Authors: Jonathan Moeller
“Yes, forgive me, my son,” I said, blinking. “My mind wandered for a moment.” I would have worried that I was going senile, but I had so many fears of the future that I couldn’t help but think upon one or another.
“There is a courier at the kitchen door,” said Bahad. “He wishes to speak with you.”
“Have him leave his message,” I said, glancing at the crowds. “I will read it later.”
Bahad lowered his voice. “It’s Master Marius.”
I blinked, a mixture of fear and relief going through me. “Master Marius”, courier for the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers, was the false name and identity Caina had used when we had first met. My message had indeed reached her.
“I will see him at once,” I said. “Can you take over here?” Bahad nodded, and I hurried into the kitchen. A blast of heat washed over me as I stepped into the kitchens. My father, when he had built of the House of Agabyzus, has possessed the foresight to build multiple ovens, and all of them were in use as my cooks prepared cakes. Another counter ran the length of the wall, holding coffee presses, and other workers toiled there to prepare hot coffee.
I slipped out the back door and into the courtyard behind the House of Agabyzus. The courtyard was usually deserted and dusty, with a dry fountain in the center. I couldn’t remember the fountain ever having water flow through it.
Caina Amalas leaned against the back door, waiting for me.
She was a lovely young woman, black of hair and blue of eye, yet her powers of disguise were such that if I hadn’t known better, right now I would have sworn that she was a man. She wore the dusty leather armor and clothes of a courier, a satchel slung over her chest, a short sword and dagger at her belt. Some makeup made her look older and added the illusion of stubble, and her black hair hung in greasy curtains alongside her face. It was an excellent disguise, and if I never met her before, it would have fooled me completely.
It had fooled me, come to think of it, when we had first met.
A stray detail caught my attention. She wasn’t wearing a wig. She had been growing her hair out after the destruction of the Craven’s Tower in the Saddaic Quarter. In fact, she had seemed distracted ever since, almost as if…
Almost as if she was falling in love. It seemed out of character for someone like Caina Amalas, master thief and the Balarigar, but she told me that she had loved a man once before. Perhaps that occupied her thoughts. A woman like Caina Amalas needed a warrior, a strong right hand upon whom she could rely…
Once again I rebuked myself.
I was not yet forty, but maybe I was indeed going senile. Or maybe I was transforming into the sort of meddlesome old woman who tried to arrange marriages for every unmarried person she encountered.
“Thank you for coming,” I said.
“Well,” said Caina with a smile, “I haven’t had a cup of your coffee for a few weeks, and I needed to rectify that.”
“We shall do that at once,” I said, trying to find a way to articulate my fears. “I…would not have summoned you unless it was important, and…”
“Of course not,” said Caina. “You are worried, aren’t you? What’s wrong?”
“I think,” I said, “someone is planning to assassinate an emir in the House of Agabyzus.”
Caina said nothing, blinking a few times. To be honest, she had unsettling eyes. Blue eyes are uncommon but not exactly rare in Istarinmul, but hers were an oddly intense shade of blue that put me in mind of mountain ice, of implacable glaciers grinding down mountains.
“That is a problem,” said Caina. “Let’s have a look.”
We went into the kitchen. I offered to buy her a cup of coffee, but Caina insisted upon paying, and I didn’t argue. Both my father and my husband had been fond of saying that you shouldn’t interrupt someone who is giving you money, and I had found that to be sound advice.
I led Caina through the common room, her cup in hand, and we climbed to the top floor, to the rooms that Sankar had rented for Emir Turlagon. The floor was presently deserted, so I started to tell Caina the story.
“A man named Sankar stayed here for several days,” I said. “Before he left, he told me that his master the Emir Turlagon would be arriving in a few days and wished to rent rooms.” She gave me a sharp look at the name, but I kept talking. “He paid in advance, and left a peculiar metal box in the emir’s room. Sankar claimed that it held valuables, and that the emir would unlock the box and retrieve his property.”
“That is strange,” said Caina as we walked down the hall to the House’s best room.
“I agree,” I said.
“For one,” said Caina, “an emir would not leave his valuables in a coffee house. Certainly an emir’s servant wouldn’t leave his master’s valuables in a coffee house, not if he wanted to keep his position.” We stopped before the door, and I fished the keys from my belt pouch. “And there’s something worse.”
