Ghost in the Blood (The Ghosts) (11 page)

“It’s the last step, you know,” said Agria. “The last step. You need to take it. I did, and look at me now. I’ve never been happier. It’s not such a steep price.”

“You’re right, of course,” said Vorena, fiddling with her hair as she spoke. “It’s just…I don’t know. I suppose I have some misplaced sentiment over the whole business. I still can’t quite bring myself to do it.”

“Do you doubt the power that we’ve learned?” said Agria. “That I’ve shown you?”

“No, no, of course not,” said Vorena, too quickly. 

“Ah,” said Agria with a smile. “You do, don’t you? No reason for shame, my dear. Do I look like a priest? I ask you to take nothing on faith. I will give you proof…which is what tonight is all about, isn’t it?” She looked up and smiled. “Oh, Messana. There you are. And Anna! So good of you to come.” She stood up and kissed Caina’s cheek, her lips dry and cool. 

“I’m glad I could come,” said Caina, as Agria guided her to a seat. She wanted to slip away as soon as possible, before Icaraeus and Tigrane escaped. But Agria and her friends might let slip some useful information. 

“So am I,” said Agria. “Tonight you’re going to see something wondrous. I told you that our arts could bestow blessings of beauty and health and love. I know you didn’t believe me.”

“But, my lady,” said Caina, “it’s just that…”

“Now, now,” said Agria with an indulgent smile. “I was once much as you are. Weak, fearful, living on the whims of first my father and then my husband. But not now. And tonight, my dear, you will see proof.” She looked at Vorena. “Did you bring it?”

“Yes, of course,” said Lady Chlorus. She held up a lock of hair. “I had to bribe his barber for it, but the cost was little enough.”

“That’s…somebody’s hair?” said Caina. 

“Yes,” said Agria. “A certain master of the Imperial Collegium of Armorers has been so gauche as to refuse our dear Vorena’s advances. Nor has he provided her with rich gifts, as he ought. So we are going to give him a bit of…encouragement.” 

She lifted the silver chalice Caina had seen in her bedroom. Messana lit the candles, one by one, filling the room with flickering light. Agria set the chalice on the table and drew herself up.

Caina felt the sudden faint prickle of sorcery.

“Now,” said Agria, “let us begin. The hair, Vorena.” 

Vorena dropped the lock of hair into the chalice. Agria began to chant in an odd voice, making precise gestures with one hand. Caina didn’t recognize the language. It sounded vaguely Szaldic, but…older, somehow. The pressure of sorcery grew stronger, and Caina felt a twinge of nausea. 

“The blood, Vorena,” said Agria, her voice rasping.

Vorena swallowed, but lifted a dagger, her other hand over the chalice. She pricked her finger, and a few drops of blood fell into the silver bowl. 

A blood spell, Caina realized. 

Necromancy.

Agria resumed her chant, faster this time. Her voice rose to a shout, and she thrust a finger into the blood.

The pressure against Caina’s skin felt like needles. 

There was a flash of light, and green flames roiled inside the chalice, devouring blood and hair alike. Not even ashes remained. Caina felt another surge of sorcerous power, so sharp that she almost threw up. Then it faded bit by bit. 

Agria’s breath came in a hard rasp, her eyes closed, her expression ecstatic. 

“What…what happened?” said Caina, making her voice small. “There was a light…”

“A blessing,” said Agria. “That’s what happened.”

“Did it work?” said Vorena.

Agria smiled. “Of course it did. Come and see for yourself.” 

She rose, and they followed her into a courtyard. Agria prowled through the grounds, looking back and forth. Then she stopped and pointed. A middle-aged man in the black-and-silver robes of the Imperial Collegium of Armorers stood nearby. He had the build of a blacksmith, with a salt-and-pepper beard, and was handsome in a rough sort of way. His expression was glassy, his jaw slack. 

The same expression, Caina realized, that she had seen on the guard in Agria’s bed. 

“It…it worked?” whispered Vorena. 

“Yes,” said Agria. “He is yours. To do with as you please.” 

A smile spread over Vorena’s face, lust and hatred and gloating exultation all rolled together. Caina shuddered. Her mother had often smiled like that, when she’d gotten her way. The results were rarely pretty. 

“Come here,” called Vorena.

