Ghost Wounds, Episode 4

You decide to track the messenger who delivered Croanna’s note to Lucan. With any luck, you can track down Croanna before…

You push the thought out of your mind.

“Follow me,” you tell Noraster. “We have work to do.”

For a moment Noraster seems almost amused that you would give him orders. Then he bows and follows you into the hallway.

“If you might forgive an inquisitive old man,” he says, “what is going on?”

You had him the note, and the lock of Livia’s hair. “Hold this.”

Noraster takes the note, reads it, and then looks at you. He seems almost shocked. “My lady…surely this cannot be true…”

You ignore him and walk into the Black Cuirass’s common room. The innkeeper, a grizzled Legion veteran named Appian, stands near the fireplace. He’s a Ghost, and will do whatever you command of him. Near him stands a burly, unshaven man in ragged leather armor, broadsword and dagger at his belt. A strange, swirling tattoo covers his face, and his mouth widens in a slightly inebriated smile as he sees you. His name is Moresti, and while he is not a Ghost, you nonetheless have an effective working relationship – you tell him who to stab, and he stabs. With vigor.

Appian bows. “Countess.”

Moresti grins. “Frostmaiden!” Frostmaidens are legendary Kyracian sea devils, and sometimes Moresti seems convinced that you are in fact a demon of myth. He’s seen you do some unpleasant things, after all. “Someone needs killing, yes? Moresti is reliable mercenary! So long as he is paid on time.”

“Appian,” you say, “there are dead Kindred assassins in Lord Lucan’s rooms, and a wounded one in the street. Deal with them, please.”

“Of course,” says Appian, barking a command at one of the bouncers.

Moresti snorts. “They regret crossing the Frostmaiden, yes?”

“Also,” you say, “someone delivered a note to Lord Lucan this morning?”

“Aye,” says Appian. “Perhaps an hour before noon. Lord Lucan left in haste, afterward, and spoke not a word to anyone. I’d never seen him so grim, but I know better than to question.”

“Who delivered the note?” you say.

“Don’t know him,” says Appian. “Squirrelly little fellow. Wore finery, but it looked like it had seen better days. Looked like he was drunk. Yellow hair, and green eyes.”

Moresti snorts. “Moresti remembers him. Smelled like peaches, he did. Looked like a rat, though.” He chortles. “If he sees a cat, he will fill his trousers.”

“Peaches?” you say, and something clicks in your mind. “Did he have a ring on his right hand? A gaudy thing, with an oversized stone?”

“Aye,” says Appian, “so he did.”

You know the man. He’s an impoverished noble turned freelance spy and thief named Lysander. He fancies himself an information broker, but it truth he’s little more than a courier for minor nobles playing at politics. But if Croanna gave him the note for Lucan, then Lysander might know where to find her.

And you know where to find Lysander. It’s past sunset, and by now he’ll be in his rooms near Ironmongers’ Square, drinking himself into a stupor.

But Moresti is right – Lysander is a rat. If you don’t approach him in the right way, he might bolt before you can get any useful information out of him. And every moment you delay, Lucan is in Croanna’s hands…and that thought fills you with such rage and fear that your stomach threatens to tear itself in half.

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