Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Dance of Death

I need beer. I head downstairs to get myself around a Happy Guildsman jumbo-sized tankard. Gurd is still as miserable as a Niojan whore, and Makri is resting upstairs, leaving the incompetent Dandelion to struggle with the task of pulling the ale. By the time she finally plants my Happy Guildsman in front of me, I could have walked to the next tavern and downed a few.

“You’re looking thoughtful,” says Dandelion, who, I think, has learned from Gurd that the clientele often enjoy a word with the bartender.

“Too many pendants.”

“What?”

I shake my head. If I ever reach the stage of discussing my work with Dandelion, it’ll be time to retire.

“What did you see when you looked in the jewel?”

“Lots of nice colours. And some flowers.”

It didn’t do her any harm. Everyone else it drove mad. Dandelion just saw some pretty colours. Maybe there’s something to be said for walking around in bare feet. I warn her not to relate her experience to anyone, and tell her I’d like another tankard as soon as she’s finished struggling with the large order from three sailmakers who are shouting for drinks from the far end of the counter. They’ve just completed the re-sailing of a trireme and they have a lot of money to spend. More sailmakers arrive and start demanding ale and bragging about the work they’ve done and the money they’ve earned. It’s not a bad life being a sailmaker if the city’s merchant trade is healthy, which it is. Plenty of ships, plenty of work.

I secure another beer and leave them to it. I’m unsure of what to do now. Visit Lisutaris, I suppose. She claims to have the pendant. But she can’t have it. I’ve got it. And why send me the message? I can understand why she might be faking something for the benefit of the Consul, but there’s no point lying to me.

Casax, the local Brotherhood boss, appears before I have time to sit down. It’s surprising how busy my office can be at times. You’d think I’d earn more.

“You want to buy this pendant everyone’s been looking for?” he asks.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I have it,” says Casax. “One of my men found it in Kushni. But I’m a patriotic guy. I’m not going to let it fall into the hands of one of these outsiders. I’ll let it go back where it belongs, so long as there’s a profit in it for me.”

“I know nothing of any missing pendant.”

“I know you know nothing of any missing pendant. But if you did know anything about a missing pendant, a pendant which contains a jewel which will give our top Sorcerer some advance warning about when the Orcs might attack, would you want to buy it back?”

“When you put it like that, maybe. What’s your price?”

“Three thousand gurans. In gold.”

“That’s a lot of gold for a patriotic guy.”

“I have to make a living.”

I ask to see the pendant.

“It’s in a safe place,” says Casax.

He expects me to trust him. Which I probably would, normally, in a matter like this. The Brotherhood boss would not waste his time trying to sell me an item he didn’t have. So why is he trying to do it now? I can’t figure it out. The pendant is in my bag. I know it is. I checked just a moment ago. Are these people all trying to work some scam, or is this some effect of the sorcerous madness that’s been breaking out all over? Maybe Casax really thinks he does have the pendant. Maybe he thinks he can talk to the unicorns.

“There was a centaur in my tavern last night,” he says, which makes me think that my guess might not be so far off.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I never seen one before. You think it would be strange, being half man and half horse, but the centaur didn’t seem to mind.”

“What happened to it?”

“It drank some beer then disappeared. Is all this stuff going to end now the pendant’s been found? It’s bad for business, strange things happening all over the city. Makes my men forget what they should be doing. I sent two guys out last night to pick up a debt and they came back spouting some stuff about mermaids in fountains. I’d have killed them on the spot if the centaur hadn’t showed up, which did give their story some credibility. Bad for business, though.”

I admit to Casax that I don’t know if the strangeness will end. I don’t know if it’s really connected to the pendant.

“The Sorcerers Guild should sort it out. Normal people shouldn’t be coping with this sort of thing.”

I tell Casax I’ll put his offer to Lisutaris. I wonder what Lisutaris will say when I do. I don’t know why they’re all lying. I can’t think straight. At least I know why I can’t think straight. It’s because I haven’t had a decent pie or portion of venison stew for days. Since Tanrose left, I haven’t eaten one thing that truly satisfied me. A man can’t be expected to do his best work in these circumstances. I decide to visit Tanrose. Possibly I might be able to persuade her to come back to the Avenging Axe. Failing that, she might offer me dinner.

I disturb Makri’s rest.

“I have to go out. Stake some money on forty. It’s still going up.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to see Tanrose. You want I should bring you back a pie?”

Makri shakes her head. She has little enthusiasm for food.

[Contents]

Chapter Seventeen

Tanrose is living with her mother on the top floor of a dark stone tenement between Twelve Seas and Pashish. Five flights up, with a stairway that could use some cleaning and a few more torches to light the way. As I arrive, Tanrose is laying dinner out on the table, one of the few strokes of good fortune I’ve had all summer. Not wishing to be impolite, I accept her offer of a meal. Once at the table, I lose all self-control and take second, third and fourth helpings of everything. Tanrose is amused, as is her mother, an elderly woman with white hair who already knows my appetite by reputation.

“I like to see a man eat well,” she says, and brings me another pie from the larder, I hesitate. With Tanrose no longer bringing in her wages from the Avenging Axe, there might not be much money to go around. There again, I don’t want to appear impolite. I eat the pie.

“Tanrose, you have to come back to the Avenging Axe. The population of Twelve Seas is starving to death. There’s misery everywhere, particularly in my rooms.”

Tanrose asks if Gurd sent me.

“No.”

“So he’s too useless even to send a message,” says Tanrose, which is true, I suppose. I try to excuse him.

“He spent his life fighting. There was no finer companion for killing Niojans. It’s not easy for a warrior to settle down. I know he loves you. He just doesn’t want to say it.”

“He doesn’t have any trouble in saying he doesn’t like my bookkeeping.”

I contrive to look hopeless. A few minutes of this sort of conversation is all I can ever manage. I’ve no idea how to bring together sundered couples. I don’t remember ever caring about a sundered couple before.

“What will it take to bring you back? An apology? A marriage proposal? Or would a bunch of flowers do it?”

“It would help.”

“I’m always surprised how much you like flowers, Tanrose.”

Tanrose smiles.

“It’s the thought behind them.”

“Is it such a great thought?”

“It worked with Makri, didn’t it?”

On several previous occasions when Makri had taken offence at some of my wilder outbursts of invective—criticism of her morals or her ears or her clothes, or maybe a few other things—I had managed to calm the troubled waters with flowers, not something I would ever have thought of myself unless prompted by Tanrose. Naturally this entire process was greatly humiliating to a man such as myself, involving much mirth from the flower sellers, Gurd, and the assembled drunks at the Avenging Axe, but it seemed preferable to the terrible atmosphere caused by Makri storming round in a bad mood for weeks on end, which she’s quite capable of.