Ghost Vessel (Ghost Exile Tales Book 12)

  GHOST VESSEL

  Jonathan Moeller

  Description

  Caina Amalas is a Ghost circlemaster, leading the Emperor's spies in the city of Istarinmul.

  When a string of mysterious disappearances leads Caina to a sinister laboratory, she will need all of her courage to emerge victorious.

  Or else she might be the next one to disappear...

  Ghost Vessel

  Copyright 2016 by Jonathan Moeller

  Published by Azure Flame Media, LLC

  Cover image copyright James Carroll / jc_design | istockphoto.com & Basilica Cistern Istanbul Photo © Martinedegraaf | Dreamstime.com

  Ebook edition published August 2016.

  All Rights Reserved

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Ghost Vessel

  “People are disappearing,” said Agabyzus.

  Caina said nothing.

  It was a few weeks after Caina had barely escaped from Callatas’s Maze with her life. She and Agabyzus sat at a booth in the Inn of the Crescent Moon, one of the Cyrican Quarter of Istarinmul’s better inns. It was the sort of inn favored by merchants wealthy enough to enjoy comfort and sensible enough to shun ostentation, and it was safe enough that Caina could come here without fear of assassins and informants.

  Well. Much fear, anyway.

  At least she could wear a respectable disguise.

  Today Agabyzus had dressed as an official courier of the Padishah’s court, with an ornamented robe and an ornate leather satchel for holding legal documents. Given the executions meted out to anyone who dared to harass one of the Padishah’s couriers, no one bothered Agabyzus, though Caina supposed that the penalties for impersonating a courier were just as severe.

  Though at this point, the bounty upon Caina’s head was so high that she took an enormous risk just remaining in Istarinmul.

  Today Caina wore the unremarkable dress and headscarf of a common Istarish woman, both of them green, her ghostsilver dagger on in its sheath her belt. There were parts of Istarinmul were a woman could not go alone at night, or even during the day, but the Cyrican Quarter was reasonably safe. Two plates of spiced rice sat before them, accompanied by twin cups of coffee. Agabyzus consumed his meal with enthusiasm, while Caina ate at a slower pace. She thought Agabyzus could use the food. He looked more cadaverous than usual, his face gaunt, with more gray in his ragged beard and hair than she remembered.

  “This is Istarinmul,” said Caina. “A million people live here, and tens of thousands visit every year. Someone disappears every day.”

  Agabyzus swallowed another mouthful of rice. “This is so. When the disappearances might involve the Brotherhood of Slavers and wraithblood, it is of interest to the Ghosts.”

  Caina nodded. She was the Ghost circlemaster of Istarinmul, the leader of the Emperor’s spies in the city. Agabyzus was her nightkeeper, her chief lieutenant, and he had lived in Istarinmul all his life and had a vast network of friends and allies and informants who owed him favors. The Teskilati, the Padishah’s secret police, had exterminated the city’s Ghost circle years before Caina had arrived, but they hadn’t touched Agabyzus’s network of informants, and Caina relied upon him to bring her useful information.

  He was quite good at it.

  “All right,” said Caina.

  “Have you heard of the Cistern?” said Agabyzus.

  Istarinmul had numerous cisterns, all of them designed to catch the water flowing down from the hills of the Kaltari Highlands or the low mountains of Istarish Cyrica. The arid city was prone to droughts, and the cisterns scattered within the walls held reserves of water for…

  “Wait,” said Caina, her memory catching up. “It’s the name of a tavern, isn’t it? In the Alqaarin Quarter, not far from the Bazaar of the Southern Road.”

  “Aye,” said Agabyzus. “And of late, quite a few men have been disappearing there.”

  “How do you know this?” said Caina. “I suppose you’ve been frequenting the place in disguise?”

  “I fear not,” said Agabyzus. “As you know, from time to time we must undertake violent tasks in our work.”

  “Yes,” said Caina, thinking of Anburj and the Kindred assassins who had stalked her through the streets of Istarinmul.