“What is it?” I said.
“Emir Turlagon is planning to travel south to join Tanzir Shahan and the rebels,” said Caina.
I almost dropped my keys.
“Oh,” I said at last. “That’s very bad, isn’t it?”
“Probably,” said Caina. “The Grand Wazir offended Turlagon in some way, and so Turlagon is planning to join the rebels out of spite.”
“Then all this,” I said, “is a way to have Turlagon assassinated under my roof.”
Caina nodded. “Most probably. I think we should see what’s in Master Sankar’s box.”
I opened the lock and swung open the door.
The room beyond was the finest one of the House of Agabyzus. It was nicer than my own room. It had a double bed and windows overlooking the dusty courtyard, which was far quieter than the Cyrican Bazaar on the other side of the building. A wooden wardrobe occupied one wall, along with a writing desk and a pair of chairs.
The iron box rested at the foot of the double bed.
Caina came to such an abrupt halt that I almost walked into her.
“What is it?” I said. She was staring at the metal box. “You’ve seen it before?”
“Not this box,” said Caina, “but I know what kind it is. It’s a Strigosti trapbox.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” I said. “The…Strigosti?”
“Strigost is a city-state west of Anshan,” said Caina. “Not far from Catekharon, come to think of it.” She frowned a little, as if she had a painful memory associated with Catekharon. “The Strigosti are masters of mechanics and machinery. No one else has their engineering skill, not even close, and everyone who has ever tried to besiege Strigost has been destroyed by their siege engines. The Strigosti don’t like visitors, but they do sell their trapboxes.”
“Trapbox? That is an ominous name,” I said. “I presume it has a trap?”
“Oh, yes,” said Caina. “Those slits? If you try to force the lid, or unlock the box without disarming the trap, those slits shoot out poisoned blades. The kind of poison the Strigosti use lasts for centuries, and even a scratch is lethal.”
“By the Living Flame,” I muttered. “And this thing is sitting in my best room?”
“I wonder where Turlagon got it,” said Caina, stepping forward and studying the box. “These things cost a small fortune. Or a large fortune, really. It might have taken all of Turlagon’s yearly income to buy it. I…”
She froze again, her eyes widening, and she extended a hand towards the box, holding it a few inches above the lid.
“What is it?” I said.
“I think,” said Caina, “I think there is an enspelled object in the box. Several enspelled objects, probably.”
“By the Living Flame,” I said again. Caina wasn’t a sorceress, but somehow she had the ability to sense sorcerous auras. Right now, I wasn’t curious about that. I was much more concerned about the lethal trapbox holding sorcerous relics in my best room. “Do…you know what kind of relics?”
Caina closed her eyes for a moment, her fingers twitching as if she was feeling something unseen. Maybe she was. “I think…”
Her eyes opened wide, and she took a quick step back.
“What?” I said.
“Hellfire,” Caina.
“What?” I said, my voice going up an octave.
“I think there is Hellfire in that box,” said Caina.
I stared at her, appalled. Everyone in Istarinmul knew of the Alchemists’ Hellfire. It burned with a terrible flame that neither water nor sand could quench. It was the reason that no army had ever taken Istarinmul’s walls, why no fleet had ever blockaded the harbors or forced its way through the Starfall Straits. Two fortresses of Istarinmul had been destroyed in the last two years, the Widow’s Tower and the Craven’s Tower, and both explosions had been caused by the fortresses’ arsenal of Hellfire. The destruction of the Inferno a few weeks past had likely been caused by the Hellfire stored within its armories.
Caina had been responsible, or at least partially responsible, for all three explosions. She would know Hellfire when she saw it. Or sensed it.
“Why is there a trapped box of Hellfire inside my best room?” I said.
“A very good question,” said Caina. “One I would like to ask Master Sankar, should we be able to locate him.” She considered the box. “I would like to have a look inside it.”
“Could you pick the lock?” I said.
“Maybe,” said Caina. She considered for another moment. “But probably not. I’ve opened Strigosti trapboxes before, but I nearly got killed in the process every single time.” She smiled a little. “A woman has to know her limitations.”
