man against the pillar in a single smooth motion. But Marl leapt forward and drew his sword, his blade flying for Riogan’s head. Riogan backed away, dodging and blocking with his daggers, but Marl kept at him, face grim and focused.

Until Caina’s throwing knife landed in Marl’s thigh. He staggered a step, and that was all the opening Riogan needed. One blade plunged into Marl’s throat, another into his chest, and he went down.

The slaves began to shout, some of the children crying.

“Good throw,” said Riogan.

“Thanks,” said Caina, wrenching her knife free from Marl’s calf. 

“Calm the slaves down,” he said, crossing to the table. “I’ll find the keys.” 

Caina crossed to the iron bars, and the slaves drew back in fear. She couldn’t blame them. They looked half-starved. 

Not surprising, given what Maglarion probably had planned for them. 

“We are here to rescue you!” she said, speaking Caerish in her disguised voice. “The Emperor will not let his people suffer, and Lord Macrinius shall answer for his crimes. Those of you who have children, make certain they are ready to travel. Help those too weak to stand!” 

“But…” began one of the women, clutching a boy of seven or eight.

“Do as I command!” roared Caina, and the slaves complied. 

She turned just in time to see Riogan finish cutting the unconscious guards’ throats.

“Why did you kill them?” she murmured, keeping her voice low. “There was no reason for it.”

The mask concealed his face, but she imagined his lip curling in contempt. “Because there was no reason not to. You don’t leave live enemies behind you, girl. You’ve learned to kill, but you’re still too soft for this.” He gestured at the slaves. “Besides, are you going to argue that they didn’t deserve to die?”

Caina had no answer for that. 

Riogan helped himself to Marl’s sword and handed her a ring of iron keys. “This is going to be the hardest part. Get the slaves moving.”

Caina unlocked the iron door and stepped into the cage. The slaves had been chained to metal rings set in the wall, and she moved down the line, unlocking them as quickly as she could. 

“Get on your feet and start moving,” she told the slaves. “And keep quiet! Your lives depend on it.” 

They obeyed, for the most part, though the children kept whimpering. 

Riogan pushed open the doors, and they hurried across Macrinius’s gardens, making a straight line for the gate. Four men still stood guard at the gate. There had been no clever way to neutralize the gate guards, no way to sneak past them or avoid them.

They were going to have to fight their way out. 

Like Riogan had said, the hardest part.

“Stay together,” said Caina. “Anyone who runs off on their own is going to die.” 

The guards turned, eyes widening as they noticed the mob of escaping slaves, and reached for their weapons.

Riogan moved first.

He sprang forward with a bloodcurdling yell, sword in both hands, and struck. The blade crunched into an astonished guard’s neck, blood welling over the gleaming steel. But by then the other men had their swords out, and they came at Riogan in a rush. 

Caina was ready for them.

Her throwing knife lashed out, struck a guard’s armored chest, bounced away. But the blow distracted the man long enough for Caina to jump onto his back and rip her dagger across his throat. But then another guard was on her. She managed to kick free of the dying man in time to avoid the first sword blow, but the pommel caught her on the temple, and she fell hard to the ground. The guard’s sword plunged down, and she managed to roll aside. Behind them, she saw Riogan locked in a furious duel with the final guard. He couldn’t help her.

And Caina had to face her guard in a fair fight.

Not good.

So she would make the fight a little less fair.

Her hand dipped into one of the pouches at her belt, drawing out a handful of black powder, and she flung it into the guard’s face. Luck was with her, and some of the powder connected with the guard’s eyes, and the man screamed in sudden agony.

She darted close, her dagger ending to his pain. 

Another scream, and Riogan finished his guard.

“Move!” he growled, gesturing at the slaves with the bloody sword. “Move, damn you, move!” 

He pushed open the gates, and the slaves streamed through them.

###

A short walk took them to a watchtower of the Civic Militia. The Militia, Malarae’s police and garrison force, had fortified watchtowers scattered throughout the city. And Theodosia had said that Ghosts took care to keep friends among the Militia’s officers. 

Riogan banged on the tower’s door until it swung open. A man in the red surcoat and chain mail of the Civic Militia stepped out, a plumed helmet on his head and a baton of office in his hand. A centurion, then. 

And unless Caina missed her guess, the centurion was Tomard, Theodosia’s eldest son. 

She hid a smile behind her mask. 

Theodosia did enjoy pulling strings. Certainly, Tomard did not seem surprised, or even fazed, by fifty naked slaves turning up at his doorstep.

