Thraxas and the Dance of Death

Chapter Five

With its hot, dry summers, Turai is prone to serious outbreaks of fire. Fortunately, the city’s fire-fighting services are well advanced. The best in the civilised world, some say. Given that much of the land is covered with tall wooden buildings crammed close to their neighbours, nothing else will do. Since half the city burned down around seventy years ago, there’s been a sustained effort to improve our fire-fighting capabilities, and thanks to a series of decrees from the Senate, the Prefect who runs each district is obliged to provide and maintain a sufficient number of water-carrying wagons, complete with equipment and emergency personnel to man them. This served us well during the last war, when the Orcish armies besieging Turai hurled fireballs over the walls with their siege devices but failed to destroy the city as intended. Around that time an engineer in the army developed an efficient new type of water pump which, in the hands of operators strong enough to keep the pistons moving, is capable of throwing water almost fifty yards. Equipped with this device, our fire-fighters have in recent years performed heroic service and are one of the few groups of people universally admired in Turai.

As the tavern empties and smoke starts to billow out of the windows, a great cry goes up for the fire services. A bell is sounded in alarm and people look to the end of the alleyway, anxiously expecting horse-drawn wagons to appear. Nothing happens. No wagons come. As Casax the Brotherhood boss sees his headquarters starting to disappear in flames, he becomes agitated. He screams for his men to bring water from neighbouring houses, waving his fists to encourage them. The way the flames are taking hold, I doubt that this is going to do much good.

Normally I’d enjoy seeing the Mermaid burning to the ground. However, it strikes me that it’s hardly helpful to my immediate purposes. I approach Casax. He doesn’t acknowledge me, being too busy trying to save the tavern to pay any attention to an unwelcome Investigator. I grab him by the arm.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Casax?”

I point to a young guy in a fancy cloak who’s slumped in the alleyway, suffering either from inhaling smoke or, more probably from shock at finding himself dragged out of a burning building in the nick of time.

“Your pet Sorcerer.”

“What?”

“Orius. Or, to give him his full name, Orius Fire Tamer. Which name leads me to suspect he ought to be able to do something.”

Casax wastes no time. In seconds he’s dragging the unfortunate young man up on to his feet and over to the fire.

“Put it out!” screams Casax.

Orius looks like he’d rather be elsewhere, concentrating on his recovery, and struggles to stand erect. I can’t say I’m sympathetic. I never thought it was a good idea for the young Sorcerer to get involved with the Brotherhood. Life for a gang member has its rewards, but it can be tough at times.

Just when it seems that the flames must engulf the tavern, Orius manages to catch his breath and gather his concentration. He chants a spell. The flames seem to weaken. He chants again, and they go out. The crowd cheer. Orius Fire Tamer collapses in a heap. To give him his due, it was a nice piece of sorcery, in difficult circumstances.

Casax doesn’t waste any time congratulating his Sorcerer. He needs to see that his headquarters have survived intact, so he strides swiftly into the tavern, motioning his henchmen to follow. I walk in after them, uninvited. The building hasn’t fared too badly. Part of the roof has collapsed, but Orius halted the flames before they really took hold. Coughing from the effects of the smoke that still hangs in the air, I look around. I don’t quite know what I’m looking for and I don’t get much of a chance to search before Casax spots me and angrily demands to know what I’m doing here.

“Just visiting. And incidentally, you owe me for reminding you about Orius Fire Tamer.”

“I’ll send you a present,” rasps Casax. “Now get out of here.”

“You want to tell me how the fire started?”

“I don’t want to tell you anything. Maybe you should be telling me something.”

I shake my head.

“All I know is that Prefect Galwinius has been pocketing the money he should’ve been spending on fire wagons.”

“So what are you doing here? I get suspicious when Investigators turn up just when my building is burning down.”

Casax stares at me. I stare back at him. We’ve had a few run-ins in the past. Nothing too serious. Nothing to make us lifelong friends. All around, Brotherhood men are dampening down the last few tongues of flame and carrying boxes here and there, presumably illicit goods, or maybe Casax’s records. Casax is an organised sort of guy. All Brotherhood bosses are. Organised and violent. I decide to tell him why I’m here.

“I’m looking for a stolen jewel. In the shape of a pendant.”

“So?”

“It was stolen from a Sorcerer. The Sorcerer traced it here.”

“Then the Sorcerer was mistaken.”

“I doubt it. And the Sorcerer would pay well to get it back. It’s a family heirloom.”

Before Casax can reply, he’s interrupted by Karlox, a tough enforcer.

