Ghost Arts Read Online Free Page A

“Thought he
was going to kill me at first. See, I had been sleeping in his
warehouse. But instead of killing me, he showed me his paintings,
and we struck a deal. I would pretend to have painted them…”
    “And you would split the money,” said Caina.
    “He didn’t want any money,” said Sergei.
    “What?” said Morgant. “You’re lying.”
    “No,” stammered Sergei. He started to turn his head
to look at Morgant, remembered the black dagger, and changed his
mind. “No, I’m telling the truth.”
    “I’ve met painters and sculptors from Istarinmul and
Malarae and Anshan and New Kyre, from every nation under the sun,”
said Morgant, “and they all have one thing in common. They want to
get paid.”
    “But Karzad didn’t want any money,” said Sergei. “He
told me to buy him more canvases and paint and some food, but he
didn’t care what I did with the rest of the money. Maybe he just
wanted the…the attention? I’ve met some artists who couldn’t shut
up about their work.”
    “A shocking thought,” said Caina, looking at Morgant.
He snorted a little.
    “But…but I didn’t know that Karzad was really killing
people,” said Sergei, a little whine in his voice. “I swear I
didn’t. You two…you must be with the Kindred or the Slavers’
Brotherhood, yes? You’re coming after Karzad because he killed one
of yours? I can help you. I didn’t know he was killing anyone.”
    “Perhaps,” said Morgant. “It depends on how helpful
you can be.”
    “I am very helpful,” said Sergei, “I am extremely
helpful, I am…”
    “Karzad,” said Caina, cutting him off. “What’s he
like?”
    “Old man,” said Sergei. “Istarish. I think he used to
be a prospector, looking for gold in the Kaltari Highlands. He
doesn’t talk much, but when he does, he rambles a lot. And…I think
he’s insane.”
    “Obviously,” said Caina, “if he kills people and then
paints pictures of it.”
    “It’s worse than that,” said Sergei. “I think he
hears voices.”
    That caught Caina’s attention, and she shared another
look with Morgant.
    “Voices?” she said at last.
    “I’ve heard him talking to himself,” said Sergei.
“And sometimes he’ll stop talking in the middle of a sentence and
listen, like someone is talking to him.” He shrugged. “He must be
crazy. Why else would he hear voices?”
    “Why else indeed?” said Caina. “Unless, of course,
the voice in his head is real.”
    “That’s not possible,” said Sergei, but then he saw
Caina’s expression. “That’s…not possible?”
    “He could just be a murderous old man,” said Caina.
“But he wouldn’t be the first man I encountered who heard real
voices in his head. You want to cooperate? Then take us to his
warehouse.”
    “He might kill me for helping you,” said Sergei.
    “He might kill you for helping him,” said Morgant.
“Think it through, boy. Men who kill for sport aren’t the most
reliable business partners. Might as well try to trade with a
scorpion.”
    “Can you take us to his warehouse?” said Caina.
    “I can,” said Sergei.
    “Go there with my associate,” said Caina. “I’ll meet
you in about half an hour.”
    “And where will you be?” said Morgant.
    “Changing clothes,” said Caina, gesturing at herself.
“I’m not dressed for the occasion, am I?”

    ###

    Caina had safe houses scattered throughout the city
of Istarinmul, houses bought under false names and rooms rented
under aliases, and she had stocked them with supplies and clothing.
She visited one in the Tower Quarter, stripping off her dress and
changing back to her caravan guard disguise, leather armor and
ragged clothes. Her ghostsilver dagger went at her belt, and she
concealed throwing knives up her sleeves and daggers in her
boot.
    Her shadow-cloak she rolled up in her satchel. The
cloak was lighter than normal cloth, and blended and merged with
the shadows, allowing her to move unseen. It also shielded her from
divinatory