Ghost in the Blood (The Ghosts) (4 page)

Chapter 4 - Zorgi's Inn

They pulled into a long line of carts waiting to enter the gates. The walls of Marsis loomed over them, gray and scarred from ancient battles. Caina remembered vaguely that Marsis had been conquered and retaken a score of times over the centuries. Though the Citadel and the black tower at its heart had only fallen from treachery, never from assault. 

“What’s the plan?” she said.

“We go to an inn,” said Halfdan. “Run by a friend of mine. Set up shop there. Then we’ll go looking for business.” 

“And where, Father,” said Caina, watching the carts rumble through the gates, “shall we find business?” Four legionaries stood by the gates, asking questions of the drivers. 

He glanced at her. “The noble Houses, I think. Noblewomen are vain and prideful and ever eager for more jewels to flaunt at their expensive balls. It should not be hard to get an invitation or two.” 

Caina nodded, and their wagon pulled up to the gates.

A legionary strode towards them, expression bored. He wore the segmented steel armor of the Legion, a broadsword at his belt, and a shield slung over his shoulder. His eyes flicked over Halfdan, lingered for a while on Caina, and returned to Halfdan.

“Your name and business?” said the legionary in Caerish.

“Basil Callenius, of Malarae,” said Halfdan, speaking his own Caerish with a Nighmarian accent. “A merchant of jewels and other luxuries.” He lifted a leather folder. “I have all the proper papers and licensures, I assure you, and I am a member in good standing of the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers.” A silver coin glimmered in his hand. “I do hope I can go about my business in peace.”

The legionary gave the papers a cursory glance and took the coin. “Aye, Master Basil, you’re free to go.”

“Though I hope I might ask a question of you, soldier,” said Halfdan. “Do you know a man named Ducas?”

“Aye,” said the legionary, “he’s a tribune of the Twentieth, my Legion. His cohort has command of the south lighthouse.”

Halfdan pulled a sealed scroll from inside his robe. “Might you send this message, worthy sir?” Another silver coin glimmered in his hand. “It would be worth your while, I think.” 

“As you will.” The legionary took both scroll and coin. “I’ll send it with the next rider. Now go. The centurion will have my hide if he sees you blocking the gate.”

Halfdan tipped his cap and cracked the reins. The wagon rattled through the gates and into a broad plaza paved with flagstones. Merchant stalls stood everywhere, vendors hawking food and drink to travelers entering the city. 

“Wretched dog, taking bribes,” muttered Ark, glaring at the gate. “Were I his centurion I would whip him until he cried like a child.”

“Bribes make the world go round,” said Halfdan. 

“Why are legionaries manning the gate?” said Caina. “Isn’t that usually the task of auxiliaries, or local militia?”

“Usually,” said Halfdan, “but not here. Two Legions are kept in Marsis at all times, in case the Kyracians attempt to sail in and seize the city. It’s only been six years or so since their last raid.” 

“This Ducas fellow,” said Caina. “A business associate of yours, Father?”

“Oh, yes,” said Halfdan, “we’ve done business many a time. Now, hush, daughter. Speak no more of business until we’re alone.”

Caina nodded, thinking it over. A military tribune who was also a Ghost? It seemed odd, though it made sense that the Emperor would want spies in his own armies. 

She took in the city as Halfdan drove. People crowded the streets, Nighmarian lords, Caerish merchants, Szaldic craftsmen, Kyracian traders, Anshani merchants, priests of various gods, all of them haggling, gossiping, bickering, preaching, and arguing. Caina spoke a dozen languages with varying degrees of proficiency, and she heard all twelve in the streets, along with a few she did not recognize. She saw the pickpockets working their way through the crowds, and noted with amusement how they moved on to different marks after taking one look at Ark.

Hardly any beggars, though. That surprised her. She had seen one or two at the gate, and none since. Was Marsis prosperous enough to have no beggars? 

It seemed hard to believe that this thriving city could host a gang of sorcery-empowered slavers. 

She glanced up at the mansions surrounding the Citadel, and wondered how many of them held dark secrets. Her eyes wandered past the mansions, to the Citadel itself. And the great black tower rising from its center.

“Draws the eye, doesn’t it?” said Ark. 

“Who built it?” said Caina. 

“No one knows,” said Ark. “Some people say the gods built it, or the Strigosti, or a mighty sorcerer raised it in a single day with a single spell.”

“What do you think?” said Caina. 