“Aye, then?” Tomard said in Caerish. “What’s all this?”

“These slaves escaped at great peril of their lives from the cellars of Lord Macrinius,” said Riogan, handing over the ledger that Otton had given them. “I suggest you move at once to seize any evidence before Lord Macrinius destroys it.” 

Tomard took the ledger, paged through it.

“Mother, Mother,” he muttered to himself, “you do have a flair for the dramatic, don’t you?” He looked at Riogan. “If you’re who I think you are, you’d better disappear, now.” He turned and bellowed into the watchtower. “Men! You, you, you! Get blankets and food for these fellows! The rest of you, with me! We get to arrest a lord tonight!” 

Riogan and Caina vanished into the night. 

###

The Civic Militia arrested Lord Macrinius, despite the furious protests of Lord Haeron Icaraeus and a half-dozen other Restorationist lords, but the evidence was overwhelming. Nearly fifty eyewitnesses, describing their illegal imprisonment in Macrinius’s cellar. The ledger the Civic Militia had found with the slaves. And a host of other documents taken from his mansion, proving beyond a doubt that he had been engaged with Istarish slavers, kidnapping Imperial citizens and selling them as slaves. 

Lord Haeron and the others withdrew their protests, leaving Macrinius to his fate. 

The Emperor himself pronounced Macrinius’s sentence, and a few weeks later, Caina stood in the crowd and watched the executioner behead Macrinius in the Grand Market below the Imperial Citadel.

###

“I am disappointed,” said Theodosia a few days later, examining herself in the mirror. The rumors that she had been involved in the Lord Macrinius’s ignoble downfall had only enhanced her reputation. The Grand Imperial Opera had been full to bursting the past few nights 

“Why?” said Caina.

“We got Macrinius,” said Theodosia, “but no evidence on Lord Haeron. The man is too clever.”

“At least we did get Macrinius,” said Caina.

Theodosia glanced at Caina. “And yet that troubles you. What is it?”

Caina hesitated. “You slept with him.”

“I did,” said Theodosia. She smiled. “And I must say, for a scoundrel and a murderer he was quite a skillful lover. Pity he was involved in slave-trading.” She adjusted her hair. “That troubles you, I take it?” 

Caina nodded.

“My dear,” said Theodosia, “we have spent the last several months arranging Lord Macrinius’s death. If I had sent you into the night with a dagger and a vial of poison to see him dead, you would have done it, no?”

“I would have killed him,” said Caina. “He deserved it. It’s just…seducing him seemed wrong.”

Theodosia smiled, took Caina’s shoulder, guided her to stand in front of the mirror.

“Caina,” said Theodosia, “you’ve learned to fight with your hands and with your knives and with your mind. And you are a very lovely young woman, even if you don’t see that yourself. If you chose, you could destroy a man without raising a finger against him.” 

“That seems wrong,” said Caina.

Theodosia shrugged. “As compared to killing him?”

Caina had no answer for that. 

“We are Ghosts,” said Theodosia, “and we do what we must, to guard the Empire from tyrannical lords and slavers and corrupt sorcerers. And if we should happen to enjoy it along the way,” she smiled, “well…why not?”

“I don’t know,” said Caina. As a child, she had wanted a family of her own, vowing that she would be a better mother than Laeria Amalas. But that would never happen. She would never have children. And if she could use her body as a weapon against men, why should she not?

Maybe she should have let Lucien seduce her.

“I don’t know,” said Caina again.

“Well, think on it,” said Theodosia. “Meanwhile, help me with my makeup. I have an aria to sing.” 

###

After the performance, a man waited in Theodosia’s room.

Caina stopped, hand dipping into her sleeve for a throwing knife. The man had graying black hair and arms heavy with muscle. He wore the robe and cap of a prosperous merchant, a trimmed beard framing his lips, and…

Caina grinned. “Halfdan!” 

“You’ve grown,” said Halfdan, smiling back. 

“Well, it’s been a year,” said Caina. 

“Theodosia told me you did well, very well, with Macrinius.” 

Theodosia walked into the room, and stopped. “You rogue! You return at last!”

“So,” said Halfdan, “I heard you sent Macrinius to heaven before you sent him to hell.”

Theodosia actually blushed. 

“Well done, both of you,” said Halfdan. “Macrinius was one of Haeron Icaraeus’s most powerful supporters. Lord Haeron will find his loss a heavy blow.”

Theodosia snorted. “Better if we had found evidence to rid ourselves of Lord Haeron, as well.”

