Thraxas and the Dance of Death

Chapter Eight

Back in Twelve Seas, I take the short cut through St. Rominius’s Lane, not caring if the dark alley might be filled with dwa dealers. If they bother me they’ll regret it. I don’t see any dwa dealers but I do see a unicorn. I stand and stare in amazement. You don’t find unicorns in Turai. You find them mainly in the magic space, which can only be visited by sorcery. As for the real world, unicorns only appear in a very few places, each of these places being of some mystical significance. The Fairy Glade, for instance, deep in the forests that separate Turai from the Wastelands, has its share of the one-horned animals, and there’s reputed to be a colony way out in the furthest west. Other than that, you’d have to go to some of the remoter Elvish Isles to see one. Wherever you might expect to find a unicorn, it wouldn’t be in a noisy, busy, dirty city like Turai. Absolute anathema to the refined breed.

Yet here it is, snowy-white, golden-horned, standing in a grimy little alleyway looking at me like it hasn’t a care in the world. Faced with the fabulous creature, the thought quickly flashes across my mind that if I could capture it, I might be able to sell it for a healthy profit to the King’s zoo. He’s been short of fabulous creatures since his dragon was chopped up a year or two back.

“Nice unicorn,” I say, holding out my hand in a reassuring manner and stepping forward carefully. As soon as I move, the unicorn turns and bolts round the corner. I fly after it but it’s vanished.

“Stupid beast,” I mutter, and hurry on. Now it will have plunged into Quintessence Street, where it will be apprehended and sold for profit by some person far less needy than me. If I get there quickly I still might be up for a share.

I rush down the alley, oblivious to the heat and dust, and burst into the main street, eagerly looking in every direction at once.

“It’s mine, I saw it first, you dogs!” I cry, and brandish my sword to discourage anyone from muscling in on the deal.

Two women at a watermelon stall look at me, puzzled.

“What’s yours?” they ask.

“The unicorn. Which way did it go?”

The women burst out laughing, and keep laughing for a long time. It is apparently the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. And yet I’m right next to the mouth of the alley. It had to have emerged here. I confront the watermelon sellers.

“Didn’t a unicorn come out of that alleyway?”

They look at me with what might be pity.

“Dwa,” says one.

“A serious addiction,” agrees her friend.

I look round wildly. Apart from a few people staring at the mad person shouting about unicorns, no one in Quintessence Street is showing signs of abnormal activity. It’s quite obvious that no single-horned fabulous creature has featured here recently. So it just ran round the corner and vanished from sight.

I realise that someone has been playing a trick on me. A Sorcerer’s apprentice with nothing better to do, most probably. He’ll regret it if I catch hold of him.

“Okay, I’ll take a watermelon then,” I say to the women.

I eat it on the street, cooling down from my exertion. What was I thinking, chasing after an obvious illusion? I must be getting foolish. Flocks of stals—unfortunately real—are perched listlessly on the roofs. These small black scavenging birds spend their time picking up scraps from the market, but in the deadening heat even they’re finding it tough to make a living.

Makri is waiting for me in my office. I’m not mentioning the unicorn to her.

“You know I have to stand up and talk to the whole class?”

“I believe you mentioned it.”

“I have to walk out in front of everyone and declaim in public.”

“So you said.”

“It’s worse now. I have to stand up and talk to a class of people who all think I’m a thief! Is that fair?”

When Makri is in a bad mood her hand has a tendency to stray towards where her sword would be, if she was wearing one. She’s doing it now, but is clad only in her chainmail bikini, without weapons. In the sweltering heat sweat pours down her body. I’m given to believe that the lower-class elements in Twelve Seas like the effect.

“Have you proved me innocent yet? No? Why not?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Will it take long?”

“I’m involved in a very important case, Makri. Vital for the city. With bodies everywhere.”

“How many bodies?”

“Nine.”

Makri purses her lips.

“I’ve bet on fourteen. Do you think I should up it?”

“Don’t talk to me about that.”

She shrugs.

“So don’t I matter as much as this other case?”

“No,” I say.

“Why not?”

“Because the other case involves a matter of national importance!” I explode. “And also I’m being paid.”