The armorer walked over, movements stiff and wooden. 

“Come with me,” purred Vorena. “We have much to do.”

They vanished into the shadows together. 

“Do you see now?” said Agria to Caina, voice low. “Do you see what our arts can do for you? Is there some man your desire to make your slave? We can make him so – tonight, if you wish it. And we can do so much more. Our blessings can keep age and time at bay, can give you many obedient sons while preserving your beauty. All this can be yours. You need only follow our teachings.” 

“I...I…” said Caina. What she had seen horrified her. 

And yet to her distress, some part of her yearned for it. She wanted children, she wanted a husband to love, and she would never have either. What man would wed a barren wife? Yet Agria’s arts promised all that. And perhaps her blood spells could smooth away Caina’s scars, so that she might bear children of her own… 

Blood spells.

Blood had to come from somewhere.

And Agria purchased slaves. 

That thought stiffened her resolve. 

“I…don’t know,” said Caina. “Forgive my timidity, my lady, but this is all so…overwhelming. I didn’t know such things were possible.” 

“Of course,” said Agria. She smiled. “Yes…I reacted in much the same way, at first.”

“But…your teachings, you say,” said Caina. “I would like to learn more of them. I would like that very much.” 

At least until Caina could bring down both Agria Palaegus and Naelon Icaraeus. 

“And you shall,” said Agria. “You will become one of us yet.”

Caina fervently hoped not.

“Might I lie down for a bit?” said Caina. “I do not feel well.”

Agria frowned. “If you are discomforted by what you have seen…”

“No, no,” said Caina, thinking of a suitable lie. “It…well, it is my time of the month, and I sometimes get a bit dizzy.” 

“Oh! You should have said so,” said Agria. “Messana, dear, please take her someplace where she can lie down.”

Messana took Caina’s arm and guided her to a small bedroom off one of the courtyards. “A bit small, but it does have a bed.”

“That’s all I need,” said Caina. She feigned leaning on the wall for balance and lay down. Messana smiled at her, closed the door, and returned to the party. Caina closed her eyes, listened, and counted to a hundred. No one came. 

Caina went out the window, cursing under her breath as the long skirts tangled in her legs. She hurried along the villa’s perimeter, keeping an eye out for the others. There was no trace of Ark, Halfdan, or Ducas. Had they all gone in pursuit of Icaraeus? Had Halfdan decided to kill Icaraeus then and there? Caina wondered if he had found a countermeasure to the enspelled bracers. 

At last Caina found herself at the edge of the villa’s grounds, looking at the street. Halfdan’s coach sat where they had left it, the horses flicking their tails impatiently. She saw no trace of Halfdan and the others.

She did see Tigrane, walking away from the grounds. No doubt he and Icaraeus had split up to throw off any pursuit. Yet if Caina could follow him, he might lead her to the rest of Icaraeus’s gang. Perhaps to Icaraeus himself. 

Caina made a decision. She jumped the wall and hurried to the coach, moving as fast as her ornate clothes would allow. Once she reached the coach, she threw open the door and climbed inside, risking a glance over her shoulder. Tigrane seemed not to have seen her. She closed the door and ducked below the window, pulling a wooden box from beneath the seat.

She entertained no thoughts of using the coach to pursue Tigrane. He couldn’t help but notice a massive coach pulled by a pair of draft horses chasing after him.

He might not notice a Ghost nightfighter, wrapped in a shadowed cloak. 

Caina stripped out of her expensive dress and pulled her nightfighter garb and weapons from the box. Too bad she didn’t have time to wash away the perfume, but with any luck, she wouldn’t get close enough for Tigrane to notice. She donned her mask, pulled up the hood, and slipped into the street. 

She saw Tigrane vanish around a corner, heading towards the docks. 

Caina followed. 

Chapter 11 - Pursuit

Tigrane began singing as he walked. At first Caina wondered if he had gone mad, but then it made sense. Naelon Icaraeus was a wanted man, his description known from one end of the Empire to the other. Tigrane looked like any other old sailor. Anonymity was a better defense than stealth. He needn’t skulk from shadow to shadow, hiding in corners and lurking behind statues.

As Caina was doing. 

