Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Dance of Death

“Get in,” instructs Kalius.

I get in.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re not going anywhere.”

Kalius must be sixty years old. His toga is lined with gold as befits his rank, and he wears it with pride. As Turanian Consuls go, he’s moderately well regarded. If he’s not exactly as sharp as an Elf’s ear, then neither is he the most foolish we’ve had, and while he lacks Cicerius’s reputation for fierce incorruptibility, at least he hasn’t been flagrant in taking bribes, and he’s a lot more charismatic than his deputy.

“I wish to talk with you. Here will do as well as anywhere.”

I’m puzzled by the meeting. I ask the Consul if he just happened to be riding by.

“I was searching for you. My Sorcerer located you and I rode quickly to intercept you.”

If the Consul has actually used a Sorcerer to locate me, I have to be in trouble over something. The authorities generally don’t use their Sorcerers for trivial matters.

“What task are you performing for Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky?”

I’m not sure what to say. I can’t possibly reveal Lisutaris’s reason for hiring me. It strikes me fully for the first time that Lisutaris is withholding some tremendously important information from the state, information that really should not have been withheld, and I’m now fully implicated. If disaster strikes Turai because the errant Sorcerer has lost the pendant and I’m held to have been responsible for its non-recovery, I’ll be lucky to avoid spending the rest of my life on a slave galley.

I consider denying that Lisutaris has hired me but reject it as too risky, given the Consul’s many sources of information. It’s time to lie, something I pride myself on my talent for.

“She hired me to find some personal papers.”

“What sort of papers?”

“Her diary.”

Kalius regards me coolly for some moments.

“Her diary?”

“Yes. She lost it at the chariot races. Naturally it’s a sensitive matter. No important Sorcerer wants details of her daily thoughts placed before the public. You know how cruel people can be. And The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle would probably publish the whole thing if it fell into their hands.”

Kalius isn’t looking convinced.

“Lisutaris hired you to find her diary? I find that hard to believe.”

“Diaries are sensitive objects, Consul. I believe hers may contain several love poems. Naturally she’s anxious that no one should see them.”

“Are you telling me that Turai’s most important Sorcerer has been wasting her time writing love poems?”

I raise my palms towards the sky.

“Are love poems a waste of time? Who can say? In the tavern where I live there are various persons deeply enmeshed in affairs of the—”

“I am not interested in the squalid affairs that may go on in the Avenging Axe,” says Kalius, acidly.

It’s gratifying to realise that the Consul actually remembers where I live. He did come there one time, to harangue me, but I thought he’d probably have forgotten. I struggle on with my story.

“Lisutaris needed a man of discretion to work on her behalf. I’m sure you understand. Really I shouldn’t be telling you this and must ask you to make sure the information goes no further.”

“I have been informed by our Civil Guard that you have been involved in a great many deaths in recent days. Are you aware that earlier today six men were found hacked to death near to the pleasure gardens?”

“I wasn’t. Does it concern me?”

“It concerns Lisutaris. I have information that an Investigator named Demanius was quickly on the scene and I have further information that Demanius is involved in some matter concerning Lisutaris.”

“Demanius? The name is vaguely familiar. Who hired him?”

Kalius won’t tell me who has hired Demanius, and nor will he tell me how he knows that Demanius is working on anything that concerns Lisutaris, but I take his information as reliable. The Consul’s office has its own efficient intelligence services. It is distressing to learn that another six men have died. More distressing that Demanius was on the scene and I knew nothing about it.

“It seems unlikely that so many murders would have occurred during the pursuit of a diary, no matter how many poems it may contain,” says the Consul.

“I haven’t been involved in these deaths, Consul. They just happened while I was there. Following up leads on the diary naturally led me into several insalubrious venues. Not the sort of place I’d normally wish to visit, but an Investigator has little choice. I believe there may have been some violence but it was nothing to do with me. Or Lisutaris.”

Kalius wears a small gold ring on his right hand, an official seal, one of the emblems of his office as chief representative of the King. He fingers it and looks thoughtful.

“If I learn that you are lying to me, Investigator, you will be punished.”

I assure him I’m not lying. I’m eager to be on my way but Kalius hasn’t finished with me.

“When Cicerius made you a Tribune, I understand he made it clear that the appointment was honorary.”

“He did.”

“And yet you are using the historical powers of the Tribunate against the express will of the government.”

There’s no point lying on this one.

“I felt it was justified,” I say.

“Last time you foolishly used these powers was there not an attempt to assassinate you?”

“There was.”

“I would have thought that would have been sufficient discouragement,” says Kalius. “Politics in this city is not to be entered by the likes of you. Be warned. Your powers are purely notional. If you find yourself in trouble because of your actions, the government will not support you.”

Kalius dismisses me from his carriage. His driver takes up the reins and canters off. I wonder what sort of punishment Kalius has in mind. I wonder if I should just pack a bag and leave the city. I wonder why they don’t build taverns in Thamlin. I really need a beer.

I can’t find a landus for hire anywhere so I have to walk a long way back towards the centre of the city. Here the streets are unpaved and I’m soon choking on the dust and cursing the heat. Halfway along Moon and Stars Boulevard another carriage pulls up. It’s a big day for finding Thraxas in your carriage. Lisutaris opens the door and beckons me in. Her conveyance is luxuriously furnished but smells strongly of thazis.

“Find me with a spell?”

She nods.

“I think I have located the pendant.”

“Just as well. The Consul suspects you’ve lost it.”

I describe my recent encounter. Lisutaris is greatly disturbed, not least by my informing the Consul that she’s been writing love poetry. Her elegant features take on a rather piqued air.

“Couldn’t you think of anything more convincing?”

“I didn’t have time to think. Anyway, it’s not that unbelievable. Sorcerers are occasionally poetic. And you’ve never married. Who knows if you might be pining for someone?”

“I’m starting to believe that Harmon Half Elf was right about you.”

“Harmon? What’s he been saying?”

“That you’re an imbecile.”

Lisutaris looks like she has a great deal more to say on the subject, but at this moment the call for afternoon prayers rings out over the city. It’s a legal requirement for all Turanian citizens to pray three times a day, and while the last thing I want to do right now is get down on my knees, I don’t have a choice. It’s illegal even to remain in a carriage, so, muffling our frustration, Lisutaris and I both clamber out into the street to join those others also unfortunate enough not to be indoors. Lisutaris frowns at the prospect of kneeling in the dust and getting her gown dirty.