“They’re dead,” says Karlox.

“Who’s dead?”

“The three strangers who wanted to see you. They’re still upstairs. But dead.”

“Burned?” asks Casax.

“No. Stabbed.”

Casax’s brow furrows.

“What do you mean, stabbed? No one gets stabbed in here unless I say so.”

“They weren’t by any chance three men who came here to sell you some stolen jewellery, were they?” I ask.

Casax stares at me.

“Time to leave. Investigator.”

Knowing that I’m not going to learn anything more, I turn to go. Casax calls after me. When I turn to face him again, he’s got a mocking smile on his face.

“That makes seven, I believe.”

“Seven? Seven what?”

“Seven bodies. You want to give me and Karlox here any inside information? We figured we might place a little wager with young Moxalan.”

His henchman Karlox laughs like this is a great joke. I try to disguise my feelings, without success. Now word of the betting in the Avenging Axe has reached the Brotherhood. Soon it will be all over Twelve Seas. All over the city, maybe. I’m fast becoming a laughing stock. Damn that idiot Dandelion and her foolish warnings.

I haven’t recovered the pendant, though my intuition is telling me pretty strongly that whoever the three guys were, they had it with them. Someone killed them, and made off with it, probably using the fire as a distraction. It was a neat piece of work. It’s not easy removing stolen goods from under the noses of the Brotherhood.

It’s a relief to get out of the smoky building. Not much relief, though, as the sun hits me full in the face. Despite the commotion caused by the fire, the dwa dealers are still doing a brisk trade in the alleyway.

Three more dead. Seven since I started looking. A bloodbath? Possibly Dandelion was right. Maybe she can read the stars. Maybe she can really talk to the dolphins. I wonder how many bodies Makri is betting on. I’d expect her to go for a high total. She’s used to a lot of carnage. As I’m so annoyed at Makri, I’m very tempted to refuse to investigate the accusation of theft against her. Let her sort it out herself. I sigh. If I let her sort it out herself she won’t mind at all, but she’ll end up on the gallows. Cursing the woman for her foolish academic pretensions, I set off along the dusty road to the College.

The Guild College is sited at the edge of Pashish, a slightly less unpleasant area than Twelve Seas. The streets are still narrow but they’re cleaner, and the aqueducts are in good repair. The tenements are less tall and better spaced. Here and there a small park serves as recreation for the families of artisans and lesser merchants. It’s the sons of these artisans and lesser merchants who attend the Guild College, some in preparation for careers in the service of the government and a few of them in preparation for the Imperial University.

Makri is, I believe, the only woman to attend the College, gaining entrance only after some anonymous but wealthy woman with a point to prove promoted her case. The College, discovering to their dismay that their written constitution did not actually forbid it, found themselves the unwilling instructors of a mixed-blood ex-gladiator, and to hear Makri tell it they’ve been trying to get rid of her ever since. Possibly they already would have had Makri and I not done some good work for Deputy Consul Cicerius last year, as a result of which I think he used his influence to enable her continued attendance.

To me it seems like a lot of trouble for nothing. I can’t see what good a sound grounding in the arts of philosophy, rhetoric and mathematics is ever going to do her, and as for her ambition to attend the Imperial University, it’s never going to happen. For one thing, their constitution does expressly forbid the admittance of women, and for another, if Makri ever walked through their marble portals, the uproar created by Turai’s aristocracy would send a shock wave through the Senate. No Senator would want his son in the same class as Makri, with her Orcish blood, barbaric manners and propensity for wielding an axe.

The College is not a grand affair. No grounds, no quadrangles with statues. Not even a fountain. It’s a dark old stone building that used to serve as the headquarters of the Honourable Merchants Association, till the Association grew wealthy and moved to a better part of town. Its dim corridors are full of young students carrying scrolls and trying to look studious. Several elderly men in togas, presumably professors, stand around looking severe. Though the wearing of a toga is standard among Turai’s upper classes, you don’t see many of them south of the river.

Professor Toarius has a very fine toga, as I discover when I enter his office. Gaining entry was easier than I expected, the receptionist outside not being used to repelling large Investigators. The Professor is elderly, grey-haired, aquiline-nosed and stuffed full of dignity. He’s a man of some reputation among Turai’s academics. He’s on the board at the Imperial University and it’s counted as a great favour from the Consul to the humble Guild College that the Professor was appointed to this position. I understand from Makri that Toarius rules the establishment in a manner which allows no room for debate. When I stride into his office he looks up from a dusty old book and frowns.

