Ghost Mimic by Jonathan Moeller Page A

land.
    Still, if Caina was right about what Grand Master Callatas planned to do, then perhaps no land would be safe…
    “Mother?” 
    I blinked and looked up from the ledger, putting aside my worries for the moment. “Yes, Bayram?”
    The younger of my two sons, a sturdy lad of sixteen, stood in the doorway. He had his father’s black eyes and dark hair and bronze skin, and he looked so much like Bahlar that I sometimes felt my heart squeeze when I looked at him, though after five years the pain had become an old ache. Bahad was sober and serious, but Bayram was a charmer. His flashing white smile would break a few hearts when he got older. 
    Right now, though, he looked serious.
    “One of the guests wants to speak with you,” said Bayram. “He says it is urgent.” 
    “Which guest?” I said, getting to my feet. My legs ached. I had been awake since dawn, and it was nearly sundown. 
    “Master Sankar,” said Bayram. 
    I grimaced. Master Sankar was a courier for the Emir Turlagon, and had no qualms about using his master’s rank to get what he wanted. He had never stopped bothering me and my workers for additional favors, and more than once he had tried to seduce my serving girls. I had left strict instructions that none of my workers were to be alone with him. 
    At least he paid his bill on time. I suppose it would damage Emir Turlagon’s standing if his hirelings refused to honor their debts. 
    “Did he say what he wanted this time?” I said. “Flowers and rosewater for his bedding, no doubt.”
    Bayram smiled. “Actually, I believe he is departing.”
    “Oh, the Living Flame be praised.”
    “He does say he needs to speak to you, though,” said Bayram. 
    I nodded. “Well, let us see what he wants.”
    I stepped out of the office and into the common room, arranging my face into the smooth, polite smile I used when talking with customers. Fortunately, since I wore sober widow’s blacks every day, I rarely had to deal with romantic attentions from the guests. Still, it had been five years since my husband’s death, and sometimes I thought I would like to get married again. The Living Flame knew I missed having a strong man upon whom I could rely. Yet the House of Agabyzus was to be my sons’ inheritance, and a marriage would interfere with that…
    I was tired, and my thoughts were wandering. I put such musings out of my head and headed for the table where Master Sankar sat.
    The common room was large, with windows facing the Cyrican Bazaar, the shutters open to admit light and air. Dozens of low round tables ringed with cushions filled the common room, while booths lined the walls where guests could converse in privacy. The common room was full to bursting, with every table filled, and a few weeks ago I had even set up tables and chairs outside so people could drink coffee in front of the shop. 
    Sankar offered me a lazy smile as I stopped by his table. “Ah, Mistress Damla. Truly, your beauty remains as radiant as ever.”
    I kept the distaste from my expression. Sometimes I daydreamed about having a man again, but definitely not this one. 
    “It is good to see you, Master Sankar,” I lied. “How may I be of service?” 
    His lazy smile did not waver. Sankar was a few years younger than me, lean and handsome with thick black hair and an easy smile. Yet that smile never seemed to touch his hard black eyes. They reminded me of the eyes of a shark, or perhaps the eyes of a statue. They revealed nothing of his thoughts, save for hints of malevolence. 
    “Mistress Damla, your establishment has impressed me,” said Sankar. 
    “Thank you, sir,” I said. “We desire to please our patrons.”
    “It has pleased me so much,” said Sankar, “that I wish to rent a room for Emir Turlagon when he arrives.”
    “Indeed, sir?” I said, surprised. Perhaps this would work out. Nobles typically stayed at their own palaces, or at the houses of their relatives, or at the opulent inn called the