She ducked behind a mansion’s marble colonnade, keeping an eye on Tigrane’s progress. She knew how to remain unseen. But this was a fool’s game. Too many people wandered Marsis at night. Sooner or later Tigrane would look over his shoulder, or someone would spot her, and things would get bad.

She followed Tigrane to the poorer neighborhoods outside the docks, where only narrow alleyways separated the close-packed houses. Most of the houses had charms against the Moroaica and the Solmonari nailed to the doorframes. Caina blinked, and looked at the rooftops.

People never looked up.

She scrambled up a copper drainpipe, moving as fast as she dared. It was a hard climb, four stories straight up, and took longer than she would have liked. Fortunately, Tigrane hadn’t made much progress. In fact, he was weaving back and forth as if drunk, singing an off-key song about a sailor and the captain’s lonely wife. How the devil had he gotten drunk so fast? No, he was faking. But why?

He was looking for victims, Caina realized. Hunting for inventory. Examining the houses in search of easy prey. Who would suspect a drunken old man of slave trading?

Tigrane turned in a circle, still singing, and Caina ducked into the shadow of an eave. 

And as she did, she saw movement across the street. A man slipped into an alleyway, vanishing out of sight. Caina frowned behind her mask and remained motionless. Tigrane continued his meandering way down the street, still singing. 

He’d gone maybe thirty yards when the second man emerged from the alleyway. He was muffled head to foot in a heavy cloak, his face hidden beneath the hood. Yet Caina caught a glimmer of armor as the cloak parted, the hilt of a sword rising from his belt. 

Interesting. Someone else was following Tigrane. It wasn’t Halfdan or any of the other Ghosts, she was sure of that. So, who? 

Caina waited until the cloaked man had resumed his quiet pursuit, and followed them both. She leapt from rooftop to rooftop, springing over the narrow alleys. From time to time the cloaked man dodged into an alley, or ducked behind a barrel, and Caina flattened herself against the rooftops. The cloaked man concealed himself well enough, but lacked Caina's skill at stealth. Tigrane gave no sign that he had noticed either tail. Perhaps he was leading the cloaked man into a trap.

Or maybe Tigrane was stupider than Caina had thought. 

They came to the docks proper, and the smell of brine and tar and fish grew sharper. The warehouses and merchant offices began as the houses ended, and Caina was out of rooftops. She hesitated, looking for a way down. 

Fortunately, she didn’t need one. Tigrane turned and vanished into a tavern. The sign over its door showed an upside-down fish, mouth hanging open, a black X covering its eyes. 

The Dead Fish Tavern. 

“What a charming concept,” muttered Caina. 

The cloaked man stood in the shadow of a building, watching the Dead Fish’s door. Something in his stance seemed satisfied. He watched the door for a moment, then turned and walked back up the street. As he turned, Caina caught a glimpse of his face.

Hiram Palaegus. 

Caina stared after him, torn. She wanted to keep watching Tigrane. He might lead her right to Icaraeus’s hiding place. On the other hand, he might have just settled down for a long night of drinking. And even if he was meeting with business associates, Caina could not enter and overhear their conversation. She could hardly stroll into the tavern wearing black nightfighter’s garb. 

And Hiram knew something useful, she was sure of it. 

Caina made up her mind. She scrambled down the side of the house, using a drainpipe for leverage, and set off in pursuit of Hiram. Walking quickly, he turned into an alley and vanished. Caina followed him. 

“Hiram Palaegus,” she called in her disguised voice. 

Hiram responded at once.

He whirled with surprising speed for a man of his size, his broadsword flying from its scabbard. He came at Caina in a lunge. Caina twisted aside, flattening against the brick wall, and thrust missed. Hiram recovered his balance and sent his sword in a looping swing for her head. Caina ducked, and the sword clanged off the brick wall. A dagger was better for close-quarters fighting. 

Caina sprang back to her feet, snatching the dagger from her right boot. Hiram wound up for another swing, and Caina punched. The hilt of her dagger struck Hiram’s jaw, and he stumbled back with a grunt of pain. Caina leapt forward, seized the wrist of his sword hand, and slammed it against the wall. Hiram wrenched his arm away, pulling his wrist from her grip. 

But that was fine, since it gave Caina the distraction she needed to take a half-step past Hiram and slam her boot into the back of his knee. Hiram staggered, and Caina swept his legs out from under him, sending him to the ground with a clatter of armor. Caina put one boot on his sword, the other on his throat, and stooped over him, her dagger resting against his lower eyelid.

