Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Dance of Death

The corners of Lisutaris’s mouth turn downwards.

“I fear I’m doomed. But thank you again for your rescue attempt.”

We land a short distance away from the burning warehouse and are immediately surrounded. Everyone is asking questions at once. Captain Rallee is particularly insistent. This is his patch and he doesn’t like having it disturbed by armed gangs burning down warehouses.

“Or did you destroy the warehouse with sorcery?” he says, directing his gaze towards Lisutaris.

Harmon Half Elf stands to one side, waiting his turn. As far as I know, Turai’s senior Sorcerers have no power to officially censure the leader of their guild, but it’s going to destroy Lisutaris’s reputation if they turn against her. A man who seems to be in charge of the operatives from Palace Security—which is headed, unfortunately, by Rittius, a great enemy of mine—adds his voice to the others. Everyone looks to Lisutaris, waiting for an explanation. Desperate measures being called for, I step to the fore and hold up my hand.

“Official Tribune’s business,” I state, loudly. “Lisutaris is here at my request, helping me with an inquiry. As such, I forbid her to talk of today’s events. A full report will be presented to the Consul in good time.”

There’s something of a stunned silence. Civil Guards and Palace Security don’t expect to be given orders by Private Investigators. However, for some reason which it would take a historian to explain, the Tribune’s powers were very great, and could only be overruled by a full meeting of the Senate. It’s little wonder that the authorities eventually let the institution fall into disuse. Their powers were never legally rescinded, however, which means that as long as I’m a Tribune they’re stuck with it. Captain Rallee knows enough about the law not to argue, but as I lead Lisutaris away from the scene he draws me to one side.

“You’re digging yourself a pretty big hole, Thraxas. I don’t exactly know what’s going on, but if you’re covering up for Lisutaris, the government is going to come down on you like a bad spell. And don’t expect her to stick up for you when you’re being indicted before a Senate committee.”

“I won’t.”

“You know anything about any centaurs? We got a report from some crazy person that three of them were wandering around.”

“They were. I saw them, briefly.”

The captain doesn’t like this at all.

“Yesterday it was unicorns, now it’s centaurs. At first I thought it was the dwa talking, but now I’m not so sure.”

He turns to Lisutaris.

“You know of any reason why strange magical creatures might be suddenly appearing all over the city?”

“I have no idea,” responds Lisutaris, which ends the matter. A Guards captain can’t get tough with the head of the Sorcerers Guild. Lisutaris turns to go and I follow her. Captain Rallee calls after us.

“I made a quick body count in the warehouse. Six men dead. How many more before it ends?”

“I have no idea,” I call back, uncomfortably.

“I’ve got a bet down on twenty; how’s that looking?”

Declining to reply, I usher Lisutaris up the paved road on to which I almost plunged from a great height. Behind us the fire wagons have arrived and are doing good work putting out the blaze. They train their horses not to fear fire. It’s a marvellous institution. The Civil Guards are arresting every remaining gang member, and Harmon Half Elf stares after us. Let him stare. I haven’t forgiven him for calling me an imbecile. We leave the scene in Lisutaris’s carriage.

“I believe that there is no extradition treaty between Turai and Abelesi,” says Lisutaris.

“So?”

“I’m just wondering where the best place to flee might be.”

“Flee? Put the thought out of your mind. We’re not beaten yet.”

“We have less than two days to retrieve an item which has so far eluded all our efforts. And even if we do find it, I’m still ruined. There’s no way of keeping it secret now.”

Lisutaris draws a thazis stick from a large pocket inside her gown.

“Don’t despair. I don’t give up easily. Besides, none of these people really know what’s going on. Till you admit you’ve lost the pendant, everything is rumour and supposition, and the head of the Sorcerers Guild doesn’t have to answer to rumour. Just keep denying everything.”

“And what if someone else retrieves the pendant?”

“Then I’ll be joining you in Abelesi. But it’s not going to happen. I’ll find it.”

Lisutaris isn’t convinced. Neither am I, but I’m stubborn.

“Any theories regarding the centaurs?”

“No. I can’t explain their appearance, What did Captain Rallee mean when he asked you about how many bodies?”

“I expect he was just seeking information for his report. You know these Guards, always like to get their figures correct.”

Lisutaris turns her gaze fully upon me.

“I am head of the Sorcerers Guild,” she says.

Meaning, I think, that you can’t fob her off with a lie.

“Word got out that I was on a big case,” I admit. “It was the fault of this weird woman called Dandelion who talks to dolphins. She read in the stars that I was about to be involved in a bloodbath, and ever since then the regulars at the Avenging Axe have been taking bets on how many bodies there will be before it ends.”

Lisutaris’s eyes widen. I get ready to leap from the carriage. Unexpectedly, she starts to laugh.

“They’re placing bets?”

She seems to find this funny.

“Here we are, trying to keep the news from the Consul, and down in the Avenging Axe they’re placing bets.”

“I have strongly advised them to desist.”

“Why? How much has Makri gone in for?”

“Fourteen bodies.”

“Too few, I fear,” says Lisutaris.

“It is. I think we’re up to twenty-one now.”

“What odds are being offered?”

“Fifty to one for the exact total, twenty to one if you get within three.”

“You still have the money I gave you to retrieve the pendant? Then put me down for thirty-five,” she says.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. After my recent losses at the chariot races, why should I pass up this opportunity?”

“Because the whole thing is unethical.”

“A bet is a bet,” says Lisutaris.

I feel a great weight lifting off me. I realise why I’ve been so angry about the whole thing. It’s because I’ve felt unable to place a bet. Here am I, Thraxas, number one chariot among Twelve Seas gamblers, caught up in a fine sporting contest yet unable, for reasons of ethics, to participate. No wonder I felt bad. Now, with the sanction of my client, I’m free to join in. It’s a great relief.

“Fine. But do you really think we’ll reach thirty-five?”

“At least,” says Lisutaris. “I can feel it.”

As the carriage trundles along, I get down to some serious calculations as to where I’m going to place my own bet. I’ll show these scum at the Avenging Axe what a real gambler is capable of. Young Moxalan will regret ever entering the bookmaking business by the time I’ve cleaned him out.

Lisutaris drops me off at Quintessence Street. The woman who sells fish and the man who’s set up a stall for sharpening blades are arguing again. I’ve more to worry about than bad-tempered vendors. Like Makri, for instance, who once more is sheltering in my office.

“Are you going to spend every break in here till that freak Dandelion leaves?”

“I might.”

“You see, that’s one of your problems, Makri. You tolerate these weird sort of people and where does it get you? They take advantage. In a city like Turai it doesn’t pay to tolerate people. You have to be tough.”