Ghost Nails (2 page)

“What is this, then?” said Korim, scowling. “Are all
your maids so clumsy, Damla?”

Ismala looked at me in dismay. “Forgive me, mistress.
I was clumsy, I…”

“No,” said Caina in her disguised voice, rising to
her feet. She offered a deep bow to Korim. “Forgive me, my lord
Hakim. I did not look before I rose, and I tripped the maid. The
fault is entirely mine. Permit me to purchase you coffee and
refreshments in atonement for my clumsiness.”

Korim let out a displeased rumble. “Well, yes. But be
quick about it.”

Caina bowed again and straightened up, and I saw her
holding the cake in one hand. I felt a flush of anger, but it soon
turned to confusion. What was she doing? I had never seen her do
anything clumsy, and she had been watching Ismala. Which meant that
she had tripped the maid on purpose. But why?

“Come, mistress Damla,” said Caina, stepping towards
me. “Let me purchase new food for the honorable Hakim.”

Her face was grave behind the makeup.

“Yes, of course, at once,” I said, and headed for the
kitchen.

“Wait,” hissed Caina, once we were out of earshot.
“Don’t go into the kitchen. Not yet.”

“Why did you do that?” I said. “I cannot afford to
offend Korim.”

“Look at the cake,” said Caina.

“It is a cake. I see nothing unusual about it.”

“It is not,” said Caina, “supposed to have shiny
spots in the glaze, is it?”

I started to answer, and then frowned. Small specks
of the glaze did look shinier than the others, as if lumps had
formed within the sugar. They looked almost metallic…

A cold feeling settled into my belly.

“Look,” said Caina, and she tore the cake in
half.

The cold feeling got worse.

Someone had filled the interior of the cake with
dozens of small nails.

“If he had taken a bite of that,” said Caina, “at
best it would have ripped open his tongue or cheek and he would
have been furious. At worst he would have swallowed, torn a blood
vessel in his throat, and bled to death right here in the coffee
house.”

“The Living Flame preserve us,” I whispered, a tremor
going through my legs. “A magistrate of the Padishah murdered under
my roof? The House of Agabyzus would have been ruined. I would have
been arrested for murder. I…” I looked her in the eye. “Once more
you have saved us from disaster.”

“The problem isn’t over yet,” said Caina, her voice
grim. “Did you do this? Did you want to murder Korim?”

“Of course not!” I said.

“Because if you wanted him dead,” she said, “there
are much better ways to go about it.”

A different kind of chill went through me. I knew
that she was not joking. Most of the city thought that the
Balarigar, the master thief who had terrorized the Brotherhood of
Slavers and destroyed the Widow’s Tower, was a man. I knew better.
I also knew that a woman who could rob a score of master slavers
and escape alive was also the sort of woman who could arrange for
the death of a Hakim.

“No,” I said. “Korim is not precisely a friend,
but…he has never caused me trouble. When Ulvan’s men kidnapped my
sons, he even took up the matter with the Wazir of the Treasury,
and obtained some money to repair my damaged furniture.”

“Really?” said Caina. “I didn’t know that. So he’s
not a friend, but…when you bribe him, he stays bribed.”

“Basically, yes,” I said.

“That is more integrity than most of the magistrates
of this city,” said Caina. “So who wants him dead?” She blinked.
“No, no, too many possibilities. We need to narrow it down. This
cake. Who made it?”

“Novaya,” I said. “My new pastry cook. She took over
after Kalgri disappeared.”

For some reason a twitch went over Caina’s face at
the mention of Kalgri. “Did she make it last night, or fresh this
morning?”

I blinked. “I could not serve the Hakim stale cake!
He would be offended. It was made fresh…”

“Then whoever put the nails in the cake,” said Caina,
“is still here. We must move quickly.”

***

We walked into the kitchens. When my father had built
his coffee house, he had possessed the foresight to build an ample
kitchen, with room for expansion as the House’s business had grown.
Rows of coffee presses stood upon counters and ovens lined the
walls, and a half-dozen of my maids worked here, preparing coffees
and baking cakes and flatbread.

They were all free workers. Once they had been
slaves. I had owned slaves, as Agabyzus had, as my father had
before me. Most Istarish men and women of even modest means owned
slaves and thought nothing of it. After what had happened to my
sons, I could not look at a slave without remembering the sickening
dread that I had felt.

