Read Online Ghost in the Cowl by Jonathan Moeller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Moeller
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shrug and led the way. They went to the third floor, and up a wooden ladder to the roof. It was flat, as were most of the rooftops in Istarinmul. A good fact to know – in a pinch, the rooftops might make for a convenient avenue of escape. In the distance she saw the spires of the Golden Palace and the crystal-topped white towers of the College of Alchemists, the palaces of the wealthy spread out around them.
“Ulvan’s palace,” said Caina. “Do you know where it is?”
Damla shrugged. “All men know where the slavers live.” She pointed at a part of the city south of the Golden Palace. “In the Masters’ Quarter. All the masters of the Brotherhood keep their palaces there.”
Caina nodded. “Have you heard of the Inn of the Crescent Moon?”
“Of course,” said Damla. “It is just across the Bazaar that way.” She pointed. “The cooks there make good bread, and sometimes I supply them with coffee beans.”
“Good,” said Caina.
“What does that have to do with my sons?” said Damla.
“Follow me,” said Caina. “And I am going to have to borrow some of your clothes.”
“What?” said Damla, bewildered.
But Caina was already moving, and Damla had no choice but to follow. She climbed back down the ladder, returned to Damla’s bedroom, and opened the wardrobe.
“You’re about my height,” said Caina, looking inside. “Your clothes should fit. Wider in hip and bust, but I’ll just look underfed. Oh, you’ll need to change, too.”
“Why?” said Damla, still bewildered.
“Because it is known that Damla of the House of Agabyzus is a widow,” said Caina, “and it would be helpful if no one recognizes you.”
“You are…going to wear my clothing,” said Damla.
“Well, I’ll need a disguise,” said Caina, taking off her coat.
Damla took a quick step back. “Is that what this is, Master Marius? You are forcing yourself upon a poor widow in her hour of trial. Villain! I…”
Caina pulled off her shirt and dropped it upon the floor, and Damla’s tirade stopped as her mouth fell open.
“You,” she said at last. “You are a woman.”
“Yes,” said Caina, using her normal voice as she selected a blue robe.
“Your voice just changed,” said Damla. “How…how did you do that? Are you a sorceress?”
“It’s just a stage trick,” said Caina. “I learned it from an opera singer a few years ago.”
Damla half-sat, half-fell on the edge of the bed. “You were a woman. The entire time.”
“Yes,” said Caina, discarding her boots and trousers and donning the blue robe, making sure to tug the loose sleeves over the throwing knives strapped to her forearms. “A useful disguise. A woman of my age can draw attention when she travels. Which is often an impediment to my business. So it’s easier to disguise myself as a man. No one pays attention to one more ragged courier.” She pulled a matching headscarf over the black stubble of her hair. It fit well, no doubt because she had cut off all of her hair.
Damla considered this in silence for a moment. Caina scrutinized herself in a cloudy mirror tucked into one of the wardrobe’s doors. She looked the part of an Istarish woman. A bit paler than most, true, but many Caers and Nighmarians had settled in Istarinmul over the centuries.
“A woman the entire time,” said Damla with a shake of her head. “Who are you? Really?”
Caina hesitated. “If I told you, it might put your life in danger. And the lives of your sons.”
“I know,” said Damla. “Agabyzus often answered questions the same way. You’re one of the Ghosts of the Emperor of Nighmar as my brother was, are you not?”
Caina said nothing for a moment, and then offered a single nod.
“Oh, the Living Flame preserve me,” said Damla, rubbing her face. “Agabyzus died for the Ghosts, you know. I don’t know how. He and some of his friends disappeared in the riots after the war.” She looked at Caina. “How did he die?”
“I
“Ulvan’s palace,” said Caina. “Do you know where it is?”
Damla shrugged. “All men know where the slavers live.” She pointed at a part of the city south of the Golden Palace. “In the Masters’ Quarter. All the masters of the Brotherhood keep their palaces there.”
Caina nodded. “Have you heard of the Inn of the Crescent Moon?”
“Of course,” said Damla. “It is just across the Bazaar that way.” She pointed. “The cooks there make good bread, and sometimes I supply them with coffee beans.”
“Good,” said Caina.
“What does that have to do with my sons?” said Damla.
“Follow me,” said Caina. “And I am going to have to borrow some of your clothes.”
“What?” said Damla, bewildered.
But Caina was already moving, and Damla had no choice but to follow. She climbed back down the ladder, returned to Damla’s bedroom, and opened the wardrobe.
“You’re about my height,” said Caina, looking inside. “Your clothes should fit. Wider in hip and bust, but I’ll just look underfed. Oh, you’ll need to change, too.”
“Why?” said Damla, still bewildered.
“Because it is known that Damla of the House of Agabyzus is a widow,” said Caina, “and it would be helpful if no one recognizes you.”
“You are…going to wear my clothing,” said Damla.
“Well, I’ll need a disguise,” said Caina, taking off her coat.
Damla took a quick step back. “Is that what this is, Master Marius? You are forcing yourself upon a poor widow in her hour of trial. Villain! I…”
Caina pulled off her shirt and dropped it upon the floor, and Damla’s tirade stopped as her mouth fell open.
“You,” she said at last. “You are a woman.”
“Yes,” said Caina, using her normal voice as she selected a blue robe.
“Your voice just changed,” said Damla. “How…how did you do that? Are you a sorceress?”
“It’s just a stage trick,” said Caina. “I learned it from an opera singer a few years ago.”
Damla half-sat, half-fell on the edge of the bed. “You were a woman. The entire time.”
“Yes,” said Caina, discarding her boots and trousers and donning the blue robe, making sure to tug the loose sleeves over the throwing knives strapped to her forearms. “A useful disguise. A woman of my age can draw attention when she travels. Which is often an impediment to my business. So it’s easier to disguise myself as a man. No one pays attention to one more ragged courier.” She pulled a matching headscarf over the black stubble of her hair. It fit well, no doubt because she had cut off all of her hair.
Damla considered this in silence for a moment. Caina scrutinized herself in a cloudy mirror tucked into one of the wardrobe’s doors. She looked the part of an Istarish woman. A bit paler than most, true, but many Caers and Nighmarians had settled in Istarinmul over the centuries.
“A woman the entire time,” said Damla with a shake of her head. “Who are you? Really?”
Caina hesitated. “If I told you, it might put your life in danger. And the lives of your sons.”
“I know,” said Damla. “Agabyzus often answered questions the same way. You’re one of the Ghosts of the Emperor of Nighmar as my brother was, are you not?”
Caina said nothing for a moment, and then offered a single nod.
“Oh, the Living Flame preserve me,” said Damla, rubbing her face. “Agabyzus died for the Ghosts, you know. I don’t know how. He and some of his friends disappeared in the riots after the war.” She looked at Caina. “How did he die?”
“I
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