Thraxas and the Dance of Death

Chapter Two

I’m dreaming about the time I won a beer-drinking contest down in Abelesi. Seven opponents, and every one of them unconscious on the floor while I was still demanding more ale, and quickly. One of my finest moments. I’m rudely awakened by someone shaking my arm. I leap to my feet and make a grab for my sword.

“It’s me,” says Makri.

I’m angry at the invasion.

“How often do I have to tell you to stay out of my room!” I yell at her. “I swear if you walk in here uninvited again I’ll run you through.”

“You couldn’t run me through if I had both arms tied behind my back, you fat ox,” retorts Makri, never one to smooth over a disagreement.

“One of these days I’m going to break you in half, you skinny troll-lover.”

I notice that Makri is not alone.

“You remember Dandelion?”

My heart sinks. It plummets. Even in a city full of strange characters, Dandelion stands out as a particularly odd young woman. She hired me on a case last year, and while I admit this worked out all right in the end, the whole affair didn’t endear her to me. Dandelion is weird. Not barbaric like Makri or ethereal like the Elves. Just weird. Not least among the things I dislike about her is her habit of walking around with bare feet, something I’m utterly unable to account for. In a city full of refuse-strewn streets, it defies common sense. You’re liable to step on a dead rat, or maybe worse. Besides this she wears a long skirt covered with patterns from the zodiac, and spouts rubbish about communing with nature. She hired me on behalf of the talking dolphins in the bay, which was probably to be expected.

“What do you want?” I grunt. “The talking dolphins having problems again?”

The dolphins don’t actually speak Turanian. Just a lot of strange whistles. I saw Dandelion communicating with them but I’m half convinced she was making it up as she went along.

Dandelion tries to smile, but she seems nervous. With my sword in my hand I guess I don’t put people at ease. I sheathe it, just in case the woman has anything useful to say. Now I think about it, she did pay me with several valuable antique coins, and I’m not in a position to turn away paying clients no matter how peculiar they might be.

“Dandelion has a warning for you,” says Makri.

Makri’s keeping a straight face but I sense she’s secretly amused. Springing Dandelion on me when I’m sleeping off ten beers is probably her idea of an excellent joke.

“A warning? From the dolphins?”

Dandelion shakes her head.

“Not from the dolphins. Though they’re still very grateful for your assistance. You should visit them some time.”

“Next time I need to commune with nature I’ll get right down to the beach. What’s the warning?”

“You’re about to be involved in terrible bloodshed.”

Dandelion gazes at me. I gaze back at her. There’s a brief silence, interrupted only by the cries of the hawkers outside. At the foot of the steps leading down from my outer door to the street there’s an ongoing dispute over territory between a woman who sells fish and a man who’s set up a stall for sharpening blades. They’ve been screaming at each other all week. Life in Twelve Seas is never peaceful.

“Terrible bloodshed? Is that it?”

Dandelion nods. I hunt around for my klee. It’s finished.

“I’m an Investigator. I’m always surrounded by bloodshed. Comes with the territory. People round here just don’t like being investigated.”

“You don’t understand,” says Dandelion. “I don’t mean a little violence. Or even a few deaths. I mean many, many deaths, more deaths than you can count. An orgy of blood-letting such as you’ve never encountered before.”

My head’s starting to hurt. The sight of Dandelion with her bare feet and odd clothes is irritating beyond measure. I’d like to bounce her down the stairs.

“Who gave you this warning? The Brotherhood? The Society of Friends?”

“No one gave it me. I read it in the stars.”

Makri fails to suppress a giggle. I stare at both of them with loathing.

“You read it in the stars?”

“Yes,” says Dandelion, nodding eagerly. “Last night on the beach. I hurried here as fast as I could to warn you. Because I owe you—”

“Will you get out of my office!” I roar. “Makri, how dare you bring this freak in here to bother me like this. If she’s still here in five seconds I swear I’ll kill you both. Don’t you know I’m a busy man? Now get the hell out of here!”

Makri shepherds Dandelion from the room. She pauses at the door.

