Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Sorcerers

“Lisutaris wanted me to make sure you didn’t kill Copro. She thinks my duties as bodyguard should extend to protecting her favourite hairdresser.”

Cicerius provides us with an official carriage and we set off to visit Copro at his home in Thamlin. I tell Makri that no matter what Lisutaris thinks, Copro is up to something.

“I saw him in the magic space.”

Makri nods. She knows me well enough to realise I don’t suffer from hallucinations.

“It wouldn’t really surprise me if there was more to him than he’s saying. He was amazingly skilful with his scissors. And for a beautician, he did have a surprising grasp of world politics.”

Makri wonders why Covinius, whoever he actually is, suddenly ended up killing Sunstorm Ramius instead of Lisutaris.

“I’m wondering that myself. Damned unreasonable, seeing as we’ve spent the week protecting Lisutaris. If he’d just got in touch beforehand and said he was here to assassinate Ramius it would have been simpler all round.”

“Is it a crime you have to solve?”

“Definitely not. The Simnians can look after their own Sorcerers. All I have to do is show that Lisutaris didn’t do it.”

Copro lives in an impressive villa. Not quite as large as those belonging to our wealthy Senators, but big enough. Few tradespeople of any sort live in Thamlin. The average working Turanian dwells in far more humble surroundings, and even those whose skill or good fortune have made them rich—some of our goldsmiths, for instance—wouldn’t really be welcome here. But Copro seems to have attracted a higher status to himself. The grounds at the front of his house, now covered in snow, are in summer a marvel of exuberant good taste, with plants, trees and bushes arranged in glorious harmony according to his own design. As with hair, make-up and dress, Copro’s gardens have had a profound effect on the fashions of the city.

Inside the gate I trample on a frozen bush so it breaks.

“You don’t like the man, do you?” says Makri.

“I don’t. Where was he when I was defending the city against the Orcs? Sitting comfortably in the Palace. Now he lives in a villa and I’ve got two rooms above the Avenging Axe.”

“You really should address your self-loathing some time,” says Makri, brightly. I scowl at her, and march up the long path.

Copro isn’t in. A servant tells me so at the door, and after I bundle her out the way and search the house, it seems to be true. Other servants run around threatening to call the Civil Guard. I grab one of them and demand to know where Copro is. He claims not to know. I slap him. He falls down but when I drag him up he still doesn’t know.

“I don’t have time for this. Tell me where he is or I’ll throw you downstairs.”

The servant starts wailing. I drag him to the top of the stairs, then halt, and let him go.

“I smell sorcery.”

Makri looks interested.

“What sort?”

“Not sure. But I can always sense it. Someone has worked a spell in this house, not long ago.”

We start hunting again, straining to find the source of the magic. Finally I stop in front of a bookcase. I drag it out of the way. Behind it the wall looks much as it should do. I put my shoulder to it and it creaks. I throw my full weight at it and the wall gives way. It’s thin wood, a panel hiding a secret room. Inside are books, charts, phials, an astrolabe and various other things normally to be found only in the workroom of a Sorcerer. At the back of the room is a particularly ugly statue of some sort of demon with four arms.

“How interesting.”

“So he’s a Sorcerer as well as an Assassin?”

“Will you stop calling me an Assassin?” says Copro, materialising in the centre of the room.

Makri takes her twin swords from her magic purse.

Copro laughs.

“Do you imagine those can hurt me?”

Makri, not one for banter while she fights, waits silently, swords at the ready. Copro ignores her and speaks to me, telling me of the great enjoyment he has obtained from monitoring the incompetence of my investigation.

“Do people hire you for your amusement value, fat man?”

“All the time. I crack them up at the Palace.”

“Well, I am not an Assassin. I find myself baffled that you could think me to be Covinius.”

“I don’t think you’re Covinius. I used to, but it just occurred to me that you’re Rosin-kar. Once the disgruntled apprentice of Darius Cloud Walker.”

Copro looks less pleased.

“And what do you base that on?”

“Summer Lightning. An Abelasian hair-styling term, I believe.”

“That is hardly proof,” retorts Copro.

“Maybe not. But it was enough to get my intuition working. And it will be enough to get the Sorcerers Guild to investigate your past and link you with Darius’s murder.”

“Darius’s murder? Lisutaris has been shown to be guilty, I believe.”

“You faked the evidence,” I say.

Copro smiles.

“You don’t know how I did that, do you? I’ve spied on you, Thraxas, as you’ve toiled round the city, asking questions. Every Sorcerer you came to, you asked the same question. Is there a spell for remaking reality? Everyone said no. No one knows how to do it, except me. I am the greatest Sorcerer in the west, and the world will soon know it.”

By this time I’m starting to worry. From the tone of Copro’s voice and the glint in his eye, I’d say I was dealing with a fairly insane beautician. Probably he never really got over being booted out by Darius.

“So why did you kill Darius?”

“I owed it to him.”

“Maybe. But why bother to frame Lisutaris for the murder?”

“I was well paid by Sunstorm Ramius. The Simnians were just as keen as the Turanians to eliminate the opposition.”

“But why get involved?” exclaims Makri. “You’re such a great beautician. Weren’t you happy doing that?”

“Moderately happy,” replies Copro. “But in truth, I was finding it wearing. And I loath Lisutaris. Eternally sucking on that water pipe. The woman is a disgrace to Sorcerers everywhere. While she and her kind have stagnated in the west, I have travelled the world in an effort to hone my skill. I have learned sorcery unheard of in these lands. Now I’ll show the Guild who it was they refused to allow to finish his apprenticeship.”

Copro is looking madder all the time.

“I offered my services to Simnia. When Ramius was elected head of the Guild my reward was to be Chief Sorcerer of the conquered lands.”

“What conquered lands?”

“Turai and Abelasi.”

“Tough on you it’s all gone wrong. Ramius is dead and Lisutaris won.”

Copro’s eye starts to twitch.

“I intended to kill her in the magic space. I didn’t understand why she had not been arraigned for the murder. Despite the excellent job I did in framing her, Turai had somehow managed to keep her name clear. I found that most annoying.”

Copro shrugs.

“No matter. She will be tried for the murder eventually. No one will find the secret of my spell for remaking reality. And no one apart from you will ever realise I am Rosin-kar. I see that you are wearing spell protection charms. It may take a while for me to wear them down. Rather than waste time I will now introduce you to one of my favourite creations.”

Copro claps his hands. The statue behind him opens its eyes, and steps forward. It raises its four arms, each one carrying a sword. I raise my own weapons to defend myself. Makri does the same. The statue advances a few steps then topples over with a terrific crash and lies motionless on the ground. Makri looks puzzled.

“Is that it?”

Copro is furious.

“Don’t feel bad,” I tell him. “Animating a statue is a really difficult thing to do.”