Ghost Lock (3 page)

“Modest as ever,” said Caina.

“Wait,” I said, blinking in surprise. “You’re
Markaine of Caer Marist? The painter?”

Markaine tilted his head to the side as he considered
me. “You’ve heard of me, then?”

“You painted that mural about the fall of Iramis in
the Tarshahzon Gardens,” I said. “My father has several of your
paintings. There was one, ‘The Dying Assassin’. It scared me half
to death when I was a girl.”

“Oh, I remember that one,” said Markaine. “Quite a
story behind it, too.”

“I thought you would be older,” I said, remembering
the age of some of the paintings my father had collected. “Also,
dead.”

“Clean living,” said Markaine.

“Markaine has certain other skills that might be able
to help us with our little problem,” said Caina.

“And then, perhaps, you can sit for a portrait,”
Markaine said as I stood. He moved around me in a circle, pointing
as he did. “Right here, I think. Yes, with the garden and the
mansion as the backdrop. Perhaps a green and golden gown, to match
your hair and eyes. It would make for a striking portrait. We would
title it 'The Young Noblewoman In The Full Bloom Of Her Pregnancy',
and everyone who saw the painting would stop to admire its
loveliness.”

“You know,” I said, looking at Caina, “I like
him.”

Caina rolled her eyes.

“Your ladyship is clearly a woman of excellent
taste,” said Markaine. “Alas, our mutual friend has no sense of
aesthetics whatsoever.”

“Sadly not,” I said.

“If you’re quite done amusing yourselves,” said
Caina, “we can begin.”

“Ah, but that’s the secret to a long life, you know,”
said Markaine. “Never stop amusing yourself.”

I led the way across the gardens, through the entry
hall, and into the study. Martin paced back and forth before the
bookshelves, dictating a letter to a pair of scribes. One of them
had propped his portable desk upon the rusted safe, using it is an
impromptu table.

“We will finish this later,” said Martin. The scribes
bowed, packed up their desks, and departed.

“This is Markaine of Caer Marist,” said Caina, and
Markaine offered a more restrained bow to my husband. “I believe he
can help us.”

“Unless I am mistaken,” said Martin, “you are a
painter, not a locksmith.”

“That is entirely correct, my lord,” said Markaine,
considering the rusted block of the safe. “You and the Lady Claudia
would make for a handsome portrait. I wouldn’t even charge very
much.”

Martin snorted. “Until I am sure I can keep
Istarinmul from allying with the Umbarian Order, I’m afraid a
commemorative portrait would be premature.”

“A sensible attitude,” said Markaine, still examining
the safe.

“So if you are a painter,” said Martin, “how can you
help us open the safe?”

“Well,” said Markaine, reaching into his coat, “I
haven’t always been a painter.”

He drew out a weapon, a black dagger with a red gem
of some kind upon the hilt. Something in his stance changed as he
did so, become grimmer, more menacing. Martin shifted as he did,
his fingers twitching towards the hilt of the sword at his waist.
He rarely wore armor while in the house, but he never went anywhere
unarmed. The Silent Hunters had broken into the mansion too many
times for that.

“That is a remarkable dagger,” said Martin, “though I
fail to see how that will open the safe.”

Markaine grinned. “Watch.”

He knelt and stabbed the dagger down. I expected the
weapon to bounce off the safe’s steel side, or to snap against it.
Instead the blade sliced through the thick steel with the ease of a
knife cutting soft cheese, and I watched in astonishment as
Markaine sliced a line through the safe, the edges glowing
white-hot.

“How are you doing that?” said Martin.

I cast a quick spell, focusing upon the dagger. The
thrum of potent sorcery radiated from the dagger, a spell unlike
any I had ever encountered before.

“It’s enspelled,” I said.

“Friction,” said Caina, watching as Markaine began
another cut. “It works through friction. Or the absence of it,
rather. A normal blade can’t cut through a steel safe because
there’s too much friction. The dagger bypasses it, sucks up the
heat from the cuts, which lets it slice through pretty much
anything.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Where does the
heat go?”

“Ah,” said Markaine, wincing as he got to his feet.
An L-shaped cut glowed in the side of the safe, and the gem in the
pommel of the dagger shone with red light. “Do you mind, my lord,
if I use your fireplace? There’s a layer of lead in the safe, which
makes the cuts tricky.”