“Maybe you ought to listen to her, Thraxas. After all, she came up with the goods during the dolphin case.”

I tell Makri brusquely I’ll be grateful if she never wastes my time again, and add a few curses I usually save for the race track. Makri departs, slamming the door. I open it to curse her again, then sit down heavily. My mood just got a lot worse. I need more sleep. There’s a knock on the outside door. I ignore it. It comes again. I continue to ignore it. My outside door is secured by a minor locking spell which is sufficient for keeping out most people, and I’m not in the mood for company. I lie down on my couch just as the door flies open and Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, strides into the room. Lisutaris, number one Sorcerer in Turai. Number one Sorcerer in all the Human lands, in fact, since she was elected head of the Sorcerers Guild. She glares down at me.

“Why didn’t you answer the door?”

“I was counting on the locking spell to keep out unwanted intruders.”

Lisutaris smiles. A locking spell placed by the likes of me is never going to be a problem for such a powerful Sorcerer.

“Are you planning on lying there all day?”

I struggle to rise. Lisutaris is an important woman, and wealthy. She deserves respect, though as I’ve frequently seen her in a state of collapse due to overindulgence in the narcotic thazis, I don’t feel the need to be too formal.

“Do you always greet your clients this way?”

“Only when I’m trying to sleep off the effect of beer. Is this a social call? And incidentally, why are you in disguise?”

“It’s a professional call. I’m here to hire you. And I’m in disguise because I don’t want anyone to recognise me.”

Turai’s Sorcerers wear a distinctive rainbow cloak, and as Lisutaris is an aristocratic woman, she’d normally have a fine gown under her cloak, along with jewellery, gold sandals and the like. Instead she’s dressed in the plain garb of the lower classes, though any observer could tell that her extravagant hair wasn’t coiffured at one of the cheap establishments you’d find in Twelve Seas. Even in a plain robe, Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is a striking woman. She’s somewhere around the same age as me, but she’s always been an elegant beauty, and careful with her looks.

“I see nothing’s changed around here,” she says, sweeping some junk off a chair and sitting down lightly. “Is it absolutely necessary for you to live in such squalor?”

“Private investigation never pays that well.”

“You were well remunerated for your help at the Sorcerers Assemblage, I believe.”

“Not as well remunerated as I should have been. And some recent investments have turned out less well than I anticipated.”

“You mean you lost it all at the chariot races?”

“That’s right.”

Lisutaris nods.

“I too lost money at the last meeting. Of course, I can afford it. Well, Thraxas, as you’re obviously in need of money, I expect you’ll be glad to take on the case.”

“Tell me about it.”

There’s a slight delay while Lisutaris lights a thazis stick. She offers me one, which I accept. Thazis is a mild narcotic for most people, but Lisutaris is a very heavy user. She invented a new kind of water pipe and developed a spell for making the plants grow faster. The citizens of Turai are proud that one of our own was recently selected as head of the Sorcerers Guild, but they might be surprised if they knew the full extent of Lisutaris’s habit. Generally she’s too stoned to walk by the end of the day. She was never that suitable a candidate for head of the Sorcerers Guild really, but there wasn’t a better one available, much to the chagrin of Deputy Consul Cicerius. Suitable or not, it was a relief for the Deputy Consul, the Consul and the King to have a Turanian elected. It guarantees us help from all the Sorcerers in the west should we come under attack from the Orcs again, which we will, sooner or later.

“Have you heard of the Sorcerer’s green jewel?”

I shake my head.

“I never made it past apprentice. My sorcerous knowledge has a lot of gaps.”

“Not many people have heard of it,” continues Lisutaris. “It’s what you might call a state secret. Even I was unaware of its existence till I became privy to government secrets after my election as head of the Guild. The green jewel is Turai’s guarantee against unexpected invasion. In the hands of a powerful Sorcerer, the jewel acts as an all-seeing eye. No matter how private the Orcs might try to keep their affairs, we will always be able to tell when they’re massing armies against us. So it’s an important piece of rock.”

I’m surprised to learn of this artefact, and a little puzzled by Lisutaris’s explanation.

