Martin Scott - Thraxas at the races

“You might lose. It wasn’t even the favourite.”

“Troll Mangler is not going to lose. I keep telling you, I know the owner. It’s by far the best chariot in that race. It was only six to one because they hadn’t heard of it down in Juval. It’s the surest thing I’ve backed in years. If you had any sense you’d go out early tomorrow and back it yourself.”

Makri doesn’t seem to approve. That’s the trouble with people who are always working. It annoys them when you pick up a little spare money without making an effort.

[Contents]

Chapter Five

Next day I sleep late and don’t wake until I’m disturbed by noises in my office. I only have two rooms, one for sleeping and the other for working. It’s small but it ought to be private. I rise quietly and creep to the connecting door, sword in hand. There’s someone in there all right. I burst through, ready to confront intruders.

It’s Makri. She appears to be searching under the couch.

“What the hell are you doing under my couch?” I demand, not particularly pleased to have been woken up after last night’s drinking session.

Makri leaps to her feet, a furious expression on her face.

“You idiot,” she yells, and then carries on with some harsh abuse. I’m not fully awake and I find this hard to take in.

“What have I done?”

“I lost my money because of you.”

“What money?”

“The money I was collecting for the Association of Gentlewomen!”

Makri insults me some more. I can’t understand what she’s talking about till I hear the words Troll Mangler mixed in with her tirade.

“Troll Mangler? Are you talking about the race in Juval?”

“Of course I’m talking about the race. You said Troll Mangler couldn’t lose! You and your stupid tips!”

“Didn’t it win?”

“No it didn’t,” cries Makri. “A wheel fell off at the first corner! And I went out this morning and put all my money on it!”

This is a staggering piece of news. I sink on to the couch, a broken man. “Are you sure?”

Makri’s sure. She’s been down at Mox’s watching the gamblers who bet on the favourite pick up their winnings, and she’s not very pleased about it. I’m stunned by these terrible tidings and struggle to defend myself against Makri’s accusations.

“I didn’t force you to bet your money on it, did I? This is bad enough for me, without you making it worse. Troll Mangler beaten! I can’t believe it. I was depending on that chariot. There’s been some dirty sorcery afoot in Juval.”

“The only thing that’s afoot is your inability to pick a winner! I never should’ve listened to you. Now what am I going to do? I’m broke and I need fifty gurans—today!”

Makri’s behaviour starts to make sense. I have a fifty-guran piece hidden under my couch. It’s my emergency reserve and is meant to be a secret.

“Is that what you were doing under my couch?” I demand.

“Yes.”

“You thought you’d just take it while I was sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it was your fault I lost my money and I need it in a hurry. I promised it to the A.G. today.”

This is such an outrageous statement that I am left practically gasping for breath.

“You promised it to the A.G.? The Association of Gentlewomen? You promised that bunch of harridans fifty gurans of my money?”

“No,” replies Makri. “Any fifty gurans would do. But I need it today. And they’re not a bunch of harridans. You don’t mind me borrowing it, do you? You know I’m good for it. It’s the least you can do in the circumstances.”

“That fifty gurans is my emergency reserve,” I roar, dragging Makri away from the couch. “You go anywhere near it and I’ll run you through like a dog. You already owe me the forty gurans I lent you to pay for last term’s exam fees.”

Makri is now madder than a mad dragon. So am I.

“How dare you rob my office! You think I want to donate the last of my money to that lunatic women’s organisation? Are you insane?”

“I only wanted to borrow it,” protests Makri, wiping some dust off her knees.

“Why do you need fifty gurans for the A.G. anyway?”

“It’s the money I collected for them. I spent two months raising that cash. You know how hard it is in Twelve Seas. Everyone’s poor and the men won’t give anything anyway. I had to move heaven, earth and the three moons to raise even that. I’ve had easier times fighting dragons.”

“Don’t tell me about fighting dragons,” I retort. “I was fighting dragons before you were born.”

I seem to be straying from the point here. I get back to berating the Association of Gentlewomen, which, while not illegal, is not exactly well thought of by a large part of the city, namely the male part.

The King doesn’t like it, the True Church fulminates against it from the pulpit and the Senate has condemned it as seditious. It was established to raise the status of women in the city. After a slow start it has gathered an increasing amount of support from the most unlikely quarters. Membership is not made public, but I happen to know that Princess Du-Akai is a supporter, as are various powerful female Sorcerers.

The Sorcerers Guild admits women. Most other guilds do not, which is something the Association intends to put right. Or put wrong, depending on your point of view. The Association has official recognition and admittance into the Revered Federation of Guilds as its first objective, but that’s an expensive business, with fees and bribes needed all along the line. Fifty thousand was the figure Makri mentioned, I believe.

“So, can I borrow it?”

“Of course you can’t borrow it. If you promised that money to the A.G. you shouldn’t have gambled it away. It’s unethical.”

“Don’t lecture me on ethics, you fraud!” roars Makri.

I start to laugh. I can’t help it.

“So. You lost your money on a chariot. Very amusing. Miss Austerity herself gambled it away. The Queen of Sensible Behaviour blows her cash at the races.”

Makri doesn’t take this too well. “It was your fault, you Orc lover! I’d never have backed that chariot if you hadn’t said it was a sure thing.”

Makri is livid at me for giving her a bad tip, but she’s even angrier at herself for losing the money. She’s had to work hard to get the respect of the local businesswomen who support the A.G. and this isn’t going to help.

“I’ve got to take it Minarixa the baker by noon! You have to help!”

I wave this away. “I’ll forgive you for trying to burgle my offices. I’ll put it down to the rashness of youth. But let this be a valuable lesson to you. Never blow the last of your money at the races.”

Makri stares at me. I stare back at her.

“I really worked hard collecting that money. And I came and supported you in court. I’ll pay you back.”

I shake my head.

“Come on, Thraxas. It’s not like you to be as mean as a Pontifex when it comes to money.”

“I need that fifty gurans,” I tell her

“What for?”

“To win back my money at Mox’s. Now depart. I need to be alone with the bad news about Troll Mangler.”

There’s a knock at my outside door. Makri departs, looking dispirited. I shake my head. Give my last fifty gurans to the Association of Gentlewomen indeed. Big joke.

The knock sounds again, angry and urgent. My door is generally sealed with a locking spell. This is a common minor spell that I can use at will without having to learn it afresh every time, like one of the major spells, but it can be employed by anyone with the slightest knowledge of the mystical arts. While it’s reasonably effective against petty theft, it wouldn’t keep out someone who was seriously determined. A few months ago Hanama the Assassin came here uninvited and it didn’t keep her out for more than a second. I mutter the appropriate incantation, and the door springs open.