Ghost Keeper by Jonathan Moeller Page A

the man who had raised Caina. To the Moroaica, weeping as the white fire blazed behind her.
    To Corvalis, lying dead upon the ground of the netherworld.
    And when her thoughts went there, Caina found herself gazing at the veins in her arm, thinking of the knives she carried. 
    She retained enough of her right mind to realize that she was not thinking clearly, that her mood was dangerous. 
    So when that mood came, she went to the deck and threw knives at the mast.
    At first the sailors were alarmed, but they soon grew accustomed to it. They had been told that she was a mercenary named Marius, a courier for the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers, delivering contracts now that trade between Istarinmul and the Empire had opened up again. An important passenger could be forgiven an eccentricity or two. 
    That, and she never missed the mast. 
    Soon the sailors ignored her, even without Captain Qalim’s orders. Caina suspected that the sailors would have reacted rather differently if they knew that beneath the disguise “Marius” was actually a twenty-two year old woman, but she did not care.
    She could not bring herself to care about very much. 
    So she threw knives at the mast, the blades sinking into the wood. Compensating for the motion of the waves and the wind kept her mind busy. Pulling the knives out of the mast and sharpening the blades anew kept her hands occupied. 
    The sailors ignored her, but Caina nonetheless attracted an audience.
    When the Emperor had sent her on a ship from New Kyre’s harbor, she had expected to share the vessel with cargo. Kyracian olive oil, most likely, or perhaps Anshani silk. The Starfall Straits had been closed to trade for nearly a year, and cargoes had piled up in New Kyre’s warehouses.
    She had not, however, expected to share the ship with a circus.
    More specifically, Master Cronmer’s Traveling Circus Of Wonders And Marvels. 
    Caina flung another knife, the blade sinking into the mast, and Master Cronmer himself approached.
    Cronmer was huge, nearly seven feet tall, with the shoulders and chest of a titan. He was bald, with a graying mustache cut in Caerish style, and wore a brilliant red coat. She saw the dust on his sleeves, and knew he had eaten bread and cheese for breakfast, along with the vile mixed wine the ship carried.
    “Master Marius,” boomed Cronmer in the Caerish tongue. “You should come work for me.” 
    Caina shook her head. “I am already employed.” She made sure to keep her Caerish accent in place, her voice gruff and raspy, as Theodosia had taught her to do. 
    “Bah,” said Cronmer. “Fetching papers for those dusty old merchants? You should join my Circus. We’ll use your talent to create a stupendous knife-throwing show, my boy.” He grinned behind his bushy mustache. “Aye, you’ll throw knives at some lusty Istarish lass, your blades will land a half-inch from her skin, and she’ll melt into your arms in the end…”
    “Working for the Collegium,” said Caina, “pays better.”
    Spending the voyage throwing knives at the mast and brooding had likely been a poor idea. A spy needed to remain inconspicuous, and Caina had not bothered to do so. If she was to rebuild the Ghost circle of Istarinmul, she would have to take greater care. 
    But she could not bring herself to give a damn. 
    “Mere money,” said Cronmer, striking a pose. “What is that compared to the roar of the crowd, of a woman in your arms, of…”
    “Cronmer,” said a woman with a heavy Istarish accent. Cronmer’s wife, a short Istarish woman named Tiri, hurried to his side. She looked tiny next to her massive husband, and they bickered constantly, but they had been married for twenty years and had six children. “Leave the poor man alone. The life of the circus is not for everyone.” 
    Cronmer rumbled. “But the Traveling Circus Of Wonders And…”
    “Can’t you see?” whispered Tiri into Cronmer’s ear. Caina heard her anyway. “Can you not see that he