Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Dance of Death

“Did you bring my toga?”

“Toga, sandals and a mask. And beer.”

Makri empties the contents of her bag. I’m immensely grateful for the beer. I drink it while I get the toga out. It could be cleaner but it’ll do.

“They’re difficult to wear, you know. You have to drape it just right. Any sudden movement and it’s liable to fall off. That’s why you never see Senators running around, it’s too risky. What sort of mask did you bring?”

Makri has purchased a cheap mask from the market. It’s a comic representation of Deputy Consul Cicerius.

“It was the only one they had.”

Makri wonders why I don’t give her the pendant to return. I point out that it’s already driven her mad once.

“You’d be tempted to look again.”

“You’re right,” says Makri. “It was so good being captain of the armies.”

“What have you done to your hair?” I ask, suddenly noticing that her already voluminous mane is looking even fuller than usual.

“I washed it in a lotion of pixlas herbs.”

“What?”

“They sell it at the market. It adds volume. And conditioning. Hey, I’m not turning up at Lisutaris’s ball looking like a tramp. It will be full of Senators’ wives. I have to go now.”

“To do your make-up?”

“Possibly.”

Around the time of the Sorcerers Assemblage, Makri encountered Copro, one of the city’s finest beauticians. She was later forced to kill him after he turned out to be a rather deadly enemy, but even so, it had an effect. Previously dismissive of upper-class frippery, Makri can now be found painting her nails.

“How are things out there?”

“Hell,” replies Makri. “Unicorns, centaurs, fire, death, delusions. The city’s in chaos. I really wish I could afford to go to the beautician. Lisutaris has a team of them booked for the entire day. Maybe if I turn up early she’ll let me share.”

Makri departs. Night is approaching and I struggle into my toga and put the mask in my bag. I try my best to hide my hair down the back of my toga. Then, hoping that I look something like a Senator who’s on his way to a masked ball, I emerge on to the streets of Twelve Seas to be immediately ridiculed by some small children who wonder out loud if I’m a sorcerous apparition. I chase them off with some language they’re not expecting to hear from a Senator.

“That’s no way to talk to children.”

Captain Rallee is looking at me with some amusement. Behind him are three Civil Guards.

“You’re under arrest, Senator Thraxas.”

I’m carrying one spell. I mutter the correct arcane words and the Captain and his companions fall to the ground. The sleep spell is very effective, one of the few I can still use with authority. Unfortunately I’ve now run out of magic completely and won’t be able to load any more into my memory till I consult my grimoire. I had been hoping to save that one spell for the masked ball in case I run into trouble there.

Of course, having used a spell on a Guards captain I’m already in big trouble. Resisting arrest by use of sorcery is a very serious crime. I hurry off and wave down the first landus I see.

“The home of Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. At great speed.”

I squirm around a little, trying not to sit on my sword, which is concealed under my toga. Only a few months ago I saw a group of travelling actors performing a sketch at the Pleasure Gardens in which a bumbling Senator’s toga fell off just as the princess walked into the room. I wouldn’t bet against that happening tonight. I wonder if Lisutaris has invited any princesses. Quite probably. The young Princess Du-Akai is a keen socialite. Also a former client of mine, in a confidential matter. I’d best try to keep out of her way.

I keep my head down all the way through town. When we join the throng of vehicles making their way into Truth is Beauty Lane, I risk a glance. All around me are splendid carriages filled with people in elaborate costumes. Sitting in a hired landus with an old toga and an unimpressive mask, I already feel cheap. I still figure I can carry it off. I won’t be the only one in attendance without two gurans to rub together. You don’t have to look too far among Turai’s upper classes to find men so far in debt they’re never coming out.

I toss some money at the driver, leap out of the landus and lose myself in a crowd of giggling young ladies who’re swaying up the driveway dressed as dancers. Unless they really are dancers. Assuming the air of a benevolent patriarch shepherding his flock, I stride confidently through the doors, take a glass of wine from a servant and look for the party.

Mostly the party is outside, and I’m directed by a series of servants through to the extensive grounds in the back where music is coming from every corner and a great throng of people, all elegantly costumed and masked, are walking in and out of a series of large marquees. It strikes me for the first time that it may not be easy to immediately locate Lisutaris. I’d hoped she might be welcoming guests at the door, but she’s obviously in the midst of the throng, unless she’s still getting dressed. Having worked for the woman last year, I’ve had experience of the staggering amount of time she can take to get ready. Still, I’m guessing that as a matter of pride Lisutaris will be wearing the fanciest costume on view, so I look around for anyone who looks particularly fabulous. Unfortunately there are a lot to choose from. The gardens contain all manner of masked guests, from men who, like myself, are merely clad in their formal togas with the addition of a mask, to others who’ve spent weeks preparing the most elaborate of outfits. Pirates, soldiers, Elves, famous historical figures, snow pixies, angels, Barbarians, all manner of masks and costumes. I approach a fantastic-looking figure clad in a rather graceful eagle’s mask, hoping that it might be Lisutaris, but am disappointed to hear the figure complaining bitterly to her companion about the price of merchandise in the market these days. Lisutaris would regard it as beneath her to complain of such a thing.

I wonder where Makri is. She might be upstairs sharing a beautician with Lisutaris. More to the point, sharing a thazis pipe, which means they might not appear for hours. I’m becoming uncomfortable carrying the pendant around. I keep fearing that the latent power it contains might leak out somehow and affect me. Already I’ve seen a wood nymph that seemed alarmingly real. I should return the pendant as swiftly as possible. There’s no telling when Consul Kalius will take it into his head to confront Lisutaris and demand to see it. And if Horm the Dead really does plan to pay us a visit, I’d rather the jewel was with Lisutaris than me. Let her deal with his sorcerous malevolence. I must waste no time in hunting for Lisutaris.

I need beer. The only unmasked people in the gardens are the waiters.

“I don’t suppose there’s any beer on offer?” I ask one of them, eyeing his tray of wine with dissatisfaction.

“I believe they have beer in the blue marquee, for the musicians,” he informs me.

Still not wasting any time in hunting for Lisutaris, I make a swift detour to the blue marquee, where couples dance to the stately music played by a small orchestra. It’s a good steer by the waiter. No professional musicians are going to play the whole night fuelled only by vintage wine. Beer is available and I avail myself of it, raising a tankard to the band in appreciation. I watch the dancers while I wait for more beer. They’re performing the slow, formal and rather intricate court dances as taught by Turai’s dancing masters and performed in the best houses. I did actually learn something of the sort while working at the Palace, though it wasn’t an art I was ever comfortable with. A man dressed as some sort of jester guides a woman in a nun’s costume round, leading off the next part of the dance, and a great troop of pirates and Barbarians follow them round the floor. From the number of dancers in the marquee and the amount of civilised revellers outside, I’d say that Lisutaris’s masked ball was a success. I should find her. The night being exceedingly warm, I take in some more beer, just to be on the safe side, then set off, intending to try the house. Outside the marquee I meet the waiter again.