Thraxas and the Dance of Death

Chapter Fifteen

At the Avenging Axe there’s a summons waiting ordering me to report to the Consul, and another message, from Harmon Half Elf, requesting a meeting. I throw both messages in the bin and head downstairs for a beer. There I find Dandelion behind the bar being irritating, Gurd still looking as miserable as a Niojan whore, no food on offer, and a great cluster of dock workers all keen to know if there have been any more deaths recently. The front door opens. A government official in a toga walks in, swiftly followed by another official in a toga, and they each beat a path towards me, bearing scrolls.

The togas are hitting the Avenging Axe thick and fast these days. It’s a while since I’ve worn one. I used to when I worked at the Palace, for official duties. They’re expensive garments. Quite awkward to wear, but it lets everyone know you’re not the sort of person who wastes his time doing manual labour.

“Rittius, head of Palace Security, commands that you visit him immediately,” says the first official. “To discuss important matters of state.”

“The senate licensing committee, finding you in violation of an order prohibiting you from investigating, requires you to attend a—”

“I’ll be right there,” I say, finishing my beer in one swift gulp. “I just have to change my boots.”

I only have one pair of boots. They’re not to know that. Once in my office I head straight for the door and down the outside stairs, pausing only to mutter the minor incantation I use for a locking spell.

The two rival vendors have now come to blows. I use my body weight to send them flying in opposite directions and start walking swiftly, heading for anywhere that is free of summonses, enquiries and any other oppressive state instruments.

The situation is now disastrous. I have abandoned all hope of successfully bringing matters to a conclusion. Clearly Lisutaris is going to be unmasked at her own masked ball, revealed to the world as a useless incompetent who’s lost the pendant, thereby severely endangering Turai. This will swiftly be followed by a general round-up of all guilty parties, which will certainly include me. I’m going to be charged with failing to report a crime, obstructing the authorities, lying to the Consul, going against the wishes of the Senate and God knows what else. Even the claim of Investigator-client confidentiality—dubious at best in matters of national security—won’t do me any good, because I’ve been stripped of my licence and can no longer claim to be an Investigator in the legal sense of the word. My most likely destination is a prison ship. Maybe even a slave galley.

I strain to think of some way out of the dire situation. A golden tree erupts from the road in front of me and stands there looking pretty. This is now becoming seriously disconcerting. There’s a time and a place for sorcery and it’s not in the middle of Quintessence Street while I’m trying to concentrate. Attractive as the tree is, no one is pleased to see it. Onlookers mutter alarming comments about portents for the destruction of the city and the more nervous among them start wailing and kneeling down to pray.

I have some experience of this sort of thing. In the magic space, a kind of sorcerous dimension to which only those with magical powers have access, things appear and disappear all the time. When it’s flowers and unicorns it’s fine, but last time I was there a volcano erupted and I was lucky to escape with my life. If the magic space is somehow breaking through into Turai—which is impossible, but I can’t think of any other explanation—then it might well mean the destruction of the city. Now I think about it, it might mean the destruction of everything. The tree disappears as swiftly as it arrived. Trusting that the Sorcerers Guild is currently working on the strange apparitions, I get back to my own problems.

I could go to Kalius and tell him everything I know, but it might be too late for that. Once Kalius learns I’ve known about the missing jewel for a week, he’ll be down on me like a bad spell. I’ll be turned over to Palace Security and Rittius will positively dance with glee as he’s locking me up. So telling the truth seems to be out of the question. Unfortunately, keeping silent doesn’t hold out much hope either. Everything is going to come out at the ball tomorrow.

I wonder if it might profit me to actually find out how the pendant went missing in the first place. Lisutaris has consistently prevented me from properly investigating this, claiming that only the recovery of the pendant is important. Maybe if I actually turned up at the Consul’s office with full details of who took the pendant and why, I might be able to bargain for a lesser sentence. It goes against the grain, though. I’d be acting against my client’s wishes. I keep this in reserve, though it’s a weak plan at best.

