Ghost in the Blood (The Ghosts) (8 page)

Hiram Palaegus stood over Agria’s table, rummaging through the bottles. Caina considered the odd sight of a military tribune searching a lady’s cosmetics for a moment. She doubted that Hiram had come here to steal perfume. He was looking for something. But what?

Caina watched as he searched the bedroom, digging through the bottles and rummaging in the wardrobe. He turned towards the bed. Caina sucked in a quick breath, pulled her cowl low, and pressed her face into the carpet. Hiram looked under the bed, but her shadowed cloak must have concealed her, because he straightened up and walked into the next room. Caina looked up, heard him searching through drawers and chests. Perhaps a quarter hour passed before he returned to the bedroom, and Caina risked a glance at him.

He looked angry. No, furious. And grieving. He looked as if he wanted to weep, or to smash things. Maybe both.

“Damn you, Agria,” he muttered. “Damn you to hell. And damn you too, Jadriga. Damn both of you.” 

Jadriga?

Hiram left the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Caina started to count, her mind working. Hiram hated his former sister-in-law, that much was plain. But what had he been looking for? Blackmail, perhaps? Or maybe he knew of her dealings with Icaraeus, and wanted incriminating evidence. 

Caina counted to ninety. No one came. She got to her feet and started towards the bedroom door.

The handle started to move.

Not again.

Caina bounded across the room, yanked open the wardrobe door, and jumped inside. A fortune’s worth of gowns and dresses brushed against her. A moment later the bedroom door burst open, and two people stumbled inside. Caina left the wardrobe door open a crack so she could see. 

Lady Agria, her clothes disheveled, her hair in disarray, had her arms around one of her guards. The muscular young guard’s face was slack, his eyes dull, his movements leaden. As they passed the wardrobe, Caina felt a sudden sharp tingle, her skin crawling. 

Both Agria and the guard crackled with sorcery.  

Caina’s lip curled in disgust. Agria had laid a spell over the guard. Probably some sort of compulsion or mind-controlling spell. It seemed pointless. Agria was attractive, and Caina doubted that many guards would refuse an invitation to their widowed lady’s bedchamber. Why bother with a spell, if she desired male company? Ducas and a dozen other rakes would be happy to warm her bed. 

Perhaps Agria enjoyed the control, enjoyed turning people into puppets. 

Caina’s mother had enjoyed that as well. 

“You,” gasped Agria, pulling away. 

“Yes, mistress?” said the guard, his voice slurred.

“Remove your clothes,” said Agria. She began to tug out of her gown. “And lie on the bed.”

“Yes, mistress,” said the guard. He pulled off his armor and clothes, his movements jerky. He lay down on the bed, and a moment later Agria threw off the last of her garments and climbed atop him. 

Her back was to the wardrobe, and her body blocked the guard’s view. Caina slipped out of the wardrobe. Whether through mind-altering sorcery or maddened lust, neither Agria nor the guard had noticed anything. 

In fact, they hadn’t even bothered to close the bedroom door. 

Caina crept past the bed, Agria’s wild grunts and moans filling her ears. Agria had thrown her head back, and she was gazing at herself in the ceiling mirror, her expression an ugly mix of lust and gloating satisfaction. 

Caina left as fast as she dared.  

Chapter 8 - Calculations

Caina climbed the rope to Radast’s windows. Like the doors, the shutters had locks intricate beyond anything she had ever seen. Fortunately, Radast had left them open. Caina gripped the sill, heaved herself up, and rolled into the workshop.

Radast sat at a nearby table, writing by candlelight. Next to his papers rested a crossbow, a bolt loaded and ready. No doubt Radast had calculated the precise angle to kill any unwanted guests coming through his window. 

“Ah,” said Radast. “Anna Callenius. You have returned. Just as I calculated.” He glanced at a mechanical clock standing upon a nearby table. “Though two thousand three hundred and forty seven seconds earlier than I anticipated.”

“Punctuality is ever a virtue,” said Caina.

“Close the shutters, please,” said Radast. “The draft is disturbing my papers.”