“It sounds like a handy thing to have. But what do you mean, it’s our only defence against unexpected invasion? The Sorcerers Guild has plenty of spells for giving us advance warning.”

“True. But the Orcish Sorcerers Guild has spent the last fifteen years in a concentrated attempt to negate every one of them. There used to be twenty or more far-seeing spells we could use. Government intelligence now indicates that this is down to two or three. The Orcs have successfully developed counter-spells to the rest. The Orcish Sorcerers Guild is a far more cohesive unit than most things in the east. Even when their states have been riven by internal wars, they’ve kept working away on the problem. If they come up with counter-spells to our few remaining incantations for tracking their movements, the green jewel will be the only thing standing between the west and oblivion.”

This talk of Orcish wars, while uncomfortable, has got my attention. I fought in the last one. So did Lisutaris, Gurd, and practically every other able-bodied Turanian who was old enough to wield a blade or chant a spell. In the climax of a savage and destructive conflict we threw them back from the walls, but it was a close thing till the Elves arrived from the south. Without their aid, Turai would now be an outpost of the Orcish empire, or a pile of ruins.

“So the Orcish Sorcerers have been busy and we’re now dependent on the green jewel.”

“That’s right,” says Lisutaris. “I trust I’ve impressed you with the great importance of this item?”

“You have. So what about it?”

“It was entrusted to me.”

“And?”

“I lost it.”

“You lost it? How?”

“I put it in my bag when I went to the chariot races. Which was not as careless as it might sound. To use the jewel properly, it’s necessary for a Sorcerer to become very familiar with it, and learn its properties in all circumstances. Unfortunately when I returned home it was no longer in my bag. I think it may have dropped out when I was giving my secretary some money to place a bet.”

“What chariot?”

“City Destroyer.”

“Bad choice. I lost a bundle on that.”

“The jewel was—”

“Didn’t you think there was something fishy about the way it dropped out of the running on the last lap? I think the charioteer may have been bribed.”

“Of course I looked for it at the time but—”

“I’m not convinced that Melus the Fair was the right choice for Stadium Sorcerer. I’m sure there’s some corruption going on that she’s not picking up on—”

Lisutaris informs me coldly that she didn’t come here to discuss our mutual misfortunes at the races.

“I’ve just lost the most important weapon in the nation’s armoury and I need it back quickly. If word of this gets out, the King will have me expelled from the city, or possibly something worse. So I’d appreciate it if you’d start investigating without further delay.”

“No need to get upset. I was just sharing in your misfortunes. City Destroyer should have won that race at a canter. It’s getting so a man can’t make an honest bet these days.”

I notice that the Mistress of the Sky has a threatening glint in her eye. I get down to business.

“You’ll need to tell me some more details.”

“The green jewel is set in a pendant, Elvish silverwork, quite distinctive. However, I do not require you to do much investigating. Though I was unable to find the pendant immediately—you will understand that I did not wish to draw attention to my loss by performing a spell at the Stadium Superbius under the nose of Consul Kalius—as soon as I returned home I put my powers to use. I have now located the pendant by means of sorcery. It’s being held in a tavern next to the harbour. The Spiked Mace. Are you familiar with it?”

“Yes. It’s the sort of place you’d expect stolen jewels to end up.”

“So I imagined. You will understand, Thraxas, that absolute secrecy is necessary. I cannot allow the King, the Consul or any of my fellow Sorcerers to learn that I have lost the jewel. That being the case, I am unable to stride into the tavern myself and start blasting people with spells. Explanations would be called for which I would be unwilling to provide.”

I understand well enough. In a city which hates and fears the Orcs, anyone found to have carelessly lost our most powerful protection against them would soon find their life not worth living. It is a shocking piece of carelessness on Lisutaris’s part, though in truth it’s not surprising. Her thazis habit is so severe that bad things were bound to happen once she ended up head of the Guild.

“Why didn’t you just send someone from your household?”