“By all means,” said Martin, gesturing at the empty
fireplace.

Markaine nodded and flicked his wrist. The dagger
flew into the center of the fireplace, and an instant later there
was a flash. A fireball roiled against the inside of the hearth, so
hot that it stung my face. Markaine snapped his fingers, and the
dagger jumped from the flames and flew back into his hand.

“Are you a sorcerer?” I said, frowning as I recast
the spell to sense the presence of sorcery. The spells upon the
dagger all but blazed against my senses. The thing had to be a
formidable weapon in combat.

“I’m a painter, not a sorcerer,” said Markaine,
kneeling back next to the safe. “Though I’ve been called a magician
with a paintbrush. The dagger’s a useful little toy, isn’t it?
Found it a long, long time ago. Didn’t realize what it could do,
not at first. Worked it out with some experimentation, though that
means the dagger’s spells are bonded to me. If anyone else wants
it, they’ll have to kill me to get it. Though the dagger makes that
harder…”

I had already cast my spell to sense the presence of
sorcery, and that was why I sensed the sudden spike of arcane power
surging through the garden. I looked at the window in alarm at the
exact same moment Caina did. She could not use sorcery, but could
sense it nonetheless.

As I looked out the window, a wall of white mist
erupted from the ground, rolling across the garden to engulf the
mansion. I saw it sweep over two of the Imperial Guards, and both
men collapsed to the ground. Had the fog killed them?

I could not tell if they were breathing before the
gray mist swallowed them.

“It’s an alchemical spell,” said Caina. “Sleeping
mist.”

“Get near me, all of you,” I said. “Right now.
Now!”

Caina, Martin, and Markaine moved to obey, and I cast
a spell of my own. Blue light flared around my fingers, and as the
white mist erupted through the door and windows I thrust out my
hands. A shimmering dome of blue light appeared around us, and the
white mist washed over the dome, leaving us standing in a clear
island in a sea of mist. The entire room disappeared around us, and
I could not see more than a few feet past my warding spell.

“That,” said Markaine without alarm, “is quite a lot
of sleeping mist.”

“The Umbarians,” said Martin at once, drawing his
sword.

“Are you sure? It was an alchemical spell,” I said.
“Cassander Nilas and the other Umbarian magi couldn’t do anything
like this.”

“No,” said Caina, “they couldn’t. But the Grand Wazir
said he would expel the Umbarians from the city if they tried to
attack you again. So I wager Cassander has hired this one out.
Alchemists need money, too. Likely he bought a large volume of
sleeping mist from some penurious Alchemist and hired some
mercenaries to break in and steal the safe.”

“Perhaps it would be best to leave the safe
unopened,” said Martin.

Caina shook her head. “Too late for that. They know
it’s here. If we can remove whatever’s inside, we…”

Suddenly the mist vanished into nothingness, and I
lowered my warding spell.

“That didn’t last long,” said Martin.

“It didn’t have to,” said Caina, crossing to the
window. “The Imperial Guards and your servants will be unconscious
for only a few minutes. But that will be long enough for them to
get the safe and get out again.” Markaine kept hacking at the side
of the safe, the gem in his dagger glowing. A wondered uneasily how
much heat that thing could store before it exploded. “Damn it.”

I hurried to Caina's side and scowled. A dozen men in
chain mail and leather moved through the gate, running across the
garden. At their head strode a towering man in expensive chain
mail, with a thick mane of black hair and a long mustache, its ends
bound in brass rings in Ulkaari fashion.

“Our friend Khardav,” said Caina. “Cassander must
have hired Khardav for this and supplied him with the sleeping
mist.”

I started to say something, and then Markaine grunted
in satisfaction. He had carved a smoking hole into the side of the
safe, and he reached inside and withdrew a crystalline vial the
size of a man’s thumb. Within shone a purple liquid that gave off a
gentle light.

“That’s it?” I said, casting the spell to sense
sorcery again. The vial in his hand was indeed the source of the
arcane aura I had sensed earlier.

“That’s all that was within the safe,” said Markaine.
“Just that.”

A crash echoed through the study as the mercenaries
took an axe to the mansion’s front door.

“We’ve got to get you out of here,” said Martin to
me.