Ark shrugged. “I don’t know. An ancient people reared it, most likely. The Szalds call it the Black Angel Tower.” 

“A strange name,” said Caina. “Why?” 

Ark seemed uncomfortable. “Do you want to tell it, or should I?”   

“You should, I think,” said Halfdan. “You heard it from a better storyteller than I did.”

“As you wish,” said Ark. He kept his eyes on the street, but began to speak. “According to the legend, there was a war in the heavens, and the angels rebelled against the gods. In the end, the gods prevailed, and the fallen angels were cast out of the heavens. Some were chained for all time in the hells. Some escaped, and wander the earth to torment mankind. And one in particular was thrown out of the heavens with such force that it fell to earth like a falling star and buried itself in the ground. The gods raised the tower to seal the demon in its prison for all time.”

Ark fell silent, his face distant. Caina watched him for a moment. She realized that Tanya must have told him that story. 

“A grim tale,” she said at last. 

Ark nodded. “The Szalds have countless legends like that. Ghosts that drink blood, and men that become wolves, female demons that carry away newborns, and sorcerers that lay curses upon innocents. Grim tales for a grim people.” He shrugged. “They live in peace and tell grim tales. In the Legion we’d tell bawdy tales and do grim things.” 

“Is that what the horseshoes are about?” said Caina, hoping to turn his mind from the subject of his wife.

Ark blinked. “The what?”

“The horseshoes,” said Caina, pointing. A nearby house had a horseshoe hammered into the lintel, a spring of dried flowers tucked between the iron and the wood. 

“Oh, those,” said Ark. “Another Szaldic superstition. They’re supposed to ward away the Solmonari and the Moroaica.” 

“What are those?” said Caina.

“The Solmonari are…different things, depending upon who you ask,” said Ark. “Supposedly they were the wise men of the ancient Szaldic tribes, and went extinct when the Arthags and the Malrags drove them into the Empire. Others say they were an order of wicked sorcerers.”

“There’s another kind?” said Caina.

Ark almost smiled. “Whatever the Solmonari were, whether or not they even existed, most of the Szalds think they were evil. So they put up those horseshoes to ward the Solmonari away.”

“What about the Moroaica?”

Ark shrugged. “Some kind of demon, I think. It would appear in the form of a woman, and carry off newborn children.” He pointed. “See there, the house with that second horseshoe nailed to the door?”

Caina nodded. 

“You can always tell a Szaldic house with a new baby,” he said. “They nail up a second horseshoe then, to ward away the Moroaica.” 

“A strange belief,” said Caina. 

“And who is to say that they are not right?” said Halfdan. “There are many strange things in the world.”

“Most of them conjured up by the brothers of the Magisterium,” said Caina. 

“There are other sorcerers in the world than the Magisterium,” said Halfdan. “But we should not discuss them on the streets. Bad for business, dear daughter.”

“True, Father,” said Caina. She gazed at the Black Angel Tower, thinking about fallen angels and blood-drinking demons. It made for grim thoughts, as Ark had said. Yet within the city’s walls were men who would rip children from their mothers and sell them to strangers. 

No need to dig through dusty Szaldic legends to find monsters. There were plenty here and now. 

She rode in silence for the rest of the trip, thinking.

“Here we are,” said Halfdan, pulling the mules to a stop.

Caina looked up. They had gone into the heart of Marsis, not far from the ring of palatial mansions surrounding the Citadel. The wagon sat before an inn built of timber and white stone, surrounded by small gardens and trees. It did not look nearly as luxurious as the White Road Inn, but it had an understated charm that the White Road had lacked.

Well. At least until Caina had burned it down. 

“What’s this?” said Caina.

“Zorgi’s Inn,” said Halfdan, “favored by discerning master merchants throughout the Empire. Zorgi keeps a fine inn, and Basil Callenius has stayed here many a night.”

Caina nodded. That meant Zorgi knew nothing about the Ghosts.

“Arlann,” said Halfdan, “fetch some of Zorgi’s porters and start them unloading the wagon. Make sure they don’t steal anything.” 

Caina looked around for this Arlann, and saw Ark nodding. No doubt that was the name Ark would use while in Marsis. Ark headed towards the stables, and Caina followed Halfdan to the doors. A liveried footman bowed and pulled the door open. Halfdan rewarded the fellow with a silver coin, and they entered the common room. Long tables stood under the high ceiling, fires crackling in hearths at either side of the room. Stairs climbed up to balconies and the doors to the guest rooms. 

