Ghost Mimic Read Online Free PDF

thunderstruck. There was a young man? She had seemed distracted ever since the destruction of the Craven’s Tower. 
    “Maybe,” said Caina, “I shall tell you about that sometime.” 
    She climbed the stairs with Malcolm and Azaces, Bahad showing the way. As it turned out, she timed it perfectly. About three minutes after she vanished up the stairs, Sankar stormed into the common room, still wearing the leather armor of a noble courier. He looked around, and his black eyes narrowed as he saw me.
    “Mistress Damla,” he hissed as he stalked across the room. 
    I swallowed. “Master Sankar.” Caina wanted me to show fear, and as I looked at Sankar’s soulless eyes, I had to admit that showing fear was not difficult. 
    “I entrusted my master’s property to your keeping,” said Sankar, “and it has been stolen from beneath your roof! This is outrageous! I shall bring a lawsuit before the hakim of the Cyrican Bazaar for your negligence! I…”
    I let out a quiet little sob, and Sankar stumbled over his tirade in mid-sentence.
    “Sir,” I whispered. “I had no choice. They broke into the House in the middle of the night and held a knife to my throat. I had to do as they wished.”
    Sankar growled. “That is…”
    “They want to talk to you,” I said.
    He blinked. “What?” 
    “They told me to bring you to them,” I said, my voice trembling, a little quiver in my jaw. “They are waiting upstairs.”
    He started at me, and I guessed at his thoughts. Simple thieves would have made off with the box, or been killed by its traps. Some other organization was at work here. Lord Tanzir’s spies? (I wondered if he had any.) The Kindred? The College of Alchemists? A rival faction within the Teskilati? A spy, Caina had told me, had to stay paranoid to stay alive, and I saw the wheels turning behind Sankar’s eyes as his paranoia kicked in. 
    “Very well,” said Sankar. “Take me to them.” He straightened up, his hand brushing the hilt of his scimitar. “You will keenly regret any treachery, woman.”
    I gave him a frightened nod and led the way up the stairs to the second floor. I stopped before the room Caina had chosen and pointed to the door. “Here.”
    Sankar smirked. “You first.” 
    I nodded, took a deep breath, and opened the door. Beyond was a small bedroom, equipped with a narrow bed, a pair of chairs, and a table. Malcolm and Azaces stood silent by the walls. Caina sat at the table, taking a calm sip of her coffee.
    Sankar stared at her, and Caina offered him a cold smile.
    “What is this?” said Sankar. 
    “Thank you, mistress Damla,” said Caina with that slurred Cyrican accent. “Do remain. It would be best for all concerned that you contribute to our discussion.”
    “What is this?” said Sankar. “State your purpose, woman.”
    “Master Sankar, welcome,” said Caina. “You arrived as I expected. Would you care for some coffee? It is the Istarish custom to discuss business over coffee. I find it an enjoyable practice, and you and I have business.” 
    “Who are you?” said Sankar.
    “I suppose,” said Caina, “you can call me Atagaria.” 
    Sankar barked a harsh laugh. “The old Cyrican goddess of thieves and tricksters? A little obvious.”
    “Well,” said Caina, “it will serve for now. Who I really am is of little interest. What I want is of far greater importance.”
    “You stole the emir’s trapbox,” said Sankar. 
    “By myself?” said Caina. “It was ever so heavy. My friends carried it out for me. Regrettably, the first two locksmiths we hired to open it died in considerable pain. Therefore we permitted mistress Damla to inform the local hakim of the crime…and you turned up.”
    “What do you want?” said Sankar. I saw his hand twitch towards his scimitar hilt. Likely he thought that Caina had lured him here to kill him and take the keys to the trapbox. 
    “Not your life, certainly,” said Caina. She spread here hands. “Where, I ask, would