The only thing which would really help would be if I found the pendant right now and returned it to Lisutaris. She could present it to Consul Kalius and then just clam up about everything. Completely deny that it had ever been missing. Who could prove her wrong? It might still get us off the hook.

It strikes me that I may have been mistaken in following Lisutaris’s so-called leads all around the city. Naturally, when a man is looking for a lost pendant and the head of the Sorcerers Guild arrives in a hurry and tells him she has located said pendant, the man goes along with it. But where has it got me? Precisely nowhere. A lot of dead bodies and a headache from rushing around in the heat. For all I know the jewel might never have even been in any of these locations. Someone could have been leading Lisutaris on. Just because Lisutaris is extremely powerful it doesn’t mean she’s always right. Maybe if I’d just stuck to my own methods of investigation I might have made better progress. I’ve solved a lot of crimes by trudging round the city asking questions.

By this time I’ve walked clear down to the southern wall of the city. I pass through a small gate that leads on to the shore, a rocky stretch of coastline some way from the harbour. Further along the coast there are some stretches of golden sands, but this close to the city the sea washes up against a barren patch of rocky pools. The area stinks from the sewage which flows out of Turai, making it a place which few people visit. Even the fishermen who take crabs from the pools tend to stay clear of this polluted part of the landscape, particularly in the heat of summer. The offensive odour makes me wrinkle my nose. I wonder why I’ve walked here. I should have made for the harbour and checked out the ships. I might have found a trireme heading south and asked for passage.

I spot a figure in the distance, half hidden behind a tall spur of rock. I’m about to leave when something about his movements strikes me as familiar. My curiosity piqued, I stroll over, taking care not to slip on the slime that clings to the rocks. When I reach the spur I find Horm the Dead scrabbling around in a small pool.

“Looking for crabs?”

He looks up, surprised at the interruption.

“I sent the pendant here for safekeeping after I took it from Glixius,” he announces. “But it’s gone.”

Before I can deny any involvement, Horm states that he already knows I haven’t taken it.

“I’ve long since stopped worrying about your investigative powers. It is part of your fate to always be too late. But who can have found the pendant here?”

Horm withdraws his hand from the water, shaking off the dark liquid with some disgust.

“It really is too bad,” he proclaims. “I am now heartily sick of this whole affair.”

“Everyone is sick of it.”

“And yet I must have the pendant.”

“Why not give it up?” I suggest. “You probably don’t really need it.”

“I am afraid I do,” says Horm. Unexpectedly he smiles. “I have promised it to Prince Amrag. Rash perhaps, but true. Our new Orcish warlord seems to have taken offence at some comments I made that were reported to him by his spies. Comments which were taken out of context, of course. . . . Still . . . I really must have the pendant.”

“You mean your neck is in danger if you don’t deliver the goods?”

“I would not go as far as that,” says Horm. “But it will certainly help to smooth out the misunderstanding.”

I’m gathering from this that Horm the Dead has managed to get himself quite seriously on the wrong side of Prince Amrag. A sorcerous lord like Horm doesn’t go around dipping his hands into polluted pools of water unless he has a lot of smoothing-over to do.

“Yes, Horm, it’s a problem. You offend someone in authority and they make your life hell. Happens to me all the time.”

“Prince Amrag has no authority over me.”

“True. But he’s soon going to have the biggest army in the east.”

We walk up the beach together. By his standards Horm the Dead is being positively convivial, and he’s not even using a spell of persuasion. He simply regards me as so little threat he is unconcerned about how much I know of his affairs. In fact he seems eager to discuss them.

“I presume, as you are still wandering vacantly around the city, that Lisutaris has not recovered the pendant?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“And Glixius Dragon Killer certainly does not have it. As for the criminal gangs of Turai, I feel that neither of them has it either. I have enough contacts in your Turanian underworld to have learned by now if they had. Do you think your Turanian Sorcerers Guild might have recovered the green jewel?”

