Ghost Lock Read Online Free

finish this later,” said Martin. The scribes
bowed, packed up their desks, and departed.
    “This is Markaine of Caer Marist,” said Caina, and
Markaine offered a more restrained bow to my husband. “I believe he
can help us.”
    “Unless I am mistaken,” said Martin, “you are a
painter, not a locksmith.”
    “That is entirely correct, my lord,” said Markaine,
considering the rusted block of the safe. “You and the Lady Claudia
would make for a handsome portrait. I wouldn’t even charge very
much.”
    Martin snorted. “Until I am sure I can keep
Istarinmul from allying with the Umbarian Order, I’m afraid a
commemorative portrait would be premature.”
    “A sensible attitude,” said Markaine, still examining
the safe.
    “So if you are a painter,” said Martin, “how can you
help us open the safe?”
    “Well,” said Markaine, reaching into his coat, “I
haven’t always been a painter.”
    He drew out a weapon, a black dagger with a red gem
of some kind upon the hilt. Something in his stance changed as he
did so, become grimmer, more menacing. Martin shifted as he did,
his fingers twitching towards the hilt of the sword at his waist.
He rarely wore armor while in the house, but he never went anywhere
unarmed. The Silent Hunters had broken into the mansion too many
times for that.
    “That is a remarkable dagger,” said Martin, “though I
fail to see how that will open the safe.”
    Markaine grinned. “Watch.”
    He knelt and stabbed the dagger down. I expected the
weapon to bounce off the safe’s steel side, or to snap against it.
Instead the blade sliced through the thick steel with the ease of a
knife cutting soft cheese, and I watched in astonishment as
Markaine sliced a line through the safe, the edges glowing
white-hot.
    “How are you doing that?” said Martin.
    I cast a quick spell, focusing upon the dagger. The
thrum of potent sorcery radiated from the dagger, a spell unlike
any I had ever encountered before.
    “It’s enspelled,” I said.
    “Friction,” said Caina, watching as Markaine began
another cut. “It works through friction. Or the absence of it,
rather. A normal blade can’t cut through a steel safe because
there’s too much friction. The dagger bypasses it, sucks up the
heat from the cuts, which lets it slice through pretty much
anything.”
    I thought about that for a moment. “Where does the
heat go?”
    “Ah,” said Markaine, wincing as he got to his feet.
An L-shaped cut glowed in the side of the safe, and the gem in the
pommel of the dagger shone with red light. “Do you mind, my lord,
if I use your fireplace? There’s a layer of lead in the safe, which
makes the cuts tricky.”
    “By all means,” said Martin, gesturing at the empty
fireplace.
    Markaine nodded and flicked his wrist. The dagger
flew into the center of the fireplace, and an instant later there
was a flash. A fireball roiled against the inside of the hearth, so
hot that it stung my face. Markaine snapped his fingers, and the
dagger jumped from the flames and flew back into his hand.
    “Are you a sorcerer?” I said, frowning as I recast
the spell to sense the presence of sorcery. The spells upon the
dagger all but blazed against my senses. The thing had to be a
formidable weapon in combat.
    “I’m a painter, not a sorcerer,” said Markaine,
kneeling back next to the safe. “Though I’ve been called a magician
with a paintbrush. The dagger’s a useful little toy, isn’t it?
Found it a long, long time ago. Didn’t realize what it could do,
not at first. Worked it out with some experimentation, though that
means the dagger’s spells are bonded to me. If anyone else wants
it, they’ll have to kill me to get it. Though the dagger makes that
harder…”
    I had already cast my spell to sense the presence of
sorcery, and that was why I sensed the sudden spike of arcane power
surging through the garden. I looked at the window in alarm at the
exact same moment Caina did. She could not use sorcery,