Ghost Nails Read Free Page B

government, and they are not universally beloved. But
why nails?”
    “It would kill him in a painful fashion,” I said.
    “It might kill him in a painful fashion,” said Caina,
“but it might not have killed him at all. He might have noticed
something was wrong on the first bite. All he has then is a bloody
mouth. If his enemies wanted to kill him with a cake, there are
better ways to do it. Ground glass mixed with the batter. An
allergen in the frosting. Any number of poisons.” She knew a
disturbing number of ways to kill people with food. “Perhaps it was
to send a message.”
    “With nails?” I said.
    “Or maybe the point wasn’t to kill Korim but to ruin
your reputation,” said Caina. “Do you have any enemies that might
want to do this?”
    I shrugged. “I do not believe so. Ulvan, perhaps. But
I doubt he even remembers me.”
    Her smile had a hard edge. “Ulvan has bigger problems
at the moment.”
    “I suppose someone could want the building or the
land,” I said, “but I have heard no rumors.”
    “Kamal is our only lead,” said Caina. She stared into
space for a moment. “I will have a look around his rooms, and tell
you what I find.”
    “I should come with you,” I said.
    She blinked. “Really? Why?”
    “Because it is my coffee house that is under attack,”
I said. “My livelihood and my sons’ inheritance, to say nothing of
the livelihood of my workers. I must do something. And I have
helped you with this sort of thing before.”
    “True,” said Caina, “though as I recall, you spent
most of the time complaining.”
    “You did make me wear that ridiculous costume,” I
said.
    “We were disguised as circus performers.”
    “They showed far, far too much skin.”
    “Normally I would agree with you,” said Caina, “but a
disguise must match its environment, and it…never mind, we have
more important things to do. If you offer help, I shall happily
take it.”
    “Let me attend to Korim and change clothes,” I
said.
    ***

Chapter 3: The Carpenter's Room

    A few moments later we left the House of Agabyzus and
headed for the Street of Carpenters. I had traded my usual widow’s
black dress and headscarf for a blue dress with black trim and a
matching headscarf, a leather belt with a dagger around my waist,
sturdy sandals upon my feet. It felt very odd not to be wearing
widow’s black. It almost felt like a betrayal of Bahlar. But it was
well known that Damla of the House of Agabyzus was a widow, and if
I wanted to do this, I needed a disguise.
    Caina walked at my side, still wearing the robes and
turban of the disguise she called Kyrazid Tomurzu, Cyrican factor.
She even walked with the stiff arrogance I had seen in the factors
and seneschals of high noblemen.
    “You could have made an effective actress,” I
said.
    She smiled a little. “I spent some time with an opera
singer when I was younger. She taught me a trick or two.”
    “I suppose anyone who looks at us,” I said, “will
think a son is taking his aged mother for a walk.”
    She laughed. “You are not nearly old enough to be my
mother. And you’re nothing like her, thank all the gods.”
    “I am old enough to be your mother,” I said.
    “No, you’re not,” said Caina.
    “I’m almost forty.”
    “You’re thirty-five,” said Caina. “I’m twenty-four.
Anyone who sees us will think that I am going for a walk with my
wife.” She considered for a moment as we went around a corner. “At
the very least, you’re old enough to be my…elder sister, let’s
say.”
    “Does that mean I must offer you counsel?” I
said.
    “If you like,” said Caina. “There’s no guarantee I
will listen, though.”
    “Ah, then you would be just like a younger sister,” I
said. “Or my sons.” I laughed. “It feels inappropriate to wear
something other than black…but it is pleasant. Cooler, too.”
    “I understand,” said Caina. “I disguise myself as a
man most of the time. Wearing actual women’s clothing is