Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Sorcerers

Beside me Habali is nervous. When I persuaded—or threatened—her to accompany me, she wasn’t expecting to have to face a roomful of arguing politicians. Before I can speak further the room starts filling up with Sorcerers.

“Didn’t I say there were to be no interruptions?” snaps Cicerius.

“I insisted,” retorts Charius the Wise. Filing in behind him is a large delegation. He’s brought the Chief Sorcerer from each country with him. Even Princess Direeva is here, her shoulder heavily bandaged.

“It’s time,” says Charius.

Cicerius looks helplessly at Kalius. Kalius looks helplessly at Tilupasis.

“We require a little longer,” says Tilupasis. She’s still unruffled, but it’s a hopeless task. Charius isn’t going to wait any longer. Beside Charius, Lasat, Axe of Gold, is looking on with grim satisfaction. He may have been blackmailed into silence but he’s not going to be sorry to see the Turanian disgraced.

“It’s time—” repeats Charius.

“—for some explanations,” I say, using my weight to break through the throng.

“Explanations?”

“About the remaking of reality.”

A general groan issues from the Sorcerers present, all of whom know of my fruitless search for such a spell. I must have approached every delegation, and everyone has told me to forget it.

“I take it you’ve all now seen the pictures of Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, killing Darius Cloud Walker. And you’ve probably all heard my theory that someone erased what really happened. And just about all of you have told me there’s no way a Sorcerer could make some phony pictures to replace it—”

Charius the Wise interrupts me.

“Must we listen to this man? He is already known to us as one of the principal troublemakers at the Assemblage. I insist that Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is arrested immediately.”

Strong sounds of approval come from all round the room. I’m losing my audience. I hold up my hand.

“You can insist all you want, Charius the Wise. But in Turai, no citizen can be arrested on a capital charge without the approval of the Tribunes. And I, Tribune Thraxas, withhold my approval until you hear me out.”

This sounds impressive. It isn’t true, but it silences the room. I thrust Habali forward.

“You’ve all seen Lisutaris stabbing Darius. You say no spell could create the illusion. And you’re right. There is no remaking spell. The pictures as conjured by Old Hasius are entirely accurate. A woman did walk into the Avenging Axe and stab Darius. But it wasn’t Lisutaris. It was Habali, dressed to resemble her. Meet Habali, once one of Turai’s most promising actresses.”

My revelation is met by silence and a lot of puzzled looks.

“An actress? Impossible!” says someone, eventually.

“Not impossible at all. That room was dark. The only light came from the fire. In a wig and wearing the proper clothes, Habali was good enough to fool anyone. It fooled all of you. And me, which is more impressive, because I make my living by not being fooled. For all the world it looked as though Lisutaris murdered Darius, but she didn’t. She wasn’t in the room at the time. Copro entered my office and killed him, then used his sorcery to erase all trace of events. Then he sent Habali in dressed as Lisutaris and she pretended to stab Darius with one of those fake knives they use in the theatre with a retracting blade. All the time he was already dead.”

I turn to Habali.

“Isn’t it so?”

For a moment I think Habali is going to let me down. Not surprisingly, she’s not keen on confessing to conniving in a murder in the presence of these people. However, she is already carrying a written pardon signed and sealed by Cicerius and a promise of enough gold to leave the city and set up in another state where she won’t be bothered by her tiresome husband. All in all, it’s not a bad deal from her point of view.

“It’s true,” she says. “I did it. Copro paid me. I impersonated Lisutaris to make the illusion. I also helped in the first part of the plan. He obtained the dragon scales he needed for the erasure from me.”

The controversy that follows is long and loud. Figuring I’ve done my part, I mostly stay out of it. Using the authority of the Tribunate, I send an assistant off to the Room of Saints to bring me beer while the Sorcerers once more conjure up the pictures of the murder.

“Look,” says Habali. “I’m wearing the same earrings I have on now.”

“But you look so much like Lisutaris.”

“That’s because Copro styled my wig and did my make-up.”

“He was such a great beautician,” sighs Tirini Snake Smiter, making her only contribution to the debate. The arguments continue. I take a seat. Makri sits down beside me.

“I think that was a good piece of investigative work,” she says.

“Thank you.”

“It sounds like we’re winning the argument. Of course, I deserve a lot of the credit.”

“You do?”

“Certainly. You’d never have got the answer to the final test. Do you want to know how I did it?”

I pretend to be interested. Makri launches into an explanation.

“The sequence was 391, 551, 713. I wasted some time trying to see if the difference between each pair of numbers was significant, but it didn’t seem to be. Then I thought about prime numbers.”

“What’s a prime number?”

“It doesn’t divide by anything except itself and one. Three is a prime number, for instance, or seven. So I broke each of the numbers into their factors. It took a while but eventually I found that 391 was 17 times 23. Five five one was the product of 19 and 29. Of course by then it was becoming clear. The third number, 713, turned out to be 23 times 31, which I knew it would. So by then anyone could see that the answer to the test, the next number in the sequence, would be 1073, which is the product of 29 and 37. Do you want me to write out the sequence of prime numbers to make it clearer?”

“No, you’ve explained it all very clearly already. It was brilliant of you to find the answer.”

Makri sips her beer.

“Easy really, but I was under a lot of pressure. Time was limited, the magic space was misbehaving and there were Assassins and unicorns wandering about.”

I haven’t understood a word Makri has said. I congratulate her again on a fine piece of work anyway.

“Make sure you tell Cicerius to remember that when I need his help getting in to the university.”

“You’re still going?”

“Of course I’m still going. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I thought you might be taking up a career as a useless drug user instead.”

“Stop bringing that up,” says Makri. “I was sad about See-ath.”

I get a final boost for the magic warm cloak from Irith and let Makri wear it on the way home. She does deserve some reward.

[Contents]

Chapter Twenty-Two

Three days later I’m sitting comfortably in front of the fire at the Avenging Axe. It’s early evening and the tavern is not yet crowded. I’m moderately satisfied. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is now head of the Sorcerers Guild and I have been well paid for my efforts on her behalf.

“Fine efforts, though I say it myself.”

“Many times,” says Makri.

Makri is taking a break before the evening rush. Since the end of the Assemblage she’s been in a fairly benevolent mood. She struggles to manage on the money she gets at the Avenging Axe, so payment for her duties as bodyguard will make her life easier for a while.

“I got paid for fighting. Like being a gladiator really. Except when I was a gladiator I didn’t get my hair done. Well, I did, in fact, but that Orc woman wasn’t really up to the job. A shame about Copro.”