Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Dance of Death

“Hard to kill? I’ve passed by you drunk in the gutter, Thraxas. I could have gutted you had I wished.”

“When was this exactly?”

“On one of the many occasions I’ve been in this city, undetected. There are plenty of unsolved crimes which could be laid at my door, Investigator. Some of them investigated by you, without result. The few successes you brag about are as nothing compared to your multitudinous failures.”

I don’t believe her. Sarin is just angry at me because I’ve thwarted her in the past. But I notice Lisutaris is looking at me with a new lack of respect. No client likes to hear their Investigator being mocked by a criminal.

“Me lying drunk in the gutter notwithstanding, Lisutaris hasn’t lost any pendants that I know about. The Mistress of the Sky merely called in to invite me to a masked ball she’s holding in a couple of days. And I’m very gratified to receive the invitation, Lisutaris. I shall be delighted to attend.”

“Stop this buffoonery,” says Sarin, loudly. She studies my face.

“You don’t have the pendant,” she says.

She turns her head to Lisutaris and regards her for a few seconds.

“And neither do you.”

“So you can read minds?” I ask, intending it to be sarcastic.

“Not exactly,” replies Sarin, taking my statement at face value. “But I trained with warrior monks. I can read emotions.”

She picks up her crossbow.

“A puzzle,” she says, softly. “I knew that the pendant had been intercepted by the Society of Friends. I intended to take it from their operative at the Blind Horse. But someone beat me to it. I thought it might have been you but apparently I was wrong. No matter. I do not doubt that I can find it again. If you get in my way I’ll kill you.”

Sarin the Merciless departs, closing the door quietly behind her.

“At least we’re not the only ones who don’t know where the pendant is.”

“That is little comfort,” says Lisutaris. “Who was that woman?”

“Sarin the Merciless. Ruthless killer. She almost killed Makri and she did kill Tas of the Eastern Lightning though it could never be proved against her. She once blackmailed the Consul’s office and made off with enough gold to last her a lifetime, but it hasn’t induced her to retire from crime. I get the impression she enjoys it. Of course, she’s mentally unwell. That whole part about seeing me lying drunk in the gutter was obviously a hallucination.”

“Obviously. Who are her associates?”

“She has no fixed alliances. Did work with Glixius Dragon Killer and the Society of Friends one time, but they fell out, as I recall. She was all set to rob the Society but someone beat her to it.”

“Might we use her as a means of finding the pendant?”

“Perhaps. Can you follow her?”

“I can,” says Lisutaris. “I will trace her movements round the city and keep you informed. Meanwhile I must urge you to spare no effort in your own search. I must depart now. I’m due at a meeting of Turai’s ministers of state.”

I speak some words of caution to Lisutaris.

“Sarin is a very dangerous woman. If she can’t find the pendant herself she might just decide to search for it at your villa. Perhaps I really should come to the ball.”

“Do not trouble yourself,” says Lisutaris. “I have adequate security.”

She departs. I march straight downstairs for a beer.

“Good meeting?” asks Makri, at the bar.

“Stop talking and give me a beer.”

“So what are you as miserable as a Niojan whore about?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“That’s right, nothing. Also, Sarin the Merciless just paid a visit.”

Makri is agitated. Sarin once put a crossbow bolt in her chest and Makri would like the opportunity to return the favour.

“I think Sarin must be the only person ever to wound me that I haven’t killed in return.”

I tell Makri she’ll probably get her chance.

“Sarin has a way of appearing when she’s not wanted.”

“Does this mean you can’t investigate at the Guild College?”

“It might have to wait a while.”

“It can’t wait,” insists Makri. “If you don’t find the thief soon I’m going to have to do the examination with everyone thinking I’m a criminal.”

“Well you’ll just have to make the best of it.”

“Make the best of it?” says Makri, flushing. “Make the best of it? Is that your advice? I didn’t ask you to get involved in the first place. I was quite happy to go up there and kill Professor Toarius. You persuaded me not to and now you’re saying I just have to make the best of it?”

Seeing Makri getting angry, the drinkers around us draw back nervously.

“That’s right, you’ll just have to make the best of it. Just because Lisutaris invited you to her smart party doesn’t mean the whole city has to start jumping around for your convenience.”

“Aha!” yells Makri. “So that’s why you’ve been acting like a troll with toothache. You’re jealous because you can’t go to the ball.”

“I am not jealous.”

“Just like the Elvish princess in the story,” says Makri.

“What story?”

“ ‘The Elvish Princess Who Couldn’t Go to the Ball.’ ”

“There’s no such story.”

“Yes there is. I translated it last year.”

I glare at Makri with loathing.

“Fascinating, Makri. I’m gratified to learn that while I’m struggling round the streets fighting criminals you’re safe in a classroom translating Elvish fairy stories.”

Makri takes her sword from behind the bar.

“I’m off to kill Professor Toarius,” she mutters.

I move swiftly to cut off her exit.

“Fine. I’ll go investigate at the College.”

I grab a bag of food from Tanrose and eat on the hoof. Possibly Makri was right. I should be paying more attention to her problem. It’s just that with bodies everywhere, Lisutaris’s case was hard to ignore. Till the Sorcerer sends me another lead, however, I’ve got a little time to investigate the theft. I can’t help resenting all the work I’m having to do over a lousy five gurans.

I still have some students left to visit, people who were close to the scene of the crime on the day in question. I set about tracking them down. It takes a lot of trudging round the streets and a lot of knocking at doors where no one is pleased to see me. I work my way northwards through the city, and as the houses become smarter the replies get briefer. Several families flatly refuse to let me in and succumb eventually only to the threat of a court order from the Tribune’s Office. There isn’t actually a Tribune’s Office, but they’re not to know that.

“When I heard that the Deputy Consul had reinstated the post of Tribune I did not realise it would lead to the harassment of honest people going about their work,” says one angry master glassmaker, upset at me interrupting the family dinner to question his son.

“Just a few questions and I’ll be on my way.”

This is the eighth house I’ve visited, so far with no results. For students who are supposed to be learning, the young men at the Guild College seem peculiarly unobservant. I can understand that, I suppose. I studied as a Sorcerer’s apprentice for almost a year, and at the end of it all I could remember was the way to the nearest tavern.

I’m shown into an elegant front room which is sufficiently well furnished to make me think that a master glassmaker can’t be that bad a thing to be. I wait a long time, and no one offers me a drink; bad manners towards a guest. Even the Consul would offer me wine, and he’s never pleased to see me. Eventually the glassmaker’s son, Ossinax, appears. He’s around nineteen, small for his age, with long hair tied back in a ponytail like most of the lower-class sons of the city. My own hair has never been cut and has trailed down my back since I was young. These days I notice some grey streaks.