Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Dance of Death

“Did you get my message about Horm the Dead?”

Lisutaris nods, and frowns.

“Horm the Dead is a very dangerous individual. Consul Kalius should be immediately informed that he is in the city.”

“And has he been?”

“No,” admits Lisutaris. “I’m still trying to keep things quiet.”

In the past few days Lisutaris has been subjected to much questioning from fellow Sorcerers and government officials. So far it has remained informal.

“Deputy Consul Cicerius visited to ask me about some aqueduct renovations. I wasn’t aware that he valued my opinion on the city’s water supply. Harmon Half Elf happened to find himself in the vicinity and dropped in to share an amusing story about some Elvish Sorcerers.”

Given Lisutaris’s status, it’s difficult for anyone to come right out and demand to know what’s going on, though it’s perfectly obvious that something is. However, having moved heaven, earth and the three moons to get her elected as head of the Sorcerers Guild, no one in Turai wants her to be plunged into disgrace only a few months later. Turai would be severely damaged in the eyes of all nations.

“They’re hovering round the subject. I’ve been keeping quiet like you suggested, but I can’t hold out for ever. Tilupasis was sniffing round for information and you know what a cunning operator she is. I was reduced to telling her that I really had to ask her to leave because I needed some privacy to smoke my thazis pipe, so there goes my reputation among Turai’s aristocratic matrons. Now it’ll be all over Thamlin that Lisutaris can’t grant you more than a half-hour audience before she has to smoke thazis.”

“Didn’t everyone know that already?” asks Makri, who has not yet learned how to be tactful.

“I am not reliant on thazis,” says Lisutaris, coldly.

“Oh,” says Makri. “Sorry. I thought you were. I remember when you collapsed at the Sorcerers Assemblage and I had to carry you to your pipe and you were gasping about how you needed thazis, so I just naturally assumed—”

“Could we discuss this another time?” says Lisutaris, shooting her an angry glance. She turns the angry glance in my direction.

“Not that I had much reputation left after word got around that I’d hired you to buy back my diary which I was desperate to retrieve due to its being full of extremely intimate love poems. I understand that guessing the identity of my secret lover is now a popular game at dinner parties.”

“I’m shocked, Lisutaris. When I told Kalius about your diary, I thought he’d keep it a secret.”

“Who is it?” asks Makri.

“Who is who?”

“The person you’re in love with?”

“I’m not in love with anyone. Thraxas made it up.”

Makri looks puzzled.

“Why?”

“I needed a cover story. It was all I could think of.”

Makri is of the opinion that I could have done better.

“After all, many people say you’re one of the finest liars in the city.”

Lisutaris is certain that the Consul is going to ask to see the pendant when he comes to the ball.

“Kalius might not be sharp as an Elf’s ear, but even he must know by now I’ve lost the pendant. Damn it, I wish I hadn’t chosen this moment to hold a social function.”

“Talking of your social function,” I say, “Horm the Dead mentioned that he might be paying a visit.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And as you say, Horm is a very dangerous individual. I think it would be wise for you to have some extra personal protection at the ball.”

“You may be right,” says Lisutaris.

I wait for my invitation. Lisutaris turns to Makri.

“Would you mind being my bodyguard again?”

“I’d be delighted,” answers Makri.

I stare morosely at the jeweller’s window. Lisutaris is a disgrace to the city. Her abuse of thazis is a public scandal. She deserves to be exiled.

“What do you suggest we do now, Investigator?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“I can’t really blame you for that,” sighs Lisutaris. “I have no idea what to do either.”

I’ve started to believe that there is no point investigating. Either someone is deliberately leading us on and mocking us at every turn, or the situation has become so chaotic that there is no point in doing anything. Either way, I’m beaten.

“If no one has any plans for saving the city, how about going to see Barius?” suggests Makri, brightly.

“Who is Barius?” asks Lisutaris.

“Professor Toarius’s son. I think he might be able to shed some light on Makri’s expulsion.”

Lisutaris offers to take us there in her carriage, which is waiting nearby. She doesn’t feel like going home, fearing that she will once more be confronted by an inquisitive Sorcerer or curious government official.

“Six more deaths in the city today,” I say. “Brings the total to twenty-seven, near as I can count. For that many unexplained deaths the Abode of Justice will call in a Sorcerer. Old Hasius the Brilliant will learn every detail of the affair.”

“Not for a long time,” says Lisutaris. “The moons are way out of conjunction.”

For a Sorcerer to look back in time, it’s necessary for the three moons to be in a particular alignment. According to Lisutaris, we’re in the middle of one of the longest blank periods of the decade. I’d have known that if I wasn’t so lousy at sorcery.

“It’ll be months before Sorcerers can look back in time. If that wasn’t the case I’d have been looking back myself.”

The carriage takes us towards Kushni. The driver shouts at some revellers who are blocking the street. They look like they might be inclined to argue over right of way, but when they recognise Lisutaris’s rainbow livery on the side of the carriage, they hastily move, not wishing to be blasted by a spell.

“Do you think we should revise our bet?” asks Makri. “The three of us have ended up placing a bet on thirty-five deaths. But with the count now at twenty-seven this may not be high enough.”

Lisutaris manages a grim laugh.

“True. And if the Consul freezes my assets before bringing me to trial, I may be in need of some money to pay for a lawyer. What’s the cut-off point for this wager?”

Makri looks a little uncomfortable.

“Well, you know, when the case comes to an end. . . .”

“And when would that be?”

“When Thraxas solves it. Or gets killed. Or you get arrested.”

Lisutaris is shocked.

“The Turanian masses are gambling on me being arrested?”

“Only tangentially,” says Makri.

“Have they no respect for the head of the Sorcerers Guild?”

“Don’t complain,” I tell the Sorcerer. “It’s not as bad as betting on me dying.”

“I think Lisutaris dying also brings the betting to an end,” says Makri, helpfully. “But no one is really expecting that to happen. Apart from Parax the shoemaker; I think he wagered a little on Lisutaris’s death. And maybe one or two others. Captain Rallee as well. But not many. It’s definitely not as popular an option as Thraxas handing in his toga. Do you have any thazis?”

We smoke Lisutaris’s thazis sticks as we make our way through the busy streets. Even in the tense situation I appreciate the high quality of her narcotic.

“Grown in your own gardens?”

“Yes. Or rather, in the glasshouse I built last year.”

“You have a glasshouse?”

“A special construction,” explains the Sorcerer. “For protecting plants from the elements and maximising the sunlight that feeds them. They were first used in Simnia. I believe mine is the first in Turai.”

I’ve never heard of such a thing, and once more marvel at Lisutaris’s dedication to her favourite substance. Thazis is imported into Turai from the southeast, where it’s extensively cultivated. Though I’ve known people to occasionally produce their own plants, I don’t think anyone else in the city is capable of growing it in volume. A glasshouse. I would hardly have believed it was possible. It must have been extremely expensive.