Ghost Lock (2 page)

“You did well,” said Martin. He frowned. “Who else
knows about it? I do not believe the Silent Hunters stumbled across
it by accident.”

“No,” said Talazain. “I know, as does my cousin and
his wife. I do not believe they would pass information to the
Umbarians, but I have been wrong before. There is one man I
suspect, though, an Ulkaari mercenary named Khardav. He was in our
employ when the safe was found, and left immediately thereafter. I
fear he may have been a spy for the Umbarian Order.”

“Thank you,” said Martin. “I suggest you leave the
safe here. That will draw any spies and Silent Hunters away from
your family, and the embassy’s mansion is as well-guarded as any
place in Istarinmul. I shall investigate the contents of the safe,
and have you reimbursed if we discover anything of value.”

Talazain bowed and offered his thanks. Dromio
appeared and escorted him to his porters and sedan chair in the
street, leaving me alone with Martin and the safe.

“Well,” I said, “what are we going to do about
this?”

“A very good question,” said Martin. “I suppose we
could get sledgehammers and pound it open.”

I shook my head. “There’s a chance the item in the
safe is an alchemical elixir of some kind. Too much force might
cause it to…ah, explode.”

Martin grunted. “I suppose an explosion would get the
safe open. Not that it matters. The walls of that safe have to be
several inches thick, and the door is locked and rusted shut. If we
opened it by force, we’d likely destroy whatever was inside.”

“Maybe it would be best to dump the thing in the
harbor,” I said.

“Perhaps,” said Martin. “If the Umbarians want
whatever is in that safe, we should deny it to them. Though I would
like to know what they want, and whether or not the Empire can use
it.”

I nodded. The Empire’s war against the Umbarian Order
was not going well. The rebel magi had seized the eastern third of
the Empire, and though they had been unable to expand further west
than the fortifications of Artifel and the Disali provinces, the
Emperor had been unable to dislodge them from their conquered
provinces. The war had settled into a bloody, grinding stalemate,
and if the Empire could gain any advantage at all…

I sighed. “I had a hoped for a peaceful week until
the Grand Wazir returns from his hunting trip.”

Martin laughed and kissed me, and I leaned against
him, resting my head against his shoulder. “At least this time we
are not fleeing through the Kaltari Highlands with a mad assassin
upon our tails.”

“True,” I said.

His logic was sound. Still, I wished Talazain had
dropped that damn safe in the harbor.

“I shall order Tylas to extra vigilance,” said
Martin. “At least we won’t have to worry about someone sneaking in
and spiriting away the safe. It took a dozen of Talazain’s porters
to get the thing in here. I suppose I should look into hiring a
locksmith, someone with experience opening jammed safes. Though I
don’t know where to find such a man.”

I blinked.

“I don’t, either,” I said. “But we both know someone
who does.”

###

Caina Amalas answered my summons two days later.

I sat at a table in the solar, answering letters.
Most of them were from various merchants or minor nobles who wanted
a favor. According to Istarish tradition, a nobleman’s most senior
wife answered requests for social engagements. Since Martin was
damned well not going to take another wife, the responsibility fell
to me. I didn’t mind it very much. It gave me something to do,
something to take my mind from my worries.

Plus, the sunlight was nice. I did not care for
either Istarish cuisine or the Istarish climate, but the sunshine
was nice. When I lived in Artifel at the Magisterium’s Motherhouse,
it seemed as if storms came off the Inner Sea every other day.

The door swung open, and Dromio appeared. A short man
in a dusty brown coat followed him, a courier’s satchel slung over
his shoulder, his black-hair and beard close-cropped.

“A courier for you, my lady,” said Dromio. He seemed
to disapprove of the man. “He knew the proper passwords to see you
personally.”

I took a closer look at the courier. He seemed
familiar, somehow. Then I saw the sharp cheekbones and cold blue
eyes behind the beard, and the face suddenly snapped into focus.
The courier was not a man, but a superbly disguised woman.

For that matter, the courier was not a courier at
all, but Caina Amalas, circlemaster of Istarinmul’s Ghosts.

“Thank you, Dromio,” I said, putting down my pen and
rising. “I will need a word alone with the courier. Please ask Lord
Martin to join us as soon as he returns.”