“I deem it too much of a risk. Even if they were not recognised there is no telling who might later learn of the affair. Turanian servants are not known for their discretion. My secretary is of course absolutely loyal, but she is a young woman of rather delicate constitution and not suitable for a task such as this. Though I know the address where you may find the jewel, I do not know what else you might find there.”

“Someone who really doesn’t want to return it, most likely. The Spiked Mace is the original den of thieves. Don’t worry, I’ll get it back.”

From Lisutaris’s description of events, it seems quite possible that the thief won’t realise what he’s got. He may believe he’s holding nothing more than a normal piece of dress jewellery and try to sell it as soon as possible for a modest profit.

Lisutaris shifts uncomfortably in the sticky heat of my office. During the winter the Mistress of the Sky, like every other Sorcerer, had warming spells on her apparel to fight off the bitter cold, but cooling oneself by sorcery is far more difficult. A worried expression flits across her face.

“Given that discretion is essential, you won’t start throwing your legal powers around, will you?”

I frown. I’ve been busy trying to forget that I had any legal powers. After many years as a private citizen, I was unexpectedly elevated to the position of Tribune of the People some months ago by Cicerius, the Deputy Consul. The Tribunate, a sort of official citizens’ representative, was an extinct post till Cicerius nominated me last winter. He did this purely so I would be granted access to the Sorcerers Assemblage. It was never his intention, or mine, that I’d actually do anything official, but I was blackmailed into using my Tribune’s powers to halt an eviction, something which carried with it various political ramifications. Since I’m always keen to avoid getting involved in Turai’s murky political world, I’ve been playing down the Tribune bit as much as possible ever since, and have flatly refused to use the authority of the position again, knowing that it will only land me in trouble with some powerful party or other.

“Don’t worry. The post was purely honorary. Senator Lodius forced me into action once, but that’s it.”

The position lasts for a year and I’m hoping that the last few months of my term will run out unnoticed by all, leaving me once more a private citizen. A man who goes around using political power in Turai needs a lot more protection than I’ve got.

Lisutaris lights another thazis stick.

“You didn’t gamble the jewel away, did you?”

She has the good grace to smile.

“No. I’m still wealthy. However, if the loss is made public, you will not be the only person to make that remark. The Stadium Superbius was an unfortunate place to lose the pendant and there has been some jealousy in certain circles since I was elected head of the Guild.”

Lisutaris takes out her purse and lays some money on the table.

“Thirty gurans. Your standard retainer, I believe. There’s one more thing. I positively must have the jewel back quickly. In four days’ time I’m holding a masked ball at my mansion and the Crown Prince will be there, along with Kalius and Cicerius. It is entirely likely that they will wish to view the jewel. Consul Kalius was, I know, somewhat dubious about letting me take it from the Palace.”

I’m not surprised. Anyone who saw Lisutaris stumbling around the Sorcerers Assemblage in a thazis-induced stupor would have been dubious about letting her take anything valuable home with her.

“Couldn’t you cancel the ball?”

Apparently not. Lisutaris’s masked ball is set to be a highlight of the social season. I wonder what it’s like to have a social season.

“I’ll get it back.”

“When you have it, be certain not to stare into it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a powerful sorcerous object. Handling the pendant for a short space of time is quite safe, but it could be hazardous for an untrained person to gaze deeply into the green jewel. It may induce fainting, or worse.”

“I’ll put it straight into my pocket.”

Lisutaris is now on to her third thazis stick. She finishes it, drops the end in my bin, and lights another.

“How is Makri?”

Lisutaris is acquainted with Makri; she hired her to be her bodyguard at the Sorcerers Assemblage.

“Same as usual. Busy and bad-tempered.”

“I have something for her.”

The Sorcerer hands me an envelope. Makri’s name is written on it in the fancy script of a professional scribe. I promise to pass it on. I’m curious, but I figure it’s none of my business, so after Lisutaris leaves I dump it in Makri’s room. Then I douse myself with water to get rid of the last effects of the alcohol and thazis, and strap on my sword. Finally I load one spell—the most I can comfortably manage—into my memory and head out into the streets. Outside, the knife sharpener and the fish vendor are still arguing. It’s bound to end in violence.

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