“He was too careful for that,” said Halfdan. “But we will have him, sooner or later.” He looked at Caina. “And it’s time for you to have another teacher.”

Caina bit her lip and nodded.

“Ah, you will take her from me?” said Theodosia. “I do not know what I will do without her.” 

“You can apply your own makeup,” said Caina.

“Yes, but I do not want to,” said Theodosia. She laughed, and hugged Caina. “Be careful, child. You have great things ahead of you, I think. And you are welcome to attend my performances at any time. Just so long as you don’t try to sing.”

Caina hugged Theodosia back, and left with Halfdan.

Chapter 19 - Countess Marianna Nereide

Halfdan was disguised as a jewel merchant, Basil Callenius of Marsis, and so he took her to an expensive inn. He had his own coach and footman, and a pair of servants to look after his clothes and goods. 

“This is a nicer disguise than Marcus Antali,” Caina murmured.

“A jewel merchant is a superb disguise for spying upon the nobility,” said Halfdan. “Nobles love jewels, after all.” 

The next morning they took the coach from the inn. Halfdan had given Caina a new gown to wear, blue with black trim, and she was startled to find herself admiring her reflection in the coach’s window.

Theodosia must have worn off on her. 

“Who is to be my next teacher?” said Caina.

Halfdan looked up from the coach’s window. “Your last teacher. You’re almost ready.”

“Who, then?” said Caina.

“The circlemaster of Malarae,” said Halfdan.

Caina frowned. “Theodosia is the circlemaster of Malarae.”

“One of Malarae’s circlemasters,” said Halfdan. “As I’m sure you’ve observed, Malarae is a rather large place. Over a million people live here, and tens of thousands of visitors at any one time. Keeping track of everything that the Ghosts need to know about is…difficult. So Malarae has multiple circles, covering different parts of the city. Theodosia is circlemaster of one, but there are others.”

Caina nodded. “What will this circlemaster teach me?”

“How to be a noblewoman,” said Halfdan.

Caina laughed. “My father was Lord of House Amalas and Harbormaster of Aretia. Technically, I am a noblewoman.” 

“Yes, but you don’t know how to act like a noblewoman,” said Halfdan.

Caina shrugged. “Theodosia taught me to masquerade as one.”

“I’m sure she did,” said Halfdan. “But masquerading is one thing. The Emperor and the Ghosts have many enemies among the nobility, and we need more eyes and ears among them. You might know how to masquerade a Nighmarian noblewoman of high birth, but do you know how to act like one? You’ve spent a third of your life around spies, assassins, and opera singers, and I rather doubt your mother took the time to instruct you in social graces.” 

“She didn’t,” said Caina.

“So if you are to spy for us among the nobles,” said Halfdan, “you need to learn these things. How to dress, how to speak, how to walk. The forms of etiquette and courtesy the nobility require. How to command servants. How to dance.” 

“Theodosia taught me to dance,” said Caina. “She even had me on stage a few times.”

Halfdan laughed. “Aye? Well, believe me, the sort of dancing you can do on stage at the opera is rather different than the sort of dancing that is acceptable at a noble ball.” 

A short time later the coach stopped before townhouse, smaller than Macrinius’s sprawling pile of a mansion, but much less ostentatious. A small garden, full of flowering bushes, ringed the townhouse, threaded with paths of white stone. Caina followed Halfdan from the coach, and a footman in livery greeted them at the door.

“Basil Callenius, master merchant of the Collegium of Jewelers, and his daughter Anna to see Lady Julia Morenna,” said Halfdan. 

“Of course, sir,” said the footman. “I shall announce you at once.”

The footman led them up a flight of stairs and into a sitting room with high windows overlooking the garden. A woman sat in a chair, looking out the windows, a distant look on her face. She was a little older than Theodosia, and much smaller, with black hair well on its way to gray. A maid stood besides her, holding a silver tray with a teapot upon it. 

“Lady Julia,” said Halfdan. “I am honored to see you once again.”

The maid busied herself pouring out three cups of tea. 

“Of course you are, Basil,” said Julia, extending a thin hand. Halfdan bowed over it and kissed the heavy gold ring on one finger. “Whenever you appear, I always wind up spending entirely too much upon jewelry. It’s positively scandalous.” She spoke High Nighmarian with cool precision. “This is the daughter I’ve heard so much about?”

“Aye,” said Halfdan. The maid handed a teacup to Caina, the fine porcelain warm against her fingers. 

Julia nodded. “Leave us,” she commanded, and the footman and the maid bowed and withdrew. 

