Ghost Relics (2 page)

She had been into some seedy dens of iniquity during her time as a Ghost, and while the Scimitar was not the worst, it came close. A variety of rough-looking characters filled the benches and tables, drinking cheap wine and cheaper beer and the fermented goat’s milk that was  popular in Anshan. A pair of scowling bouncers waited near the door, and a dozen more stood before a stage that ran the length of the far wall. The reason for the bouncers became plain when Caina saw the half-dozen naked women whirling and gyrating upon the stage. The patrons hooted and cheered them on, throwing coins upon the stage and calling out suggestions ranging from obscene to physically improbable. 

Caina was quite glad she had not brought Nerina here. 

She bought a cheap beer and scanned the room. Half the room seemed focused upon the dancing women. The other half, she suspected, plotted criminal enterprises of one kind or another. She wondered along the wall, pretending to sip the vile-smelling beer.

She spotted Khamil sitting in the corner, speaking with two other men. 

Caina moved closer, taking a quick glance at Khamil’s table and his companions. One looked Cyrican, and wore the bright robes and pointed beard favored by Cyricans. The second man wore an Anshani robe, but with a cowl pulled up to conceal his face and turban. Khamil turned a suspicious look towards Caina, and she leaned against the wall, sipped at the beer, and watched the dancing women.

While she did, she listened to Khamil talk. 

“It was not my fault,” said Khamil.

“You said you knew Niall Strake,” growled the Cyrican. “You said you could get his mad daughter to help us.”

“I worked for Niall Strake,” said Khamil. “There’s a difference. No one really knew the hard old bastard. His daughter didn’t remember me.”

The Cyrican snorted. “Your charm, no doubt.”

“Shut up, Yestik,” said Khamil. “You didn’t do any better. You said you could get the keys.”

Yestik spat. “Did you want to try and steal from Tarniar?” 

“But we already did, didn’t we?” said Khamil. “We have a fortune in that damned box, and we can’t get to it because you didn’t steal the damned keys!”

Both men started arguing at once.

“Enough!” said the robed man.

Caina blinked, but kept the surprise from her face.

That was a woman’s voice with Kyracian accent. It seemed Caina was not the only woman who had realized the advantages of male clothing when moving about Istarinmul. 

“This bickering is a waste of time,” said the woman. “Yes, we have the trapbox. Yes, Khamil failed to hire the locksmith, and Yestik failed to obtain the keys from Tarniar. But we must decide upon a new course of action before Tarniar finds us.”

“Fine. Do you have a suggestion, Admete?” said Khamil.

“Easily,” said Admete. “We hire mercenaries, overpower Strake’s bodyguard, and force her to open the box for us.”

Silence answered this proposal. 

“Just where are we going to get the money to hire mercenaries?” said Yestik. “We are not exactly drowning in gold.” 

“We have enough for a down payment,” said Admete, “with the promise of more if the task is successful. If we get that chest open, we can pay them off with one of the lesser trinkets, and take the rest for ourselves.”

“No,” said Khamil. “This is too risky. Niall had dangerous friends, and I’m sure Nerina inherited at some of them. It could go bad.”

“You never did have much stomach for trouble, Khamil,” said Admete with a hint of contempt. “Which is why I have already hired the mercenaries.” 

“What?” said Yestik.

“You took our money?” said Khamil. “Damn it, woman, you took our money?” 

“You were doing nothing useful with it,” said Admete. “Gods of the storm and sea, I am a woman and I swear I make a braver man than either of you louts. Find your nerve and come with me.”

“Or?” said Khamil. 

“Or I’ll go alone, I’ll force Strake to open the trapbox, and then I’ll claim all of Tarniar’s relics for myself,” said Admete. “I’ll hire the mercenaries to escort me to Malarae, and then I’ll buy myself a pleasant little villa in the western Empire. Meanwhile, you can stay here when Tarniar comes looking for someone to kill.”

Caina expected Khamil and Yestik to protest, but they said nothing. She suspected that Admete was the driving force behind the thefts.

“Very well,” said Khamil. “I can think of nothing better.”

“As if you ever had a good idea,” said Yestik. 

“Enough,” said Admete. “The mercenaries are waiting for us in the Cyrican Bazaar. Get moving, and take your weapons.”

They got to their feet and filed out. Caina forced herself to remain motionless, the cup of miserable beer in her hand, her eyes on the dancers. Khamil, Yestik, and Admete passed her without a glance and departed. Caina leaned against the wall, forcing herself to count to ninety.

