Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Dance of Death

“Will the city really be flattened?” asks Makri.

“It’s possible.”

“But I’ve got an examination tomorrow. And I really studied hard for it.”

A unicorn trots out from the trees. They’re pleasant animals. I never thought I’d get so sick of seeing them. It approaches Makri and starts nuzzling her face.

“I just don’t see why these unicorns like you so much. It’s not like you’re a virgin.”

“Is that an insult?” says Makri, suspiciously.

“No, just a statement of fact.”

“I’m sure that virginity has nothing to do with it anyway,” says Makri, patting the unicorn. “It’s my sunny personality. Or maybe it’s the Elvish blood. Is this actually a real unicorn?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t show any sign of disappearing. Neither does that mermaid who’s hypnotising the man in a sailor’s costume. Come on, we have two pendants to find.”

My bracelet starts glowing. I climb into the fountain, bat the mermaid out of the way and scoop up another pendant. Only one more to go.

Lisutaris, in her splendid angel costume, arrives in the company of someone who might be Prince Frisen-Akan. His costume is rich enough for a prince, and he’s drunk, so it could be. On seeing us Lisutaris sends him gently on his way and asks about our progress.

“One more to go.”

“Are you sure only one is missing?”

“Yes.”

“Then we are finished,” proclaims the Sorcerer. “I have it. I found it with two Senators who’d taken it off a unicorn. They were about to fight. Fortunately I interrupted them before their venal dreams could drive them mad or kill them.”

Lisutaris breathes a great sigh of relief.

“I’m glad that’s all over. Thing were becoming hectic. I had to banish a troop of mountain trolls who were eating all the food, and the Consul got tangled up with an angry dryad. Unless that was just an angry citizen, it’s been hard to tell.”

We withdraw under the privacy of a clump of trees. It’s a hot night and sweat is running down my face beneath my mask. Makri removes her helmet to wipe her brow. Lisutaris takes the bag of pendants, adds the jewels to the contents she already has, then rummages around inside. After a few moments she draws out a jewel.

“This is the real one.”

“How can you tell?”

“I’m head of the Sorcerers Guild.”

“You were fooled by an imitation before.”

“I didn’t have the rest to compare then. Besides, I had to show the Consul something.”

I take the pendant in my hand. It seems the same as all the others. But you have to trust Lisutaris on matters like this. She’s number one chariot in all matters of sorcery. I hand it back.

“Congratulations,” comes a familiar voice. It’s Horm the Dead, still in costume.

Lisutaris greets him coldly.

“I do not believe I invited you.”

“I did not wish to miss such a glittering occasion. Or the chance of meeting Makri again.”

He bows to Makri, who looks uncomfortable, and may be blushing. In the shadow of the trees it’s hard to tell. Horm looks at the pendant in Lisutaris’s hand.

“You know, I went to some trouble to send these all to your ball. Some I retrieved by sorcery . . . Casax for instance seemed unwilling to hand his over to me—some I bought, which involved rather large payments to Sarin—some I acquired from people I . . . removed.”

“Tough luck,” I say. “Your plan failed.”

“My plan?”

“To cause such sorcerous instability that a disaster happened.”

“Yes,” agrees Horm. “That would have been excellent. But that was not exactly my plan. Merely an entertaining lie. I still intend to take the pendant back to Prince Amrag. Till they were all gathered together, I could not be certain which was the original. And since you, Lisutaris, had already managed to retrieve one of the pendants, I felt that here would be as good a place as any to bring them all together. And now you have picked out the real one for me.”

“Your power does not equal mine, Horm the Dead.”

“You are mistaken. It does. But we do not have to battle each other now. You will simply hand over the original pendant to me and I will not drop this handful of powder on your bag.”

“What?”

“My own preparation. It will rot the red Elvish cloth in a matter of seconds. Unprotected by the magical barrier provided by the cloth, the fifteen pendants in close proximity to each other will, I believe, cause a sorcerous event of such magnitude that few of your guests will survive.”

Horm turns his head towards me.

“Please do not try any sudden movement. I am quite prepared for it, and you will die. Lisutaris, the pendant.”

We seem to be stuck. It’s the sort of moment a man needs to think of a quick plan. I don’t come up with anything. Horm lets a little dust trickle from his fingers. The Elvish cloth starts to decay before our eyes.

“You will still have a fake jewel for fooling the Consul,” says Horm, and holds out his hand. Lisutaris has no choice. Everyone here will die. She hands over the original. Horm tucks the pendant into the folds of his costume and then, unexpectedly, he removes his mask. He moves a step closer to Makri and leans towards her, quite slowly. He kisses her lightly on her lips. Makri doesn’t move at all. Horm steps back.

“You will one day visit my Kingdom,” he says, before turning on his heel and hurrying off, leaving Makri looking embarrassed.

Horm doesn’t get far. A masked figure steps swiftly out from behind a tree with a short club in his hand and slugs Horm on the back of the head. Horm crumples to the ground. It’s nice work. Moving swiftly, the figure reaches down to wrench the pendant from Horm’s grasp.

“Good work, Demanius,” I say.

The masked figure looks over in surprise.

“I recognised the clubbing action. Now give the pendant to Lisutaris and we’ll get rid of Horm.”

The Investigator draws his mask up, revealing his features.

“Can’t do that, Thraxas. I’m working for Rittius at the Palace. The pendant goes to him.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I’m not paid to argue.”

It’s intolerable. We go through all this and the pendant still isn’t coming home. I’m still trying to work through the ramifications of Demanius returning the pendant to Rittius at Palace Security when the Investigator makes to leave.

“Stop him,” cries Lisutaris.

Demanius, almost at the edge of the trees, jerks backwards. For a moment I think that Lisutaris has halted him with a spell. Then, as his body spins and falls, I notice a crossbow bolt sticking from his chest. Another masked figure, tall and slender, darts from behind the tree. She grabs the pendant and leaps into the crowd, disappearing immediately among the throng. Sarin the Merciless. I wondered where she’d got to.

[Contents]

Chapter Twenty

“You didn’t find her?”

Makri arrives in Lisutaris’s private chambers some time after the death of Demanius. She shakes her head.

“She’s a slippery woman, Sarin. Probably climbed the outside wall while you were still searching the marquees.”

“I didn’t see you rushing to help,” complains Makri, and sits down heavily on a gilded couch.

“I’ve done enough rushing around.”

Lisutaris herself is sitting dejectedly on another couch.

“You still have a lot of fakes,” says Makri.

“They’ll spot it at the Palace. I can’t believe we lost the pendant after we went to so much trouble.”

I’m sorry about Demanius. He was a good man. His body has been removed discreetly by Lisutaris’s staff and now lies in a cellar, along with another two unfortunate souls who met their end as a result of the pendants. Two dead guests. Not as bad as it could have been. Lisutaris can probably explain it away as natural causes. The way some of these elderly Senators have been drinking and dancing, you’d expect a few fatalities.