The Legions trained with sword, shield, spear, and crossbow, but rarely with the unarmed forms of combat.

“Kill me and get it over with,” spat Hiram in Caerish. “You’re working for Agria, aren’t you? Well, get on with it already. Though she’ll probably cheat you out of your fee…”

“Idiot,” rasped Caina in High Nighmarian. “I’m not here to kill you. I want to talk.” 

Hiram blinked and switched to High Nighmarian. “Then why did you attack me?” 

“I didn’t attack you,” said Caina. “I called out your name. Then you drew your sword and attacked me. Or did that escape your recollection?”

The anger drained from Hiram’s face, replaced by confusion. “I…see.”

“Get up,” said Caina, lifting her dagger from his face and her boot from his neck. Hiram collected his broadsword and rose, watching her.

“Who are you?” said Hiram, returning the blade to its scabbard.

“Merely someone seeking the answers to a few questions,” said Caina.

Hiram stared at her. He could not see her very well, she knew, because of her cloak’s blurring shadows. She saw him get it. 

“You’re a Ghost,” said Hiram at last. “One of the Emperor’s spies.”

“The Emperor has no spies,” said Caina. “If you are wise you will remember that fact.”

“This is about Agria, isn’t it?” said Hiram. “Agria and her friends.” 

“The crimes of Agria Palaegus have drawn the notice of the Emperor,” said Caina. “We know much of her misdeeds. However, we need to know more, and we as yet lack the complete picture.” 

Hiram nodded. “So…that is why you have sought me out.” He scowled. “Did you know that Agria murdered her husband and her daughter? Did you know that?”

Caina blinked. “Did she?” That surprised her. Thought she supposed it shouldn’t, given how much Agria resembled Caina's mother. She thought that Agria had been warped by grief, that she had turned to sorcery out of pain. If she had been cold enough to murder both husband and child…

“Perhaps you should start from the beginning,” said Caina.

“That may take some time,” said Hiram.

“Is there somewhere else you needed to be?”

Hiram scowled. “No. I suppose not.” He sighed. “I am the bastard son of the old Lord Palaegus. Martin was my younger half-brother.” His stern face relaxed in a smile. “Traditionally, I suppose, bastard sons and lawful heirs are the worst of enemies. But Martin and I were always friends. Probably because I had no desire to become Lord of House Palaegus, and preferred to enter the Legions rather than to endure the banalities of politics. About ten years ago Martin married Agria, of House Marken.”

“What did you think of Agria then?” said Caina. 

Hiram shrugged. “I bore her no ill will. She was charming and courteous, though haughty as any other woman of high birth. She bore Martin a daughter, Lydia, shortly after the wedding.” The smile turned pained. “Lydia…was a sweet child. She could make friends with anyone, and she had none of her mother’s hauteur. The servants adored her. Everyone did.”

“What went wrong?” said Caina.

“Jadriga,” said Hiram. He spat the word like something poisonous. Caina remembered him cursing Jadriga in Agria’s bedroom.

“And who is Jadriga?” said Caina. 

“A charlatan,” said Hiram. “She came from the Imperial capital, claiming to be an astrologer, a seeress, in touch with the ‘sacred mysticism’ of women and other such nonsense. Well, noblewomen like to collect eccentrics, and Agria was fascinated by Jadriga. Martin should have had her thrown into the street.” He shook his head. “Jadriga poured poison into Agria’s ear from the first day. She told Agria that her husband and daughter were hindrances, chains holding her back from reaching her full potential.” His scowl deepened. “Agria would spend all her time with Jadriga, and the wives of Lord Heliorus and Lord Chlorus, chanting and burning incense and painting symbols upon the wall. Foolishness, all of it.”

“No,” said Caina. “Agria has some arcane power. Perhaps she learned it from this Jadriga.” 

Hiram blinked. “She…does?” He shook his head. “That would explain some things.”

“Such as?”

“Why she changed,” said Hiram. “After she began meeting with Jadriga, her temperament changed entirely. She turned against Martin first, and then Lydia. She had screaming rages, beating the servants and smashing things when anything displeased her. And…you might think me mad, but she began to look younger, too.”