A stout Szaldic man in his middle forties hurried over to them, smiling beneath an enormous mustache. He looked strong and vigorous, yet a lot of the gray in his black hair looked as if it had appeared recently, and there was strain around his eyes.

Yet no weakness showed in his voice. “Master Basil!” he roared.

“Zorgi, you dog,” said Halfdan. He and Zorgi kissed each other’s cheeks in a quick, formal movement. Caina supposed it was a Szaldic greeting. “How is business?”

“Well enough,” said Zorgi. “It could be better. There are rumors that slave traders are raiding the coast again, and some people are too frightened to travel, which hurts the business of a poor innkeeper.” He sighed. “When will the Emperor deal with such scum? I pay my taxes, do I not?”

“I heard similar stories along the road,” said Halfdan. “They attacked and burned the White Road Inn, though Oscar and his family got safely away.”

Zorgi scowled. “That is grim news, my friend. Grim news. Oscar is a good man. He orders beer from me, for my beer is rightly famed throughout the Empire.” His eyes fell upon Caina, and his jovial manner reasserted itself. “But, come!  Let us speak of business later. Who is this fair young lady? Have you at last taken another wife?” He grinned. “And you call me a dog!  She is young enough to be your daughter, you rake.”

“That’s because she is my daughter,” said Halfdan. “Zorgi, permit me to introduce my daughter, Anna.”

“Ah!” said Zorgi. He took Caina’s hand in his callused palm, lifted it to his face, and kissed her knuckles. “And you have brought her to the city to find a suitable husband, no? That will be a hard task.”

“And why is that?” said Caina, putting a bit of pique into her voice. She found herself liking Zorgi, though she wondered what had put that gray in his hair. “Do you not think a suitable husband will want me?”

“Ha!” said Zorgi. “I think your father will be hard-pressed to find a husband worthy of you, my dear.” He grinned. “My Katerine makes me very happy. But if I was unwed…and twenty years younger, and perhaps forty pounds lighter, I would court you myself.”

“You flatter me, master innkeeper,” said Caina. She smiled at him. “And if I were perhaps a little older…ah, well. Destiny can be cruel, can it not?”

Zorgi’s smile never wavered, but something flickered in his eyes. “It can, alas. Alas.” 

The Inn’s door opened, and the porters came in, bearing the chests from the wagon, while Ark watched them with his hand on his sword hilt. 

“Ah, Arlann!” called Zorgi. “Still working for this old fool, I see.”

Ark shrugged. “I know all his secrets, Master Zorgi. He can’t afford to let me go.”

“Well, you ever get tired of tramping all over the Empire, I could use a stout fellow to keep the drunks in line.”

“Daughter,” said Halfdan, “why don’t you and Arlann take the porters to our rooms and unpack? Master Zorgi and I need to catch up on a few things. Business, you understand.”

“If you wish, Father,” said Caina. 

Zorgi smiled and pointed. “You shall have my finest suite, of course, At the top of the stairs, the corner rooms. A splendid view of the harbor and the lighthouse fortresses. Separate bedrooms for yourself and your daughter, and even a cot for Arlann.”

“Truly, I have fallen into the lap of luxury,” said Ark.

Zorgi roared with laughter and turned to Halfdan. Caina followed the porters up the stairs. She noticed that every single door had a horseshoe nailed into the lintel, with fresh flowers pinned beneath the metal. Hadn’t Ark said that the Szalds put up the charm only after the birth of a new child? Either the Inn had a lot of newborn children…

…or someone was afraid to lose the children they already had.

The suite was magnificent. The windows had a grand view of the harbor, of the endless ships moving back and forth through the water. The sitting room opened into two separate bedrooms. One room held a stone tub, with water piped up from below, much to Caina’s delight. She crossed to the windows and tested the shutters. They opened quite easily, and she thought of the rope and grapnel hidden in the chests.

That would come in handy.

“Mistress,” said one of the porters, panting, “where do you wish these chests?”

“Just leave them on the floor, by the table,” said Caina. “I’ll attend to them later.”

The porters grunted, piled the chests, and left. Caina returned to the balcony, watched Halfdan and Zorgi speaking to each other.

“She will be most interested in meeting you,” said Zorgi. “The noble lady wears a different gown to every engagement, and so of course must wear different jewels. You shall turn quite a profit, my friend.”