Ghost Thorns Read online

  Though if he really was planning to kill Rhazion, he might not want Magisterial Guards anywhere near his house.

  They circled the mansion, and Caina saw the carrion flower.

  The thing was huge, its closed bulb standing taller than Corvalis, its roots sinking deep into the earth. The flower stood in its own bed, enclosed in a low wall of white stone. The closed flower was a deep green, the edges of its petals dotted with spots of brilliant crimson. It did have an alien beauty, though Caina certainly would not want one of her own.

  And she smelled something strange from it.

  But not carrion. Something else…

  She lowered her mask just enough to expose her nose and sniffed the air a few times. “Do you smell that?” she whispered.

  “Aye,” Corvalis murmured into her ear, “and it is familiar, though I cannot place it.”

  Caina nodded, squatted by the ornamental wall, and sniffed the soil.

  She had spent all of her life in the cities of the Empire, but she had traveled through the countryside enough to know what a garden ought to smell like. The dirt below the carrion flower’s stem smelled of like something else.

  Like…

  “An apothecary’s shop,” said Caina, straightening up, and Corvalis nodded. “That’s exactly what it smells like. An apothecary’s shop.”

  “Why would Morius be pouring drugs into his carrion flower?” said Corvalis.

  “I don’t know,” said Caina. “I…”

  She heard a rustling sound, turned, and saw a dozen monkeys racing across the garden. For a moment Caina thought the animals were going to attack, that Morius had trained them as guards, but the animals disappeared into the bushes and trees.

  A moment later Caina heard a door swing open.

  She looked at Corvalis, and they hurried deeper into the garden, concealing themselves in the bushes.

  A moment later a tall, thin man in the black robe and purple sash of a master magus strode around the mansion, his boots clicking a flagstone path. He looked a great deal like Lord Marcus, which most likely made him Morius Orian. He strode past their hiding place, and headed toward the gate in the garden wall. Caina beckoned to Corvalis, and they moved behind the bushes, keeping to the shadows.

  Morius opened the gate, revealing a man in the ragged clothes of a mercenary guard standing in the street. The mercenary and Morius exchanged words, and Caina saw the flash of coins in Morius’s hand. The guard handed over a small cloth bag, and Morius took it with a scowl. The master magus closed the gate, strode to the front doors of his mansion, and disappeared inside.

  “I wonder,” said Corvalis, “what he just bought.”

  “Let’s find out,” said Caina.

  She took another glance at the mansion, but the windows remained dark, and there was no sign of Morius. Caina and Corvalis hurried across the garden, pulled themselves over the wall, and landed in the street. She spotted the caravan guard a dozen paces away, moving with an unconcerned stroll.

  They glided up behind the mercenary, who remained oblivious to their presence. The guard remained preoccupied with the pouch of money, and did not notice them until Corvalis clamped a gloved hand over his mouth and wrenched his arm. The caravan guard thrashed, trying to break free, but Corvalis held him fast.

  He wrestled the guard into the alley, and Caina stepped before him, a dagger in hand. The mercenary was unshaven and slightly drunk, and his bloodshot eyes widened at the sight of the blade.

  “Don’t scream,” said Caina, using the rasping, snarling voice Theodosia had taught her. Combined with the shadow-cloak, the mercenary would not see a short woman in her early twenties. Instead he saw a hooded shadow speaking with an inhuman voice, a gleaming blade in hand. “Cooperate with us, and you will live. And perhaps even depart a little richer.”

  Corvalis removed his hand, and the mercenary took a deep breath.

  “Who are you?” he said, his voice a croak.

  “Your name?” said Caina.

  “Kallus,” said the mercenary. “What…what do you want of me?”

  “That pouch you delivered to the master magus,” said Caina. “What did it contain?”

  “I…I don’t know…” said Kallus.

  Caina lifted her hands. In her right, she held the dagger. In the left, she held a pair of gold coins. “We can do this the pleasant way, or the unpleasant way. Decide now.”

  Kallus’s eyes fixed on the gold coins.