I had freed all my slaves as soon as I could afford
to do so. Some went their own way. Most chose to keep working for
me. I had been surprised by that, but it made sense. Working in the
House of Agabyzus was better than toiling in the fields or the
workshops or in a brothel.

I pushed away the thought and looked for Novaya.

She stood at the counter near the ovens, humming to
herself as she mixed a bowl of batter. She was a Szaldic woman in
her middle twenties with long dark hair and blue eyes, short and
plump but nonetheless pretty. I suspected she would find herself a
husband soon. In fact, I had seen her talking to a man a few times
recently.

“Mistress Damla,” she said with a smile, her Istarish
colored with a thick Szaldic accent. “All is well, yes? The Hakim,
he likes his cake?”

There was not a trace of alarm in her face.

“He hasn’t had a chance to try it yet,” said
Caina.

Novaya blinked and looked at Caina. “Mistress, who is
this?”

I hesitated, and then realized that Novaya would not
recognize Caina’s current disguise.

Caina offered Novaya a courtly bow. “Kyrazid Tomurzu,
factor to the lords of Imperial Cyrica. I happened to look at your
cake when Mistress Damla served it to the Hakim. There is a problem
with it.”

Novaya scowled, but Caina lifted the broken halves of
the cake. The nails glinted in the fiery light coming from the
ovens. Novaya looked at Caina with puzzlement.

“Why did you put nails in it?” she said. “You ruined
a perfectly good cake.”

“The nails were already in the cake, Novaya,” said
Caina.

Novaya frowned, and I saw the dawning realization
come over her face, followed shortly by fear and horror.

“I don’t…I don’t know how those got there,” she said.
“I didn’t put them there, I swear I didn’t. Oh, by the Living
Flame. Does the Hakim think I tried to murder him? I didn’t, I
swear I didn’t…”

“He doesn’t know,” I said. “Master Kyrazid spotted
the nails and stopped the Hakim from eating the cake, thank the
Living Flame. We are the only ones who know about it.”

“I didn’t do it,” said Novaya. “I didn’t…will you put
me out, mistress Damla? What shall I do?” She shuddered. “I have
nowhere else to go. I shall have to whore for my bread. I…I…”

Her face crumpled, and she started crying.

I glanced at Caina, and she shook her head. She
didn’t think that Novaya had done it. Of course, it was possible
Novaya was a very good actress. Caina was, certainly. A few of the
other maids and cooks glanced at Novaya, but no one seemed alarmed.
While working in the House of Agabyzus was more pleasant than
toiling in a field, dealing with the public was often vexing, and
sometimes the maids retreated to the kitchens for a good cry. I
have no daughters, but nonetheless I have acquired a great deal of
practice calming down weeping young women.

“Novaya, Novaya,” I said, taking her shoulders, “you
do not understand. I do not believe you did this awful thing.”

She sniffled, her eyes already bloodshot. “You do
not?”

“Of course you did not do it,” I said. I glanced at
Caina again, saw her gave a faint nod. “But I must talk to you,
yes? Someone tried to murder a magistrate under our roof, and it is
only by the mercy of the Living Flame and the keen eye of Master
Kyrazid that the Hakim is still alive. If Korim was killed here, I
would be arrested, the House of Agabyzus closed, and all the cooks
and maids would be out on the street. So we need to figure out who
did this and find proof before we go to the magistrates.”

Yet I suspected that if we did find out who had tried
to kill Korim, the would-be murderer would never make it to the
magistrates. Caina would see to it that he disappeared quietly.
Five years ago that would have horrified me. But five years ago my
husband had been alive, and no one had ever tried to enslave my
sons. Five years ago, I think, I had been a better woman. Now I
would do what was necessary to protect my sons without
hesitation.

Besides, someone had tried to murder a guest under my
roof. I would hardly mourn the death of such a man. As difficult as
my work was, I enjoyed giving food and drink to the hungry and the
thirsty. I thought it despicable that someone would corrupt that
and turn it into a weapon. The poisoner is the most reviled of all
men.

“Yes, yes, you’re right,” said Novaya, wiping at her
nose. “But…but I don’t know who could have done this.”

“When did you make the cake?” said Caina.