“Of course, my lady,” said Dromio, departing with a
bow.

Caina and I stared at each other for a moment. I was
always amazed at how thoroughly she could disguise herself when she
wanted. Caina was capable of turning bluffs and misdirections and
disguises into lethal weapons. She could also be quite attractive
when she wore a proper gown. Little wonder she had caught my
brother’s eye.

That sent a flicker of old sorrow through me.

“That fake beard doesn’t suit you,” I said aloud.

Caina shrugged. “It’s not supposed to.” Her voice was
quiet, cold, precise. “How are you?”

I shrugged in turn. “My back hurts, my legs hurt, my
ankles keep swelling, I have no appetite, and my moods swing back
and forth faster than the pendulum of an overwound clock. But I am
still alive, so I suppose I cannot complain.”

“I have never known that to stop you before,” said
Caina.

I snorted and gestured for her to take a seat.

Caina and I have a…complicated relationship. She
saved me from the magus Ranarius, but she distrusted my arcane
powers, and I distrusted her hatred of the magi. I also disliked
that my brother Corvalis had fallen in love with her. Later, after
Komnene had taken me as a student, we made peace, and I met Martin
and became his betrothed.

Then Corvalis died, killed saving the world from the
Moroaica, and I hated Caina. I blamed her for his death, thought
that she had sacrificed Corvalis without a qualm. Later I learned
that his death had shattered her in a way I hadn’t thought
possible, and then we saved each other from the wrath of the Red
Huntress.

Now I trust her. I don’t always like her very much
(and I suspect she feels the same about me), but I trust her as I
trust few other people.

She sat down at the other side of my writing table,
and I noted with envy how easily she sat, how much thinner she was
than me. Of course, that was because I was five months pregnant and
she was not. She would never be pregnant, even though it was
something she wanted very badly.

Life is neither simple nor fair, alas.

I lowered myself into the chair with a sigh. “Thank
you for coming.”

“I am sorry I was not here sooner,” said Caina. “Some
things came up.”

“Yes, I heard about that robbery at the Craven’s
Tower,” I said. “I am entirely certain that you had absolutely
nothing to do with it whatsoever.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re learning to lie like
an ambassador’s wife.”

“It is a useful skill,” I said. “Martin and I have a
problem. Have you heard of a magus named Keldrius?”

“Vaguely,” said Caina. “I remember Halfdan mentioning
him. A necromancer from the Ulkaari provinces, wasn’t he? The
Magisterium killed him fifty or sixty years ago after he made too
much trouble for even the high magi to ignore.”

“Fifty years, actually,” I said. “He owned a house in
Istarinmul. Some of the Saddaic refugees bought it and started to
dig in the cellar.”

“Oh,” said Caina. “I’ve heard stories like this
before.”

I nodded. “They found a safe in the cellar. There’s a
sorcerous item of some kind inside it. I can’t tell what it is, and
the safe’s rusted shut. The Umbarians want whatever’s inside the
safe, and the Silent Hunters and some of their spies have been
prowling around.”

“I see,” said Caina. “Do you know if a man named
Khardav is involved in this?”

I blinked. “How did you know? He was a mercenary
working for the Saddaic merchant who found the safe.”

“He’s not just a mercenary,” said Caina. “He works
for the Umbarian Order. Specifically, he works for Cassander Nilas,
does a number of quiet jobs for him on the side.”

“Ah,” I said with a grimace. Cassander Nilas was the
Order's ambassador to the Padishah, and he had tried to kidnap me
several times, to use me as leverage against Martin. I feared the
thought of falling into the hands of a man like him. I absolutely
dreaded the thought of Martin or our unborn child coming into his
power. “So anything that Cassander wants…”

“He shouldn’t get,” said Caina, getting to her feet
with annoying ease. “Let’s have a look at that safe.”

###

“Heavy thing,” muttered Caina, tapping at the safe’s
door with a dagger. “I wonder what Keldrius wanted to protect so
much.”

I stood in the study, watching her work. Martin had
returned from his meeting with a minor emir and had joined us.

“Whatever it is,” said Martin, “it is something the
Umbarians want badly. The Imperial Guards spotted two men we know
to be the Order’s spies on the street outside the mansion
yesterday. They chased the spies off, but I do not doubt that
Cassander’s hirelings will try to get their hands on the safe.”

