Ghost in the Seal (Ghost Exile #6) (21 page)

The towering corsair captain and his honeyed words might have flustered another woman, but Annarah only smiled. If Morgant could not throw her off balance, Sanjar Murat would not. “One would think so.”

“Are you selling her, Nasser?” said Murat. 

“I am a free woman, captain,” said Annarah. “You should open negotiations with me. By failing to do so, I fear you have gravely offended me.”

“Bah,” said Murat, dropping back into his chair. “I never discuss business with women.” His black eyes flicked back to Nasser. “Well, Glasshand, I am here as your message requested. My crew has been getting fat and lazy. I trust you have something interesting for me?”

“A simple task,” said Nasser. “A short voyage. Four days from Rumarah, and then back again.” 

“A peculiar trip,” said Murat. “You might reach Al-Mhurqat in that time, or perhaps Istarinmul itself. Or the old Imperial city of Arzaxia, assuming the mad magi of the Umbarians have not burned it yet.” He grinned. “There are many opportunities for a corsair in these unsettled times. Is that what you wish? To capture some ship?” 

“No,” said Nasser. “We wish to go to an island.”

Murat snorted. “That is all? A trip to an island? There are many islands in the Alqaarin Sea, and just as many ships to take you there.”

“Specifically,” said Nasser, “we wish to go to Pyramid Isle.” 

The other sailors at the table fell silent. They had been talking in low voices, their attention focused upon a game of dice, but as one they fell silent and looked at the captain. Murat said nothing for a moment, drumming the fingers of his right hand upon the table. 

“Leave us,” said Murat.

The sailors rose and filed out of the common room, leaving Nasser and Caina and the others alone with the corsair captain. 

“Pyramid Isle,” said Murat at last, rubbing his pointed beard with his free hand. “Why?” 

“I wish to retrieve something from there,” said Nasser. 

“Do you?” said Murat. “What? Some old smugglers’ cache?” His lip twisted. “Perhaps a map to buried treasure?”

“Let us just say that my research has discerned the location of a lost relic,” said Nasser. “I wish to retrieve it from Pyramid Isle.” 

“And you are asking me to take you there,” said Murat.

“Yes,” said Nasser. “I know you have been there before. We wish passage to the island and back. That is all.”

Murat stared at him for a while longer. 

“No,” he said. “Not to Pyramid Isle.”

“Why not?” said Nasser. “You’ve been there before many times. I know you have hidden caches of goods upon the island.” 

Murat rose to his feet and paced a few steps back and forth. 

“The island,” said Murat at last, “is…waking up.” 

Caina frowned. Kharnaces had been in hibernation when Annarah and Morgant had hidden the Staff and the Seal in his Tomb. The heretical Great Necromancer must have remained in hibernation ever since, as he had not taken up the relics to summon uncounted hordes of nagataaru to devour the world. But if Kharnaces awakened and found the regalia…

“What do you mean, awakening?” said Caina.

Murat blinked at her, and then glanced to Nasser. “Who is this?”

“Master Ciaran,” said Nasser. “An expert in certain fields. I have found it wise to heed his advice.”

“What do you mean the island is awakening?” said Caina. “Islands don’t typically do that.”

“This island does,” said Murat. “As the Glasshand has mentioned, from time to time I stored valuable items upon it shores. Pyramid Island has an evil reputation.”

“Is the reputation deserved?” said Caina. She wanted to know if Murat’s experience of the island matched the rumors Nasser had heard. 

“Entirely,” said Murat. “The beach is safe enough, so long as one does not pass the warding stones the Iramisians left at the edge of the jungle. Within the jungle are dangerous creatures that feast upon the flesh of living men. So very dangerous to go there, but I found the island a secure place to store loot between raids.” He reached down to the table and picked up his cup of wine. “Not after the last trip, though.”

“What happened?” said Caina.

Murat took a swig of wine. “We arrived to dig up our cache. At first it was quiet enough, and we loaded the goods onto the longboat and then to the ship. As the sun went down, we saw lights in the jungle, like candles of green fire. The island shook, and we heard moans and screams from the trees. We saw shapes in the jungle, things that looked like twisted men. After that, we took the longboat back to the ship and returned to Rumarah as quickly as we could,” he gestured at Nasser, “and your message awaited us. A pity. We will not return to Pyramid Isle.”

