Thraxas and the Dance of Death

Chapter Eighteen

I spend a not too uncomfortable night on a pile of hay in a warehouse and remain there as the sun climbs into the sky. The warehouse has various stalls and troughs and is used as a pen for animals brought into the city by sea. Fortunately the owner is still waiting for his imported horses to arrive, so I have the place to myself. Apart from the strong smell of livestock, it doesn’t compare too badly with the Avenging Axe for comfort. I find some bread and dried meat in an unattended office which keeps me going. A watchman looks in every few hours, which has me diving under the hay, but other than that I’m undisturbed. I’m reasonably certain that the Civil Guards won’t look for me here, but I’m half expecting Horm or Glixius to track me down. No one arrives, however, and I spend the day lounging in the hay, eating dried meat, and mulling things over.

It’s the first quiet day I’ve had for a long time. After nine or ten hours lounging in the hay my head is clearer and I’m feeling rested. Maybe it’s not so bad being a horse. In the early evening Makri wanders into the warehouse, whistling softly. I emerge from the hay to greet her.

“Did you bring my toga?”

“Toga, sandals and a mask. And beer.”

Makri empties the contents of her bag. I’m immensely grateful for the beer. I drink it while I get the toga out. It could be cleaner but it’ll do.

“They’re difficult to wear, you know. You have to drape it just right. Any sudden movement and it’s liable to fall off. That’s why you never see Senators running around, it’s too risky. What sort of mask did you bring?”

Makri has purchased a cheap mask from the market. It’s a comic representation of Deputy Consul Cicerius.

“It was the only one they had.”

Makri wonders why I don’t give her the pendant to return. I point out that it’s already driven her mad once.

“You’d be tempted to look again.”

“You’re right,” says Makri. “It was so good being captain of the armies.”

“What have you done to your hair?” I ask, suddenly noticing that her already voluminous mane is looking even fuller than usual.

“I washed it in a lotion of pixlas herbs.”

“What?”

“They sell it at the market. It adds volume. And conditioning. Hey, I’m not turning up at Lisutaris’s ball looking like a tramp. It will be full of Senators’ wives. I have to go now.”

“To do your make-up?”

“Possibly.”

Around the time of the Sorcerers Assemblage, Makri encountered Copro, one of the city’s finest beauticians. She was later forced to kill him after he turned out to be a rather deadly enemy, but even so, it had an effect. Previously dismissive of upper-class frippery, Makri can now be found painting her nails.

“How are things out there?”

“Hell,” replies Makri. “Unicorns, centaurs, fire, death, delusions. The city’s in chaos. I really wish I could afford to go to the beautician. Lisutaris has a team of them booked for the entire day. Maybe if I turn up early she’ll let me share.”

Makri departs. Night is approaching and I struggle into my toga and put the mask in my bag. I try my best to hide my hair down the back of my toga. Then, hoping that I look something like a Senator who’s on his way to a masked ball, I emerge on to the streets of Twelve Seas to be immediately ridiculed by some small children who wonder out loud if I’m a sorcerous apparition. I chase them off with some language they’re not expecting to hear from a Senator.

“That’s no way to talk to children.”

Captain Rallee is looking at me with some amusement. Behind him are three Civil Guards.

“You’re under arrest, Senator Thraxas.”

I’m carrying one spell. I mutter the correct arcane words and the Captain and his companions fall to the ground. The sleep spell is very effective, one of the few I can still use with authority. Unfortunately I’ve now run out of magic completely and won’t be able to load any more into my memory till I consult my grimoire. I had been hoping to save that one spell for the masked ball in case I run into trouble there.

Of course, having used a spell on a Guards captain I’m already in big trouble. Resisting arrest by use of sorcery is a very serious crime. I hurry off and wave down the first landus I see.

“The home of Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. At great speed.”

I squirm around a little, trying not to sit on my sword, which is concealed under my toga. Only a few months ago I saw a group of travelling actors performing a sketch at the Pleasure Gardens in which a bumbling Senator’s toga fell off just as the princess walked into the room. I wouldn’t bet against that happening tonight. I wonder if Lisutaris has invited any princesses. Quite probably. The young Princess Du-Akai is a keen socialite. Also a former client of mine, in a confidential matter. I’d best try to keep out of her way.

I keep my head down all the way through town. When we join the throng of vehicles making their way into Truth is Beauty Lane, I risk a glance. All around me are splendid carriages filled with people in elaborate costumes. Sitting in a hired landus with an old toga and an unimpressive mask, I already feel cheap. I still figure I can carry it off. I won’t be the only one in attendance without two gurans to rub together. You don’t have to look too far among Turai’s upper classes to find men so far in debt they’re never coming out.