“Younger?” said Caina.

“Thinner,” said Hiram. “Fewer lines upon her face. Perhaps that was sorcery, too.” He gripped the hilt of his broadsword. “And sorcery would explain other things.” 

“What other things?” 

“How she killed Martin and Lydia,” said Hiram. 

“You’re sure she killed them?” said Caina. 

“I know it,” said Hiram. “I have no proof but I am sure of it. They both died of the weeping plague five years ago. The bodies were burned at once to keep the disease from spreading. And Agria did not care. Not a month passed before she began throwing lavish parties every week, and taking a different lover into her bed every night. It’s a miracle she hasn’t exhausted Martin’s money yet.”

“She has,” said Caina. “In fact she is over six million denarii in debt.” 

“Six million?” said Hiram, shocked. “I knew that she was heedlessly extravagant…but to that extent?” 

“She’s not spending all that money on wine and jewels,” said Caina. “Is she?”

“No,” said Hiram. He took a deep breath. “She is buying slaves, kidnapped from the countryside and the streets of Marsis. Hundreds and hundreds of them. And the gods only know what she is doing with them! She’ll hold a few dozen in the cellar for a few weeks, and then they disappear.” 

“Why do you think she is buying these slaves?” said Caina.

Hiram shrugged. “I cannot imagine. Reselling them, I suppose, in order to cover her debts. There are mine owners and plantation farmers who are not choosy about where their labor comes from.” 

“Or traitors to the Empire,” said Caina.

“What do you mean?” said Hiram. 

“You know of a man named Naelon Icaraeus?” said Caina.

Hiram blinked in surprise. “Old Lord Haeron's son, isn't he? Banished from the Empire for treason and plotting with necromancers. There’s a vast bounty on his head, but no one has ever collected it.” 

“He has turned to slave trading to raise money,” said Caina. “Agria has been buying her slaves from him.”

“She is consorting with an attainted traitor to the Emperor?” said Hiram, aghast. “Agria always meets with two men when she buys slaves. I followed one of them…”

“That is Tigrane,” said Caina. “A former pirate captain. The other man is Icaraeus.”

“Gods of the Empire,” spat Hiram. “Is there nothing that woman won’t do? She squandered her wealth. She is buying slaves. She murdered my brother and his daughter! And now she is dealing with a traitor to the Empire?” 

“You know she is buying slaves,” said Caina. “Why haven’t you gone to the magistrates, or to Lord Governor Corbould Maraeus?” 

“Who would believe me?” said Hiram, bitterness in his voice. “I have no proof, only the things that I alone have witnessed. I am the bastard half-brother of Martin’s widow. Without impervious proof, any accusation I level will be seen as a jealous bastard attempting to usurp Agria’s lawful rights. And I have no impervious proof.” He looked at her. “Do the Ghosts?”

“Not yet,” said Caina. “But we will, soon. Especially if we have your assistance.”

Hiram nodded. “You have it.” 

“Good. Have you followed Tigrane before?” 

“Several times,” said Hiram. “He drinks at the Dead Fish Tavern frequently. He usually has a dozen other men with him. I don’t dare approach him by myself, and I can’t bring the troops of my cohort into the city without a proper warrant.” 

“Which you cannot obtain without impervious proof,” said Caina.

Hiram nodded. “How can we obtain such proof?” 

“You will continue to keep an eye on the Dead Fish Tavern,” said Caina. “Naelon Icaraeus is the priority.”

“But Agria…”

“If we take down Icaraeus, we shall have all the proof we need to deal with Agria,” said Caina. 

What she did not say was that they might just kill Agria anyway. The Emperor took a dim view of nobles who dabbled in the slave trade. More than once he had ordered their covert deaths. And Caina suspected that the Emperor would not care how Naelon Icaraeus died, so long that he did. 

“What about Martin and Lydia?” said Hiram. “Will you get justice for them?” 

“Agria will pay for what she has done,” said Caina. One way or another. “Do not approach her directly.” 

Hiram snorted. “I haven’t exchanged more than pleasantries with Agria in years.” 

“I am serious,” said Caina. “She has mastered a level of sorcery that permits her to control the minds of men. If she has the least inkling that you’re a threat to her, she might force you to kill yourself.”