Martin Scott: Thraxas at the races

Gurd and Tanrose continue to look at me accusingly. I start to feel persecuted.

“Well goddamn it, if it means that much to the pair of you, I’ll say I’m sorry. Not that it’ll do any good. Even Makri isn’t naive enough to fall for a bunch of flowers three times in a row.”

On two previous occasions when Makri was apparently irreconcilably annoyed at me I had given her a bunch of flowers, at the suggestion of Tanrose. It seemed like a lousy way of apologising to me but it had a spectacular effect on Makri. She burst into tears and ran out of the room in fact. Both times. Tanrose put it down to her growing up in a gladiator slave pit and never really getting any presents before.

Makri appears downstairs with a bag over her shoulder.

“And tell that corpulent slug if he buys me flowers I’ll ram them down his throat,” she says, storming out of the door.

“She’s just saying that,” says Tanrose. “I’m sure it would work again.”

I stare at her in amazement. Tanrose seems to have an almost mystical belief in the power of a small bunch of flowers. It’s ridiculous.

“Buy her a new axe,” suggests Gurd. “I think she damaged her favourite one hacking down the wall.”

Which is why I find myself tramping through Quintessence Street and up to the market on my way to the armourer’s. The weather is pleasant, with the warm autumn air showing the first sign of cooling. Winter is not far away. Winter in Turai is hell. I’m really going to regret it if I can’t spend it comfortably in front of a roaring fire at the Avenging Axe.

I reach the armourer. There’s a sign on it saying: “Closed due to bereavement.” I forgot that the armourer’s third son was killed in a crossbow incident last week. The fourth son is due in court any day now.

It’s too late to reach another armourer. It’ll have to wait till tomorrow. I make my way back into Quintessence Street. I buy a pastry from the bakery. Minarixa is less friendly than usual. Probably Makri has been spreading bad stories about me.

I stop in the street to eat.

“Come for some flowers?” says Baxos the flower seller.

“Hey, Rox,” he calls over to the fish vendor. “Thraxas is buying flowers again.”

“Still got his lady friend, has he?” yells back Rox, loud enough for the entire street to hear.

“You treat her nicely, Thraxas!” screams Birix, one of Twelve Seas’ busiest prostitutes.

I glare at Baxos and toss him a coin just to get away. I arrive back in the Avenging Axe holding a large bunch of flowers.

“I thought you were buying an axe?”

“The axe shop was shut.”

It sounds a bit lame. I thrust the flowers into Makri’s hand. My hand strays to my sword, just in case she gets violent.

Makri raises the flowers to dash them to the ground. Suddenly a tear trickles from her eye. She refrains from dashing them to the ground and instead rushes forward, embraces me then runs out of the room in tears. I’m unsure of what this means.

“Did it work again?”

“Of course,” says Tanrose.

I can’t understand it. Neither can Gurd.

“This is a woman who once fought a dragon. She killed a nine-foot Troll when she was thirteen.”

Tanrose shrugs. “I imagine it was really grim growing up where she did. There’s obviously a lot of mileage left in small presents where Makri is concerned.”

Gurd snorts. “The women in my village were not like that. It took at least a new plough to impress them.”

“That must be why you never married,” says Tanrose. “You should have ignored the ploughs and tried flowers.”

She looks rather pointedly at Gurd. He seems embarrassed. He’s been attracted to Tanrose for a long time, but any mention of the subject makes him uneasy. These northern Barbarians. No romance. I leave them to it.

Upstairs I check on my supplies. I need plenty of klee and thazis to get me through the winter. And maybe some new blankets. I have nine hundred gurans. Enough for plenty of thick blankets. I might even buy one for Makri. She doesn’t have much money and she handed over all her winnings to the A.G. Foolish behaviour, it seemed to me, but that’s the problem with being idealistic. It makes you do foolish things. Personally, I’d have kept every guran.