Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Dance of Death

The Brotherhood could certainly close the College if they wanted to. No porter or delivery man is going to go against an instruction from their guild not to work, and the Brotherhood has great influence in the guilds.

“I’ll sort it out. Why would you want to help anyway?”

Casax shrugs.

“Like I said, I don’t mind doing you a favour, Investigator. Providing you tell me about the jewel. Who are you trying to recover it for?”

“That would be none of your business.”

“Not something I ever like to hear,” counters Casax. “Everything in Twelve Seas is my business.”

“Nothing I do is your business, Casax. You might have the local guilds in awe of you but you don’t scare me. So why don’t you take a walk?”

“I’d say if Lisutaris hired you to find a jewel it must be a valuable item. Sorcerous probably.”

He knows about Lisutaris. I try not to look surprised.

“I read the message on your desk, Investigator,” says Casax. I look foolishly at my desk, where Lisutaris’s message to me is lying in plain view. And now Casax has read it. I can’t believe I’ve been so careless. He rises to leave.

“You know, I feel sort of sorry for that Orc girl. Working here all day and all night to pay for her classes. Especially as she’s so good with a sword. She ought to work for me. Let me know if you need some help at the College. Be a lot easier than using your Tribune’s powers. That’s going to get you into big trouble.”

Casax departs. I stare at the message on my desk. Thraxas, number one chariot when it comes to investigating, as I’ve been known to say. But not so good at keeping my business private. I curse. Now the Brotherhood know I’m looking for some important item for Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, head of the Sorcerers Guild, there’s no telling what’s going to happen.

Makri appears in my room without knocking. She asks how things are with the Lisutaris inquiry. I told her most of the details yesterday. A few months ago I realised to my surprise that I now tell Makri most of my business. There’s no reason not to, but it breaks a long-term habit of complete privacy.

“It’s all getting worse. I’d guess that whoever set this thing in motion hasn’t been discreet about it. Either the original thief, or the person who gave him the information, seems to have let half the city know how important that pendant is. Now Casax is on the trail.”

“How did he find out?”

“The Brotherhood have spies everywhere.”

Makri wonders how many people could know of the pendant.

“Very few, according to Lisutaris. The King, the Consul, the Deputy Consul, maybe a couple of senior Sorcerers. None of them liable to open their mouths, but who knows who else might’ve got hold of some information and passed it on. All of these people have staff, and staff can be bribed. Lisutaris’s secretary knew about the jewel’s powers. I’d like to question her but Lisutaris forbids it for some reason.”

“She’s very protective towards her secretary,” says Makri.

“How do you know that?”

“She told me at the Sorcerers Assemblage. While we were sharing a thazis stick. Some sort of young relation, I seem to remember. Niece or something.”

“You’re getting very intimate with our Chief Sorcerer.”

“You know she invited me to her masked ball?” says Makri, brightly.

“Really?”

“What costume should I wear?”

“Why would I want to discuss costumes with you? I’m still angry that you’ve been placing bets on my work.”

“I didn’t start it,” says Makri. “I just joined in after Moxalan started taking bets. Hey, when I arrived in Turai I didn’t even know how to gamble. You encouraged me.”

She has a point there.

“I didn’t encourage you to gamble on things like this.”

“Didn’t you tell me that you and Gurd once put a bet on how long it would take your commanding officer to die after he caught the plague?”

“That was different. It was in wartime. And no one liked that commanding officer.”

“You’re just annoyed because you weren’t in on it from the beginning,” says Makri, quite shrewdly. “If you’d thought of it first you’d have been sending me out to make anonymous bets on your behalf.”

“That’s not true. We’re talking about my work here. I have a huge responsibility to my clients. How do you think Lisutaris is going to feel if she learns that the degenerates at the Avenging Axe are taking odds on how many people are going to be handing in their togas before the case closes?”

“Moxalan is offering fifty to one for the exact total,” says Makri.

“Really? Fifty to one?”

“And twenty to one for a guess to within three of the total.”

“I am not interested in any odds,” I say, quite sternly.

“Of course not,” agrees Makri. “It would be quite unethical. Even though you are a man with plenty of inside information and would have a huge advantage when it comes to placing a bet at the very attractive odds of fifty to one. . . .”

I shake my head.

“No one has ever accused me of unethical behaviour.”

“That’s just ridiculous,” says Makri. “People accuse you of unethical behaviour all the time. No one in Turai gets accused of being unethical more often than you. Just last week—”

“That’s quite enough,” I say, interrupting before Makri can complete whatever damaging story she has in mind. I change the subject and ask if Gurd and Tanrose are showing any signs of making up.

“No. Still arguing.”

It’s a worry. If things came to a crisis and Tanrose left the tavern I’d miss her cooking desperately. I’m still reeling from the blow of Minarixa the baker’s death last year. Her daughter has taken over the bakery but it’s never been the same. Minarixa really understood pastry. It was a rare gift.

Makri looks thoughtful.

“I was champion gladiator. And I taught a puny young Elf to be a champion fighter. And I’m top of the class in every subject.”

“So?”

“So I have natural talents. I’ve never thought of applying them to other people’s problems, but probably if I put my mind to it I could help.”

“You do that, Makri.”

The thought of Makri as some kind of relationship counsellor makes me shudder. I’m still shuddering as I leave the tavern and make my way past the arguing vendors. If Makri puts her mind to fixing the rift between Gurd and Tanrose, God alone knows what disaster will result.

[Contents]

Chapter Seven

Kushni, in the centre of the city, is one of the worst parts of town. Bad things happen here. As I’m stepping over the drunken bodies on the pavement I wonder, as I occasionally do, how exactly I ended up being the person who tries to fix the bad things. There are plenty of other ways of making a living. Dandelion sits on the beach and talks to dolphins. She seems to manage okay.

I check my sword is loose in its sheath, allow a scowl to settle on my features—which it does quite easily—and step into the Blind Horse, home to dwa dealers, gamblers, robbers and murderers. Whores with red ribbons in their hair mingle with intoxicated sailors looking for an opportunity to spend the money they risked their lives to earn. At the bar two Barbarians are arm-wrestling while their companions shout drunken encouragement. I bump into a man I haven’t seen for five years but used to know quite well.

“Demanius.”

“Thraxas.”

Demanius is around the same age as me. A lot thinner, and his hair has gone completely grey. Still a tough-looking character, though. We were in the army together. The last time I saw him he was working for the Venarius Investigation Agency, a very respectable organisation, well liked by the authorities. When I was in Palace Security we’d often find ourselves working alongside Venarius’s agents. I ask what brings him to the Blind Horse.