Then she set down the beer, left the Shining Scimitar, and ran as fast as she could. During the last year, she had made a point to get to know Istarinmul as well as she could, and she avoided the main streets and kept to the side alleys, moving with haste through courtyards and across plazas and dingy lanes. Soon she reached the Cyrican Quarter, and she cut across the darkened Cyrican Bazaar, the booths and stalls closed and covered with tarps for the evening. 

That made it easier to spot the mercenaries. 

A dozen men in cloaks waited behind a row of closed stalls. Beneath their cloaks Caina saw the gleam of chain mail and the scimitars and axes strapped to their belts. Azaces was a formidable fighter, but he was only one man, and even he could not fight off a dozen capable mercenaries. 

They were still waiting for Admete and the others. Caina edged around the Cyrican Bazaar, and once she was out of sight, started sprinting. Gods, but she seemed to spend a great deal of time running. Fortunately, that meant she had gotten good at it, and so arrived at Nerina’s shop before Khamil, his fellow thieves, and the mercenaries.

Caina pounded on Nerina’s door until a window opened and she saw Azaces glaring down at her, a loaded crossbow in his hands.

“Let me in and wake up Nerina,” said Caina, and Azaces’s dark eyes widened as he saw past the disguise and recognized her. “Khamil’s hired some friends, and they’re coming to kidnap Nerina.”

Azaces scowled, disappeared into the window, and a moment later the door opened. Caina followed Azaces into Nerina’s workroom. She was not surprised to see that Nerina was awake and working up on a set of locks on the center table. “Ciara?” said Nerina, pushing a few strands of red hair out of her eyes. “If you are here at this hour, then it is mathematically certain that trouble is coming.”

“Your equation balances,” said Caina. “Khamil’s brought friends, and they’re going to kidnap you and force you to open their locks.”

“That seems like a wasteful and inefficient method,” said Nerina. 

“Then let us be efficient ourselves,” said Caina. “It’s time to go out the back. When they try to break into your shop, we’ll summon the watch and get them arrested. While Khamil and his friends are sitting in the Crows’ Tower, I’ll find the Maatish relics and destroy them.” 

“Agreed,” said Nerina. She sighed. “When I paid off my debts with the money from the Maze, I expected my days of fleeing from mercenaries were past. It seems highly improbable that I keep getting involved in violent altercations.”

“It’s not even my fault this time,” said Caina as Nerina hurried around the room, plucking up various items and securing them within a satchel. 

Azaces grunted and looked at the window. 

Caina cursed, picked up one of Nerina’s crossbows, and started loading it as she crossed to the window. She edged open the shutters and peered into the dark street below. A half-dozen cloaked forms stood outside the shop, and Caina spotted Khamil, Yestik, and Admete among them. The remaining mercenaries must have circled around to block the back door to Nerina’s building. 

Azaces gave her a scowl.

“Yes, this is bad,” said Caina as she finished loading the crossbow. “We’ll have to think of something.”

Nerina peered out the window. “Their position is mathematically sloppy and geometrically imprecise. One apparently cannot find mercenaries with appropriate mathematical appreciation this days.”

Caina fought down a stab of irritation. Nerina was a friend, had endured great pain, and they had been through tremendous danger together. Yet Nerina Caina wondered how the devil the widowed Nerina had ever attracted a husband in the first place. Undoubtedly there were men who enjoyed having the proportions of their facial features mathematically analyzed on the first meeting, but there couldn’t be that many. She wondered what the late Malcolm must have been like.

Certainly he must have been extremely patient. 

“Doesn’t matter,” said Caina, pushing aside the uncharitable thoughts. “Geometrically imprecise or not, all it takes is one sword to kill Azaces and one mercenary to overpower you.” 

“Alas,” said Nerina, “this is so. It is good you have a mind for practicalities, as I do not. People would be more orderly if they conformed to simple mathematical principles…”

“Go load another crossbow,” said Caina, forestalling Nerina’s next tangent. “We’re going to need it.”

Nerina went to obey, and Caina lifted the crossbow to her shoulder, aimed, and pulled the trigger. 

