Read Online Ghost in the Maze by Jonathan Moeller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Moeller
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houses of Istarinmul. A clever woman could listen to their conversations and learn many things.
Caina had done just that in Malarae, masquerading as Sonya Tornesti, the frivolous, empty-headed mistress of coffee merchant Anton Kularus. But she could not do that in Istarinmul. Disguising herself as a man was the best way to move unnoticed through the city. Only two people in all Istarinmul knew that she was a woman.
One of them hurried towards Caina now, a smile on her face.
Damla was in her middle thirties. Istarish women preferred bright colors, but Damla wore widow’s black. She was still in mourning for her husband, dead three years past during Rezir Shahan’s attack upon Marsis. Caina knew the feeling.
“Master Marius, welcome,” said Damla, her smile widening. “It is good to see you under my roof once again.”
“And I am glad to be here,” said Caina.
“You will always be welcome in the House of Agabyzus,” said Damla. She glanced to the door near the dais, and her two sons, Bayram and Bahad, emerged from the kitchen carrying trays of food. Bayram was seventeen, stern and dour, while Bahad was twelve with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You will be welcome here for the rest of your days, Master Marius.”
There was a faint catch in her voice as she said it. Her sons had been kidnapped by the Master Slaver Ulvan, who intended to sell them to Callatas to make wraithblood. But Bayram and Bahad had been freed, along with all the other captives, and Ulvan had been humiliated and impoverished.
Caina had seen to that.
“And I am grateful for your welcome, and all your hospitality,” said Caina.
“You are too kind,” said Damla.
“No, I’m really not,” said Caina.
And she meant it. When Caina had first set foot in Damla’s coffee house, she had been half-crazed with grief from the deaths of Halfdan and Corvalis, and had almost drank herself to death the first night. The abduction of Bayram and Bahad had shocked Caina out of her grief and apathy, had spurred her to action. That had set Caina on the road to discovering Callatas’s crimes and the Apotheosis. It had saved Caina’s life. Had her mind remained in that dark state, she might have done something foolish, might have destroyed herself or thrown her life away in some reckless gamble.
So now, she thought with a twist of amusement, she could throw her life away trying to find the truth of Callatas’s Apotheosis.
“Thank you,” said Damla. “We had heard there was an…uproar in the Emirs’ Quarter last night. A riot, perhaps.”
“I’m sure I know nothing about that,” said Caina.
Damla almost managed not to smile. “I’m sure. You will want to talk to him?”
“If it can be arranged,” said Caina.
“Easily,” said Damla. “He is here now. This way.”
She led Caina across the floor to a booth in the corner. A gaunt Istarish man sat there, clad in a tan robe and turban, his face encircled in a trimmed gray beard. Despite the steaming cup of coffee before him, he looked tired, weary, and his dark eyes never stopped sweeping the room.
Unsurprising, given that Agabyzus had spent over a year in a cell of the Widow’s Tower, suffering every torture Ricimer’s men could inflict upon him. The six weeks since Caina had rescued him had made him stronger and healthier, but the mark of his ordeal would never quite leave him. Some scars never healed entirely.
Caina knew that well.
“Ah,” said Agabyzus. “You’ve returned.”
“A guest to see you, sir,” said Damla, smiling down at her older brother.
“Thank you,” said Agabyzus. “If you could bring some more coffee and a few cakes, that would be marvelous.”
“Certainly,” said Damla. “We shall fatten you up yet.”
She walked back toward the kitchen, black skirts whispering around her ankles, and Caina sat across from Agabyzus. He had once been the Ghost circlemaster of Istarinmul, until he had started investigating Callatas and the
Caina had done just that in Malarae, masquerading as Sonya Tornesti, the frivolous, empty-headed mistress of coffee merchant Anton Kularus. But she could not do that in Istarinmul. Disguising herself as a man was the best way to move unnoticed through the city. Only two people in all Istarinmul knew that she was a woman.
One of them hurried towards Caina now, a smile on her face.
Damla was in her middle thirties. Istarish women preferred bright colors, but Damla wore widow’s black. She was still in mourning for her husband, dead three years past during Rezir Shahan’s attack upon Marsis. Caina knew the feeling.
“Master Marius, welcome,” said Damla, her smile widening. “It is good to see you under my roof once again.”
“And I am glad to be here,” said Caina.
“You will always be welcome in the House of Agabyzus,” said Damla. She glanced to the door near the dais, and her two sons, Bayram and Bahad, emerged from the kitchen carrying trays of food. Bayram was seventeen, stern and dour, while Bahad was twelve with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You will be welcome here for the rest of your days, Master Marius.”
There was a faint catch in her voice as she said it. Her sons had been kidnapped by the Master Slaver Ulvan, who intended to sell them to Callatas to make wraithblood. But Bayram and Bahad had been freed, along with all the other captives, and Ulvan had been humiliated and impoverished.
Caina had seen to that.
“And I am grateful for your welcome, and all your hospitality,” said Caina.
“You are too kind,” said Damla.
“No, I’m really not,” said Caina.
And she meant it. When Caina had first set foot in Damla’s coffee house, she had been half-crazed with grief from the deaths of Halfdan and Corvalis, and had almost drank herself to death the first night. The abduction of Bayram and Bahad had shocked Caina out of her grief and apathy, had spurred her to action. That had set Caina on the road to discovering Callatas’s crimes and the Apotheosis. It had saved Caina’s life. Had her mind remained in that dark state, she might have done something foolish, might have destroyed herself or thrown her life away in some reckless gamble.
So now, she thought with a twist of amusement, she could throw her life away trying to find the truth of Callatas’s Apotheosis.
“Thank you,” said Damla. “We had heard there was an…uproar in the Emirs’ Quarter last night. A riot, perhaps.”
“I’m sure I know nothing about that,” said Caina.
Damla almost managed not to smile. “I’m sure. You will want to talk to him?”
“If it can be arranged,” said Caina.
“Easily,” said Damla. “He is here now. This way.”
She led Caina across the floor to a booth in the corner. A gaunt Istarish man sat there, clad in a tan robe and turban, his face encircled in a trimmed gray beard. Despite the steaming cup of coffee before him, he looked tired, weary, and his dark eyes never stopped sweeping the room.
Unsurprising, given that Agabyzus had spent over a year in a cell of the Widow’s Tower, suffering every torture Ricimer’s men could inflict upon him. The six weeks since Caina had rescued him had made him stronger and healthier, but the mark of his ordeal would never quite leave him. Some scars never healed entirely.
Caina knew that well.
“Ah,” said Agabyzus. “You’ve returned.”
“A guest to see you, sir,” said Damla, smiling down at her older brother.
“Thank you,” said Agabyzus. “If you could bring some more coffee and a few cakes, that would be marvelous.”
“Certainly,” said Damla. “We shall fatten you up yet.”
She walked back toward the kitchen, black skirts whispering around her ankles, and Caina sat across from Agabyzus. He had once been the Ghost circlemaster of Istarinmul, until he had started investigating Callatas and the
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