  “I know several mostly trustworthy mercenaries upon whom I rely,” said Agabyzus. “One of them is a man named Tomazain.”

  “That’s a Saddaic name,” said Caina. “Did he flee the Saddaic provinces when the Umbarians started their rampage?”

  “No,” said Agabyzus. “He was a retired Legionary. Rather than opening an inn as retired Legionaries often do, he went into mercenary work and ended up here. There are always men with gold coins who need to hire swords, and Tomazain is good with a sword. Recently, he has been renting a room near the Cistern, and several of his acquaintances have gone missing. These are hard men, mercenaries all, accustomed to violence. For them to disappear without a trace is…unusual.”

  “Indeed,” said Caina. “Usually, when mercenaries get killed, it tends to be done loudly and violently in the streets.”

  “Agreed,” said Agabyzus. “Normally I would not bring this to your attention…but it is possible we have found the location of a wraithblood laboratory within the Alqaarin Quarter.”

  Caina nodded, taking a forkful of rice and chewing upon it as she thought, the spices hot against her tongue. Many of Istarinmul’s poorer citizens were addicted to wraithblood, a drug that induced beautiful hallucinations followed by gibbering madness. Only a few people knew that wraithblood was, in fact, a sorcerous substance manufactured by Grand Master Callatas in pursuit of some terrible spell.

  “Wraithblood is made from the blood of murdered slaves,” said Caina, “but it doesn’t have to be slaves, does it? Any murdered man or woman would serve.”

  “You have inflicted a considerable degree of discomfort upon the cowled masters of the Brotherhood of Slavers,” said Agabyzus. “They may have become desperate enough to kidnap people from the streets.”

  “Or kidnap drunken mercenaries from the Cistern?” said Caina.

  “Precisely,” said Agabyzus. “This could, of course, be nothing more sinister than some prostitutes or a greedy landlord selling their patrons into slavery.”

  “Either way,” said Caina, “those slaves might end up in Callatas’s wraithblood laboratories. No, you’re right, this is worth investigating. Is this Tomazain here?”

  “In one of the private rooms,” said Agabyzus. He pushed away his plate. “We’ll go as soon as you finish eating.”

  “You can have mine,” said Caina. “I don’t have much appetite.”

  He didn’t refuse the food. He never did. He had spent years imprisoned in the Widow’s Tower, and the experience had left his gaunt and scarred. “You should eat more. You need to keep up your strength.”

  “You sound like your sister,” said Caina.

  “She is,” said Agabyzus around a mouthful of rice, “a woman of rare wisdom.” They knew each other too well by now to trouble overmuch about table manners.

  Agabyzus finished the rest of Caina’s meal, rose to his feet, and led her across the common room to the stairs. They had used this routine before to question potential allies and informants. Agabyzus invited their “guest” to a good inn and fed h
im a fine meal, and after the meal had been eaten Caina arrived to ask questions.

  Agabyzus stopped before one of the doors at the top of the stairs, opened it, and stepped inside. The private dining room was small, lit by dim sunlight leaking from the courtyard outside. A small wooden table ran the length of the room, holding several plates of half-eaten food. At the table sat a man in his early forties with the look of a mercenary. He did indeed look Saddaic, to judge from his pale, almost wan skin tone, and his black eyes. He had thick black hair that was turning the color of hard iron at the temples and wore chain mail and a leather jerkin, a broadsword and a dagger at his belt.

  “Tomazain,” said Agabyzus.

  “Ah, Agabyzus, you’ve returned,” said Tomazain amiably, reaching for a cup of wine. “Shall I finally meet this mysterious employer of yours?” He spoke Istarish well, though with a thick Saddaic accent. He looked at Caina, blinked, and smiled. “If you had mentioned you were bringing your daughter, I would have worn nicer clothing.” He rose and offered a polite bow. “Tomazain of Rasadda, at your service.”

  Caina offered a polite smile. “You may call me Anna. And I am not Agabyzus’s daughter.”

  “Your…companion, then?” said Tomazain. “A little young for you, I suppose, but more power to you for it.”

