Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7) (21 page)

“Yes,” said Caina. 

“Will the circus master be glad to see you?” said Laertes. “Seems to me that he might have gotten some blame for Ulvan’s trouble.”

“He didn’t,” said Caina. “Ulvan knew who had caused his trouble.” In a fit of rage or madness or both, Caina had called herself the Balarigar when she had flung Ulvan off his balcony, and the entire myth of the Balarigar in Istarinmul had exploded from that. “And I stayed in touch with the circus for a few weeks after that. I quit and said I had gotten a job working in a coffee house. I doubt Cronmer and Tiri and the others ever realized I had any connection to the Balarigar.” 

“They would have turned you in for the bounty, I imagine,” said Laertes. 

“Undoubtedly,” said Caina. “Shall we find out if this is a good idea or not?”

They headed for the Circus’s encampment, Laertes leading their pack horses lest someone try to steal them. As they approached the wagons, a sense of familiarity settled over Caina. Before coming to Istarinmul, she had never been part of a circus. She had, however, spent several years with Theodosia at the Grand Imperial Opera, spying for the Ghosts of Malarae, and there had been many similarities between the opera and the circus. There had been the same endless intrigues and petty spats and romantic entanglements among the performers, the same sense of barely controlled chaos, and the same frantic pressure as the deadline of a performance approached. Caina supposed performers, whether opera singers or actors or acrobats or lion tamers, were the same the world over. 

To her surprise, Annarah was smiling. 

“Oh, I like circuses,” said Annarah. “I always have. Sometimes traveling circuses came to Iramis, and I would watch them. I liked the acrobats. When I was grown, I would take my son and daughter to see them. They always laughed at the elephants.” 

Caina blinked. “You…have children? I never knew.” Then she realized that Annarah’s husband and children must have burned with Iramis, as Nasser’s family had. “I’m sorry.”

Annarah’s green eyes wandered over the circus wagons. “A reminder of better times.”

“What is this?” 

A thin Nighmarian man, handsome in a gaunt sort of way, stomped towards them. He wore a brilliant red coat, red trousers tucked into gleaming black boots, and a crisp white shirt. In his right hand he held a coiled whip. “Be off with you! Master Cronmer’s Traveling Circus Of Wonders And Marvels has claimed this spot! If you wished to be closer to the gate, then you should have arrived sooner. Be off with you, or you shall taste the lash of Vardo himself!”

Morgant started to reach for his weapons, but Caina stepped forward and smiled. “Have you forgotten me so soon, Vardo?” She offered a theatrical sigh. “All those fine and honeyed words you offered me were just empty wind? I am saddened.”

Vardo looked at her, and then his eyes widened. “Ciara?” 

“Then you do remember my name?” said Caina. She smiled again, reached back, and took Kylon’s hand, who looked surprised. “It is just as well I have found comfort in the arms of another.” 

Vardo offered a florid bow. “Do forgive Vardo’s grievous lapse, my lovely Szaldic rose.” He bowed again over Caina’s free hand and planted a kiss upon her knuckles. “Alas, the transcendent splendor of your beauty so overwhelmed his power of reason that Vardo could not recall your face to his mind.”

“Eloquent,” said Morgant. “But, then, I suspect it would take very little to overwhelm your power of reason.” 

Caina could not tell if he meant to insult her or Vardo. Probably both, she decided. Fortunately, the insult had sailed right over Vardo’s head. 

“You are a lion tamer, Master Vardo?” said Nasser. 

“A lion tamer?” said Vardo, drawing himself up, Caina forgotten. “A lion tamer? My dear sir, Vardo is the master of all beasts! At the snap of his fingers, birds fall from the sky to perch upon his shoulders. At the crack of his whip, lions dance for the amusement of his audience. At the sound of his voice, wild boars march after him like Legionaries following the Emperor into battle…”

“Did Cronmer ever buy you that elephant?” said Caina before Vardo could ramp up his monologue.

Vardo deflated. “Alas, no, my lovely northern rose. Cronmer cited the cost of the elephant’s provender or some such rubbish. Vardo’s genius is not appreciated.”

“Where is Cronmer?” said Caina. 

Vardo waved his coiled whip. “Somewhere towards the front. Likely preparing for the performance tonight.”

“You’re performing tonight?” said Caina. That might be helpful. 

“Yes. Now, Vardo must commune with his beasts to prepare them for the audience.” He bowed against and walked towards a wagon containing a pair of cages. The cages housed two Anshani grass lions, the beasts watching the crowds around them with aloof indifference. 