I shrug. I’ve no idea.

“I find this all very unsatisfactory,” complains the Sorcerer. “In a matter such as this I would have expected a little discretion. In some ways it is amusing that so many people know of the theft, but it’s hardly convenient.”

“I thought it might have been you that spread the word, Horm. You must be enjoying seeing Lisutaris heading for a fall.”

“I am indeed. But it was not me that spread word throughout the city that she had lost the pendant.”

Some melodious singing interrupts our conversation. Close to the shore, mermaids are forming a chorus.

“Are you responsible for this?” I ask.

Again Horm the Dead denies it.

“Of course I am not responsible. Why would I waste my time on such matters? Yesterday I was almost knocked over by a centaur. I presumed it was some sort of Turanian custom till some children started screaming in alarm. I suspect the magic space may be breaking through into the real world.”

“I thought the same. Any idea how that might be happening?”

“None whatsoever. If it happens, it will certainly hasten your destruction.”

“If it keeps spreading it might hasten yours.”

The mermaids disappear. I’m not entirely certain where mermaids live, or if they really live anywhere. Unlike unicorns, centaurs, dryads and naiads, I’ve never actually met any.

Horm frowns.

“This should all have been simple. Sarin the Merciless receives the pendant and passes it to me. I leave the city bearing a mighty gift for Prince Amrag. I’m still not certain what went wrong. Glixius, possibly. He knows Sarin the Merciless. He may have learned of the affair earlier than I imagined.”

“Possibly Sarin thought she might get more money from Glixius.”

“Possibly. She is an efficient woman, but I have had occasion to criticise her for her venality.”

“Who was Sarin meant to receive the pendant from?”

“That, I imagine, is the crux of your investigation,” says Horm. “So I would not wish to spoil it for you by telling.”

We’ve now walked back to the outskirts of the city, to the small gate in the walls, which is manned by a bored-looking guard.

“People are dying all over Turai, I believe,” muses Horm. “Which is also puzzling. When I learned of the first deaths I presumed that they were connected to the pendant. It would certainly have that effect on the untrained mind. Yet the deaths are now so widespread that the jewel cannot be causing them all. It may be a sorcerous item but it can’t be in more than one place at the same time.”

“Yes, Horm, it’s a mystery. And you saying you know nothing of the matter doesn’t convince me.”

Horm raises his eyebrows, just the slightest bit perturbed by me implying he may be lying.

“Tell me, Investigator, if you had by any chance stumbled across the jewel, what makes you think it would not have driven you mad?”

“Strong will power.”

“You think so? I had not noticed. Sarin’s description of you rolling around drunk in the gutter would not seem to fit a man of strong will power.”

“Sarin is a liar.”

Horm stares back down towards the sea. He points over to some rocks further along the coast.

“Another three bodies.”

“Really?”

“From the Society of Friends, I believe. Probably followed Glixius and ended up killing each other.

“Glixius Dragon Killer,” muses Horm. “Three times I have defeated him in combat, yet he seems undeterred. I suppose one should admire that, but really I find it tedious. Next time we meet I will certainly have to kill him.”

“You’re fond of promising to kill people, Horm.”

Horm looks surprised. At the foot of the city walls a slight breeze makes his cloak wave in the air. I’m sweating in the heat but the half-Orc Sorcerer seems unaffected.

“Am I? Who else have I threatened to kill?”

“Me, for one.”

“I hardly think that likely,” says Horm. “Why would I threaten to kill you? There is not, and has never been, the slightest chance of you preventing me from carrying out my plans. You are beneath me, Thraxas, beneath me by a distance you cannot comprehend, Investigator who failed his sorcerous apprenticeship.”

Horm smiles his malevolent smile

“Please give my regards to your fair companion Makri. If I am obliged to leave Turai without encountering her again, kindly inform her that when Prince Amrag sweeps this city away, I will try to save her.”

