Martin Scott - Thraxas Under Siege (ARC)

Knowing that if Hansius keeps staring, Makri will say something rude, I take his arm and guide him back into my private room where Deputy Consul Cicerius is standing beside Lisutaris, looking thoughtful. The sorceress is conscious, but very weak.

Cicerius thanks me for notifying him.

"This is bad. I do not want news of Lisutaris's illness to be made known. It would be disastrous for the city's morale. Furthermore, and most importantly, the Orcs must not learn of it."

What the Deputy Consul says is true. Lisutaris is so important to the defence of the city that news of her incapacity might be all the Orcs needed before staging an attack.

Cicerius is a thin, grey-haired man, trusted by the population though not loved. He's too vain and too austere to generate much affection. But he's a better man than our highest official, Consul Kalius. Kalius was injured on the battlefield, and not gloriously. He's now recuperating but is too traumatised to take the reins of power, which leaves Cicerius in charge. The strain is showing. His face is thinner and his toga, normally as clean, white and well pressed as it could be, shows signs of having been put on in a hurry.

"The healer is concerned by Lisutaris's condition but not overly so. The Mistress of the Sky is a strong woman and should recover."

I glance at Lisutaris. Her eyes are open, but I'm not sure if she can hear us or not.

"So are you going to send a wagon to ship her back home?"

"No. She must stay here while she recovers," continues Cicerius. "Your healer advocates complete rest."

I start complaining loudly. Cicerius glares at me.

"Do you not trust this healer Chiaraxi?"

I'm forced to admit I do.

"She keeps people going in Twelve Seas and that's not easy."

Cicerius nods.

"I have the feeling she is to be trusted. I could send down healers from the Palace, but . . ."

He ponders for a while.

"But I would rather as few people learn of this as possible. Already this month our intelligence services have rooted out an Orcish spy in the Palace and another one in the senate. There are probably more. I'd far rather leave Lisutaris to recover here, away from all prying eyes. Makri is already employed as bodyguard to protect her. I'll send down a few other agents, discreetly, to ensure her safety. All being well, our sorceress should recover fully in a few days with no one even knowing she was ill."

"Won't people miss her at the Palace? Or on the war council?"

Cicerius shakes his head.

"I can assign her duties which would keep her away from the war council for a few days. And we can use her double for some public appearances, to allay any suspicions."

"Her double?"

Cicerius informs me that the Consul's office has people ready to play the parts of various important citizens in Turai, for precisely this sort of emergency.

"There is an employee at the Palace—a keeper of imperial records—who has already served in this capacity on occasion."

I'm impressed. I didn't realise our government was so organised.

"What about quarantine?"

Cicerius shakes his head.

"Prefect Drinius is not to be informed and the Avenging Axe is not to be quarantined. Do nothing which might attract attention to this tavern, until Lisutaris has fully recovered."

"And Hanama?"

"She must stay here. We cannot risk her leaving. She might let it be known that Lisutaris is ill."

"But it's not safe having her here. What if she assassinates Lisutaris?"

"That hardly seems likely," says Cicerius. "Assassins do not kill at random. They work to contract."

"I don't like this at all. Why should I look after a sick Assassin?"

"You are aware, of course," says Cicerius, "of the Turanian tradition which requires all citizens to give hospitality to a sick guest?"

"Of course. I just don't think it should apply to Assassins."

"It applies to everyone," says Cicerius, who's always keen on Turanian traditions, no matter how stupid they are. "Simply care for them, go about your business, and Lisutaris's illness should pass unnoticed."

I give up the argument. At least if the tavern isn't quarantined the card game can go ahead. I get the insane notion to ask Cicerius for 500 gurans but dismiss it immediately. He's not known for his generosity. Besides, he'd probably find it impossible to imagine that anyone could think of playing cards at a time like this.

Inspiration suddenly strikes.

"How is the hunt for the Ocean Storm?"

Cicerius looks at me suspiciously.

"You know of that?"

"Of course. Lisutaris came down to consult me. She knows I'm number one chariot at finding missing items."

"Any help you can give will be appreciated," says Cicerius, brusquely. "But there are already many people looking. Praetor Samilius is organising the search."

"Then you can expect not to find it. Best hire me. I've come through for you before. Shouldn't take more than—let me see—five hundred gurans should do it."

The Deputy Consul looks shocked.

"Are you trying to extort money for finding an item on which national security may depend?"

"Extort? You call asking for a decent wage extortion?"

"As I recall, your normal daily rate is thirty gurans," says Cicerius. "It saddens me to see any citizen of Turai trying to make money from the crisis."

"And me. But it so happens I need five hundred gurans in a hurry. That's not a great sum. You could lose it in the treasury accounts easily enough. So how about offering a reward of five hundred gurans for the swift locating of the Ocean Storm?"

Cicerius gives me a withering look. He clearly regards me among the ranks of the profiteers who buy up supplies in times of hardship and sell them for vastly inflated prices to the suffering population.

"If you locate the item I may authorise a small reward. But do not expect me to do you any favours in future."

"I never noticed you doing me any favours in the past."

Hansius reminds the Deputy Consul that they have an urgent appointment at the Palace. Cicerius nods.

"Thraxas. It is your responsibility to look after Lisutaris. While she is under this roof, I suggest you moderate your habits. For once in you life, try putting the interests of the city before your own."

Cicerius departs. It was typical of him to insult me at the same time as requesting I work hard for him. Cicerius can be a great speaker—in the law courts he's a fabulous orator—but he doesn't spend a lot of time working on his personal charm.

Chiaraxi provides instructions for the care of Lisutaris and Hanama. They're simple enough. Plenty of water, and the herbal concoction every few hours.

"Make sure they're kept warm. That should be easy enough for you."

I look at her blankly.

"Sorcery," says Chiaraxi. "You can light your fire with a spell."

"Right," I say.

It's a long time since my fire-lighting spell worked. These days I just don't have the power. After Chiaraxi leaves I check on Lisutaris and Hanama. Neither look like they're about to die in the next few moments so I do what I've been wanting to for some time, and hurry downstairs to the bar.

"Happy Guildsman, and make it quick."

Gurd hands me over the extra-large-sized tankard. From the expression on his face he could do with a few Happy Guildsmen himself.

"It's terrible," he hisses.

"Not so bad," I tell him, quietly. "No quarantine."

Gurd is still troubled.

"What if Lisutaris dies?"

"They can hardly blame you."

"Can't they? I never reported it when Kaby went sick. I should have."

I tell Gurd to relax.

"The Deputy Consul has entrusted the whole affair into my hands."

"What do you know about healing the sick?"

"Not much," I admit. "But all that seems to be required is regular doses of Chiaraxi's herbal concoction. Just pour it into the patients and wait for them to get better. Easy enough. I always knew these healers were making too much out of the whole thing. Probably helps them to bump up their fees."