“Fine,” retorts Makri. “Of course when I was saving your neck last winter from that man with the magic sword I didn’t stop to ask if I was being paid or not. I just saved your life. I didn’t wait around to check on any possible remuneration, just weighed in there and risked my own life to save yours. But hey, I’m only a barbaric gladiator. When I was growing up I didn’t learn all the rules of civilised society. I just did what I thought was the right—”

“Makri, will you shut the hell up!”

When Makri arrived in Turai I swear she wasn’t capable of these sustained bursts of withering eloquence. I blame the rhetoric classes.

“I’ll sort it out for you. And meanwhile you can still take the examination.”

“In front of people who think I’m a thief.”

I ask Makri what she’s doing in my office when she should be working downstairs. She looks uncomfortable.

“Gurd and Tanrose are still arguing. The atmosphere’s bad.”

I’m still curious as to why she’s in my office instead of her own room.

“Dandelion’s there. I said she could stay a while.”

“Why do you put up with that woman? Sling her out.”

Makri shrugs, and when I press the point she becomes agitated. I drop it. Makri has to return to her work anyway so I accompany her downstairs. I should send another message to Lisutaris letting her know what happened at the Blind Horse. I’ll do it after a beer or two.

At the bar I’m accosted by Parax the shoemaker, who, in keeping with his normal practice, is not making shoes at this precise moment. He asks me how my day has been.

“Bad.”

“Any dead bodies lying around?”

“Since when would you care, Parax?”

“Can’t a man worry about his friends?”

It’s news to me that Parax is my friend. Telling him that he can look elsewhere for his inside information, I take a beer, a bowl of venison stew, a plate of yams and a large apple pie to a table, where I read the latest copy of The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle of All the World’s Events, one of Turai’s news sheets, and a fertile source of information on the city’s many scandalous occurrences.

There doesn’t seem to be much scandal today apart from a report that Prince Frisen-Akan, heir to the throne, has extended his holiday at his country retreat, which, as everybody knows, is a coded way of saying that the King has sent him out of town in an effort to get him sober. The Prince is degenerate even by royal standards. At one time it would have been a better-kept secret, but these days, with Senator Lodius’s opposition party grown so powerful, fewer people are feeling it necessary to revere the royal family. When I was a boy no one would have dared speak a word against the King, but these days you can hear talk in many quarters about how we might be better off as a democracy. Certain other members of the League of City States have already been riven by civil war as the power of their kings waned. If Senator Lodius and his Populares party get their way, it’ll happen in Turai sooner rather than later.

Gurd sits down heavily beside me.

“I can’t take any more of this,” he confides. “That fishmonger was here again today and Tanrose was all over him.”

“Gurd, you’re exaggerating.”

“Does it take two hours to order fish for next week’s menu? It’s not that popular an item.”

“I don’t know. A lot of dockers like it.”

“I’d say dockers usually go for stew,” says Makri, appearing next to our table with a tray of drinks in her hand.

“No, I think they still prefer fish.”

“How would you know?” demands Makri. “It’s me that takes the orders.”

“I’m an Investigator. I notice things.”

“Tanrose didn’t have to—” begins Gurd.

“There’s definitely more stew sold to dockers than fish,” states Makri emphatically.

“I beg to differ. Fish is still the staple diet of the dockers in Twelve Seas.”

“How can you say that, Thraxas? It’s just not true. No wonder you’re always having trouble solving your cases if you can’t observe a simple thing like who eats—”

“Enough of this!” yells Gurd, banging his fist on the table.

“Is Tanrose still upset at you?” asks Makri.

“Yes. No. Yes. I don’t want to discuss it.”

Seeing my old companion-in-arms looking as miserable as a Niojan whore, I wish there was something I could do to help.

“Maybe it’s time for some action,” I suggest. “Remember when we spent five days in that mountain fort waiting for the Simnians to attack? And eventually Commander Mursius said he’d be damned if he was going to wait any more than five days for a Simnian and he led us out and we drove the Simnians way back over the border?”

“I remember,” says Gurd. “What about it?”

“Well maybe it’s time you asked Tanrose to marry you.”

There’s a slight pause.

“Did I miss something?” says Makri.

“I don’t think so.”

“Well how did you get from attacking the Simnians to Gurd asking Tanrose to marry him?”

“It’s obvious. There comes a time when it’s no good sheltering behind the walls any longer. You have to attack. Or, in this case, get married.”

