Ghost Omens by Jonathan Moeller Page B

about forty or fifty people had gathered on one of the streets leading away from the docks. Behind them rose a tall, ramshackle inn, an unsavory place that likely catered to sailors and whores. A pretty young woman stood on a crate before the crowd, and to judge from her expression and wild gestures, she was making a speech. 
    “I wish we were closer,” said Caina. “I’d like to hear what she’s saying.”
    I glanced at her. “You think it means trouble?”
    “Maybe,” said Caina. “I would not put it past Kyracian or Istarish spies to try and stir up revolts.” She shrugged as Halfdan and Corvalis joined us. “Or maybe she’s holding an auction.”
    Corvalis looked at the crowd and barked his harsh laugh. “Or maybe she’s a very enterprising whore and is trying to get the highest bidder.” 
    The woman said something, and the crowd cheered in answer.
    Our ship thudded against the quay, and I could just make out the woman’s voice.
    “Behold!” she shouted. “The visions shall come to pass! The corrupt Emperor shall be cast from his throne, and dogs will feast upon his flesh! I have seen the omen! You all have seen the omens. Great Septimus shall rise again, and retake his rightful place upon the throne of the Empire!”
    The crowd cheered again. The woman disappeared into the inn, and her audience dispersed into the streets, some of them still chanting the name of Septimus.
    “Well,” said Halfdan, “isn’t that interesting?” 
    Corvalis frowned. “They really think Septimus is going to overthrow Emperor Alexius? What, are they going to dig up his bones and carry them to the Imperial Citadel?”
    Caina and Halfdan shared a look.
    “It’s...happened before,” said Halfdan. “In times of war and upheaval. A cult centered around one of the dead Emperors becomes convinced their Emperor will return to life and lead the Empire to glory and victory.”
    “It’s often a ruse for charlatans,” said Caina.
    “Aye,” said Halfdan, “but the ones who believe it are often the most dangerous of all. It is just as well we stopped here. Let us pay Mordecai a visit and see what we can learn.”

    ###

    I followed Halfdan, Caina, and Corvalis as they made their way through the streets of Mors Septimus, and we came to the magistrates’ hall. It had been built in imitation of the great basilicas of the Imperial capital and Artifel, though on a much smaller scale. It looked rather like a barn dressed up with marble. We circled to the back of the hall, where a small scriptorium stood, its door propped open to admit the breeze. Inside a thin, balding man in the dusty coat and trousers of a scribe sat at a desk, writing on a sheet of paper.
    “If you have a petition, come back tomorrow,” said the scribe, not looking up from his writing. “The magistrate is busy dealing with the seditionists, and he doesn’t have time to address every petty problem.”
    “Is that any way to greet an old friend, Mordecai?” said Halfdan.
    The scribe looked up, his heavy eyes blinking. Then he grinned, walked over, and gripped Halfdan’s hand. 
    “Basil Callenius! You rogue!” said Mordecai. “Gods, but I’m glad to see you.” He looked at me, at Caina, and back at me. “And you’ve wed? I am jealous. If I were fifteen years younger...and a million denarii richer...I would steal her away from you.”
    I opened my mouth, felt warmth flood into my cheeks, and closed it.
    “Not at all,” said Halfdan. “These are my daughters, Anna and Irene, and this is my guard, Cormark.” 
    “A pleasure,” said Mordecai. “You received my letter, then? With the wars against Istarinmul and New Kyre, and all the talk of revolt in Cyrica, I wasn’t sure I could get the attention of the circlemasters, but…”
    “Actually,” said Halfdan, “the situation in Cyrica has been resolved, and I was on my way back to Malarae. We stopped here to take on fresh water...and saw something interesting in front of the inn.”
    Mordecai