Horm the Dead makes a formal bow and walks off along the foot of the city walls. I go through the gate and am immediately assaulted by the bustle of Twelve Seas.

An informative conversation. And polite. When Horm dismissed me as not worth bothering about he used only the most reasonable language. I’m thoughtful as I walk back towards the Avenging Axe. For all his superior power, Horm has no idea where the pendant is. And he can’t find it by sorcery. Which gives me just as good a chance as him.

Better, in fact. I’m an Investigator. Number one chariot when you need something investigated. He’s just a hugely powerful Sorcerer who happens to rule his own kingdom. And might have strange powers after coming back from the grave. I wonder again about the rumours of Horm having been dead. I should have asked him about it. Difficult to work into the conversation, I suppose. I notice he mentioned Makri again. He was obviously quite taken by her. Probably it’s been a long time since a woman punched him in the face. Might be the very sort of thing he’s looking for in a relationship. I get the sudden unpleasant feeling that Horm’s idea of an ideal woman might be one that he’s brought back from the dead, in which case I can see Makri having some strong objections. Me too. Makri is aggravating as hell but I haven’t quite reached the stage of wishing her dead.

Whether Horm is living, not living, or somewhere in-between, I’ll find the pendant just to spite his arrogant face.

As I reach the hot, choking stretch of dirt that is Quintessence Street, I remember what Dandelion told me yesterday. She’d seen flashes of light over the beach. I wonder if she might have had anything else of interest to impart before I shut her up. I seek her out in the tavern and learn that she’s upstairs in Makri’s room.

I knock on the door, with no results, so I walk in and find Dandelion sitting on the floor, dangling a pendant in her hand. Hanging from the pendant is a green jewel, and the young woman is staring at it, transfixed.

“Give me that!” I yell.

She’s lost in some other reality and shakes her head and blinks her eyes as I grab the pendant from her and cram it in my bag. I get ready to slug her in case she wakes up insane, not that it’s going to be easy to tell.

“Pretty colours.”

“Yes. Very pretty.”

Dandelion smiles and lies down on the floor to sleep. She doesn’t look like she’s going to do anything violent. I’m puzzled. Everyone else who’s looked through this jewel turned into a violent lunatic. Maybe you have to be that way inclined. Perhaps the jewel doesn’t make you mad if you’re the sort of person who likes flowers and dolphins.

Leaving Dandelion to sleep it off, I take the pendant along to my room and wonder what to do with it. I have an almost overpowering urge to risk a glance, just to see what it’s like. With some difficulty I overcome the urge and cram it in my desk drawer.

I’ve recovered the pendant. Smart work, though I say it myself. A huge stroke of luck, in reality, though I’m not going to admit that to anyone. Trust Dandelion to wander down to the polluted part of the beach and pick up the pendant from under the nose of Horm the Dead.

I wonder what to do now. The pendant can’t stay here. It’s too much of a risk. I’d best just get it back to Lisutaris as quickly as possible. I risk a quick trip downstairs to pick up a beer and I ask Gurd to look in on Dandelion to check she’s okay.

“Trouble?”

“Probably not. She looked at something she shouldn’t but I don’t think it’s done her any harm. Where’s Makri?”

“Hunting for money.”

“Huh?”

“She’s getting another bet down with Moxalan.”

Good point. With the three recent deaths I make the total thirty, and the case will end when I get the pendant back to Lisutaris. We ought to get some money on quickly. Suddenly life looks brighter. I can save Lisutaris, completing my case satisfactorily, and then make a healthy profit from Moxalan. Providing the city does not then disappear under a flood of unicorns and centaurs, it could be a good summer. I go back upstairs to look for Makri.

I find her in my room, standing next to my desk. She has the pendant in one hand, her black Orcish sword in the other, and a glazed look in her eyes.

“I am Makri, captain of armies,” she says.

“Put the pendant down, Makri.”

“Prepare to die,” snarls Makri, and raises her sword.

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