I toss some money at the driver, leap out of the landus and lose myself in a crowd of giggling young ladies who’re swaying up the driveway dressed as dancers. Unless they really are dancers. Assuming the air of a benevolent patriarch shepherding his flock, I stride confidently through the doors, take a glass of wine from a servant and look for the party.

Mostly the party is outside, and I’m directed by a series of servants through to the extensive grounds in the back where music is coming from every corner and a great throng of people, all elegantly costumed and masked, are walking in and out of a series of large marquees. It strikes me for the first time that it may not be easy to immediately locate Lisutaris. I’d hoped she might be welcoming guests at the door, but she’s obviously in the midst of the throng, unless she’s still getting dressed. Having worked for the woman last year, I’ve had experience of the staggering amount of time she can take to get ready. Still, I’m guessing that as a matter of pride Lisutaris will be wearing the fanciest costume on view, so I look around for anyone who looks particularly fabulous. Unfortunately there are a lot to choose from. The gardens contain all manner of masked guests, from men who, like myself, are merely clad in their formal togas with the addition of a mask, to others who’ve spent weeks preparing the most elaborate of outfits. Pirates, soldiers, Elves, famous historical figures, snow pixies, angels, Barbarians, all manner of masks and costumes. I approach a fantastic-looking figure clad in a rather graceful eagle’s mask, hoping that it might be Lisutaris, but am disappointed to hear the figure complaining bitterly to her companion about the price of merchandise in the market these days. Lisutaris would regard it as beneath her to complain of such a thing.

I wonder where Makri is. She might be upstairs sharing a beautician with Lisutaris. More to the point, sharing a thazis pipe, which means they might not appear for hours. I’m becoming uncomfortable carrying the pendant around. I keep fearing that the latent power it contains might leak out somehow and affect me. Already I’ve seen a wood nymph that seemed alarmingly real. I should return the pendant as swiftly as possible. There’s no telling when Consul Kalius will take it into his head to confront Lisutaris and demand to see it. And if Horm the Dead really does plan to pay us a visit, I’d rather the jewel was with Lisutaris than me. Let her deal with his sorcerous malevolence. I must waste no time in hunting for Lisutaris.

I need beer. The only unmasked people in the gardens are the waiters.

“I don’t suppose there’s any beer on offer?” I ask one of them, eyeing his tray of wine with dissatisfaction.

“I believe they have beer in the blue marquee, for the musicians,” he informs me.

Still not wasting any time in hunting for Lisutaris, I make a swift detour to the blue marquee, where couples dance to the stately music played by a small orchestra. It’s a good steer by the waiter. No professional musicians are going to play the whole night fuelled only by vintage wine. Beer is available and I avail myself of it, raising a tankard to the band in appreciation. I watch the dancers while I wait for more beer. They’re performing the slow, formal and rather intricate court dances as taught by Turai’s dancing masters and performed in the best houses. I did actually learn something of the sort while working at the Palace, though it wasn’t an art I was ever comfortable with. A man dressed as some sort of jester guides a woman in a nun’s costume round, leading off the next part of the dance, and a great troop of pirates and Barbarians follow them round the floor. From the number of dancers in the marquee and the amount of civilised revellers outside, I’d say that Lisutaris’s masked ball was a success. I should find her. The night being exceedingly warm, I take in some more beer, just to be on the safe side, then set off, intending to try the house. Outside the marquee I meet the waiter again.

“Have you seen Lisutaris?” I ask. “Do you know what costume she’s wearing?”

He looks down his nose at me.

“Please!” he exclaims. “Are you unaware of the etiquette of the masked ball?”

“Which piece of etiquette would that be?”

“One must never enquire who anyone is,” he says, haughtily. “It’s the height of bad manners.”

I head for the house, rather abashed. Coming towards me is the Deputy Consul. Cicerius, though masked, is wearing his official toga, easily recognisable. If he catches me here wearing my cheap Cicerius mask, trouble will follow. I leap into the bushes to hide. There I find myself face to face with a large man incongruously garbed as a snow pixie.

“I’m the richest man in the world,” he says.

“Well good for you.”

His knees sag and he tumbles to the ground. I kneel over him. He’s dead. Another victim of the jewel? He can’t be. The jewel is safe in my bag. I take off the man’s mask but it’s no one I recognise. Just a Senator who always dreamed of being the richest man in the world. I feel something hard beneath my knee. It’s a familiar-looking pendant. The missing pendant, in fact. I open the small bag I’ve strapped under my toga. It also contains the missing pendant. I now have two missing pendants. There’s only meant to be one. Everyone was clear on that. I scoop the new pendant into my bag and make for the house. As I’m nearing the back door, a unicorn trots across my path. People applaud, thinking it to be part of the entertainment.