“This morning, sir,” said Novaya. “I arrived before
dawn, as I usually do, and started work upon the tarts and the
biscuits. I knew the Hakim was coming, so I mixed the batter for
his cake early. Then I finished the tarts, poured the cake into the
pan, and…”

“After you poured the cake into the pan,” said Caina,
“how much of a pause was there? Did you do something else and come
back, or did you put the cake into the oven immediately?” I saw her
reasoning. The nails had been baked into the cake. Whoever put them
in the batter would have done so before the cake went into the
oven.

“Immediately,” said Novaya. “I didn’t want it to dry
out. No, wait. I…ah, well…”

“What happened?” I said.

“Before I put the cake into the oven,” said Novaya,
“I talked to a…a man.”

“A suitor?” I said. “I’ve seen you with a man
recently.”

“He’s only been seeing me for a few weeks,” said
Novaya. “His name is Kamal. He is a carpenter’s journeyman, works
for Master Hagal in the Cyrican Quarter.”

A carpenter. Those small nails had been the sort of a
carpenter might use to construct a set of shelves.

“He stopped by to see you, then?” said Caina. “How
long did you talk?”

“A few minutes,” said Novaya. “Then he left for
Master Hagal’s workshop.”

“Did anyone disturb the batter while you spoke with
him?” said Caina.

“I don’t think so,” said Novaya with a shrug. “I
didn’t notice anything wrong with the batter, I mean.”

“Thank you,” said Caina. “One last question. Where
does Kamal live?”

Novaya frowned. “He didn’t do this! He’s a good
man!”

“I don’t think he did it,” said Caina, “but I think
someone used him as a distraction to slip the nails into the batter
while you were not looking. I would like to ask Kamal if he saw
anything unusual.”

“Oh,” said Novaya. “He lives on the third floor of a
boardinghouse, behind the Street of Carpenters.” Her cheeks turned
red. “Not that…not that I’ve ever been there alone, of course. That
would be improper.”

“Of course,” I agreed. “Thank you, Novaya. Start
making a new cake for the Hakim at once. I must go and make my
apologies to him.” I looked around. “Send him that tray of tarts
and some coffee with sugar and a double portion of cream. That will
mollify him until the new cake is ready.”

“Can one man truly eat so much, mistress?” said
Novaya, incredulous.

“I think the Hakim would consider that an appetizer,”
said Caina. “Thank you, Novaya.”

I followed Caina to the corner, where we could speak
in relative quiet.

“What do you think?” I said.

“It has to be Kamal,” said Caina. “It’s the only
thing that makes sense. Or at least it’s a place to start
looking.”

“Who would want to kill Korim?” I said.

She shrugged. “Who wouldn’t? He’s a magistrate of the
Padishah’s government, and they are not universally beloved. But
why nails?”

“It would kill him in a painful fashion,” I said.

“It might kill him in a painful fashion,” said Caina,
“but it might not have killed him at all. He might have noticed
something was wrong on the first bite. All he has then is a bloody
mouth. If his enemies wanted to kill him with a cake, there are
better ways to do it. Ground glass mixed with the batter. An
allergen in the frosting. Any number of poisons.” She knew a
disturbing number of ways to kill people with food. “Perhaps it was
to send a message.”

“With nails?” I said.

“Or maybe the point wasn’t to kill Korim but to ruin
your reputation,” said Caina. “Do you have any enemies that might
want to do this?”

I shrugged. “I do not believe so. Ulvan, perhaps. But
I doubt he even remembers me.”

Her smile had a hard edge. “Ulvan has bigger problems
at the moment.”

“I suppose someone could want the building or the
land,” I said, “but I have heard no rumors.”

“Kamal is our only lead,” said Caina. She stared into
space for a moment. “I will have a look around his rooms, and tell
you what I find.”

“I should come with you,” I said.

She blinked. “Really? Why?”

“Because it is my coffee house that is under attack,”
I said. “My livelihood and my sons’ inheritance, to say nothing of
the livelihood of my workers. I must do something. And I have
helped you with this sort of thing before.”

“True,” said Caina, “though as I recall, you spent
most of the time complaining.”

“You did make me wear that ridiculous costume,” I
said.

“We were disguised as circus performers.”

“They showed far, far too much skin.”