  “I don’t know, I swear,” said Kallus. “I’ll tell you whatever you want. But the bags I brought to the master magus were always sealed, and he said he wouldn’t pay me if the seals were broken. Not worth my while to indulge my curiosity, if you catch my meaning.”

  “How many bags did you bring to the master magus?” said Caina.

  “Thirty, all told,” said Kallus. “Once a night for the last month.”

  “Who gave them to you?” said Caina.

  Kallus licked his lips, his eyes focused on the gleam of the coins. “Don’t know his name. But I can tell you about him.”

  Caina rubbed the coins together. “Make sure I like what I hear.”

  “Fellow was an apothecary,” said Kallus. “Think he was from Anshan.” A memory started to click in the back of Caina’s mind. “Has a shop in the bad part of the docks, on the Street of Crates, near all the old warehouses. He hired me to bring the bags to the master magus’s house. For every delivery, I got two denarii.” That was twice the wage of a common laborer. Whatever was in those pouches, Morius clearly it was willing to pay for it. “That’s all I know. I don’t know what’s in the bags, or why the magus wants it. Figured it must be something bad, if they were so secretive about it.”

  “And yet,” said Caina, “you carried the bags anyway.”

  Kallus shrugged. “Wine doesn’t pay for itself.”

  “Indeed not,” said Caina. She slapped the golden coins into his hand, and Corvalis released him. “I suggest you get out of Malarae at once. The contents of those bags are likely to annoy some powerful people.”

  “Fine counsel, sir,” said Kallus, pocketing the coins. “I thank you for my life.”

  He sprinted from the alley and disappeared into the darkness.

  Corvalis snorted. “He’s not going to stop running until he gets to the Imperial Pale.”

  “Just as well,” said Caina.

  “I’m surprised you let him go,” said Corvalis. “He didn’t say anything useful.”

  “Not at all,” said Caina. “His apothecary friend. I know who he is.”

  ###

  No lights shone in the windows of the shop of the apothecary Halaam.

  “How do you know him?” said Corvalis.

  “It was five years ago,” said Caina. “When I was masquerading as Theodosia’s maid at the Grand Imperial Opera. One of the guards was poisoned. Our friend Halaam provided the poison.”

  “And you let him live?” said Corvalis.

  “I was young,” said Caina. The last time she had been here, the Kindred had kept watch over the shop, in case anyone came looking for the source of the poison. But the alleys around the shop were deserted. “And he promised not to do it again.”

  “We can rectify that,” said Corvalis.

  “It could be innocent, for all we know,” said Caina. “Medicine for chilblains or hemorrhoids. Or bad breath.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “Then,” said Corvalis, “let us visit Master Halaam.”

  Caina looked around again. She could not shake the memory of her last visit, of the Kindred assassins lying in wait for any visitors. But she saw no sign that anyone was watching them. The street and the surrounding shops were empty.

  Or any watchers had concealed themselves well.

  They circled to the alley behind the shop, and Caina scrutinized the back door.

  “Idiot,” she whispered, slipping a lock pick from her belt.

  Corvalis grunted, and she leaned
up to whisper in his ear.

  “He didn’t change the lock since the last time I was here,” she murmured.

  She felt his silent laughter.

  Caina picked the lock in short order, and pushed the door open. Inside was the shop’s storeroom, its shelves lined with jars and pots of dried herbs and plants. A set of narrow wooden stairs led from to the back room to the second floor, and she glided up them, taking care to keep the rickety steps from creaking. The stairs ended in a small room that smelled of moldering food and unwashed clothing. A narrow bed rested against the far wall, and in the bed lay a snoring Halaam, wearing only a pair of ragged trousers. He had gained a considerable amount of weight in the last five years.

  Evidently selling poisons was a robust business.

  Corvalis glanced at Caina, and she nodded. He stepped forward, rested a dagger at Halaam’s throat, and clapped a hand over his mouth. Caina leaned down and pinched Halaam’s nose shut.

  His eyes popped open a few seconds later, and he started to struggle.

  At least until Corvalis gave his throat a gentle tap with the dagger.

  “Good evening,” said Caina in her disguised voice. “Remember me, Halaam?”