“We should keep it here, then,” said Caina, tapping
her dagger against the safe’s door a few times. Martin watched her
with a puzzled expression. I had a complex relationship with Caina,
but Martin still did not know quite what to make of her. He had
told me once that he thought Caina brilliant, but ruthless and
without mercy, and that he would not want to be her enemy.

I could not disagree with that.

“Is there no safer place you can keep it?” said
Martin. “Some safehouse of the Ghosts?”

“None of them are as well-guarded as the embassy,”
said Caina. She slipped the dagger into its sheath at her belt,
reached into her coat, and drew out a small crowbar. I wondered why
she had been walking around with a crowbar, and decided that I did
not really want to know. “And I can’t exactly sneak out with the
safe hidden under my coat. It must have taken a dozen men to move
this thing.” Martin nodded. “If we move the safe, the Umbarians
will know, and they can follow it at their leisure. A hundred
Imperial Guards make a sound deterrent to thieves.”

“I thought,” I said, “that you knew a mad locksmith
who can open anything.”

“I do,” said Caina. “And she can. Well. Almost
anything.” She worked the crowbar along the front of the safe,
little flakes of rust falling to the floor. “I just need to have a
look at this to make sure it isn’t trapped…ah, there were go.”

She strained for a moment, and then a plate of metal
popped away from the center of the door. The opened panel revealed
an intricate maze of gears and cogs, complex beyond my ability to
follow.

All of them frozen solid by rust.

“Well,” said Caina. “That settles that.”

“Your locksmith can’t open that?” said Martin.

“It isn’t a matter of opening it,” said Caina,
standing up. “All the moving parts are stuck. There’s not a
locksmith in the world who could open it.”

“A blacksmith, then,” said Martin. “Someone to hammer
the damned thing open.”

“Maybe,” said Caina. “That might destroy whatever is
inside it, though.”

“Better that,” I said, “than Cassander Nilas claiming
it.”

“Maybe,” said Caina again.

I knew that look, that tone of voice.

“You have an idea,” I said.

Caina sighed. “I do.”

“It doesn’t,” I said, “sound like you enjoy the
prospect.”

“I know a man who has a weapon that can open the safe
without destroy its contents,” said Caina. “Unfortunately, he
is…difficult.”

“Difficult?” said Martin.

“Let’s just say he’s the sort of man who collects
enemies easily,” said Caina.

“If he can open the safe,” I said, “I think we can
endure a few hours of difficulty.”

“Very well,” said Caina. “My lord Martin, I think
it’s time you sat for a formal portrait.”

###

Caina returned the next day in the company of a
man.

I was sitting in the mansion’s grounds, in the
gardens between the house and the outer wall, when the gate opened
and the Imperial Guards admitted two people. The first was Caina,
wearing again the disguise of a courier. The second was a gaunt man
in his fifties clad in a black coat, a stark white shirt, black
trousers, and scuffed black boots. He had a thin, lined face,
close-cropped gray hair, and pale blue eyes that never seemed to
stop moving.

I watched them both with interest. I knew Caina well
enough by now to tell when she was on her guard, and she was on her
guard around the man in the black coat. She had said she trusted
the man, to a point, but clearly that point was not very far.

“My lady,” said one of the Imperial Guards escorting
them, “these men asked to see you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Go back to the gate. I shall
take our guests to Lord Martin myself.”

“Fine day for it, too,” said the man in the black
coat. He spoke High Nighmarian with a thick Caerish burr, the sort
of accent common in the hills of Caeria Ulterior. “All that black
armor in the direct sun. Does it get hot?” The Guard gave him a
flat look. “If I cracked an egg on your shoulder plates, would I be
able to cook it?”

“Thank you,” I said, before the Guard got irritated.
“You may return to your posts.”

The Guards bowed and departed, leaving me alone with
Caina and the black-coated man.

“Let me guess,” I said to Caina. “I assume that this
is him.”

“Aye,” said the man. “If by ‘him’, of course, you
mean ‘me’.” He offered a florid bow, flourishing the end of his
coat as he did so. “I am Markaine of Caer Marist, and I say without
exaggeration that I am the finest painter in all of Istarinmul, and
possibly all other nations, as well.”