Indoors the staff are directing guests through the hallways into the gardens, not allowing anyone to climb the stairs to the Sorcerer’s private apartments. I wait for a quiet moment before slipping a few gurans to a boy in a smart red tunic.

“Private business,” I say. “Look the other way.”

He looks the other way and I hurry up the staircase. I’m familiar with this house and know that if Lisutaris has not yet made her entrance she’ll be in the suite of rooms at the far end, doing her hair, or smoking thazis. Makri appears in the corridor, striding along confidently in her dark Orcish armour.

“Makri—”

She walks past, completely ignoring me.

“To hell with you,” I call after her. She must still be upset that I’ve gatecrashed the ball. I find Lisutaris’s main salon and dive through the door.

“Lisutaris, we have big problems.”

Lisutaris is sitting in front of a mirror, with a stylist beside her doing her hair. Consul Kalius is sitting nearby on a couch. He’s dressed as a pirate but has discarded his mask. Makri is standing by the window.

The Consul rises.

“What problems?”

“The musicians are running out of beer.”

The Consul laughs, and compliments me on my amusing Cicerius mask. Makri—who can’t be here because she just walked down the corridor—looks surprised to see me. Lisutaris is annoyed.

“Who are you?” she demands.

I can’t identify myself in front of Kalius before I’ve cleared things up.

“Etiquette prevents me from saying,” I reply.

“Well get the hell out of my rooms before I have my staff toss you out into the street,” says Lisutaris.

She’s wearing a magnificent winged costume, the Angel of the Southern Hurricane, I believe.

“The musicians really need beer. And Deputy Consul Cicerius is looking for the Consul on a matter of great urgency.”

Lisutaris now recognises my voice and looks alarmed. She turns to the Consul.

“Perhaps you should—”

Kalius smiles. He’s looking quite jovial. Not like a man who’s just denounced the head of the Sorcerers Guild for betraying the city.

“I will sort things out,” he says, affably. “You mustn’t be disturbed while you’re making ready for your grand entrance. The musicians need beer, you say? I’m sure I can rectify that. And Cicerius wishes to see me? No doubt on some affair of state. The Deputy Consul can never bring himself to fully relax on these occasions.”

He rises, bows formally to Lisutaris and departs. I take off my mask.

“The Consul’s looking happy.”

“What are you doing here?” demands Lisutaris.

“He couldn’t stand not being invited,” says Makri. “It’s completely childish. Just like the Elvish princess in the story.”

“What story?”

“ ‘The Elvish Princess Who Was Completely Childish.’ ”

Not for the first time I glare at Makri with loathing.

“There is no such story.”

“Yes there is. I translated it last year.”

“Is this true?” demands Lisutaris. “You have invaded my house in a fit of pique?”

“A fit of pique!” I roar. “Have you forgotten you hired me to do a job? To retrieve the fantastically important jewel? Well I’ve done it.”

“But I’ve already done that,” protests Lisutaris. “I retrieved the jewel myself. I have just been showing it to the Consul. Didn’t you notice how cheerful he was?”

“Well this might make everybody less cheerful,” I say, and produce the two pendants from my bag.

“Obvious fakes,” says Lisutaris.

“Oh yes? There’s a dead man in the bushes who doesn’t agree. Take a look.”

Lisutaris takes one of the pendants and stares deeply into it. She frowns. She studies the other jewel. She places it on her bureau and opens a drawer, producing a third jewel.

“They are all real.”

“You didn’t mention there were three of them,” I say.

“There aren’t three of them! There’s only one. But these are all the real one.”

“Well that’s a mystery,” I say, sitting down on the couch. “But it does explain why people have been being trampled by unicorns all over Turai even when I recovered the jewel. The place is awash with sorcerous pendants.”

“You say there is a dead man in my garden?”

“Yes. But well hidden in the bushes. We might expect worse. Apparitions are still going on, and I know of several other people who claim to have the pendant. Which they might have. God knows how many of these things there are out there, each of them potentially lethal. If they all turn up in the same place I’m guessing we’re in for a memorable party.”

There’s a discreet knock on the door and a maid enters.

“Centaurs are destroying the green marquee, miss,” she says, politely.

Lisutaris looks to Makri.

“I’ll deal with it,” says Makri, and puts on her helmet before hurrying off.

“You feel the need to stay?” says Lisutaris.

“There are some things we should discuss. Like how there are suddenly a lot of pendants. And what we’re going to do about it.”

“I really cannot be dealing with this sort of thing at my ball,” protests the Sorcerer. “It’s time for my entrance.”