  He flinched against the bed.

  “Ah, you do,” said Caina. “So I’m sure you’ll recall that when we last met, I told you that if you ever sold poisons again, I would kill you.”

  He began babbling into Corvalis’s hand, his eyes wide with panic.

  “But I am curious,” said Caina, “so I hope your explanation is a good one.”

  She glanced at Corvalis, and he stepped away from the bed, though his dagger remained ready.

  “I didn’t sell any poisons,” said Halaam in Caerish with a strong Anshani accent, “I swear by the Living Flame that I didn’t.”

  “Then why,” said Caina, “is there a courier taking a bag from your shop to the home of the master magus Morius Orian every day?”

  He swallowed and reached for the nightstand. Corvalis lifted his dagger, but Halaam only lit a candle. He held it up with a shaking hand, peering at them, but the candle only heightened the shadows in the room, their shadow-cloaks merging with the darkness.

  “Who are you?” whispered Halaam.

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” said Caina. “Why are you selling poisons to a master magus of the Magisterium?”

  “Because I didn’t have any choice!” shouted Halaam, the candle trembling in his hand. “And it’s not poison, anyway. Not unless he likes mushrooms.”

  Mushrooms?

  “Perhaps,” said Caina, “you ought to explain more.”

  “I am good at what, I do, yes?” said Halaam. He sighed. “But many people know it, and wish to make use of my skills. So they seek me out, and threaten me with death if I betray their secrets. But if I keep my mouth shut…”

  “They let you live,” said Caina, “because skilled apothecaries are uncommon. Yet still you evade my question. Your clients might threaten you with death if you speak…but your clients are not here now, are they?” She gestured at Corvalis’s dagger. “We are.”

  “I see,” said Halaam, swallowing. “It is a most persuasive argument.” He shrugged. “Well, why shouldn’t you know? I shall have to flee the city anyway. A month past a Speaker of the Kindred contacted me. He wished for me to provide poisons to a client. One does not refuse the Kindred and live, so of course I agreed. Since I did not wish to be seen delivering the poisons, I hired a courier…and I assumed you tracked him here.” He scratched at his unshaven chin. “But the curious thing…the poisons weren’t actually poison.”

  Caina blinked. “They weren’t?”

  “No. The Kindred wanted me to prepare extract of lionroot. This master magus insisted upon it, apparently. Lionroot is a flower that grows upon the great plains of Anshan. Bright yellow. Completely harmless. Sometimes the slaves use it to flavor their tea.”

  “So you sent an extract of lionroot to Morius Orian every day for a month?” said Caina.

  Halaam nodded. “Perhaps he wished to spice his tea.”

  “You know better,” said Caina.

  “Well,” said Halaam. He rubbed his face again. “There is one circumstance where lionroot extract can become a deadly poison.”

  “Go on,” said Caina.

  “Mushrooms,” said Halaam.

  “Mushrooms?” said Caina. “You mean if the extract is sprinkled over mushrooms?”

  “Poured,” said Halaam. “The extract is liquid. And, no. If you pour the lionroot extract into the earth in which the mushrooms grow, the mushrooms will pull it into themselves. Something about the extract turns the mushrooms poisonous.”

  A suspicion came to Caina. “Just how poisonous?”

  “Lethally poisonous,” said Halaam. “Ingesting one of the mushrooms causes the heart to rupture within moments. It used to be a popular method of assassination in Anshan, before the Bostaji killed anyone who attempted it.”

  “Poisoned mushrooms,” said Caina. That made sense, yet it seemed too obvious. If his guests died after eating his food, Morius would come under immediate suspicion for murder.

  That carrion flower. That was the key. He had lured the guests to see the flower bloom. But why the flower? Any pretext would have served…

  Caina remembered the strange smell from the flower’s roots.

  “Do you have any of the extract on hand?” said Caina.

  “A few vials left,” said Halaam.

  “I wish to smell one,” said Caina.

  “Why?” said Halaam. “It smells most unpleasant, I am afraid.”