Makri considers this.

“What if the Simnians had brought up reinforcements?”

“We’d have beaten them as well.”

“What if they’d made an alliance with the Orcs and had some dragons lying in wait?”

“Very unlikely, Makri. The Simnians have never been friends with the Orcs.”

“So you’re saying I should ask Tanrose to get married?” says Gurd, looking quite troubled at the thought.

“Maybe. But you know I’ve always been useless with women.”

Makri nods her head.

“Tanrose tells me you treated your wife really badly.”

“Tanrose should keep her mouth shut.”

Gurd looks offended.

“About certain subjects only,” I add.

“That fishmonger has always been in pursuit of Tanrose. I’m banning him from the tavern from now on.”

“Most people prefer stew anyway,” says Makri. “And Thraxas eats enough of it to keep you in business.”

But by now Gurd has raised his brawny figure and departed, looking thoughtful. Makri takes his seat.

“Why have you always been so bad with women?” she asks.

I shrug.

“Don’t know. Just never learned what to do, I suppose.”

“I thought maybe it might be because you drink too much.”

“Yes, also I drink too much. But at least I don’t take dwa.”

Four dock workers, waiting for the drinks presently marooned on Makri’s tray, call loudly for their beer. Makri ignores them.

“I don’t take dwa. Well, not for a while. Don’t start criticising me. I’m not the one who’s useless at relationships.”

Makri is useless at relationships. She spent all last winter snivelling about some Elf she met on Avula because he didn’t keep in touch with her. I don’t bother to point this out. The dockers call for their beer. Makri curses them loudly and tells them to wait.

The front door opens and Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, strides majestically into the tavern. This time, she hasn’t bothered to disguise herself.

“We need to talk,” she says, and heads for the stairs.

“Thanks for the invitation,” says Makri, but Lisutaris doesn’t acknowledge her, obviously having more important things on her mind than social functions. I follow Lisutaris upstairs while Makri takes her tray of beer to the thirsty dockers. As I’m climbing the stairs I can hear them arguing. It’s a while since Makri punched a customer but she seems to be working up to it again.

In her full costume Lisutaris stands out strikingly in my shabby office. Her official Sorcerer’s rainbow cloak positively vibrates with colour. Unusually for her she doesn’t take a seat but paces up and down nervously, lighted thazis stick in hand.

“Things taken a turn for the worse?” I enquire.

“They have. Consul Kalius suspects that the pendant is missing. He sent his representative to my villa this morning specifically to ask if it was still secure in my hands.”

“How did the Consul learn of the affair?”

Lisutaris glares at me.

“How? I thought it might have something to do with you barging your way all over town leaving a trail of dead bodies in your wake. I appreciate you’re not famous for your subtlety, but when I hired you I wasn’t expecting you to start slaughtering the city’s inhabitants. It was bound to cause comment eventually.”

I’m astonished by the effrontery of the woman.

“I haven’t killed anyone. The way people have been after this pendant it’s no wonder the Consul’s got wind of it. I can’t believe you’d blame me.”

“You can’t? Why not? You’re supposed to be an Investigator. And yet on the simplest of cases you have notably failed to produce any results. Tell me, Thraxas, on most of your cases do you have exact information as to the whereabouts of the stolen item?”

“No.”

“Yet I have three times told you precisely where the pendant could be located and on each occasion you have failed to retrieve it. Instead, all I get is messages telling me that some brutal slaughter has occurred and the gem is missing again. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to arrive in time to locate the item I’m paying you to find?”

Lisutaris halts in the middle of the room and fixes me with a hostile stare. Coming from the head of the Sorcerers Guild, this is quite disconcerting. Lisutaris is one of the most powerful magic users in the world and if she decided it was time to use a little magic on an errant Investigator I wouldn’t want to be that Investigator. I’m wearing a fine spell protection necklace but no such item could hold out against the might of Lisutaris for long.

That being said, I don’t allow anyone to enter my room and abuse me. I meet her gaze and inform her coldly that if I’m not given enough time to do the job then the job won’t get done, and besides, it would be a help if she’d told me the full facts of the case.

“Are you implying I have withheld information?”