“Don’t you realise what’s about to happen out there? If centaurs are eating your marquee it means they’re being produced by more of these jewels. Anyone in the gardens is quite likely to die because they find one and stare into it. Or else there will be a panic when a marquee appears to catch fire. Or maybe really catches fire. And don’t forget Horm the Dead has promised to pay you a visit. Which might mean another appearance from Glixius Dragon Killer. Also, Sarin the Merciless is still trying to sell a pendant. I’d say this ball might be remembered as the social occasion when everybody died.”

“You really know how to spoil a party, don’t you?” says Lisutaris, angrily, like it’s all my fault.

“Do you have any idea how the pendant might have mysteriously multiplied itself? Is there a spell which could do that?”

Lisutaris is still fussing with her hair in the mirror. It’s the largest, most perfectly made dressing mirror I’ve ever seen. Buying a piece of glass like that must have been prohibitively expensive. I doubt if there’s a better one at the Imperial Palace.

“It might possibly be done by a very experienced practitioner,” mutters Lisutaris. “Though it would take an immense amount of skill. But who would do such a thing?”

I shrug.

“Look at the people who’ve been involved. Horm, Glixius. There’s no telling what their motives might be. Horm has been keen to discredit you from the start. Maybe he thought he could take the pendant back for Prince Amrag and still make you look foolish by leaving some counterfeits behind. Maybe he cunningly planned it so they’d all end up here and destroy your guests. Good way to get rid of Turai’s leaders. Whoever’s behind it we have to do something. You ought to know better than me that having this many sorcerous items together is highly dangerous. What if the copies are unstable? Either the magic space is going to invade your gardens or there’s going to be an almighty explosion.”

Last century, for reasons which were never clear, the great Simnian Sorcerer Balanius the Most Powerful made a duplicate of himself. By all accounts it was a perfect copy, but when he shook hands with himself there was an explosion which flattened his city. You can still see the crater in Simnia.

Lisutaris drags herself away from the mirror.

“We don’t know that there are any more in the vicinity. There might be only these three. I can contain them.”

“I feel that there are others.”

“How?”

“Intuition.”

Lisutaris is dubious about my intuition. She crosses to the window and gazes out at the gardens for a moment or two.

“You’re right, unfortunately. I can sense more of the pendants. I’m not sure how many. You may also be correct about their instability. Copying a sorcerous item of such power is almost impossible to get right.”

Lisutaris walks over to a painting on her wall. She speaks to it and the painting shifts to one side. Behind the painting there’s a safe. She mutters a rather long series of ancient words and it opens. From the safe she withdraws a bag.

“This is made of red Elvish cloth. If you put the pendants in here it should dampen the effect. But be careful not to let anyone see what you’re doing. It’s illegal for any private citizen, even me, to own this cloth. The King will be down on me like a bad spell if he knows I have it.”

I notice that Lisutaris seems to be talking about me doing the dirty work.

“You want me to gather up an unknown number of dangerous sorcerous pendants? I’ve been nervous enough carrying round one. Can’t you help?”

“I have a ball to host. What will people say if I’m scurrying round with a bag rather than mingling with my guests? And is this not what I hired you for? To protect my reputation? Do not let Consul Kalius discover what you’re doing. I’ve just managed to convince him I didn’t lose the original. Having fake gems turn up isn’t going to make me look good. Take this.”

Lisutaris hands me a copper bracelet.

“This will glow when in the vicinity of any sorcerous item.”

“It’s glowing right now.”

“That’s because my rooms are full of sorcerous items. It will help you to search in the gardens. I hope Makri managed to disperse the centaurs before they did much damage. If you find any more bodies, have my staff remove them discreetly.”

“I really don’t like this.”

“We have no choice. I will do my best to control any apparitions. I have to go. I’m due to lead off a dance with Prince Frisen-Akan.”

“Take care he doesn’t tread on your toes.”

“I expect he will.”

I step out into the corridor. I’m heading for the gardens but I hesitate. Avenaris’s private rooms are on the next floor. With no one around to observe me, I hurry upstairs to check them out. Lisutaris will fume if she catches me, but what is she going to do? She needs me to do her dirty work outside. I remember I forgot to ask about the other person in Orcish armour who I thought was Makri. Maybe it’s nothing. No, it’s something bad, I know it. Might it be Sarin? I’ll deal with it later.

Avenaris’s room is locked. I try a minor word of power, to no effect. I put my weight against the door and push. It gives slowly. It takes a good door to resist my bulk. Inside I find a suite of rooms decorated in a restrained and tasteful style. Nothing too bright or harsh on the eye. I get to work.

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