Ghost Thorns (4 page)

It may have been Caina’s imagination, but she heard the malicious glee in his voice. 

“Here we go,” said Corvalis.

The guests walked around the corner of the house and gathered around the carrion flower’s bed. The hulking plant looked even bigger than Caina remembered, its petals starting to bulge.

As if something was trying to escape from within.

Marcus joined them, rolling the empty vial between his fingers. 

“How many?” murmured Caina.

“I don’t know,” said Marcus. “About fifteen, I think. They didn’t react.”

“They won’t,” said Caina. “At least not for another few minutes.” She looked around. Nearly fifty men and women stood near the flower, fifty men and women who would die if her plan did not work. “Are you ready for what comes next?”

Marcus took a deep breath. “I am. Gods be with me…”

“My friends!” said Morius. He stood, Caina noted, close to the doors to the mansion’s dining room. As if he felt the need to retreat on short notice. “Be sure to gather close around the flower.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” said one of the guests. “Will not the stench be quite powerful?” 

“Fear not,” said Morius. “My servants have refreshments waiting, and the doors to the dining room have been reinforced. The smell will not trouble us there.”

A tremor went through the carrion flower.

Caina looked around, her mind racing. If her plan didn’t work, she needed to find a way to alert the guests, to get them away from the flower. 

“It will be any minute!” said Morius, glancing at the moon overhead as he backed towards the mansion doors. “Watch closely, my friends, and see a sight that has not been seen…”

A howling, gibbering scream cut him off, followed by another.

“What the devil?” said Morius.

A hooting monkey raced past the flower and began sprinting in circles, shrieking. Another tried to climb a tree, fell off a few inches off the ground, and tried again. A third toppled to the ground and began making sounds that sounded suspiciously like ecstasy. 

Rhazion laughed. “Morius, it seems there’s something wrong with your monkeys.”

“They’re rabid!” bellowed Corvalis. “Gods, they’ve gone berserk!”

He grinned and winked at Caina.

“One of them bit me!” shrieked Caina in her loudest, shrillest voice. “Gods, one of them bit me! Get if off, get it off, get it off!”

And just like that, the panic spread.

The guests sprinted in a panicked mass for the mansion doors. Corvalis grabbed Caina’s hand and pulled her along, helping her to keep her balance in the high-heeled sandals. Marcus stumbled next to them, eyes wide. Morius bellowed in protest, but the guests pushed right past him and into the dining room. The tables had already been set with plates and silverware. 

“Close the doors, man!” shouted Corvalis to one of the servants, once the guests had rushed into the dining room. “Or else the damned monkeys will get inside!”

“No!” said Morius. “Everyone outside, now! Or…”

“Damn it, Morius, use your head!” shouted Rhazion. “Barricade the damn doors!”

The servants obeyed the preceptor’s shout and slammed the doors shut. The doors had windows with a view of the gardens and the carrion flower. They also offered a view of the dozens of crazed monkeys running back and forth, hooting and gibbering. 

“No,” said Morius, “no, no, we’ll miss the flower…”

“To hell with the flower!” said Rhazion, his thick face almost purple with fury. “What is the meaning of this? Did you plan to loose rabid monkeys upon us?”

“They are not rabid!” said Morius. He looked at a loss. “I don’t know what’s gotten into them. I…”

Caina looked at Marcus. “Now,” she whispered. “It has to be now, if you’re going to do this.”

For a moment she thought the young lord would quail. But he took a deep breath, stepped forward, and began to shout.

“Listen to me!” he yelled.

For a moment, every eye turned in his direction. Morius’s lip curled with contempt.

“Yes, Lord Marcus?” said Rhazion.

“My father brought you here to kill you,” said Marcus.

A stunned silence fell over the dining room.

“Absurd!” said Morius. “I…”

“The flower,” said Marcus, pointing. “He was going to kill you with the flower.”

Morius laughed. “Is that…”

“No, let him speak,” said Rhazion. He looked amused, but there was a hint of wariness in his face. One did not survive as a preceptor of the Magisterium by taking foolish risks. “This ought to be amusing.”

“There is a drug called lionroot extract,” said Marcus.

Morius glared at his son. 

“I’ve heard of it,” said Rhazion. “Something of an exotic poison. The ancient Anshani used it to poison mushrooms, letting it soak into…”

He fell silent, frowning, and looked out the windows at the carrion flower. 

