Ghost Nails

GHOST NAILS

Jonathan Moeller

***

Caina Amalas is the Ghost circlemaster of Istarinmul,
the leader of the Emperor's spies in the city. Deadly danger stalks
her at every turn, and Caina needs all the allies she can find.

So when someone tries to murder a powerful magistrate
under the roof of one of her allies, Caina must act.

Because if she doesn't, the killer may come for her
next...

***

Ghost Nails

Copyright 2015 by Jonathan Moeller.

Smashwords Edition.

Cover image copyright Fernando Cortés |
Dreamstime.com

Ebook edition published January 2015.

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.

***

My name is Damla, daughter of Torzamus, sister of
Agabyzus, wife of Bahlar, and I have endured many losses.

My father owned the finest coffee house in the
Cyrican Quarter, once called the House of Torzamus. After he died,
the coffee house went to my eldest brother Agabyzus, and so became
the House of Agabyzus. I helped him to run the House and took over
most of the work, for Agabyzus had a secret. He was a member of the
Ghosts, the spies of the Emperor of Nighmar, and was the leader of
their circle in the city of Istarinmul. He never spoke of it, and I
never asked, though I would not learn the truth for several
years.

In time I met Bahlar and he courted me, and Agabyzus
consented to our marriage. I miscarried twice, alas, but in time I
had two sons, Bahad and Bayram, and they grew up strong and
healthy. Bahlar had a good head for the coffee business, and the
House of Agabyzus prospered. Those were good years, happy
years.

Then the war started.

Bahlar was conscripted into the Padishah’s army and
had to go to war, else the emir Rezir Shahan would have seized the
House of Agabyzus and sold me and our sons as slaves. My husband
fell in the great battle of Marsis, but Rezir Shahan, may the
Living Flame roast his black soul, was slain as well. Our
misfortunes continued when his brother Tanzir Shahan ended the war.
Riots erupted in Istarinmul, inflicting damage upon the coffee
house, and my brother Agabyzus was slain in the chaos.

I endured. I had no choice. I carried on, and with
the help of my sons, kept the House of Agabyzus running. I vowed
that I would make the House of Agabyzus a prosperous business, that
when I died I would leave the coffee house to my sons for their
livelihoods, that they would not have to become soldiers or
laborers or be sold as slaves.

Then fresh disaster struck.

Ulvan of the Slavers’ Brotherhood forged papers,
claiming that I owed him money, and he seized my sons as slaves to
pay the debt. I didn’t know what to do. I was desperate, and I
would have done anything, turned to anyone, to get my sons
back.

Instead, Caina helped me.

I did not know what to make of her at first. A
madwoman, probably, but she was willing to help me against Ulvan. I
thought she would get herself killed, or get me killed, and I wept
alone in the House of Agabyzus, certain I would never see my sons
again.

Instead, she saved Bahad and Bayram, freeing them
from Ulvan’s pens.

She ruined Ulvan, destroying his reputation, stealing
most of his fortune, and crippling him in the process.

And she found my brother. Agabyzus had been a
prisoner, and Caina snatched him from the Widow’s Tower before it
burned.

Later she told me that she was a Ghost of the Empire,
sent to rebuild the city’s Ghost circle, and I agreed to help her.
I suppose that makes me a traitor to the Most Divine Padishah, but
I do not care. The Most Divine Padishah and his magistrates sent my
husband to his death, and they did nothing to protect my sons from
Ulvan’s greed. I saw the scars the torturers of the Widow’s Tower
wrote upon Agabyzus’s flesh.

Caina helped me, and the Padishah did not.

Though serving as a Ghost has brought little change
to my life. Sometimes Caina sleeps in my guest rooms. Sometimes she
brings other people here to discuss business. Often she asks about
rumors or stories I have heard, for many merchants and factors take
their coffee at my tables, and they speak of many things. I pass
those rumors on to Caina…and sometimes a few days later a master
slaver is robbed, or a corrupt merchant experiences a sudden
downfall, or an Alchemist is banished from the city.

When that happens, I wonder at the dangerous turn my
life has taken. Caina is the most wanted woman in the city, and the
Grand Wazir and Grand Master of the College of Alchemists offer a
bounty of two million bezants for her, dead or alive. If the secret
police and the city watchmen knew that I had aided Caina, my family
and I would be arrested, tortured, and beheaded in public. If they
even suspected that she came here, they would burn the House of
Agabyzus to the ground.

But I keep her secrets. She aided me when no one else
would. Yet for the most part it affects my life but little. I spend
my days running the House of Agabyzus.

Sometimes, though, running a coffee house can become
dangerous.

###

It was the middle of the day, and merchants and
factors and couriers filled my tables and booths, taking their
lunches and drinking copious amounts of my coffee. I had just
emerged from the kitchen after leaving instructions for the cooks
to prepare a special meal. My maids hurried back and forth,
carrying out trays of food and coffee.

I took two more steps and then stopped in alarm.

Caina had just come through the door.

That was not a good sign. Not today.

I took a deep breath, offered up a quick prayer to
the Living Flame for strength, and hurried to her.

Caina is a lovely young woman, pale with black hair
and hard eyes the color of blue marble. If she wanted, I suspected,
she would have little trouble capturing the eye of any man she
chose. Though at the moment she was disguised as a man, dressed in
the bright robes and turban of a Cyrican merchant, a sword and a
dagger at her belt. Makeup gave her the illusion of beard stubble,
made her eyelids seem heavier and her face more lined. She had a
knack for the art of disguise. Had I not know any better, I would
have thought I was looking at a Cyrican man come to trade in the
Padishah’s capital.

