Ghost Keeper by Jonathan Moeller Page B

has lost someone? Likely when the golden dead rose. Do not pester him.”
    Caina wondered how Tiri had figured that out. On the other hand, Caina had spent the last two weeks throwing knives into the mast and staring into nothing. It was hardly a mystery.
    “Yes, well,” said Cronmer, a hint of chagrin on his face. “If you ever get tired of working for fat old merchants, Master Marius, come see me. The Circus shall be at the Inn of the Crescent Moon for the next week, and then we shall perform before Master Ulvan of the Brotherhood of Slavers.”
    Caina had no wish to visit the home of an Istarish slave trader, but it caught her curiosity. “What does a slaver want with a circus?”
    “A celebration,” said Tiri. “He has been elevated to a Master of the Brotherhood, endowed with his own cowl and brand. Traditionally the newly-elevated Masters throw lavish celebrations, and he has hired the Circus for that purpose.”
    “Just as well,” said Cronmer. “The Kyracian nobles were humorless folk. Too enamored of their own traditions to enjoy the Circus. Well, Master Marius, if you change your mind, the Inn of the Crescent Moon is in the Cyrican Quarter.” 
    Caina nodded, barely hearing him. 
    “We had best gather the others, husband,” said Tiri, “for we shall put in before noon.”
    Caina blinked and looked over the ship’s rail.
    Istarinmul rose before her.
    She yanked the knives from the mast, returned them to her belt, and walked to the prow. 
    The city was huge, larger than New Kyre and almost as large as Malarae itself. The Padishah’s capital occupied a jut of land that almost reached the southern end of the Argamaz Desert. The resultant Starfall Straits gave the Padishah his power.  The domains of Istarinmul were far smaller than the Empire of Nighmar or the vast lands ruled by the Shahenshah of Anshan. Yet the Padishah of Istarinmul could close the Starfall Straits, blocking off traffic from the Cyrican Sea and the Alqaarin Sea, and halt the world’s commerce. Kyracian merchants visited every port in the world, but Istarinmul could close half the world’s ports to the other half. 
    And ships from Istarinmul ranged across the seas, buying and selling slaves.
    Even through her apathy, Caina felt a twinge of anger at that. 
    But for now Caina gazed at Istarinmul. The city gleamed white from walls whitewashed to reflect the hot sun of the southern lands. In the city’s core rose a massive palace of brilliant white marble, its domes and towers sheathed in gleaming gold. The Golden Palace, where the Padishah sat and governed Istarinmul with his nobles and magistrates. It faced another, slightly larger palace, a towering edifice of white stone and domed towers, gleaming crystals lining its roofs. It was the College, where Istarinmul’s Alchemists carried out their secret studies. 
    It was a beautiful building, and the crystals lining the towers gave off a brilliant gleam in the sunlight.
    Caina’s knowledge that the Alchemists transmuted their foes into crystalline statues to forever adorn the walls of the College rather ruined its beauty. 
    Cronmer stomped away, shouting commands to his performers. Captain Qalim, a tall man of Anshani birth, spoke to his first mate, who bawled curses and threats as the ship turned toward Istarinmul’s western harbor. Tiri lingered for a moment, gazing at Caina. 
    “What is it?” said Caina. “Do you think to recruit me, too?”
    Tiri shook her head. “No. It is just…have you ever been to Istarinmul before?”
    “I have not,” said Caina. 
    “Then be careful,” said Tiri. “You are an able-bodied young man, but Istarinmul is a dangerous place for the unwary. If you offend the Alchemists or the emirs, they will kill you. You are Caerish, yes?” Caina nodded. “An emir or an Alchemist can kill a foreigner, and the hakims and the wazirs – ah, the magistrates, they are called in the Empire – would not blink an eye. And do not go alone into strange