“Letting it soak into the mushrooms,” he said, his voice thoughtful, “turning them to poison.” 

“Ridiculous,” said Morius. “The flower is not a fungus. Even you, my imbecilic son, ought to be able to tell the difference.”

“And why poison the flower?” said Rhazion. “It only opens every few decades. A cumbersome way to kill a man. If your father wanted me dead, there are easier ways to go about it.”

Marcus swallowed, his face glittering with sweat. “Because he wanted to make it look like an accident. Because he was willing to kill all his guests, if he could kill you and become the new preceptor of Malarae.”

“Slander!” said Morius. “I…”

The carrion flower opened.

It unfurled into a brilliant crimson and yellow bloom, and a murmur of stunned appreciation went through the guests. Caina had to admit that the flower did look lovely. 

A thick yellow smoke rolled out of the opened bloom, covered the ground in a writhing yellow carpet that licked against the glass panes of the windows.

“You see?” said Marcus. “The flower’s scent is poison!”

“Rubbish!” said Morius. “It is simply heavy with pollen.”

Marcus opened his mouth, closed it again, at a loss.

And Caina saw the opportunity. 

“Then,” said Caina, the guests looking at her, “let us go see it. Oh, but the flower is so pretty! Master Morius, will you open the door for us?”

Morius hesitated a moment too long, and Rhazion stepped forward, a malicious gleam in his eye.

“Yes, Morius,” said Rhazion. “Go and open the door.” 

Morius blinked, licking his lips as he looked back and forth. “But…but the smell shall be quite overpowering…”

Still the thick yellow smoke roiled against the window.

“Oh, that is of no concern,” said Rhazion, stepping closer to Morius. “We all have strong stomachs here, don’t we? Go ahead, Morius, open the door.”

“I insist that we wait, preceptor!” said Morius, and for the first time Caina saw a hint of Marcus’s nervousness in his face.

Rhazion’s expression grew stern. “As preceptor of Malarae, in the name of the high magi and the First Magus I order you to open these doors!” 

Morius took a step back, his fear plain.

“One of the monkeys is dead!” shouted a guest.

Caina turned and saw that one of Morius’s monkeys had run into the yellow smoke. The poor animal lay motionless, foam at its mouth, its dead eyes gazing up at the night sky.

“My lord preceptor, do you not see?” said Marcus. “The scent of the flower has been poisoned with lionroot extract. My father lured you here to kill you, and to cover his crime by murdering the other guests and making it look like an accident.”

“Preposterous,” said Morius.

But an angry rumble went through the guests.

“I had heard, young Marcus,” said Rhazion, “that you tried to warn the other magi at the chapterhouse. It seems that I should have listened to you.” He turned to Morius. “And it seems I have more than enough cause to arrest you, Morius. I suggest you return with me and the other magi to the chapterhouse at once. We will question you further there.” He smiled. “And an examination of the soil around your carrion flower will suffice to see if you have been adding lionroot extract to it. Very clever, by the way. Smarter than I would have expected of you, but not quite smart…”

“Enough!” shouted Morius. “Enough! By all the gods, I am sick to death of your lectures!”

“You…” said Rhazion.

Caina felt a crawling tingle against her skin, a faint wave of nausea going through her stomach. She was sensitive to the presence of sorcery, and she felt it now.

Morius was casting a spell.

She started to shout a warning, but it was too late. Morius flung out his hands, and psychokinetic force erupted from him in all directions. The blast knocked Rhazion to the ground, flipped over the dining room table, and threw down a score of guests. Corvalis stumbled, but Caina was far enough away that the burst only struck her as a gust of wind, and she stumbled into the wall, her skirts rippling around her legs. 

Morius sprinted for the doors next to Caina, his robes flapping around his ankles. Throughout the dining room the other guests staggered to their feet, and some of the magi began casting spells of their own. But Morius was going to get away before the magi could recover. Caina could try to hit Morius with a throwing knife, but if she killed Morius in front of so many witnesses, that would draw suspicion upon the House of Kularus…and then eventually to the Ghosts.

She shifted, the high heels of her sandals sliding against the floor, and the idea came to her.

Morius raced for the doors, and Caina took a wobbling step forward, shrieked, and made herself trip.

