Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Dance of Death

I’m keeping an eye on the next table, where young Moxalan, surrounded by onlookers, is working things out on sheets of paper. Calculating how many deaths actually occurred as a result of the case of the missing pendant is a tricky business. There were fatalities all over the city, many of which could be ascribed, directly or indirectly, to the pendants.

The front door flies open and Makri strides dramatically into the room. She flings her bag on the floor, drags her tunic over her head and throws it at the wall, then starts parading round in her chainmail bikini, arms aloft, a look of triumph on her face. I’ve never seen her behave quite like this. It must be something she learned to do in the gladiator pits after slaughtering her enemies.

Makri marches round the room, arms still in the air, grinning arrogantly, so that people start applauding even though they don’t know what for.

“Makri!” she says eventually. “Number one chariot at examinations!”

“You passed?”

“Passed? ‘Passed’ doesn’t do my performance justice. I set new standards. Never has a class been declaimed to in such an authoritative manner. The students were awestruck. When I finished my speech they stood up and cheered.”

Gurd grins. Dandelion, still in residence, brings Makri a beer to celebrate. I congratulate her warmly.

“Well done. I knew you’d pass.”

“It was a triumph,” she enthuses. “Not even Professor Toarius could say a word against it. I tell you, I was great. And all this on no sleep. You know I spent the whole night dancing at the ball? It was the social event of the season. Lisutaris has been widely complimented. I walked from her house to college this morning and did my examination. I’m now sailing into my final year as top student. Incidentally, word got round about Barius. No one now thinks I’m a thief.”

A good day all round. And it might get better. Moxalan is ready to make his announcement.

“With the help of my fellow adjudicators,” he announces, “I proclaim that the final death total in the case of Thraxas and the missing pendant is sixty-three.”

There are groans from all round the room. No one seems to have picked this total. Moxalan’s eye glints greedily.

“No winners at sixty-three? Then we move on to the reduced-odds winner for closest bet. Anyone with sixty-two? No? Sixty-one? Sixty?”

“Me!” yells Makri, leaping to her feet once more. “I have sixty.” She retrieves her bag from the floor and hunts for her ticket.

“I’m not happy at this,” complains Parax the shoemaker. “She had inside information.”

Many suspicious eyes are turned on me. I splutter in protest.

“Makri had no inside information from me. I have remained aloof from the entire contest, thinking it to be in the poorest of taste. I am disgusted with all of you and will now retire upstairs to forget I ever met any of you.”

I leave with dignity, and beer.

A while later Makri appears upstairs, still on a high after her examination triumph. She starts counting out her bag of money, splitting it three ways for herself, Lisutaris and me.

“Twenty to one, not bad. We lost a lot of stake money on our first bets but we’ve still got a good profit. This will get me started at college next year. That was a good wager, Thraxas. You picked sixty, it was well worked out.”

“I’m sharp as an Elf’s ear. Incidentally, did you tell Lisutaris last week that she shouldn’t invite me to her ball because I really didn’t like that sort of thing?”

“No,” says Makri, sharply. “Why would you think that?”

“Investigator’s intuition.”

“Well your intuition is quite mistaken. It’s not all you make it out to be, you know. Here, take this pile of money. It’ll make you feel better.”