  “No matter,” said Caina. “I wish to smell one.” She turned toward the stairs. “Go down to the shop and…”

  She froze. A dark shape stood at the bottom of the stairs, and she saw the glint of metal as the shape moved.

  A crossbow quarrel.

  “Back!” shouted Caina as Corvalis turned, and she grabbed him and jerked him back.

  An instant later a crossbow bolt shot up the stairs and slammed into the ceiling, quivering.

  Halaam shrieked and stumbled to his feet, eyes wide. “What? Why? Is that…”

  “Is that you, Halaam?” said a rough voice at the base of the stairs. Caina heard the click as the crossbow reloaded. “You have betrayed the Kindred, and you shall die.”

  “But…but how…” said Halaam.

  “That damned candle,” said Caina. Letting Halaam light it had been a mistake. Someone had been watching his window.

  “I told them nothing!” said Halaam. “At least, nothing they could not have learned from any apothecary! I…”

  “Silence!” said the assassin. “I heard every word, fool. And you are still under suspicion for the incident five years past. You have a gift for wagging your tongue for enemies of the Kindred! Those are Ghost agents with you, I am sure. They can die alongside you.”

  “No!” said Halaam. “Please, have mercy!”

  “You’re a fool, Kindred!” shouted Caina, cutting off Halaam’s pleas.

  Again Caina glimpsed the glint of steel as the assassin shifted aim. Anyone who went down the stairs would catch a crossbow bolt, and a crossbow quarrel to the torso at that range would be almost certainly be lethal.

  “And why is that?” said the assassin.

  “Because there are five of us and one of you,” said Caina.

  The assassin barked a harsh laugh. “Is that so? You lie boldly, Ghost. There are two of you, and the first one of you down the stairs will die. But while the Ghosts and the family of the Kindred are foes, this need not end in unnecessary bloodshed. Hand over Halaam, and we shall go our separate ways.”

  Halaam turned a pleading look in Caina’s direction.

  “Why don’t you tell me how you’ve planned to kill Septimus Rhazion?” said Caina.

  The assassin laughed again. “I have no idea. Orian merely contracted with us to provide the poison. What he does with it is his own affair. As is how the Kindred handle disloyalty. Now. Hand ove
r the traitor…”

  “Or what?” said Caina. “You’ll come up and get us? The first one to go down those stairs dies, but the same thing applies to the first man to come up.”

  “No,” said the assassin. “There are quite a few flammable substances in here. I’ll simply set the building on fire and wait for you to come out.”

  That would work.

  “Very well,” said Caina. “We’ll negotiate.”

  Halaam gaped at her.

  Caina leaned forward and put her lips against Corvalis’s cowl.

  “Stall,” she hissed.

  He nodded and stepped forward, keeping away from the stairs.

  “So!” Corvalis boomed. “If we give you the apothecary, what will you offer in return?”

  “Your lives,” said the assassin.

  Caina hurried across the room, climbed onto the bed, and pushed open the shutters of the window. She saw no trace of any other Kindred in the gloomy alley below.

  “And how do we know you won’t betray us?” bellowed Corvalis, glancing at Caina.

  “Simplicity itself,” said the assassin. “Send the traitor down the stairs. I shall shoot him, and go on my way before you catch me. Let the urban praetor and the civic militia puzzle over one dead rat of an apothecary. Certainly it is no concern of the Ghosts.”

  Caina swung out the window and hung by her fingertips from the sill, and then dropped into the alley. It was not a long drop, but she still made more noise than she liked. Fortunately, Corvalis was shouting, and had the assassin’s attention. Caina saw the Kindred standing just within the back door, wearing the clothes of a common laborer, a crossbow cradled in his arms.

  She glided up behind him, drawing the daggers from her boots.

  “Very well,” said the assassin. “Tie him up and push him down the stairs. Then I will…”

  His offer ended in a strangled gurgle as Caina buried one of her daggers in his back. The assassin stumbled forward, his crossbow going off. The bolt buried itself in the stairs, and the man started to turn. Caina seized his hair, yanked back his head, and ripped her remaining dagger across his throat. He went rigid, and she planted a boot into his back and shoved.