“If birds truly land on his shoulders,” said Morgant, “they’re going to ruin that jacket.” Annarah raised a hand to her mouth to cover a laugh. 

“Come on,” said Caina. “Let’s find Cronmer.” 

She led the way through the circus’s wagons. Around them the laborers and carpenters of the circus were busy assembling sets or preparing costumes. A familiar hoarse voice rose over the mayhem, shouting imprecations and commands in Caerish. 

“No, I don’t give a damn about the color of the wheels,” said the voice. A huge titan of a man stood near one of the wagons, taller than Kylon and Nasser, his chest like a barrel despite his impressive paunch. He had gray hair and a drooping gray mustache. “We’ll worry about it once we’re in the city. Right now go find Tozun and tell him the clowns need two more inflatable bladders. They should be in the wagon with the acrobats’ costumes. Go, already!” The big man sighed and turned, and his eyes fell upon Caina.

“Greetings again, Master Cronmer,” said Caina. “I hope you are well?”

“Who are you?” said Cronmer. “And what do you…wait.” He blinked, and his seamed face split in a wide grin. “Well, I’ll be damned. If it isn’t Ciara! Natalia of the Nine Knives herself! Thought you’d gotten too respectable for circus work.” 

“And I thought you had left Istarinmul, Master Cronmer,” said Caina. 

“We did,” said Cronmer. “Had a good tour out in Akasar and Istarish Cyrica.” He scowled. “But, gods, the countryside has gotten dangerous. Collectors everywhere, and none of them too picky about where they find their slaves. We actually had to fight off a group of them. Then the Inferno burned, and it’s all gone to hell since. We are getting into Istarinmul, hiring a ship, and going back to the Empire. Well, the western Empire, anyway, since crazy sorcerers are ruling most of the eastern Empire now. Tiri!” He turned his head. “Tiri! Guess who just wandered into our camp.”

A short Istarish woman of middle years emerged from one of the wagons and walked to Cronmer’s side. Cronmer towered over her, and the two of them bickered constantly. Yet they had been married for over twenty years and had six children, so clearly something had worked. 

“The Living Flame does send surprises,” said Tiri. “Ciara! I never expected to see you here. How is your sister?”

“Married,” said Caina, “and living in Cyrioch now. My brother and I took her there with her new husband, and he stayed with Nuri.”

“Who are your friends?” said Tiri.   

“Companions I met on the road,” said Caina. “Vitrum of Istarinmul.” Nasser offered one of his elegant bows, and Tiri smiled. “Corio of Malarae, Markaine of Caer Marist, Nadirah of Anshani, and…” She let herself stammer a little when she got to Kylon, as if nervous, and she touched his hand. “And this is Milartes of New Kyre.”

“Ah,” said Tiri with a knowing smile. “I see. Well, a pleasure to meet you all. Will you attend our performance tonight?” 

“Performance?” said Caina. “Out here in the caravanserai?” 

“Out here in the caravanserai,” rumbled Cronmer. “It seems the Grand Wazir is terrified of rebel saboteurs making their way into the city. So the guards at the gates interrogate everyone who enters. Enough traffic passes this way that the line extends for days. Therefore the hakim of the Anshani Bazaar has commissioned the circus to perform every night until we are allowed to enter the city.” Cronmer smiled behind his bushy mustache. “It has been quite lucrative, really.” 

“About that,” said Caina. “Do you happen to have a knife-throwing act?”

“Not at the moment,” said Cronmer. “We had a good one for a while. Unfortunately, he impregnated some minor emir’s daughter in Istarish Cyrica and had to flee for his life. Never saw him again. Hope he got away.” He shook his head. “Poor lad.”

“He should not have seduced that foolish girl,” said Tiri.

“I think she rather wanted to be seduced, dear.”

“Anyway,” said Caina, before Cronmer and Tiri could start arguing, “I was wondering if I could join the circus for a few days. I’ve got to visit family in Malarae, but after traveling to Cyrioch I find myself shorter on funds than I might like.” 

“That is the trouble with funds,” said Cronmer. “They’re always too short.” 

“If you need a knife-throwing act,” said Caina, “I would be happy to help out. In exchange for a reasonable fee, of course.” 

“Of course,” said Cronmer with a snort. “Can you still throw knives?”

“I don’t know,” said Caina. “You tell me.” She rolled her wrist, a knife sliding from its sheath and into her hand. Her fingers gripped the flat of the blade, her arm snapping back, and then she stepped forward, her arm cracking like Vardo’s whip. The blade whirled from her fingers and landed between Cronmer’s boots, quivering a little.

