Martin Scott - Thraxas Under Siege (ARC)

"I can manage all the sick people."

Makri nods, and looks thoughtful.

"You're really good at this," she says.

"What?" says Dandelion.

"Looking after all these people. I'd have given up long ago. But you've got it all in hand. You're really efficient when you put your mind to it."

Dandelion looks surprised.

"Am I?"

I'm not arguing. Now Makri has pointed it out, it's obviously true. Dandelion might be strangely dressed and have a bizarre aversion to shoes, but there's no denying she's kept the place running during the winter malady crisis.

When the game is restarted my third card is a four, no help to my two dragons. Glixius raises the bet by a hundred gurans. It's something of a risk for me to go along with this but I do. I have a good feeling about my fourth card. I send up a brief prayer to St Quatinius as Moolifi deals. My few moments of religious conviction have usually been at the card table.

My next card is an eight. I now have two dragons, an eight and a four. It's not a strong hand. Glixius raises another hundred gurans. I don't know if he's bluffing or not. I think about it for a while. I'd like to carry on betting, but if I do and I lose I'll be out of the game. My funds are already low. I could stand the humiliation of losing to Glixius but I've got more on my mind. I curse Horm and his ridiculous passion for Makri. It's ruining my game.

I shake my head, and hand in my cards, meanwhile sending up a strong protest to St Quatinius for coming down on the side of the rich oppressors. Obviously all tales of the blessed saint helping the poor and needy are just lies.

Perhaps the saint is offended by my complaints. One hour and a series of bad cards later, I'm down to 300 gurans and things are not looking good.

Praetor Capatius wonders out loud if there's any food on offer. The praetor is a man with a healthy appetite and probably gets well fed when he's playing cards up at Senator Kevarius's house. Dandelion informs everyone that our temporary cook has just finishing preparing the famous Avenging Axe stew, and while Capatius isn't exactly enthralled at the prospect—being used to better things, no doubt—he's willing to try it. Cicerius takes the opportunity to suggest that all the players take another break to refresh themselves. Some head for the bar for food and drink and some wait at the table, probably annoyed at the interruption. As for me, the moment I leave the table I'm besieged by an angry mob.

"What the hell are you doing?" demands Lisutaris. "Do you want Makri to get carted off to Yal?"

"Have you forgotten how important this game is?" demands Cicerius. "I've never seen anyone throw their money away in such a wanton manner."

"How did you get a reputation as a good card player?" says Hanama. "It seems to be completely undeserved."

"A good card player?" sneers Coranius. "We might as well hand the Ocean Storm over to the Orcs and have done with it."

Lisutaris hasn't yet come up with any sort of spell for removing the Ocean Storm from Horm's grasp.

"You were meant to be buying me some time, not surrendering at the first opportunity," she says, quite angrily.

I hold my hands up.

"Will you all get out of my face? I'm doing my best."

"Your best?" says Lisutaris. "Is that why you're almost broke and Horm is piling up the money?"

"I've been unlucky with the cards. Are you sure that woman Moolifi is on the level? I think there's something odd about her."

"The only odd thing is that we have entrusted you with the welfare of Turai," says Cicerius. "I blame myself. I've failed the city."

Makri walks past with a tray of beer.

"Take two," she says to me. "You might as well enjoy yourself. Be sure to visit me in Yal."

"You're not going to Yal. I'm just getting into my stride."

I've rarely seen so many people looking unconvinced. At this moment, belief in Thraxas's gambling powers has hit an all-time low among the leading citizens of Turai. Even the perennially cheerful Dandelion can't help frowning as she ladles out a bowl of stew.

"Please don't make Makri marry Horm the Dead," she says.

"Makri is not going to marry anyone," I declare, quite forcefully.

"Makri, you have to flee," says Hanama. "Get your swords and we'll fight our way out."

I notice some unfamiliar objects lurking on top of the food counter.

"Yams? Where did they come from?"

"Last consignment at the market," says Dandelion. "The new cook brought them down from Pashish."

I grab four large yams and retreat, clutching my stew. And as stew goes, it's not bad. I've tasted far worse. The temporary cook isn't such an incompetent as I feared. Managed to snare us some yams as well. I ignore all distractions, concentrating on getting the food inside me. It does me a power of good. It strikes me that it's little wonder my endeavours have been so ineffectual recently. I've not been eating well enough. It's quite understandable. You can't expect a man to go around solving crimes, finding treasure and beating everyone at cards if you're starving him at the same time. No one could stand it. With the stew, the yams and another beer inside me I start to feel a lot better. I feel so much better that I suddenly have a very good idea where Tanrose's mother's gold might be.

I take my empty plate back to the bar, ignoring all interruptions from discontented Turanians, and drag Makri to one side.

"Makri, I'm running out of money. I need more, and quickly. I just realised where the gold is and I'm going to get it. Take my place at the table for a little while."

Makri looks startled.

"I barely know how to play the game."

"It doesn't matter. Just put in your guran stake every time and don't get involved in any gambling. You can buy me enough time and I'll be back soon."

"Okay," says Makri. "I can do that."

She frowns.

"You're not about to flee the city in shame, are you?"

"Are you crazy? I've been in much more shameful situations than this and I never fled the city before."

"Yes you did."

"Well, not often."

"Doesn't this go against your agreement with Horm?" asks Makri. "You weren't meant to get any more money."

"No. No one was meant to give me any more money. Finding more money myself wasn't mentioned. If I happen across fourteen thousand gurans that's just his bad luck. Look after my place at the table and don't do anything crazy."

And with that, I depart, as swiftly as I can.

Chapter Twenty-One

The Church of St Volinius is by far the most imposing building in Twelve Seas. It's solid rather than elegant, but it's richly decorated, the beneficiary of numerous bequests from the local merchants. If you want to get ahead in Turai, it's a good idea to keep in with the True Church.

I've had a few encounters with Derlex, the local pontifex, and his superior, Bishop Gzekius. They wouldn't regard me as a friend of the Church; in fact I've been denounced from the pulpit on more than one occasion.

The church is closed. Having no time to waste, I walk boldly up to the front entrance and mutter the opening spell, one of the few incantations I can use with any confidence. The door creaks open and I walk in, muttering another word to light up my illuminated staff. I glance at the walls. At the far end of the church, to the right of the altar where the pontifex gives his sermons, there a picture of St Quatinius and the whale. I've seen it before. I saw it briefly when I was talking to Nerinax the beggar and Pontifex Derlex came out of the church, but it didn't register properly then. Not till I was full of yams and stew did I remember that the painting was here.

On the floor underneath it there's a grating, and a small brass plaque: Demetrius, first Prefect of Twelve Seas.

In the vault beneath the grating lie the bones of one of the city's ancient notables. Untouched for centuries, apart, perhaps, from when Captain Maxius hid his gold here. I speak my opening spell again and the grating creaks open. So far so good. Underneath the grating is a large marble slab. I hesitate for a moment. I'm about to open a tomb. Some people might look on this unsympathetically.