Martin Scott - Thraxas at the races

“He says this time you’re really in trouble.”

“So everybody tells me. Why does Kerk say that?”

“Because Senator Mursius is a hero of Turai and the Guards really think you killed him. You’ve been thrown in jail on trumped-up stuff in the past, Thraxas, but this time they think it’s for real. Did you kill him?”

“Of course not! Why would I?”

Makri shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe someone paid you. After the Troll Mangler debacle you need a stake for the big race meeting.”

“Makri, I liked it better when you’d just arrived in the city and hadn’t learned how to make smart comments all the time. I’ve no idea who killed Mursius but when I was there the place stank of sorcery and now the Guards tell me that their own Sorcerer couldn’t detect any traces of magic at all. Which means either they’re lying spectacularly, or I’m involved with someone with great sorcerous power. Enough to completely clean up all traces of his actions, which isn’t easy.”

Makri’s hand keeps straying to her hip. She had to check in her sword at the desk and she doesn’t feel comfortable without it.

“You should get a good lawyer,” she says.

“Makri, is there something behind this?”

“Of course not. I’m just concerned for your welfare. I’ll get you a good lawyer. By the way, could you lend me some money?”

Makri has not yet developed the art of subtlety.

“Haven’t you already removed it from my room?”

“No,” says Makri. “I was going to, but then I realised Samanatius wouldn’t approve.”

Samanatius is a philosopher who sometimes teaches at the Guild College. He’s quite famous. He teaches for free, and gives every appearance of being genuine, unlike some of the charlatans we get round here. Makri likes him. He makes me feel uncomfortable.

“I told Minarixa I’d lent out the money I collected to a woman in distress and I’d have it back in a few days. I promised her sixty gurans.”

“I thought you owed them fifty.”

“Minarixa seemed so disappointed I pretended I’d collected an extra ten.”

Makri pulls a sheet of paper from her tunic. It’s a form sheet from Mox’s.

“So lend me thirty,” she says. “And this time pick something good.”

“I only have twenty,” I confess.

“What about your emergency reserve?”

“I’m talking about my emergency reserve.” Sensing that Makri is on the point of lecturing me about drinking my money away, I explain to her about the hefty bribe I had to pay out down at the docks. “To make things worse, my boots fell apart in the rain. You know how much it costs to get a new pair of boots? Anyway, I can only lend you ten. And I’m not forgetting the forty you already owe me.”

Makri nods. She runs her fingers through her wet, tousled hair.

“Do you know any good lawyers?”

“None that will do me any favours,” I admit.

“How about Cicerius?”

“He’s the Deputy Consul.”

“But isn’t he a lawyer as well? I’m sure I read some courtroom speeches he made in my law class.”

I explain that while Cicerius is a fine lawyer, he isn’t the sort of man you can drag down to Twelve Seas to get you out of the slammer.

“He only works on cases of national importance.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do,” she says.

I study the form sheet for the day’s races at Juval. The best bet I can see is Orc Crusher, a good chariot who’s won for me in the past. Unfortunately he’s a strong favourite and the odds are five to four on. When I explain to Makri that this means if she bets five gurans she’ll win only four she’s a little disappointed. I tell her there’s nothing else really worth gambling on, particularly as we’re not in a position to take chances.

“I hope you’re right about this one, Thraxas. I’ll bet my ten gurans. If I win eight it’ll be a start.”

I tell her to put the same bet on for me. Makri bangs on the door, summoning the Guard. He lets her out.

“So what’s it like being married to a half Orc?” he asks me when she’s gone.

“She’s only a quarter,” I reply.

“I reckon you’d be better off being hanged,” he says, and slams the door.

I wait in the cell for hours. No one comes to see me. I feel so starved of company I’d be glad if they interrogated me again, but all that happens is a stony-faced guard brings me more bread, cheese and water. Maybe they’re trying to bore me into a confession.

Finally Drinius returns. There’s a strange, troubled expression on his aristocratic face. He gazes at me for a few seconds before speaking.

“Your lawyer is here.”

“Good.”

“I was unaware that you were represented by Deputy Consul Cicerius.”

So was I. I can’t believe that Makri has managed to bring him here. No wonder Drinius looks troubled. If you’re starting out on your political career in Turai you don’t want to be caught maltreating a prisoner by the Deputy Consul. Cicerius has little in the way of human warmth, but he’s a stickler for the law.

The Prefect departs and Cicerius enters, wearing the green-edged toga that denotes his rank. I notice his sandals are quite dry despite the rain outside. Of course an important man like Cicerius would be ferried here in a wagon and escorted to the door by a servant with a parasol. They might even have laid out a special carpet to protect him from the mud.

“I understand you need a lawyer,” he says, somewhat dryly.

Deputy Consul Cicerius is by far the best orator in the city and has won numerous sensational cases for the defence in the law courts. He’s not a crowd-pleaser but he is respected by all for his irreproachable honesty. Although he is a bastion of the Traditional Party and a strong supporter of the Royal Family, he has not hesitated to defend opponents of the King in court if they happen to be innocent. But while everyone trusts Cicerius, he is not exactly well liked. His character is too austere, and he exudes too little warmth to be genuinely loved by the masses. And he is not well born enough to be totally accepted by the aristocracy. He’s aware of his brilliance, and his vanity shows. He’s a self-made man, respected by all. I wonder if it bothers him that no one much likes him. Possibly.

I thank him for coming, telling him I’m glad I was able to help such an esteemed character as himself with his recent difficulties. He informs me sharply that he did not come out of any sense of obligation.

“You were adequately paid for your services. You should not expect any favours from me, Thraxas. If you do, you will be disappointed.”

I’m disappointed already.

“Then why are you here?”

He tells me he is repaying Makri for a service. I blink. Service from Makri?

“My official wagon became trapped in the mud as we progressed along Royal Way. Some hooligans from the Populares seized the occasion to toss mud and rocks at me. I was in a most uncomfortable position. Your friend Makri fortunately appeared on the scene. She dealt with my tormentors in a most convincing manner.”

This sort of political violence is common in Turai. When it comes round to election times it’s swords instead of rocks.

“As a result of which I agreed to her request to help you. In truth, I was not unhappy to do so, because you have featured in my thoughts recently. I believe you may be able to be of service to me. However, that can wait. Firstly, I must get you released from this cell. Tell me the circumstances surrounding your arrest.”

I tell him the full story, omitting nothing.

“In that case they have nothing to hold you on. The case against you is entirely circumstantial. I will arrange your release immediately.”

He leaves the cell. He arranges my release immediately. I am instructed to stay in the city. We leave the Guard station.