Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) by Jonathan Moeller Page B

the merchants filling the Bazaar catered to travelers, selling boots and bread and weapons for prices three times higher than could be found in the rest of the city. Foreigners, mostly Anshani and Alqaarin, with a sprinkling of Sarbians and Cyricans, moved through the stalls, buying and selling. On one side of the Bazaar rose the wooden framework and stacked bricks of a half-constructed building. Once the spot had been occupied by the Shahenshah’s Seat, an inn and tavern favored by the caravan guards and the teamsters coming up the Great Southern Road. Then it had burned down when an ifrit had attacked the inn.
    Caina felt bad about that, since the Sifter had been coming to kill her. So she had arranged through a variety of intermediaries to fund the owner’s efforts to rebuild, and the Shahenshah’s Seat would arise anew. That also let her slip a reasonable bribe to the builders. When the Shahenshah’s Seat was finished, it would have a few concealed rooms within its walls. 
    A Ghost circlemaster could never have too many safe houses.
    She spotted Kylon standing near a booth, wearing clothes similar to hers. Granted, he was taller and much more muscular than she was, so he made for a more formidable caravan guard. He looked at the knives on display in the booth, shook his head in disgust, and walked away.
    “Something wrong?” said Caina. 
    Kylon frowned, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her, and then he smiled. 
    “I didn’t recognize you,” he said. “You’re good at that.”
    “Practice,” said Caina. “Was something wrong?”
    He laughed. “No. Just that the scoundrel in the booth wanted to sell me a knife for three times what is was worth.”
    “Gouging travelers is an ancient tradition,” said Caina. They walked through the aisles of booths, the knife merchant shouting at Kylon as they passed. “And you’re obviously Kyracian, so you must be a wealthy merchant with a fleet of ships and a warehouse full gold. Surely you can afford to buy the poor man’s inferior and overpriced knife.” 
    Kylon shook his head. “When I was High Seat of House Kardamnos, I would not have permitted my seneschals to buy such inferior knives.”  
    He fell silent, looking over the crowds.
    “Is it hard?” said Caina. 
    Kylon blinked. “I’m sorry?” 
    “You had so much,” said Caina. “Lands and titles and offices and money. Now you are practically a vagabond in a foreign city.”
    Kylon snorted. “It’s not as if I am begging for my bread. Winning gladiatorial contests was quite lucrative.” He let out a breath and shook his head. “I…never really considered the matter. I was never comfortable as High Seat. I was happiest on a ship, away from the city.” He looked at her. “What about you? You had the House of Kularus, a life in Malarae. You lost it all, too.”
    “I did,” said Caina. “But…the money didn’t mean anything. Neither did the House of Kularus, in the end.”
    “The people,” said Kylon, his voice soft.
    “Aye,” said Caina.
    They walked in silence for a moment. 
    Kylon laughed a little.
    “What?” said Caina.
    “It was just as well Morgant isn’t here,” said Kylon. “I was just imagining his comments.”
    “He has a way with words,” said Caina. 
    Kylon opened his mouth to say something else, and then fell quiet. They had nearly reached the half-rebuilt Shahenshah’s Seat, and two figures in sand-colored robes walked towards them. One was a towering giant of a man, scarred and grim-faced, the hilt of a two-handed scimitar rising over his shoulder. The second was much shorter and carried a crossbow slung over one shoulder and a leather bag of tools. 
    “Azaces and Nerina,” said Kylon.
    “Ah, Ciara,” said Nerina as they approached. “I am pleased to see you. We are nine minutes early, so I am glad we did not miss you.”
    “It never hurts to be early,” said Caina. Nerina never looked particularly healthy, but she looked worse than usual, her eerie