Cronmer raised an eyebrow. “A few feet higher, and you’d have left my wife a very disappointed woman.”

Caina smiled. “I wasn’t aiming for that.” 

“For which I am duly grateful,” said Cronmer. “It seems you’ve been motivated to keep in practice.”

Caina thought of all the fights she had seen since that night at Ulvan’s palace. “You’ve no idea.” 

“Pity your sister isn’t here,” said Cronmer. “Now that was a compelling show. We tied her up and you threw knives at her.” Morgant raised an eyebrow at that. “Watching a pretty woman throw knives is one thing. Watching one pretty woman throw knives at another…that gets the audience going.” He looked at Annarah. “What about you, madam? Would you like to perform?” 

“Now, now,” said Tiri. “Do not trouble the poor woman.”

“You mean,” said Annarah in a quiet voice, “I…could be in the circus?”

Caina looked at her. Annarah was a loremaster of Iramis, a woman who had faced tremendous dangers without flinching, and one of the most sensible and sober people that Caina had ever met. Yet for a moment, just a moment, she looked almost as excited as a child at the prospect of appearing in the Traveling Circus Of Marvels And Wonders. 

“For the gods’ sake,” muttered Morgant. 

“Certainly,” said Cronmer. “If you trust Ciara to throw knives at you and miss.” He stooped, plucked out Caina’s knife from the ground, and handed it back to her. 

“I trust her considerably more than that, sir,” said Annarah. 

“Then it’s settled,” said Cronmer. “Go talk to Tozun, and he’ll find you some costumes…”

“It occurs to me,” said Morgant with a malicious smile, “that we can make the show even better.” 

“Oh?” said Cronmer. “And just what you know about showmanship, ah…”

“Markaine of Caer Marist,” said Morgant. “I am a painter. And I happen to know quite a bit about showmanship. It’s not something most people understand. They don’t appreciate the artistry of it, the showmanship, the flair. Holding the attention of an audience is hard work.” 

“It is,” said Cronmer. “Not many people understand that.” 

“You have to tell a story,” said Morgant, “if you really want to hold the audience’s attention. So let’s tell a story.” He pointed at Annarah. “She’s tied up.” He pointed then at Caina. “She’s throwing knives at her.” He grinned and pointed at Kylon. “And he comes to rescue her.” 

Kylon blinked. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” said Morgant. “You are paying attention, aren’t you?”

“And just how I am supposed to rescue her?” said Kylon. He seemed half-amused, half-incredulous about the entire thing. 

“This man used to be a gladiator,” said Morgant.

Cronmer grunted. “Truly?”

Kylon grunted. “I needed the money.” 

“And when he was a gladiator,” said Morgant, “he had a useful trick. He could deflect a throwing knife with his sword.”

“Truly?” said Cronmer again.

“It was the damnedest thing I ever saw,” said Morgant. 

“Now this,” said Cronmer, “I have to see.” 

“What do you think?” said Caina. She had no doubt that Kylon could do it. With the sorcery of air, he moved fast enough to avoid an arrow, to say nothing of deflecting a throwing knife. And Caina had to admit it was a good idea. The more impressive the show, the easier it would be to gain Cronmer’s trust, and the more likely he would let them accompany his circus into the city. 

“Why not?” said Kylon. “I suppose it can be no harder than fighting in the gladiatorial ring.” He looked around, and then pointed at a covered wagon with blue-painted walls. “I’ll stand there. If you miss, the knife will hit the wall and won’t hurt anyone.”

“Miss?” said Caina, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, you are throwing knives at him,” said Morgant. “I expect he would prefer that you miss.” 

She was briefly tempted to throw a knife at him, just to see how he would react, but pushed aside the thought. Kylon turned before the blue wagon and drew the valikon over his shoulder, the blade flashing in the noon sunlight.

Cronmer whistled. “Hell of a fancy sword, son.” 

“I used it in gladiatorial matches,” said Kylon. “It’s just a layer of chrome over the steel. The crowds loved it, especially when it could catch the sunlight after a victory.”

He was getting better at lying. It was, Caina reflected, probably her influence.

“Ready?” said Caina.

Kylon nodded, and she saw the shimmer of silvery-blue light around him as he drew upon the sorcery of air, the light mingling with the valikon’s furious white aura. Caina closed her eyes, concentrating her mind, and found that she could still see the silvery-blue glow even with her eyes closed.