“Most clients do. You said that no one knew the power of this pendant. That’s obviously not true. From the way people have been killing each other to get hold of it, I’d say its importance was well known to someone. When you first arrived here the job looked simple and we were in a hurry so I didn’t get the full background to the case. Maybe I should have. Who else in your immediate circle knew you had the pendant, for instance?”

“No one but my secretary.”

“Then maybe we should have a few words with your secretary.”

“You will not investigate her,” says Lisutaris, quite emphatically.

“I think I should.”

“I am not interested in what you think. You will not speak to my secretary and that is final. If knowledge of the pendant’s true significance has somehow been learned, it is unfortunate but no longer relevant. I don’t care how it came to happen; the point is I must have the pendant back immediately. Do you realise that Consul Kalius will be at my house in two days’ time? He is suspicious already. He’s bound to ask to see the pendant.”

“Couldn’t you fob him off with an imitation?”

“If it were only the Consul, yes. But he will have with him Sorcerers from the government, all of whom I have invited to my masked ball. No imitation jewel I could fabricate would fool Old Hasius the Brilliant. Hasius is still seething with jealousy over my election as head of the Guild. He’d take one look at an imitation pendant and squawk so loud they’d hear him in Simnia.”

Lisutaris finishes her thazis stick and lights another.

“This is such a mess! Damn it, I never wanted to be head of the Sorcerers Guild in the first place. I never asked to be placed in charge of items vital for the defence of the city. The Consul’s going to be down on me like a bad spell when he learns I’ve lost the pendant. Only last month he was telling me that some Orcish prince or other had just conquered a neighbouring country and was looking to set himself up as war leader.”

“Prince Amrag?”

Lisutaris nods. Already in the west we’ve heard quite a few reports about this prince. The Orcs hate us as much as we hate them but they’re often more riven by internal warfare than we are, which prevents them from mounting a concentrated attack on us. But every now and then a leader comes along capable of unifying the Orc nations, and when that happens it’s but a short step to an invasion of the Human lands. Prince Amrag looks like he might be the Orc to do it, and it might not be too far in the future.

“Maybe it’s time to call in someone else.”

“What do you mean?” demands Lisutaris.

“If this is so important for Turai, maybe Palace Security should be involved. They could put their whole resources to searching the city.”

“Absolutely not,” says Lisutaris, shaking her head and lighting another thazis stick. Lisutaris’s substantial use of thazis often sends her into a happy dream world, and it’s a sign of how deep the crisis is that she shows no signs of relaxing, no matter how many sticks she smokes.

“I cannot own up to the loss of the pendant. I’d be ruined. The King would expel me from the city in disgrace and I’d be shunned in every nation. My family has been in the leading tier of Turanian society for as long as the city’s been here, and I refuse to end up a mad old hermit in the wastelands casting horoscopes for travellers.”

I break open a new bottle of klee. Lisutaris, not a great drinker, downs a glass in the blink of an eye and holds out her glass for more. I pour her another glass and ask her if she knows of any reason why an operative from the Venarius Investigation Agency might also be on the trail of the pendant.

“I’ve no idea. Surely it’s not possible.”

“I’m pretty certain that’s what Demanius was doing in the Blind Horse. Before the woman died she seemed to recognise him, and she mentioned the jewel.”

“This is a disaster,” says the Sorcerer, and starts pacing again.

“It is. So far this pendant has been in the hands of various unknown thieves, the Brotherhood, and the Society of Friends. Both these organisations have contacts all over the city, extending right up into the government. When you add in the fact that whoever stole it in the first place probably knew exactly what they were getting, and probably tried to sell it to someone who also knew all about it, it’s pretty clear that the matter is no longer much of a secret. In fact, we might as well assume that everyone knows about it. Are you sure you don’t want to call in some outside help?”

Lisutaris doesn’t.

“The moment I admit the loss, I’m ruined. We have two days left. You must find the pendant.”

“I’ll do my best. I’ll do better if you fill me in on a few missing details.”

“Like what?”

“Like why so many people are dying. It’s not credible that they all just happened to kill each other in a fight over the jewel. Thieves don’t suddenly kill each other. If one is dominant the others back down after the first sign of violence. None of these crime scenes looked like the scenes I’m used to. It looked to me like something had affected the people in a way that drove them insane. Which would be backed up by some of their dying words. One man told me he was on a beautiful golden ship and another one thought he was King of Turai. Any particular reason why they might be thinking that?”

