Ghost Relics by Jonathan Moeller Page A

changed since her last visit, and remained possibly the single most cluttered chamber that Caina had ever seen. Three long wooden tables ran the length of the room, each one sagging beneath the weight of tools, half-assembled locks, various mechanical contraptions, and notes. One wall held slates covered with scrawled equations written in chalk, while shelves adorned another. A wooden cabinet, the door open, held papers secured in leather folders, and high windows looked down upon the courtyard behind the shop. Iron shavings and sawdust covered the floor in a fine carpet.
    Nerina herself stood near one of the slates, scribbling an equation in chalk. She was a short, gaunt woman in her late twenties, with a tangled mass of red hair and the eerie blue eyes of a wraithblood addict. She wore a leather apron over a loose shirt, dusty trousers, and heavy boots, and a set of magnifying lenses and goggles had been pushed up over her sweaty hair.
    “No,” said Nerina. “Which is the ninth time I have said it, and the ninth time you have ignored my answer. Clearly your mathematical prowess is no sharper than your persuasive ability.”
    “But permit me to persuade you, dear lady,” said the man standing before her. 
    He was Anshani, with curly dark hair, dark skin, and a beard trimmed to a neat point. His fine robes marked him as a merchant, but his boots were worn and dusty, and the scimitar and dagger at his belt had clearly seen much use. Yet the robes looked new. He also had daggers hidden up his sleeves and another in his boot, which was more precaution than an average Anshani merchant usually took. 
    “Will you not let me tell you of the riches that await you?” said the Anshani man, gesturing as he spoke. Caina suspected that he was trying to charm Nerina, which ought to be amusing. “Come with me and open the locks, and I shall pay you a third part of the treasure that awaits within the chest. Jewels and gold beyond count! Ancient scrolls covered in forgotten secrets! Art and statues to dazzle the eye!” 
    “All of this within a single chest, Khamil,” said Nerina, “seems mathematically improbable.” 
    “Come with me to the Shining Scimitar,” said Khamil, “and you shall see the truth of my words, my dear lady.” Caina knew the Shining Scimitar. It was a disreputable tavern in the slums of the Anshani Quarter, and no legitimate merchant would stay there. 
    “No,” said Nerina, not looking up from her slate. 
    “But…”
    “No,” said Nerina. “Stop wasting valuable time. This is the twelfth time you have asked me to accompany you and open this lock, and this is the twelfth time I have said no. You have wasted eight hundred and thirty-nine words attempting to change my mind, and another five thousand would fail to alter the balance of the equation.” 
    “You…counted my words?” said Khamil. “Then I am reaching you with my eloquence! I shall…”
    “Go away,” said Nerina.
    Khamil frowned and took a step closer, and the man looming over Nerina scowled.
    Nerina’s bodyguard Azaces was nearly seven feet tall, dark-bearded and clad in the brown robes of the Sarbian desert nomads. The hilt of a two-handed scimitar rose over his right shoulder, and his massive arms allowed him to wield that weapon as easily as a smaller man might swing a knife. His tongue had been removed years ago, and he communicated through expressions that ranged from mildly angry to murderously angry. Right now he looked moderately angry, and Khamil took the hint. 
    “Yes, well, you clearly need time to consider,” said Khamil. He turned to go. “I shall depart, and return once you…”
    He saw Caina, and a wide smile came over his face.
    “Greetings,” he said. “I did not see you there.”
    “Ciara?” said Nerina, using the name Caina had given her. 
    Khamil bowed over Caina’s hand and planted a dry kiss upon her fingers. “You must be Mistress Strake’s sister. Surely there could not otherwise be two