Ghost Mimic by Jonathan Moeller Page B

Gilded Throne in the Masters’ Quarter. Having a noble stay here for a few days, even a minor noble like Emir Turlagon, would raise the House’s prestige considerably.
    On the other hand, perhaps the emir wished to stay here to have a quiet dalliance with a mistress. Or to do something illegal or some other activity that would bring trouble down on my head. 
    “Yes,” said Sankar. “The emir shall arrive in three days’ time. He has business in Istarish Cyrica, and will stay here for a single night before he departs. I shall require your finest room, and another two rooms for his body slave and his guards. I have been instructed to pay in advance.” 
    “Of course,” I said as he handed over a small pouch of coins. “All shall be made in readiness.”
    “One other matter,” said Sankar, getting to his feet. “The rooms must be secured now. The payment will reflect that.”
    “Of course,” I said again. “May I ask why?” 
    “Some of the emir’s possessions have arrived already, packed in a locked chest of iron,” said Sankar. “The emir has the keys with him. I will deposit the chest in his room, and leave it here until the emir arrives. Once he does, he shall unlock the chest and retrieve his property.” 
    That set off a warning bell in my head. An individual noble might be that careless with his property…but one of his servants would not. 
    “It shall be no trouble,” I said. “I will send for my porters at once.” 

Chapter 2: The Circlemaster
     
    My disquiet only increased when I saw the box. 
    It was a large box, about two feet by four, and it had been constructed from solid steel. I couldn’t have moved it by myself, and it took two healthy men to move it comfortably. Strange designs covered the sides and lids of the box, and it had not one but three keyholes. Narrow vertical slits marked the sides of the box, and I had a suspicion that those slits held blades. Likely any attempt to break into the box would trigger a hidden trap. 
    So Sankar had left a trapped box in my coffee house. I was not pleased about that. 
    For that matter, it made me suspicious. If Emir Turlagon had valuables, why would he leave them in a coffee house? Why not leave them on deposit with the goldsmiths or one of the wealthier merchants? 
    Maybe Sankar had failed to mention to Turlagon that the box was trapped. Maybe he was trying to kill Turlagon. 
    That was the last thing I needed. A few months ago I had barely avoided having the hakim of the Cyrican Bazaar murdered under my roof. Having Emir Turlagon murdered inside the House of Agabyzus would be just as bad. The Grand Wazir would investigate, and his magistrates would ask questions, and it was entirely likely they might figure out that I and my brother were Ghosts. 
    I stared at the damned box for a moment, considering what to do.
    Then I made up my mind, and went to send a message to Caina.
     
    ###
     
    Caina arrived around mid-morning the next day. 
    It was another busy morning, and all my tables and booths were filled again, including the tables I had set up outside. Today my customers were the khalmirs of the Grand Wazir’s army and the various merchants with contracts for supplying that army with grain and carts and the thousand other things an army needed. I reflected that the Grand Wazir’s khalmirs seemed to spend more time sitting around drinking coffee instead of getting any work done. 
    I wondered if that boded well for the rebels. 
    We were busy enough that I helped carry out the trays of food and drink. I had set down a tray of coffee for a table of khalmirs and was on my way to check on the tables outside when Bahad caught up to me.
    “Mother,” he said. Bahad had a serious expression, but he always did. He looked more like his uncle Agabyzus than my late husband. Bahad, like Agabyzus, was happiest with a pile of documents in front of him. I hoped that he and Bayram would work together well in the future, that Bahad would deal with