Ghost Omens by Jonathan Moeller Page A

in error.”
    “I know,” I said. His words stung, but they were true. I hated combat, made bad decisions in the heat of the moment.
    Not like Caina. 
    “But there are other ways to serve the Ghosts than in the field,” said Halfdan. “Nightfighters go where they are most needed. But the Ghosts must keep watch over the entire Empire, in every province. Better to stop problems before they become disasters.”
    “So I shall become a kitchen drudge in some provincial town?” I said, and regretted it at once. Perhaps that was what I deserved.
    “Again, that would be a waste,” said Halfdan. “You are too intelligent for that...and your sorcerous abilities will be useful. The Magisterium is our most implacable foe, and we have too few Ghosts who can handle them. I think we will try to make you into a nightkeeper, one of the Ghosts who work in the shadows, preparing tools and weapons and information for the nightfighters.”
    I wondered if I would fail at that, too.
    Caina walked towards us, Corvalis hovering behind her, just as a bodyguard should.
    “Father,” said Caina. Her eyes flicked towards me, once. “We appear to be heading to land.”
    “We are,” said Halfdan.
    I frowned. “I thought we were still three or four days from Malarae.”
    “True,” said Halfdan. “We just entered the Bay of Empire. But the water casks have sprung a leak, and the captain wants to put ashore and get new ones.”
    “We won’t run out of water, will we?” I said, alarmed. My father sometimes had people who displeased him thrown in deep pits to die of thirst, leaving the pits uncovered so he could watch their suffering.  
    “No,” said Halfdan. “We’ll put ashore at Mors Septimus.”
    Caina frowned. “A town with a funeral cult?”
    “Aye,” said Halfdan. “It’s from the Second Empire, built in honor of old Emperor Septimus, who fell fighting the sorcerer-kings that ruled the coast. The town is built around the ruins of his funerary temple. It’s a small place, but the harbor is large enough for a few ships, and the Emperor’s navy keeps an outpost there.”
    “What’s left of the navy,” muttered Corvalis. Kylon Shipbreaker had disposed of the rest.
    “There’s a Ghost circle there, headed by a man we’ll call Mordecai,” said Halfdan. “I will check in with him, see if there’s any news from the wars.” He glanced at Caina. “And you can make sure the rats haven’t eaten your coffee beans.”
    She laughed. “If they have, they’ll be awake, then.” She had insisted on taking Khaltep Irzaris’s coffee beans from Catekharon, claiming she wanted to use them to open a coffeehouse in Malarae to act as a front for Ghost spies. I wondered if the plan would work. 
    “So,” said Halfdan. “A short, pleasant stop, and then we’ll be on our way.”

    ###

    But when we arrived at Mors Septimus, I thought the place looked anything but pleasant. 
    The harbor was large enough for five or six ships, though the other quays stood empty. A small town spread beyond the water, and a hill rose in the distance, topped with the crumbling ruins of an ancient mortuary temple. In the early days of the Empire, the Legionaries had worshipped dead Emperors as gods, calling upon their spirits to grant them victory. The practice had died out during the Third Empire, but the mortuary temples remained, as did the towns that had grown around the temples. And in some of the mortuary towns people still prayed to the dead Emperors, offering sacrifices in their names. 
    Caina crossed to the railing and frowned as the ship pulled up to the quay. I knew her well enough by now to recognize that look. Something had caught her attention, had intrigued the cold machine that served as her mind.
    I dithered for a moment, rebuked myself for cowardice, and went to join her.
    “What is it?” I said. 
    I expected her to ignore me, or to send me back to my cabin, but instead she pointed. “Look. A mob is waiting for us.”
    A crowd of