“Not even,” said Nasser, “for the amount of gold I offer?” 

“Not even for that kind of money,” said Murat. “Gold is no good if you do not live to spend it. I cannot fight devils that I cannot kill with my scimitar or my throwing knives…”

“Throwing knives?” said Caina. 

###

Kylon looked at Caina, sensing the sudden focus in her aura.

She had an idea. 

“You use throwing knives?” said Caina. 

“Of course,” said Murat. The Alqaarin captain had the emotional sense of a ruthless man accustomed to violence, but Caina had captured his attention. Some men used weapons, but others both used them and appreciated them the way other men appreciated wine or art or sculpture. It seemed that Sanjar Murat was such a man.

Come to think of it, Caina was such a woman. Kylon had seen the sheer number of knives and daggers she owned. 

“Odd weapon to use aboard a ship,” said Caina.

“Not as much as you might think,” said Murat. “Sailors rarely wear armor, of course, and I often find myself in fights while in port.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” said Morgant. 

“I see the knives in your sleeves,” said Murat, dropping into his chair. “You shouldn’t use them.”

“Oh?” said Caina, a flicker of amusement going through her aura. “Why is that?”

“Dangerous weapon,” said Murat. “You could lose a finger or two.”

“If you don’t know what you’re doing,” said Caina. “I doubt a sailor would acquire the necessary knowledge.”

Murat smiled, though the smile held no friendliness. “And I doubt a caravan guard would acquire the skill.”

“Would he?” said Caina, and her hand blurred.

A knife embedded itself in the table next to Murat’s hand, quivering a little. The corsair captain flinched, scowled, and then burst out laughing. 

“Are you trying to start a fight, Master Ciaran?” said Murat. “All I have to do is shout and twenty of my men will kill you.”

“Not a fight, but a challenge,” said Caina. “I saw your men dicing. Are you adverse to a gamble, captain?”

Murat leaned back in his chair. “Speak your meaning.”

“Let’s have a wager,” said Caina. She plucked the knife out of the table and started tossing it to herself. “A little game of knives. If you win, we’ll go our way and find another ship.”

“And if you win?” said Murat. “Which is unlikely.”

“You’ll take us to Pyramid Isle for half the agreed fee,” said Caina. “None of your men need to come ashore. We’ll take one of your longboats. You’ll wait near the island for a week, and if we don’t return in that time, you’ll be free to go. If we do return, you’ll take us back to Rumarah, and you’ll receive the second half of your fee then.” 

Murat considered for a moment. Caina watched him, still tossing the knife to herself, and Kylon watched them both. He sensed the cold ice in Caina’s aura as she concentrated, the warring doubt and fear and greed in Murat’s aura. Whatever had happened on Pyramid Isle, it had frightened the hardened corsair. 

But in the end, the greed conquered fear. The man was a pirate, after all. 

“Very well,” said Murat, standing up again. “When I win, you’ll go away and trouble me no more. In the unlikely event that I lose, I will make some easy money.” 

He shouted for his men, and they went to work, pushing aside the table. One of the pirates somehow found an archery butt and set it against the wall. Kylon had the suspicion that this was not the first time Murat had been challenged to a contest of throwing knives. A crowd gathered around them, murmuring in low voices, and even the maids stopped what they were doing to watch. 

“Too many witnesses,” said Kylon in a low voice. “This is too public.” 

Morgant shrugged. “No way around it.”

“If the Umbarians have spies, they’ll see it,” said Kylon. 

“Unlikely they’ll follow us to Pyramid Isle,” said Morgant. 

“No,” said Kylon, “but I’m more concerned they’ll be waiting for us when we return.” Cassander Nilas was not the sort of man to let even serious setbacks stop him. 

“True,” said Morgant. “Well, then. We’ll have to make sure everyone remembers something else, won’t we?”

Kylon frowned. “What did you have in mind? You’re not going to burn down the building, are you?”

Morgant scoffed. “That is Ciaran’s favorite tactic, not mine.” He stepped forward and raised his voice. “Wagers! Place your wagers now!” From somewhere in his coat he produced a small notebook and a cloth bag. “Place your wagers now!”