Something in that imperious voice irritated Caina.

“So,” said Lady Julia, after the servants withdrew. “I heard you’ve been busy.”

“Well,” said Halfdan, “I do like to keep occupied.”

Julia smiled. “Lord Macrinius had such a…dramatic fall, didn’t he? Who would have thought that he would be foolish enough to smuggle slaves into the Imperial capital? Or that the slaves would be bold enough to break free, escape their chains, and report his crimes to the Civic Militia? One wonders if the slaves had some help.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” said Halfdan. 

Again that little smile crossed Julia’s face. “Of course not. Though I do wonder. Why did Macrinius do something so stupid?” She sighed and took a sip of the tea. “Though he was, if you will forgive the phrase, never the sharpest sword in the armory.”

“A common trait among Restorationist nobles,” said Halfdan.

“Sadly true,” said Julia. “Yet why risk bringing slaves into the city? For the principle of the thing? Macrinius did not seem the sort of man to lay his life down over principle. For money, perhaps? But surely he could not earn enough money trading slaves to justify the risk.” 

“Almost certainly Macrinius bought those slaves because Haeron Icaraeus ordered him to do so,” said Halfdan, “and Haeron wants to give those slaves to Maglarion.”

Julia blinked, once. Evidently Halfdan hadn’t told her about that part yet.

“Maglarion is here?” said Julia. 

“He’s allied himself with Haeron Icaraeus,” said Halfdan. “I don’t yet know the details of their pact. I suppose Maglarion promised to kill Haeron’s foes or to put him upon the throne; he’s made such deals before. And in exchange, Haeron provides Maglarion with slaves.”

“Why?” said Julia.

“Raw material,” said Caina, her voice quiet as she remembered. “Maglarion’s a necromancer. He uses the blood of living victims to fuel his spells. Evidently he finds it easier to get slaves from someone like Lord Icaraeus than to go out and kidnap them himself.” 

“But why do this in the Imperial capital?” said Julia. “Necromancy is practiced openly in Anub-Kha, or in Anshan. Slavery is legal in Istarinmul and the Cyrican provinces. Maglarion could carry out his…experiments in peace there, without fear of the Ghosts. Why do such things here?” 

“I don’t know,” said Halfdan, “and that’s what you’re going to find out. I know that Haeron Icaraeus is gaining allies among the nobility, and that his followers invariably wind up dabbling in the slave trade. None of the other Ghost circles are in a position to infiltrate Haeron’s meetings. You are, however. Find what Maglarion wants. Whatever he promised Haeron is bad enough. Whatever Maglarion wants for himself is probably much worse. Caina will help you.”

Julia’s gray eyes shifted to Caina. 

“Train her to act as a proper young Nighmarian noblewoman,” said Halfdan. “She’ll help you. And she has variety of skills you will find most useful.” 

“As you wish,” said Julia.

“Caina, do as Julia bids you, just as you did for your previous circlemaster,” said Halfdan.

“I shall,” said Caina.

Halfdan bowed, kissed Julia’s ring once, and left. 

Caina and Julia stared at each other for a moment.

“You don’t like me very much,” said Julia, “do you?”

Caina blinked. “I…just met you. That seems premature.” 

“But,” said Julia, lifting a finger, “you don’t like me. Do you.”

“No,” said Caina.

“Why not, if I might ask?” said Julia.

“You…remind me of my mother,” said Caina. 

Julia reminded Caina of Laeria Amalas a great deal. Julia’s appearance, her perfectly arranged hair and gown, her jewelry, everything reminded Caina of her mother, of how Laeria used to obsess over every last detail of her appearance. 

“Ah,” said Julia. “You and your mother are not on speaking terms, I take it?”

“She’s dead,” said Caina. “I killed her.”

Julia’s face went still. “May I ask why?”

“She was a novice of the Magisterium,” said Caina, “but they put her out because she was too weak. So she sold me to Maglarion, in hopes that he would teach her the arcane science that the Magisterium never would.” 

“I see,” said Julia. “Your mother…she was Lady Laeria, was she not? Laeria, who married Sebastian Amalas?”

Caina blinked. “How did you know that? Did you know them?”

“I did, years ago,” said Julia. “I used to live in Artifel, before my husband and son died. I knew your mother, when she was a novice in the Magisterium motherhouse. She was smart and ambitious, but eaten up with pride. Your father once served a term as Lord Governor of Outer Ulkaaria. Did you know that?”

Caina shook her head.