Caina closed the shutters. They settled into place with a heavy click. “Where are the others?”

“Jiri and Basil went to the cellar. They wanted wine while we waited.” Radast glanced at the clock again. “They should return in another four to five hundred seconds. Ducas and Arlann watch the street for your return, in case you were followed.” 

“They must not have seen me, then,” said Caina. She drew back the cowl and removed her mask, running a gloved hand through her sweaty hair. 

Radast smirked. “Ducas will be wroth. He prides himself upon his vigilance. Though he overestimates his abilities by at least a fifth, possibly a third.” 

“He can blame Basil. He trained me in stealth, after all.” 

Radast resumed writing, his lank hair falling over his face. Caina looked at his papers. Endless strings of numbers and symbols in Radast’s crabbed hand covered the pages. 

“You must work through the night often,” said Caina. 

Radast blinked. “Yes. How did you calculate that?”

“All the layers of old wax coating the candlestick,” said Caina. “Though I’m surprised you do not use some of the Magisterium’s glass spheres.”

Radast blinked again. “Your perception is excellent. But I prefer candles. I do not trust sorcery.” His mouth twisted in disgust. “It does…not easily conform to precise calculation.” 

“Wise of you,” said Caina. 

Radast kept starting at her. He began to chew upon the end of his quill. She could see something happening behind his eyes. Perhaps an equation coming to its end.  

“What?” said Caina.

“You are most unusual. Many women serve in the Emperor's Ghosts, my Jiri among them. But a woman nightfighter? Astonishingly rare. Practically unique. You are a variable with a single value. And unusually perceptive.”

“It’s what I was trained to do,” said Caina.

“When you look at me,” said Radast, “what do you perceive?” 

Caina considered for a moment, and then shrugged. “You’re a locksmith. You’re not married to Jiri, but you live with her, and I’ll wager you share a bed. You can’t function without her. You’re a member of the Imperial Collegium of Locksmiths, but the other master locksmiths hate you, won’t have anything to do with you, and would expel you if you didn’t bring in so much money. Oh, and you used to be in the Legion, but you didn’t finish your term of service.”

Radast blinked several times. “Remarkable. How did you calculate all of that?”

“I didn’t calculate, I inferred. Deduced. And it wasn’t hard,” said Caina. “I’ve seen the way Jiri looks after you, the way she’s always bringing you pens and sheets of paper. She reminds you to eat and bathe, too, doesn’t she? She’d only do that if she loved you. When we first met, you calculated my height and weight at a single glance, and you didn’t have the self-restraint to keep it to yourself. I’ll wager that particular gift doesn’t endear you to the masters of the Imperial Collegium of Locksmiths. Nor to their wives.” 

“No,” said Radast. “No, it does not. Especially Presiding Master’s wife, who is fifty years and old and two hundred and forty pounds, and believes herself to be half that.” He snorted. “A foolish conceit. Numbers are numbers, and they do not lie.”

“No, but people lie to themselves, don’t they? Collegium masters are a pompous bunch,” said Caina, “and they love their pride, but they love money even more. So the only reason they tolerate you is because you bring in the money. Special security needs, Basil said…so you probably specialize in locks equipped with lethal mechanical traps.”

“Yes. Normal locks are boring. I prefer puzzles. I learned from the Strigosti,” said Radast.

That caught Caina off-guard. The Strigosti were a secretive, unfriendly people, scattered far and wide, but no one could match their mastery of mechanical devices. Caina wondered how an outsider had learned some of their teachings. 

“How did you know I was in the Legion?” said Radast.

She pointed. “Yesterday, you wore a tunic with shorter sleeves. Every time you raised your arm to write upon your slates, your sleeve pulled up enough to reveal the Legion tattoo. Though not all of it.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if you were in the Twenty-First, the Twenty-Second, or the Twenty-Third.”

“The Twenty-Third,” said Radast. “My father was an agent of a Strigosti colony in the Great Mountains. The Strigosti hate anyone not of their race, but need someone to sell their devices to outsiders. My father did that. When I was fifteen, he tired of me, and sold me to a Legion recruiter.”