“I agree,” said Caina. “That’s your child. Corvalis’s
nephew. We…”

I felt a surge of irritation. That was how Caina
would view my child. Not as my child. Not even as Martin’s child.
No, as Corvalis’s nephew. I supposed it made sense. She could not
carry a child of her own, and Corvalis was dead. The unborn baby
and I were all that Caina had left of Corvalis.

Perhaps I should not complain. If Caina thought of my
child as Corvalis’s nephew first and foremost…then my son would
gain an effective protector. For nothing enraged Caina, nothing
caused her to forsake mercy the way that a threat to the children
of her friends did. Had Rezir Shahan’s men not tried to take the
son of the Champion of Marsis as a slave, then the Istarish
nobleman might still rule Marsis as an Istarish emirate. If anyone
threatened my child, Caina would treat them as she had treated the
late, unlamented Rezir Shahan. It was strange that one woman could
have done so much. Yet through cunning and bluff, Caina had
defeated powerful enemies…

I blinked.

Cunning and bluff…

“Markaine,” I said. “How much heat does that dagger
of yours have stored up?”

“Quite a lot,” he said. “Cutting through that much
steel…well, if you want anyone burned alive, I can do it.”

I nodded. “I have an idea.”

“We can’t run,” said Caina, “and we can’t fight
them.”

I smiled at her. “No, so I’m going to follow your
example. I’m going to bluff. Markaine. Give me that vial.” He
handed it to me, an amused smile upon his face. The man was a
madman, but I thought I could make use of him. “When I give the
word, throw the dagger.”

He raised his gray eyebrows. “And whom shall I throw
it at?”

“The floor. You’ll know where,” I said.

“Wife,” said Martin. “What are you doing?”

I looked at the concern in his gray eyes and smiled.
“Do you trust me?”

“Completely,” said Martin.

“Then let’s put on a show,” I said, drawing myself
up. It was hard to look regal with the pain in my back and the
bloated feeling in my midsection, but I did it nonetheless. I was
Decius Aberon’s daughter, and he had been the First Magus of the
Imperial Magisterium. I knew how to conduct myself with commanding
dignity.

At least, I thought I did. It was time to find
out.

The door to the study burst open, and Khardav and
four mercenaries strode inside.

They came to a stop when they saw us.

“What,” I said, putting icy hauteur into my voice,
“is the meaning of this?”

Khardav hesitated, and then stepped forward, a
wolfish smile on his face.

“You should be asleep, Lady Claudia,” he said, a
thick Ulkaari accent coloring his words.

“You are a fool,” I said, “and you court
destruction.”

Khardav snorted. “Do I?”

“Do you really wish to interfere with the business of
the Umbarian Order?” I said.

I gestured and worked a spell of psychokinetic force.
I didn’t have enough time to assemble enough power or focus for
anything drastic, but the result was like a stiff wind blowing
through the study, enough to rock Khardav and his mercenaries back
a few steps.

“We already know you are a magus, Lady Claudia,” said
Khardav. “Powerful enough to perform a few tricks, but nothing
more.”

“Indeed?” I said. “Do you also know that I am a magus
of the Umbarian Order myself?”

Martin gave me an astonished look, and Caina
blinked.

“What foolishness is this?” said Khardav.

“I, Claudia Aberon Dorius, am a magus of the Umbarian
Order, sent here by command of the Provosts,” I said. “You are
interfering with the business of my Order. I am feeling lenient
today, so if you leave at once, I will exact no further
retribution.”

Several of the mercenaries looked at each other,
doubt appearing on their faces.

“Lies,” said Khardav. “We were not hired to kill you,
but to take the contents of the safe. No one need die here today.
Let us take the safe, and we shall be on our way.”

“You desire proof?” I said. “Then you shall have it.
The Imperial Magisterium, the craven fools, cannot wield the power
of pyromancy. The Umbarian Order can. This is your last chance.
Leave or you shall see just how much of an Umbarian I am.”

Khardav snorted. “A bluff.”

“So be it,” I said, pointing at the floor between
Khardav and his men. “Markaine.”

The black-coated man nodded and flung his black
dagger. It struck the stone floor and sank several inches into the
ground. For a moment nothing happened, the gem in the pommel’s hilt
shining with red light.