“So what should we do?” I said. “A trapped box full of Hellfire?” A disturbing thought occurred to me. “Maybe that is the trap. The emir opens the box and Hellfire sprays out the sides.”
“It’s possible,” said Caina. “The Strigosti usually use acid or poison gas in their traps, but maybe they built a trap with Hellfire. And that amount of Hellfire would almost certainly kill the emir and burn down the House of Agabyzus.” She thought for a moment. “Whatever happens, the emir cannot open the box in here.”
“I agree completely!” I said.
“But I need to look inside,” said Caina. “How long until Turlagon is supposed to arrive?”
“Two days,” I said.”
Caina nodded. “That should be enough. I can’t open the box, but I know someone who can. We’ll need to rent a cart to move the thing.”
Chapter 3: Mathematics
A short time later we left the House of Agabyzus, Caina driving a rented cart pulled by a pair of sullen-looking donkeys.
“I don’t see why I had to change clothes,” I said, tugging at my skirt. Every day for years I had worn the black dress and black headscarf of a widow. Now, at Caina’s insistence, I had changed to a blue dress and headscarf.
“Because,” said Caina with unruffled calm, “everyone in the Cyrican Quarter knows that Damla of the House of Agabyzus is a widow who always wears black.” She, too, had changed her clothes to the robe and turban of magistrate scribe, complete with a false beard. Just like her previous disguise, it was effective. “Everyone who sees us will think we are simply a scribe and his wife going about their business.”
I sighed. “I suppose you have a point.”
Caina grinned behind the fake beard. “At least this time you’re not wearing a skimpy costume while I throw knives at you.”
I shuddered. “Do not remind me of that.”
“You didn’t have to come, you know,” said Caina.
I shook my head. “It is my responsibility. The House of Agabyzus is my roof, and I will not have anyone murdered under my roof.”
Caina cursed under her breath. At first I thought she had taken umbrage at what I had said, but then she snapped the reins, trying to steer the surly donkeys.
“I understand that,” she said, once she had gotten the donkeys back on course. “The people in the circle are under my protection. I cannot allow any attacks upon them.”
I nodded. “And the House is my livelihood. I hope to leave it my sons. I will not understand burned down because of some stupid emir’s plot.”
“That part,” said Caina, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
I said nothing. I wasn’t certain, but I suspected that she could not bear children. When I talked about Bayram and Bahad with her, sometimes her eyes became less glacial, and she looked…wistful. I suspected that if she could have children, she would have left the life of the Ghosts behind long ago to live quietly with a family in some remote place.
Yet if she had, my sons and brother would have been killed. I would be dead myself. I knew that pointing out that fact would likely not comfort her.
“Thank you for helping me,” I said instead.
Caina grinned. I wondered how many of my thoughts she could guess. She had a knack for that kind of thing. “Like I said, you’re one of my circle. And…here we are.”
She brought the cart to a stop in front of a three-story house with whitewashed walls. We were on the street of the Cyrican Quarter’s metalworkers, and the air smelled of coal smoke. The house looked little different than the others lining the street, save for its door. It was a massive slab of reinforced steel, and it looked as if it could withstand a battering ram for weeks.
“We are seeing a locksmith?” I said.
“Yes,” said Caina, swinging down from the seat with fluid grace. I followed suit a little more carefully. “The best locksmith in Istarinmul.” She hesitated. “She and her husband are a little…odd.”
“Odd?” I said.
“She’ll probably calculate your height and weight at a glance,” said Caina, “and her husband is literally incapable of telling a lie. So he can be somewhat blunt.”
“Wait,” I said. “Are we talking about Nerina Strake?”
“Oh, you’ve met,” said Caina, walking to the door and knocking. “That’s good.”
“No,” I said. “But I’ve heard of her. Isn’t she a wraithblood addict?”
“Yes,” said Caina.
“And you trust her?” I said.
She hesitated for a moment. “We’ve…seen some things together.”
Before I could answer, the door opened, and a huge man appeared. He was Sarbian, with leathery, dusky skin and a graying black beard, and wore the sand-colored robe and turban favored by the nomads of the Sarbian deserts. The hilt of a huge two-handed scimitar rose over his shoulder, and his eyes were hard and flat. Yet he smiled a little when he saw Caina, and by the way he gripped the doorframe, I suspected that he had been wounded recently.