“That’s illegal,” said Caina.

“Correct. However, gold has considerably more weight than morality in most equations.” Radast fiddled with his quill. “I lacked skill at both fighting and manual labor, so I wound up as an engineer, working with the siege engines. My skill at calculation caught the attention of a master of the Imperial Collegium of Locksmiths, and he bribed the Twenty-Third’s legate to discharge me. Since then I have worked for the Collegium.”

“How did you meet Jiri?” said Caina. 

“As you correctly calculated, material concerns bore me. Numbers are accurate and precise. Pure. Clean, even. The tedious business of feeding and cleaning up after oneself…well, I found myself forced to hire a maid. Jiri.” 

“So you seduced her?” said Caina. She looked at Radast and tried to picture him seducing anyone. “No. She seduced you.” 

Radast nodded. “I have always found women exasperating. Imprecise and illogical. But Jiri understands me. And…well…” He seemed at a loss for words.

“Ah,” said Caina. “Material concerns bore you…save for one?”

To her great amusement, Radast’s face turned red. “Well. I have a man's appetites.” 

“How did you join the Ghosts?”

“Jiri was already a Ghost when I hired her,” said Radast.

“Really.”

“Indeed.” Radast scratched his chin. “Since childhood. Evidently old Lord Corbould Maraeus ruined her family, and the Ghosts recruited her soon afterwards. Later Basil contacted her. He needed someone killed, and Jiri suggested me. It was a…fascinating puzzle. The equations were most demanding. The…”

“The crossbow bolts,” said Caina.

“Yes, precisely,” said Radast. He hesitated. “But what of you? Equations must be balanced, and you have all my secrets. How did you become a Ghost?”

“It’s not an interesting story,” said Caina. “I was born into a noble House. My mother wished to join the Magisterium, and viewed my father and myself as impediments to her skills. So she murdered my father and sold me to a group of necromancers in exchange for their teachings. Basil killed the necromancers and rescued me. I’ve been with the Ghosts ever since.” 

The story was mostly true. No need to tell him about Maglarion, or about the terrible bloodcrystal atop Haeron Icaraeus's mansion, blazing with the green flame of a thousand stolen lives...

“I see,” said Radast, a distracted look entering his eyes. “Little wonder Basil brought you. It is only logical that you would hate both sorcerers and slavers.” 

Caina blinked, once. “Yes.”

He had no idea. 

“But your mother. Did Basil kill…”

“No,” said Caina. “He didn’t.”

She saw Radast get it. He swallowed and began blinking, the distracted look deepening. Some idea seemed to have taken hold of him.

“What is it?” said Caina.

“You aren’t like the others,” mumbled Radast. “You are, in fact, unlike anyone I have ever met, Ghost or otherwise. Your perceptions seem unusually keen. Perhaps you will see the pattern where others do not.” 

“What pattern?” said Caina. 

“Something is wrong in this city,” said Radast.

“Naelon Icaraeus is selling slaves here. That is bad enough,” said Caina.

“No. Worse.”

“What could be worse than that?” said Caina.

“I don’t yet know. I only have a few variables. The complete equation eludes me. But let me show you. Let me show you!”

He jumped to his feet and took her arm. Again Caina almost broke his hand, but she controlled herself. Radast guided her to one of the windows and threw open the steel shutters. Moonlight flooded into the room, and Caina saw the market plaza below.

“What do you observe?” said Radast.

Caina shrugged. “All the shops are closed. The sculpture gallery has a night watchman. That public house is still open, but all the patrons are probably asleep. I can see Lady Palaegus’s mansion from here. And the Citadel, and Black Angel Tower.” 

Odd that she could see a black tower so clearly at night.

But. The moonlight rimmed the tower, even as the black stone seemed to drink the light somehow. It looked like a blacker rift in the black night, somehow hungry and alive. Caina felt herself shiver, and looked away. 

“But you do not see any people,” said Radast.

“Of course not. It’s well past midnight.” 

