Martin Scott - Thraxas at War

'I did want to see you, now you mention it. About a pile of bodies in Saint Rominius's Lane. Not far from the Avenging Axe. You know anything about it?'

'Nothing at all. Probably some dwa-related violence.'

It might have been wiser to tell the Captain about the attack, but it just comes naturally to deny everything to the Guards. Unusually, the Captain lets it pass without probing further.

'Dwa-related violence? Maybe. Wasn't anyone we recognised from the trade, though. Not that I care much right now. If you've got some gang on your tail you can sort it out yourself. I'm busy with more important things.'

'Like what?'

'Like espionage. We got word there's some spying going on in the city. All guards to be on the lookout for strangers, unexplained events, that sort of thing. I just wanted to let you know. You're still a Tribune for a few more weeks - God help the city - so I had to notify you. But if you come across anything strange, make sure you report it to me.'

I raise an eyebrow.

'Strange things happen to me all the time, Captain. But I generally don't go running to the Civil Guards.'

'Forget the attitude,' snaps the Captain. 'This is war, not one of your petty cases. If you get wind of anything strange going on, you tell me about it. Or Prefect Drinius, if you prefer. Though I doubt he'll be that keen on meeting you, seeing as you're trying to protect the man who murdered his fellow Prefect.'

'Which brings me nicely to the reason for my visit, Captain. I can't get an angle on the case.'

'And?'

And I was wondering what you might have heard.'

The Captain stares at me for a long time.

'I am talking to Thraxas the Investigator, right?'

'I believe so.'

'Would that be the same Thraxas who sent me to sleep with a spell last summer?' he demands.

'I was engaged in vital government work, Captain. You know they exonerated me.'

'I know Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, got the charges dropped,' says the Captain. 'I didn't like it then and I don't like it now. I gave up helping you a long time ago, Thraxas. Take a walk.'

Chapter Fourteen

My office desk is an old piece of furniture, stained almost black with beer, smoke and the sweat of vain endeavour. It's large and ugly. Not easy on the eye. Something that could also be said about me. I'm sitting in front of said desk staring at a list of names. Names of people I've asked about the scroll Galwinius was carrying when he died. Twenty people or so, mostly Senators and government officials. Tracking them down and questioning them hasn't been easy. Nor has it been productive. Most of them don't even remember that Galwinius was carrying anything. Or so they claim. Even those Senators who were previously supporters of Lodius seem to be uncooperative. Rittius isn't the only one deserting his leader. It is a good time for Consul Kalius to press his attack against Senator Lodius. With the war approaching, no one wants to be seen as disloyal.

Yesterday I made a report to Lodius's wife. She had the good grace to thank me for all the work I've done on her husband's behalf. I had the honesty to tell her it's all been for nothing, so far. Before I left I tried to offer some encouragement and she pretended to be encouraged. As for Lodius himself, he refuses to see me. I should walk away from the case. There's no disgrace in deserting a client who doesn't want you working for him. I might have quit if his wife hadn't sent a servant to the kitchen to bring me a tray of food. Damn the woman and her good manners.

I tried to consult Astrath Triple Moon again but the Sorcerer isn't at home. He's been recalled to the Sorcerers Guild for the duration of the war. Astrath is consequently as happy as an Elf in a tree. I made enquiries about Oraxin. There's nothing to indicate that his death was connected with the fate of Galwinius. He did work as an informer for the Prefect and he'd sold information about the dwa trade to the Prefect's office. No one was much surprised when they learned that he'd been murdered. The Society of Friends are very active in the dwa trade and not keen on informers. Oraxin didn't leave any friends or family grieving for him. Just a bare room, a dwa pipe and a landlord looking for his rent. Standard fate of the small-time dwa dealer.

Tomorrow morning I'm due to visit Domasius, a lawyer I've hired to give a judgement on the matter of the forged will. I'm hoping that his expert knowledge might give me a new lead. If that fails, I don't know what else I'll do.

Makri walks uninvited into my office. I eye her with annoyance. It's amazing quite how offensive this woman is. She paints her toenails gold like a Simnian whore. That alone should be enough to separate her from all decent society. Add in the pierced nose, the outlandishly long thick hair, the Orcish blood and the men's clothes and we're talking about a person who shouldn't be allowed to pollute a Human city. Consul Kalius is far too lax in the matter of permitting aliens to live in Turai. Time was we didn't let people like Makri in.

'Still upset about the meeting?' she says, brightly. 'Upset? About the meeting of women in my office which reduced me in the eyes of Viriggax's mercenaries to the status of nursemaid?'

'Only for a little while,' points out Makri. 'Lisutaris wiped their memories.'

'Well that makes everything all right. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm busy doing men's work. Go away and serve beer.'

'I have news,' says Makri, eagerly.

I turn on my coldest stare.

'Unless that news involves you leaving the city on the next horse, I'm not interested.'

'But I want to tell you,' says Makri, sounding agitated.

'Tell it to your Association of Gentlewomen buddies. Anywhere you like as long as it's not in my office.'

'You're not being fair. So I used your office without asking. What's so bad about that? It's tidier than it's ever been.'

‘I like it untidy.'

'We brought you a new rug.'

'I hate the rug. You see, Makri, it's the problem we always come up against. You've no idea of how to behave in civilised society.'

'You're so obsessed with this civilisation thing,' protests Makri. 'So what if I took over your damned office without asking? When I grew up in the gladiator slave pits, we didn't have appointment books. Anyway, did I have to make an appointment when I was saving your life from Horm the Dead? I didn't need an appointment when I was rescuing you—'

I hold up my hand.

'Enough. Whatever services you may have rendered in the past have been duly noted. But from now on, Thraxas Investigations can manage very well without you.'

Makri stamps her foot in frustration, something I don't remember her ever doing before.

'I've got a job for the war!' she says. 'I'm going to be in Lisutaris's bodyguard. I get to protect her from the Ores!'

'Fascinating. In between attacks you'll be able to discuss the advancement of women's status in Turai. Now depart.'

Makri looks extremely frustrated. She doesn't really know how to deal with sustained hostility, apart from by using violence. I make ready to defend myself, just in case. After a few seconds she turns sharply on her heel and marches out, slamming the door. I get back to my list. There must be someone else I should talk to.

Outside it's cold but the snow has stopped falling. I'm scheduled for phalanx practice later in the day. Another six hours stumbling around with a bunch of novices. The Turanian phalanx advances with a row of thirty-foot spears pointing forwards. It takes a lot of discipline to maintain a concentrated front. So far phalanx number seven has shown a marked lack of discipline. I give up on the list and go downstairs for a beer.

'Setting yourself up for practice?' asks Gurd, handing one over.

Gurd is also undergoing phalanx training, something he's not too happy about. As a resident alien in Turai he's obliged to join the army in times of crisis, which is fine with him, but he wasn't anticipating the chaos he'd be stepping into with his own company of novices. Though Gurd is more used to fighting in the less rigid formation of a mercenary company, he's been involved in his share of phalanx work in the past and he knows how it's done. Like me, he's appalled by the poor state of the troops among whom he now finds himself.