She was not very good with bows. Throwing knives and daggers were her weapons of choice, and she had never managed to be more than a middling shot with a crossbow. Fortunately, this time the quarrel went where she wanted. The bolt struck the street between Khamil and Admete, the splinters bouncing off the ground. The mercenaries reacted with alarm, shouting and raising their shields, while Khamil, Admete, and Yestik all scrambled backward to place themselves behind the mercenaries.

Nerina handed Caina another crossbow. She took it and aimed, and Nerina busied herself with reloading the first weapon. 

“Hold!” roared Caina, using one of the male stage voices that Theodosia had taught her in Malarae. “I said hold! Or else my next shot won’t miss.” 

Khamil and Yestik both began shouting at once, but Admete silenced them with an angry wave of her hand.

“Who are you?” she said. “You’re obviously not Strake. Or her bodyguard, since I’m told the man had his tongue removed.” 

“Who I am is not important,” said Caina. If the thieves below learned that she was the Balarigar, they would forget about the Maatish relics and try to claim the bounty upon her head. “Let’s just say I object to you kidnapping Mistress Strake.”

“Kidnapping is such a harsh word,” said Admete. “This would have been much easier if she had simply come along with us.”

“So a disreputable former associate of her murdered father asks Nerina to come alone to an equally disreputable tavern in the middle of Istarinmul’s worst slum?” said Caina. “And in exchange he promises the relics of a long-dead kingdom? That is hardly a compelling offer.”

Admete’s hood turned towards Khamil, and though Caina could not see her expression she suspected Admete was scowling.

“That could have been handled better, yes,” said Admete. “We can make this simple. Strake will come with us, open some locks for us, and then we’ll let her depart in peace.”

“And if Mistress Strake declines to participate?” said Caina.

Admete barked out a harsh laugh. “Then we’ll kill you, whoever you are, along with her pet Sarbian. We will also force her to open the locks. Breaking a few bones in her legs might prove persuasive, don’t you think?”

“That,” said Caina, “is a very bad plan. You didn’t think this through, did you?”

“Enough, Admete,” said Yestik. “We waste time. We…”

Admete gestured for him to be silent. “Why is it a bad idea?”

“Because,” said Caina, “threatening Strake won’t work. She’s a wraithblood addict, and you know how wraithblood damages the user’s health. Hurt her and you might accidentally kill her. I suspect you need her to open those locks because no other locksmith in the city can manage it. Otherwise you would have just hired a different locksmith. If you kill Strake or hurt her enough that she can’t work, you are out of luck.” 

“Stop this,” hissed Khamil. “Kill her guards and take the madwoman already!”

“That’s not a good idea, either,” said Caina. “This isn’t the Anshani Quarter. There are watchmen here. Make too much noise, and they’ll come. I’m surprised all this shouting hasn’t awakened some of the neighbors already. If you’re rotting in a cell in the Crows’ Tower, someone else will come along and help themselves to your stolen goods.” 

“Then we had best act now, hadn’t we?” said Admete. “Get that damned door open and bring me Strake!

Admete and Khamil and Yestik raced forward, pressing themselves against the wall and shielding themselves from Caina’s crossbow. The mercenaries advanced, shields raised to ward off any crossbow bolts, and started taking axes to the door. The door was a solid slab of oak and steel, constructed by Nerina herself and reinforced with her locks, but no door could withstand that kind of punishment forever.

“Again with my door,” muttered Nerina as Caina stepped away from the window. “I just installed a new one. Why are people always trying to break through my door?”

“They don’t have bows,” said Caina to Azaces. “We’ll go over the rooftops. The houses here are close enough that we can get to the Cyrican Bazaar. There will likely be watchmen there, and Khamil and Admete won’t try anything with witnesses. Or we can make for one of the safe houses.”

Azaces nodded, and urged towards Nerina towards the stairs.

At that moment Caina felt a flicker of nausea, and a sharp tingling sensation, as if spiders with needle-tipped legs were crawling up and down her limbs. It was the presence of sorcery, and someone nearby was casting a powerful spell.

Her first thought was that Admete had a sorcerer among her mercenaries. 

Then she heard Khamil screaming, heard the mercenaries shout in alarm.

“Get it off!” shrieked Khamil. “Get it off, get it off, get it off!”

Caina crossed back to the window, crossbow in hand.

The mercenaries fled in either direction down the street. Others emerged from the alley and followed their comrades. Yestik and Admete backed away, Yestik’s eyes wide with fear, Admete reaching for a weapon underneath her cloak. Khamil staggered and spun like a drunken man before Nerina’s front steps.