“Sometimes the numbers fill my head, buzzing like flies, and I can think of nothing else,” said Radast. “So I go to the window and watch the crowds, and count things. It relaxes me.” 

“So you go to the window and…count people?” said Caina. 

“Yes!” hissed Radast. He seized a notebook from a shelf and started paging through it. “I started writing it down. Five years ago I would see between three hundred and four hundred children pass my window each day. With variations due to weather, holidays, and certain other overriding factors, of course. They would go with their parents, or attend their masters’ errands, or simply play.” He looked at her, dark eyes haunted. “Do you know how many children I have seen pass my window in the last week?”

Caina shook her head.

“None,” said Radast. 

Again Caina felt a chill, but this time it touched her stomach. All at once she thought of the stinking room in Agria Palaegus’s cellar, of Zorgi’s wife Katerine weeping in the night, of the charms against the Solmonari and the Moroaica that covered half the doorframes in the city. 

“What are you saying?” said Caina. “That…no, that’s not possible. That many children? Someone would notice.”

“I noticed,” said Radast. 

“Or…it needn’t be that many children,” said Caina. “If enough children disappeared, the people of the city would become cautious. They wouldn’t let their children wander outside alone.”

“And the beggars,” said Radast.

“Beggars?” said Caina. She remembered Marsis’s singular lack of beggars. “What about them?”

“There aren’t any,” said Radast, paging through his notebook. “Five years ago, there were between two and four beggars at every corner, depending upon traffic and weather. Now there are none. When Jiri and I go into the city, I look for them. And I count no beggars.” 

“Icaraeus,” said Caina. “Icaraeus is kidnapping them and selling them. Perhaps to people within the city.” That would explain how he eluded inspection at both the gate and the docks. Though it would not explain what had happened to the people in Agria’s cellar. 

“It is the only explanation that fits,” said Radast. “And yet…and yet…the equation does not balance. How can one organization make so many people disappear, even with the aid of sorcery?” His face was anguished. “Something terrible is happening, yet I am not able to see it.”

“We will find Icaraeus,” said Caina, “and when we do, he will pay for his crimes.”

“You must,” said Radast. “You must find him. Jiri and Ducas do not believe me. Neither does Basil, though he finds me useful. They think I am mad.” He gave a shrill laugh. “Well, perhaps I am mad, but I am still right. Something terrible is happening. I think it is more than Icaraeus, something worse. You must find it, Anna Callenius. I cannot. I cannot even kill a man, unless I have three days to prepare the trajectories. But you are clever. Please, I beg you, discover what is happening.” 

Caina opened her mouth to answer, and then she heard the rattle of keys. The massive door swung open, and Halfdan and Jiri entered the workshop, bottles of wine in hand. 

“Ah,” said Halfdan. “You’re back. Where’s Ducas?” He grinned. “He didn’t see you, did he?”

Jiri smirked. “Oh, he will love that.” 

###

“So I escaped and made my way back here,” Caina told the other five Ghosts, finishing her story. 

No one said anything for a while. Halfdan and Jiri looked lost in thought. Ark seemed troubled. Radast scribbled numbers across a slate. Caina wondered if he had paid attention. Ducas, as Jiri had predicted, looked annoyed. 

“So,” said Ducas at last, “you actually stood there and watched Lady Agria making love to that guard?”

“I was hiding in the wardrobe,” said Caina. 

Ducas laughed. “I thought you were a frigid woman. But I suppose you just like to watch.”

“It was either that or get killed,” said Caina. She thought of the enspelled objects lying upon Agria’s table. “Or worse.”  

“You overlook the obvious, Ducas,” said Halfdan. “That spell she laid upon the guard. To override a man’s will requires powerful, if not skillful, sorcery.” 

“So she has some sorcerous power,” said Ducas. “Why is that significant?”

Halfdan sighed. “Because. If she has the power to enslave a man, then she might have the power to create those bracers. Anna saw a pair in Agria’s rooms.” 

Ducas frowned, but said nothing. 

“And Icaraeus almost certainly has the aid of a sorcerer,” said Jiri. “Might Lady Palaegus in fact be that sorceress?”