She fell right into Morius.

The magus cursed, lost his balance, and fell upon his back, Caina on top of him. He cursed and shoved her off, and Caina let out a long scream and rolled away. Morius scrambled back to his feet, fury in his eyes as he started to cast a spell…

The surge of a dozen other spells drowned out Morius’s power, and suddenly the master magus went motionless. He floated into the air, eyes bulging, suspended in the power of a score of magi.

“Well, Morius,” said Rhazion, striding forward. He ignored Caina, his eyes fixed on the traitorous master magus. “Thought to murder me, did you?” He snorted. “Why anyone would want to be the preceptor of a Magisterium chapter, I’ll never know. The work never ends! Plus, I have to deal with fools like you.”

Corvalis helped Caina to her feet, and Marcus staggered to their side.

“Lord Marcus,” said Rhazion, “you have done me an invaluable service tonight, and saved both my life and the lives of many others. Thank you. I shall not forget this.”

“But I,” said Marcus, “I did nothing, my lord the credit goes to…”

Caina feigned another stumble, using the motion to drive an elbow into Marcus’s side.

Rhazion glance. “Trouble with your balance, hmm?”

“Too much wine, my lord preceptor,” said Caina, resuming her Szaldic accent with a hint of a slur. “It goes right to my head, oh, and then I fall down.”

Rhazion grunted. “Young, beautiful, and drunken. You’re a fortunate man, Kularus.”

Corvalis bowed. “I’ve always thought so, my lord preceptor.”

  “Come along, Morius,” said Rhazion with a cold smile. “You have a trial coming.”

He beckoned, and the magi filed out of the dining room, Morius Orian floating after them, his face frozen in terror.

###

A few days later Caina sat at her table in the House of Kularus, sipping coffee, when Marcus Orian strode through the front doors.

He hesitated, took a deep breath, and walked to her table.

“Good evening, my lord,” said Caina, setting aside her coffee. “It is good to see that you are not shouting warnings about poisonous flowers.”

Marcus grimaced, and then chuckled. “No, thankfully not.” He took a deep breath. “I thought…I thought you would like to know that my father has been formally charged with attempted murder. It seems he will likely be executed.”

“Does that trouble you?” said Caina.

Marcus hesitated. “It…should. More than it does. He was never kind to me. And…he would have killed all those people.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “All those people…if I hadn’t convinced you to help me…”

“Would you care to sit?” said Caina.

Marcus nodded and sat, and Corvalis joined them. 

“Thank you,” said Marcus. “For helping me.”

“You are welcome,” said Caina.

“Are you,” he lowered his voice, “are you…Ghosts?”

Corvalis snorted. “There’s no such thing, my lord. I am merely a coffee merchant.”

Caina smiled. “And I am merely the coffee merchant’s mistress, frivolous and empty-headed.”

Marcus snorted. “And I am the Shahenshah of Anshan.”

“We did you a favor,” said Caina. “Perhaps someday you shall be in a position to repay us.”

Marcus nodded. “I would be glad of it. Thank you again.” He rose. “Perhaps…perhaps I shall write an epic poem about you.”

Caina blinked. “What?”

“The coffee merchant’s mistress,” said Marcus, “showing a smiling face to the world, but spinning intrigues in the shadows, pulling strings and saving lives, never taking the credit…”

“If you write such a poem about me,” said Caina, “I swear on all the gods that I will have your throat cut and your body dumped in the harbor.”

Corvalis laughed. 

“Well, yes,” said Marcus. “I suppose you could not keep your good deeds secret if I published a poem about them.” He bowed. “The gods go with you, Sonya Tornesti and Anton Kularus.”

He turned and left.

“You never write poems about me,” said Caina.

Corvalis laughed again. “I know you too well. You would rather have a book, a cup of coffee, and a nice new sharp dagger.”

“I’ve grown predictable,” said Caina, rising. Corvalis took her hand and led her across the main floor, and Caina glanced back as Marcus left the House of Kularus. She was pleased that he had been vindicated. Perhaps he would grow into a better man than his father.

“You look satisfied,” said Corvalis.

“Why not?” said Caina. “Morius will be beheaded for attempted murder, and he failed to kill anyone. And no one suspects we were involved.”

“You do like to stay in the shadows, don’t you?” said Corvalis.