Kylon stared at him in astonishment, but the trick seemed to be working. Both the corsairs and the various other patrons of the inn crowded around Morgant. Nasser, catching on to the ruse, began to organize things, shouting out the rules to the contest. Caina and Murat would stand twenty paces from the target, and Nasser assigned points to the rings on the archery butt. They would each throw three sets of five knives each, and whoever totaled the highest points would win. Caina and Murat gave their assent to the rules, and Morgant continued to collect money. 

Kylon stepped to Morgant’s side, shouldering through the crowd. 

“What, Kyracian?” said Morgant, scribbling in his little notebook. Annarah had taken charge of the money bag, watching the whole thing with amusement. “I’m a bit busy.”

Kylon dropped some coins into the bag. “Put me down for five bezants on Ciaran.”

Morgant snorted, but made the entry, and Annarah smiled at that. 

The contest began. Murat threw the first set of knives. He moved with the same sort of motions Kylon had seen Caina use, his arm and shoulder going back then blurring forward with terrific speed, his entire body snapping like a bowstring. The knives thudded into the archery butt, one after another, and Murat left a pattern in the inner three rings. 

The corsairs whooped and cheered as their captain collected his knives from the target. Caina considered for a moment, then shrugged out of her pack. She reached into her satchel and drew out a slender wooden box, opening it to reveal eight gleaming throwing knives secured with leather loops. Kylon wondered where she had gotten that. She slid out five of the knives, placed them on a table, nodded to herself, and started throwing the blades, one after another.

She tied with Murat. 

Rapt silence fell over the common room as the contest continued, the knives thudding into the archery butt again and again. At last Caina’s final knife slammed into the target, and Kylon added up the points. Murat was good, but Caina was slightly better, and she won by two points. Those who had wagered on Caina cheered and went to Morgant to collect their money. Murat conferred with his corsairs for a moment, then went to Nasser and Caina. 

“No one can say that Sanjar Murat is not a man of his word,” said Murat. “You have won our little game, and I accept your terms. Be at my ship by dawn tomorrow. We shall sail for Pyramid Isle with the tide.”

Nasser offered a polite bow. “Thank you, captain. As ever, I look forward to doing business with you.”

Murat snorted. “You might pay me a lot of money to take you to your deaths. But that is upon your head, not mine.” He looked at Caina. “And you, Ciaran. Where did you learn to throw knives like that?”

Caina shrugged. “I joined a circus when I was younger.” 

Chapter 12: Maybe Not

The next morning Caina and the others headed to the harbor and to Murat’s ship.

The
Sandstorm
was a sleek-looking Alqaarin war galley, a ship built for battle. A cruel iron beak topped the prow, and ballistae waited upon both the stern and the forecastle. Two banks of staggered oars jutted from the ship’s flanks. Murat’s crew was a motley, hard-bitten bunch, but they knew their business.

Before dawn they had left the harbor and drove to the east, making for Pyramid Isle. 

“Four days, I deem,” said Murat, standing next to his helmsman at the wheel. “If the weather holds. Four days and we shall be at Pyramid Isle.”

“You know the route around the reefs?” said Nasser.

Murat scoffed. “The
Sandstorm
still floats, does she not? Fear not, Glasshand. I know my ship, and I know these waters.” He laughed. “You should probably figure out a way to stay alive once we reach the island, yes? I don’t want to see you die.”

Nasser laughed. “How very charitable of you, captain.”

“A dead man cannot pay me.” 

Caina took a few moments to explore the ship while keeping out of the crew’s way. The
Sandstorm’s
hold was empty, but Caina saw the chains bolted to the wall of the hold, the faint stink that had soaked into the wood. The ship had carried slaves, more than once. A few years ago, that would have been all the excuse Caina needed to kill Murat. 

And now? 

She needed the ship to reach Pyramid Isle, to find the regalia and stop the Apotheosis. 

And if Caina was going to die, she did not want more blood upon her hands, even if Murat was not an innocent. If she could just let Kylon escape with his life, that would be a victory. 

The thought weighed heavily upon her, so as Nasser and Morgant and Annarah made plans for their arrival at Pyramid Isle, Caina retreated to her small cabin, a foul-smelling room even smaller than the cabin aboard the
Eastern Fire
. It had been in a cabin like this, she remembered, that she had slept with Corvalis for the last time as they sailed from Marsis to New Kyre. 

Her thoughts turned to Kylon. Nothing had happened between them. That was for the best. It would make it easier for him after she was killed.