Ghost Arts Read Online Free Page B

spells and protected her mind from intrusive sorcery
when she used it. The cloak had the additional useful property of
rendering her invisible to spirits of the netherworld. Maybe that
wouldn’t matter. Maybe Karzad was just a crazy old man with a taste
for violence and a flair with a paintbrush. But if Caina’s fears
were accurate, if the voice in his head was real, then she would
need the shadow-cloak.
    In her time as a Ghost, she had regretted
insufficient preparation, but she had never regretted
over-preparing.
    A short time later, she reached the Saddaic Quarter,
walking past rows of abandoned warehouses. Once the Saddaic Quarter
had been part of the Alqaarin Harbor, but an ambitious Padishah had
expanded and moved the harbor, and the warehouses of the Saddaic
Quarter had been abandoned. After the Umbarian Order began its
rampages in the eastern Empire and the Saddaic provinces, many of
the Saddai had resettled here, and the Quarter had taken its new
name. The Saddai hated the Umbarians and supported the Emperor, and
Caina had recruited many allies and informants here.
    All the more reason to stop Karzad, then, if he was
preying upon the people of the Saddaic Quarter.
    Morgant and Sergei awaited her outside an
unremarkable brick warehouse. Sergei still wore his ridiculous
costume, though at least he had discarded that ludicrous helmet.
Morgant had buttoned up his black coat in anticipation of trouble,
and a scimitar hung from a sword belt wrapped around his waist.
Sergei shifted back and forth, clearly nervous. His eyes narrowed
as he looked at Caina.
    “Who the devil are you?” he said. “This isn’t any of
your business. Be off with you.”
    Morgant snorted. “Clearly you aren’t a painter. Look
closer, boy.”
    Sergei frowned, blinked, and then his eyes went
wide.
    “You?” said Sergei. “The woman from the inn? You
look…different. How did you do that? Are you a sorceress? Did you
cast a spell to change your appearance?”
    “Gods, no,” said Caina. “A costume, some makeup, a
different posture. Just some tricks.” She nodded towards the
warehouse. “Let’s see if your friend Karzad is a trick, or if he’s
something worse.”
    She crossed to the warehouse doors. The building had
a pair of double doors to allow cargo in and out. A rusted chain
hung over the handles, secured by a heavy iron lock, which sported
its own coat of rust. Caina was sure she could pick the lock with
ease, but she gave the hinges a dubious look.
    “Hard to get that open quietly,” said Morgant.
    “No,” said Caina, stepping back to look at the
warehouse’s roof. It was about twenty feet up. “Lamp oil is
expensive, so most warehouse owners have skylights built into their
rooftops. Can you climb a rope?”
    Sergei nodded, and Caina produced a rope and grapnel.
She threw the grapnel, its hooks catching on the roof, and hauled
herself up. Sergei followed, and then Morgant, and Caina pulled the
rope up after them. A dozen skylights dotted the roof, square holes
with wooden shutters that could be closed at night. Caina crossed
to the nearest one and peered down. Below she saw old crates and
splintered barrels, the detritus of an abandoned warehouse.
    She hooked the grapnel to the edge of the skylight,
tossed the rope down, and descended into the warehouse, Morgant and
Sergei following suit. Caina looked around as she waited for the
others. The shafts of light shining from the ceiling filled the
warehouse with gloomy, dim light. Stacks of empty crates and
barrels stood in random heaps. The floor was hard-packed dirt, and
a layer of dust lay over everything.
    The faint smell of rotting meat colored the air, and
Caina heard the buzzing of flies.
    She grimaced and slipped a throwing knife into her
hand. Morgant drew his black dagger and his crimson scimitar, while
Sergei watched with wide eyes. Caina beckoned, and they moved
forward in silence past the stacks of crates, the rotting smell
growing stronger. She walked past a stack