“Mistress Damla,” she said. She even sounded like a
man when she wanted, speaking Istarish with a Cyrican accent. “This
is the House of Agabyzus, yes?”

“It is, sir,” I said. “Please, come this way and be
seated.” I touched her arm and guided her towards one of the booths
and lowered my voice. “Is something amiss? Please tell me that
nothing is amiss.”

She smiled and spoke in her normal voice, cool and
calm. “Not yet. I can make trouble, if you wish.” She shrugged. “I
have some business in the Tower Quarter tonight, but nothing I must
do until then. So I thought I would sit with a cup of coffee and
listen to rumors for a few hours.”

“Oh, good,” I said.

Caina glanced around. “Something wrong?”

“Not yet,” I said. “The Hakim of the Cyrican Bazaar
is visiting today.”

She frowned. “You mean Korim Murasku?”

It did not surprise me that she knew the name of the
Hakim of the Cyrican Bazaar. Was it not the business of a spy to
know things? “Aye. He is coming today for a visit, to make his
presence known.”

“And to receive,” said Caina, lowering her voice
further, “his yearly bribe?”

“That too,” I said with a sigh.

The Hakim of the Cyrican Bazaar reported to the Wazir
of the Treasury, and it was the Hakim’s responsibility to oversee
the Bazaar, to grant licenses to merchants and traders, to
adjudicate disputes between merchants, and to judge any non-capital
crimes that took place in the Bazaar. In practice, that meant I
paid a yearly bribe to the Hakim to be left alone. Generally, the
merchants of the Bazaar did as they wished, so long as they paid
their bribes, paid their official taxes, paid their debts, and did
not make trouble.

“So I see,” said Caina, “why you want things as quiet
as possible for his visit.”

“I am glad that you understand,” I said. “I shall
have the maids bring you some coffee. The usual?”

“You are as gracious as you are wise, mistress
Damla,” said Caina, handing me some coins.

“I cannot take your money,” I said.

She smiled and thrust the coins into my palm. We had
this argument every time. She had saved my sons and my brother, had
likely kept me from doing something foolish that would have gotten
me killed. I owed her everything, and she could have eaten here for
free for the rest of her days. Nonetheless, I was grateful. The
Living Flame knew that I needed the money. I was not poor, and
certainly I had more money than most of the citizens of Istarinmul.
Yet wealth could turn to poverty in an instant, and good fortune
could crumble to ashes in but a moment.

The death of my husband and the near loss of my sons
had proven that.

I bade one of my maids to fetch coffee for Caina, and
then my eyes turned to the windows. “Ah. He is here.”

“Good luck,” said Caina.

I smiled at her, took a deep breath to compose
myself, and started towards the door.

It opened before I arrived, and a slave clad in a
fine gray robe strode inside, a silver collar around his neck. A
portable writing desk hung from a strap across his shoulders. After
him came two watchmen, armored in leather and armed with short
swords and cudgels.

Korim Murasku, noble of Istarinmul and Hakim of the
Cyrican Bazaar, came after him.

He was an enormous man, at least three times my
weight, and his ornamented robes made him look rather like an
ambulatory golden ball. In his right hand he carried his ceremonial
rod of office, and in his left hand he leaned upon a heavy cane. A
bushy black beard failed to mask his triple chin, and his
bronze-colored skin gleamed with sweat, a steady wheeze coming from
his lips. If the Hakim did not start taking better care of himself,
in a few more years he would not be able to walk at all.

I bowed deeply and kissed his rod of office. “My lord
Hakim. You honor my humble establishment with your presence.”

“Mistress Damla,” he said, his voice a watery rumble.
“You look lovelier every time I see you.” Thankfully, he had never
tried to seduce me, most likely because his vices lay in the
direction of gluttony and avarice, not lechery. “You are still
wearing widow’s black. You remain unwed, yes?”

“I fear so, my lord,” I said. “Alas, I am an old
widow, and no men turn their eyes in my direction.”

Korim rumbled a laugh. “And you wish for your sons to
receive their inheritance, yes?”

“I can conceal nothing from your insight, my lord,” I
said.

“See that you do not forget it,” said Korim, half in
jest, half in earnest. I lifted the leather pouch containing my
yearly bribe, and at once Korim’s scribe collected it. “I should
like to sample your wares, mistress Damla. I cannot have anyone
selling shoddy merchandise in the Cyrican Bazaar.”

“I should think not, my lord,” I said. “This way, if
you please.”

I led Korim and his party across the floor to the
booth I had reserved for him. It was my largest booth, one that
would allow the Hakim to slide his bulk behind its table without
undue difficulty. Caina sat cross-legged upon one of the low
cushions nearby, sipping coffee and watching Korim over her cup.
The Hakim took no notice of her and heaved himself into the booth
with a sigh.

I clapped my hands twice, and one of my maids, a
young Istarish woman named Ismala, came forth from the kitchen,
holding the tray that we had prepared. It held a large cup of
coffee and a double-sized cake, spiced with cinnamon and glazed
with sugar. Korim’s eyes positively lit up when he saw it. I
suppose I could have dispensed with the bribe and simply sent him
cakes every week.

I smiled and stepped to the side to let Ismala past,
and I saw Caina look from the cake to Korim and back again, her
eyes narrowing. I looked at the cake myself. It seemed perfectly
fine to me, the sugary glaze glittering in the sunlight coming
through the windows.

Caina stood up, took a quick step forward, and went
right into Ismala’s path.

“Wait,” I said. “You’re…”

They both went down in a tangled heap, the cake
bouncing away, coffee spilling across the floor. Ismala let out a
surprised squawk. Caina rolled to her side and went to one knee,
looking around.