  “His employer,” said Caina.

  “You?” said Tomazain, his amusement plain. “A little Nighmarian girl?” He sat back down with a grunt. “If this is a game, Agabyzus, it’s a peculiar one. Or if you’re brought her here as a present…well, I can’t object. Especially if you’ve paid for the hour.”

  Agabyzus only smiled.

  Caina circled down to the other side of the table, sat down, folded her hands, and rested her chin upon her fingers, staring at him for a moment, noting the details of his appearance and mannerisms.

  “If you hired her to watch me eat,” said Tomazain, “that’s exceptionally peculiar.”

  “You were a Legionary,” said Caina.

  Tomazain snorted. “Agabyzus told you that.”

  “Yes,” said Caina. “I also see the tattoo upon your right arm. Your sleeve drew up a little when you reached for the wine.”

  “Observant,” said Tomazain, taking a drink of the wine.

  “You are at least forty, which means you joined the Legion at sixteen, and completed your sixteen-year term of service anywhere from eight to ten years ago,” said Caina.

  Tomazain blinked, a hint of suspicion going over his face. “Nine. I never told Agabyzus that.”

  “There was no need,” said Caina. “The war with the Umbarian Order started a year ago. The Empire needs centurions, and the Emperor is offering substantial bounties to veterans who reenlist. Which makes me wonder why you didn’t.”

  “Figured that out, did you?” said Tomazain. There was increasing wariness on his face.

  “Because you’re in Istarinmul, of course,” said Caina. “Retired Legionaries rarely leave the Empire. They settle down on grants of land from the Emperor, or they take their discharge bonus and buy an inn or a share in a blacksmith’s shop somewhere. But here you are in a foreign land, selling your sword, at an age when you ought to be worrying that the local boys are starting to notice your daughter.” His expression went cold, and Caina knew she had struck the mark. “That, in turn, suggests that you were married when you were discharged or were married soon after. Legionaries are not supposed to wed, but common-law wives are a frequent occurrence, or so I understand. You’re not wearing a wedding ring, which is common enough, but I doubt you would take a wife and children with you to Istarinmul. Additionally, Agabyzus has relied upon you in any number of lethal ventures, which means you don’t care much about risking your life. Therefore, I can only conclude that you lost your wife and possibly your children to some tragedy, and returned to the only life you knew.”

  Tomazain’s eyes had narrowed to slits, and he let out a hissing breath. “You’ve been spying on me.”

  “Certainly not,” said Caina. “I’ve never seen you before, and Agabyzus only mentioned you to me perhaps ten minutes ago.”

  “Then how did you know all that about me?” said Tomazain.

  “I observed it, just as I observed the Legion tattoo upon your arm, or how you’ve been gripping your dagger beneath the table.”

  Tomazain blinked, looked at Agabyzus, and then put both of his hands on the table. “You’re very clever little girl, aren’t you?”

  Caina smiled at him. “And now you see why I am Agabyzus’s employer.”

  He snorted. “Plainly.”

  “You’re also clever,” said Caina.

  “Why is that?” said Tomazain.

  “Because you’re still alive,” said Caina. “A stupid man does not survive sixteen years in the Legion, nor five or six years as a mercenary. And you were clever enough to come to Agabyzus with your mystery…and that, in turn, means I want you to tell me all about your friends who disappeared at the Cistern.”

  Tomazain’s frown did not change, but he tapped his fingers on the table. “So you can find them?”

  “If I can,” said Caina. “If people are disappearing in Istarinmul, I would like to know why.”

  Tomazain looked at her, at Agabyzus, back at her, and shrugged. “All right. I suppose if you wanted to kill me, it would have been easier just to pour poison into the food. Appalling waste of bread, though.”

  “Which is why we didn’t do it,” said Caina.