“Yes,” says Lisutaris. “Looking into the green jewel would drive an untrained mind insane. Four people who had all looked into it would be quite likely to kill each other as their dreams took over their reality.”

“You’re telling me this now? Don’t you think you could have mentioned it earlier?”

“I did say that it was a dangerous object,” protests Lisutaris.

“Not so dangerous that it was going to lead to such slaughter. So it’s quite likely that every time someone gets hold of this pendant they’ll go mad, kill their companions and make off with it?”

“Yes. But they won’t get far. If they look into it they will probably die even without violence being inflicted on them. It will just break their minds.”

I could protest more. Lisutaris really should have given me more information when she hired me. There’s not much point in complaining now, though. I’m stuck with it.

“So we now have two problems. One, lots of people seem to know about the jewel. Two, it’s going to drive them all homicidally insane.”

Lisutaris studies her glass.

“This klee is disgusting. My throat is burning. Where do you buy it?”

“It’s supplied to Gurd by a monastery in the hills. The monks distil it in their spare time.”

“Do they have a grudge against the city?”

“I find it bracing.”

Lisutaris drains her glass and winces again as the fiery spirit trickles down her throat.

“It’s poisonous. This liquid would kill you.”

She holds out her glass.

“Give me more.”

I fill her glass.

“I could ask Gurd to send you a few bottles for your masked ball.”

“I don’t think the Senators could take it,” replies Lisutaris, completely failing to catch my hint that she ought to be inviting me. Not that I really want to go. The sight of Turai’s aristocracy disporting themselves in costume is not one that appeals to me. But it still rankles that Makri has an invitation. All she did for Lisutaris at the Assemblage was walk around behind her pretending to be a bodyguard, meanwhile getting so wrecked on thazis, dwa and klee that I had to carry the pair of them home in a carriage. It was me who did all the hard work and her ingratitude is simply appalling. I realise that Lisutaris has been talking to me for some time.

“What were you saying?”

“Have you not been listening?”

“I was contemplating some aspects of the case. Tell me again.”

“I can no longer locate the pendant.”

“Why not?”

Lisutaris is frustrated at having to repeat herself. Apparently after I failed to find the gem in the Blind Horse she repeated her sorcerous procedure for tracing the pendant but was this time unsuccessful. Someone has now succeeded in hiding the jewel from sorcerous enquiry, no mean feat against the power of Lisutaris. It might mean that it is now in the hands of someone capable of providing some heavyweight sorcerous protection themselves.

“There aren’t too many rogue Sorcerers around who could do that. There’s Glixius Dragon Killer of course, he might have the power. I haven’t seen him for a while but he’s been on my mind ever since I saw that woman’s Society of Friends tattoo. He used to work with them.”

Another possibility is that whoever now has the jewel has wrapped it in red Elvish cloth, which would have the effect of casting an impenetrable shield over the object. No sorcerous enquiry can penetrate the cloth. However, red Elvish cloth is fabulously expensive and very hard to come by. It’s illegal for anyone but the King and his ministers to own it.

“Which isn’t to say that someone else in the city might have got their hands on some. Another possibility is that the pendant might have left the city. It might be on its way east right now.”

Lisutaris looks alarmed.

“Surely no one would be so base as to sell such an item to the Orcs?”

“You’d be surprised how base some people in this city can be.”

“You may be right. But not much time elapsed between when the pendant last went missing and the time of my enquiry. I think I’d have picked up the traces were it close to the city. I think it most likely that it is still in Turai, concealed in some manner. Where do you suggest we look?”

“I’ve no idea. It could be anywhere. If you can’t locate it with sorcery, I’m stuck.”

“I thought you were an Investigator,” says Lisutaris, drily.

“Number one chariot in the field of investigation. But we don’t know who took it and Turai’s a large city. I’ll start making enquiries but it’ll take time.”

Lisutaris clenches her fists.

“I have no time.”

There’s a knocking at the door. I open it. Sarin the Merciless is standing outside. Sarin is one of the deadliest killers I’ve ever met. She has a loaded crossbow in her hand. She points it at my heart.

“Give me the pendant or I’ll kill you.”

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