“That was when your mother met your father,” said Julia. “I had hoped that he would be good for her, that he would temper her arrogance.” She sighed. “Instead, she saw your father as a means to advancement. But he was not interested in further Imperial magistracies, and wanted to return home to Aretia.”

“He did,” said Caina. “My mother…used to berate him for not seeking an Imperial magistracy.” 

“I had heard that slavers killed Sebastian and Laeria six or seven years ago,” said Julia. “I had no idea that they had a daughter. You look just like Laeria, you know.”

“I do not!” said Caina, her hands curling into fists. At once she berated herself for the outburst. Halfdan and Theodosia had taught her better than that, and she forced herself back to calm. 

“You do,” said Julia. “It was not an insult. Laeria was quite a lovely young woman, even if her heart was rotten.” 

“What…what was my father like, when you knew him?” said Caina. 

“Diligent,” said Julia. “But distracted. I suspect he became Lord Governor of Outer Ulkaaria because it was expected of him, but he wanted nothing more than to return to Aretia and live in peace and quiet with his books. A wise young man, really. Our Empire would be better for it if more men desired to live in peace and quiet, rather than seeking honor and power.”

“Perhaps he was not so wise,” said Caina, “if he was fooled by my mother.”

Julia almost smiled. “Your mother could be very charming, when she put her mind to it.” She rose, setting aside the cup of tea. “And so can you. Maglarion and your mother hurt you, and you desire revenge.”

Caina said nothing. 

“But you are only one girl,” said Julia, “and you cannot defeat your enemies with knives and fists. No. You must use a softer way. A subtler way. If you can charm them, convince them that you are in fact their friend…then they will never see the knife coming, will they? Not until it is too late. The nobility of the Empire is a nest of serpents behind smiling masks, child. And I can teach you to move among them.”

Caina remembered how her mother had become so charming whenever someone of sufficient rank or wealth visited Aretia. 

An ability that Caina might find useful herself.

“All right,” she said at last. 

###

So Lady Julia Morenna taught her the arts of a noblewoman.

There was more to it than Caina expected.

Some of it she had learned from Theodosia already. All the little tricks of cosmetics to make herself look more beautiful. How to make her eyes look larger, her cheekbones sharper, her lips redder. How to pick gowns that flattered her form without revealing too much…unless the time was right to reveal more, of course.

Quite a bit of it Caina did not know.

When to wear silk, or linen, or velvet, or damask, depending upon the weather and the formality of the occasion. What sort of jewelry to wear. Theodosia had worn very little jewelry. Most of it had been costume jewelry, glass gems set in cheap metal, and she had worn it only while on stage. But Julia had a vast store of jewelry, and she explained its uses to Caina. 

“Men, by and large,” she said, “do not care about jewels. They will see that you are wearing them, which means you are a woman of station, and that is enough. Women, however, wear jewelry the way that peacocks wear feathers. Especially noblewomen, and wealthier commoners. The wife or daughters of a prosperous merchant will very often wear silver, with amethysts and sapphires. Nobles wear gold, with rubies and diamonds and emeralds. Unless, of course, you are simply wearing jewelry to enhance your appearance.” She held up a silver chain adorned with sapphires. “This would work marvelously for you, I think. The silver, a contrast with your black hair. And the sapphires, to match those lovely blue eyes of yours.”

They spent a great deal of time going over etiquette. Caina already knew the history behind some of it. The Empire was old, and some of the noble Houses traced their lineage back for thousands of years. Older Houses had more prestige than younger ones, and the oldest Houses of all, the eight First Houses that traced their descent back to the founding of the Empire - only members of their blood could sit upon the Imperial throne. 

“House Amalas was founded in the Third Empire,” said Julia, “by a valiant Legionary the Emperor raised to the nobility. But we cannot have you going about under your real name, can we? You shall be…Marianna, of House Nereide, I think. Yes. House Nereide went extinct during the War of the Fourth Empire, so that should be a suitable identity for you.”

She taught Caina the elaborate rules of etiquette surrounding the balls and feasts of the nobility. The rules of precedence, how the older Houses always went first…unless the lord of a younger House had been made a Count or held an Imperial magistracy. How to address a lord, a lady, a master magus, a high priest, a merchant. How to command servants with suitable dignity - firm enough that they did not think you weak, yet not harshly enough to make them spit in the wine. 

One of Julia’s servants, an old man with a prissy demeanor, spent several days teaching her to dance as the nobles did, slowly and with stately dignity. Caina found she rather enjoyed it. It was not all that different, really, from the unarmed forms she practiced every morning until her heart raced.