  “All right,” said Tomazain. “If you want to know my story, here it is. I came here a few years ago with a mercenary company. We hired to guard some minor emir out in Istarish Cyrica. The emir and our captain got themselves killed fighting some Sarbian nomads, and so the rest of came to Istarinmul itself.” He shrugged. “It’s a good place for men in our line of work. The emirs and the merchants are all terrified of this Balarigar thief, and they’re hiring guards left and right. Of course, I doubt the Balarigar even exists. They’ve all whipped themselves up into a frenzy over nothing.”

  “Of course,” said Caina.

  “Anyway, three of my friends from the old company went into business together – Granicus, Ishazar, and Mardwyn,” said Tomazain. “Not a formal company, mind, but we found each other work, though I’d do special jobs for Agabyzus from time to time.” He finished off his cup of wine. “One night while I’d been doing one of those jobs for Agabyzus, my friends came back and told me about the Cistern, this tavern in the Alqaarin Quarter. They praised it to the skies. Said the wine was excellent, and that the whores were cheaper and more enthusiastic than anywhere else in Istarinmul.”

  “An unusual combination,” said Caina. “Why didn’t you partake yourself?”

  “I was busy,” said Tomazain, a flicker going over his face.

  That was probably true, but Caina thought it might have been something else. Likely guilt over his late wife, but she saw no reason to press him upon the point.

  “I see,” said Caina. “Please continue.”

  “I was out on a job for Agabyzus,” said Tomazain. “If you’re his employer, you probably know about it. I was supposed to meet Granicus, Ishazar, and Mardwyn the next morning to look for work, but they’ve vanished. All their weapons are still in their rooms, and they even left money behind.”

  “And last you’ve heard,” said Caina, “they went to the Cistern for the cheap drinks and enthusiastic whores.”

  “Aye,” said Tomazain. “I’ve asked around, but no one seems to have heard anything. Damnedest odd thing. I even checked at the Cistern, and the bouncers and the slaves claim no one has seen them.”

  “They claim?” said Caina. “You don’t believe them.”

  “No,” said Tomazain.

  “There have been rumors,” said Agabyzus from near the door, “of people disappearing from the Cistern before now.”

  Tomazain nodded. “Agabyzus is always interested in this kind of thing, so I figured I’d ask him.” He scratched his chin. “Didn’t think I’d get to meet the boss
herself.”

  “What kind of things interest Agabyzus?” said Caina, glancing at him with a smile.

  “Disappearances, rumors of corrupt emirs, that sort of business,” said Tomazain.

  “They also interest his employer,” said Caina. “Meet us at the Cistern in three hours. We’ll have a look around and see what we can discover.”

  Tomazain nodded, thanked Agabyzus for the meal, and left.

  “What do you think?” said Agabyzus.

  “He’s telling the truth,” said Caina. “As far as he knows, anyway.”

  “The disappearances could have been a personal vendetta,” said Agabyzus. “A dispute over a woman or a gambling debt.”

  “That would make sense for one mercenary, but for three at once?” said Caina. “People with vendettas that intense go after the mercenaries’ employers, not the mercenaries themselves. No, you were right. Something strange is going on at the Cistern, and I want to find out what it is.”

  “Then I shall see you,” said Agabyzus, “in three hours.”

  ###

  Because of the enormous price upon her head, Caina had established safe houses scattered throughout Istarinmul, rented rooms and houses and warehouses purchased under false names. She had stolen a great deal of money from the Brotherhood of Slavers, and she had put that money to work in her efforts to stop Callatas and his mysterious Apotheosis, buying supplies and weapons and hiring allies.

  Some of that money went towards obtaining disguises.

  After Agabyzus had left, Caina went to one of her safe houses in the Cyrican Quarter, a rented room on the third floor of a creaking old house that was starting to develop an alarming tilt. There she changed clothes, discarding her dress and headscarf for old trousers, dusty boots, a ragged shirt, leather armor reinforced with steel studs, and a brown cloak. A belt with a sheathed short sword and dagger went around her hips, and she concealed more daggers in her boots. Her black hair was about jaw-length now, and she raked it forward to hang in a greasy curtain on either side of her face. On her face she applied a careful dusting of makeup, giving her jaw and chin the illusion of stubble.