“Who let you in?” he demands.

“No one.”

“If this is some matter regarding your son’s education, you will have to make an appointment.”

“I don’t have a son. At least not to my knowledge. Although I did travel the world as a mercenary in my younger days, so I admit it’s not impossible.”

The room is crammed full of books and scrolls. As always when faced with evidence of learning, I’m uncomfortable.

“I’m here about Makri.”

The Professor goes rigid in his chair.

“Get out of my office,” he demands.

“What evidence do you have against her?”

Professor Toarius rises swiftly and pulls on a bell rope behind him. The clerk hurries in from the office outside.

“Call our security guards,” instructs the Professor.

This is worse than I expected. I feel surprised that Toarius is so unwilling to discuss the matter, and even more surprised that this place actually has security guards.

“You can’t just expel Makri like this, Professor.”

“I already have. It was a mistake to allow her to attend the College, and now that she has committed theft I have no option but to permanently exclude her.”

The door opens behind me and two brawny individuals in rough brown tunics hurry into the room. I ignore them.

“You don’t get my meaning, Professor. You can’t expel Makri because I won’t allow it.”

This amuses Toarius.

“You won’t allow it? And how will you prevent it?”

“By referring the matter to the Senate. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Thraxas, Tribune of the People.”

“Tribune? That post has been extinct for over a century.”

“Till recently revived by Deputy Consul Cicerius. And I have the power to prevent any act of exclusion against any citizen of Turai without the matter being debated in the Senate. So before I’m forced to make the matter public, why don’t we discuss it?”

“Do you think that the Senate will have the slightest interest in the fate of an Orcish thief?”

Makri isn’t actually Orcish. She has one quarter Orcish blood, along with one quarter Elvish. Having grown up in an Orcish slave pit, she hates them. Calling her an Orc is a deadly insult. I can see why she found life under the Professor tough.

“The Senate will have to show an interest. It’s the law, and Cicerius is a stickler for the law.”

“I am a good deal better acquainted with Deputy Consul Cicerius than you.”

The Professor puts down his book. His frown deepens.

“Are you the same Thraxas who was denounced last year in the Senate for your part in the scandal concerning the Elvish cloth which went missing?”

“Yes. But I was later exonerated.”

“No doubt,” says the Professor drily. “Few guilty men are convicted in this city. And now you claim to be some sort of employee of the government? I have heard nothing about it.”

“I’ve been keeping it quiet. Now, about Makri. What evidence do you have that she stole the money?”

Professor Toarius doesn’t want to discuss it. He abruptly orders his men to throw me out. They hesitate.

“I think this man really is a Tribune. I saw him stop an eviction a few months back. . . . Senator Lodius was with him. . . .”

The guards stand awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do. They don’t want to offend the Professor, but neither do they want to end up being hauled in front of a Senate committee for interfering with official business. Professor Toarius solves the impasse by marching out of the room, muttering about the degeneracy of a city which can allow a man like me to walk around unpunished.

“Is he always like this?” I ask the guards.

“Yes.”

“You appreciate I really am a Tribune of the People? You can’t throw me out of this place while I’m conducting an investigation.”

The guards shrug. I don’t get the impression they’re that desperate to do the Professor’s bidding. Probably he’s not the sort of man to inspire loyalty among his menial staff.

“You know Makri?”

The larger of the two guards almost smiles.

“We know her.”

“Violent temper,” adds his companion.

“Once chased some poor young guy round the building after he made some comment she didn’t like. What does she expect? She doesn’t exactly cover herself up a lot.”

I ask them what they know about the expulsion. They don’t know much.

“We weren’t involved. All we heard was that some money went missing and she took it. The Professor told us to make sure she didn’t get back in the building.”

“Did you look into it at all?”

“Why would we?” asks the larger guard. “We’re just here to keep the dwa dealers outside from bothering the students. If the Professor expels someone, it’s nothing to do with us.”

“She probably stole the money,” adds the other guard. “I didn’t mind the woman, but she is part Orcish. She was bound to start stealing sooner or later.”

“Good body, though,” adds his friend. “She should stick to being a dancer.”

I ask if they know of anyone who might fill me in on a few more details. They suggest Rabaxos.

“It was his money that went missing. Probably find him in the library now. He’s a little guy in a shabby tunic. Always got his nose in a scroll. Father owns a fishing boat but I guess being a fisherman isn’t good enough for his son. Why are you so bothered about the girl anyway?”

A good question. I leave them without answering it. It’s hot and stuffy inside the old building but I’ve got more on my mind than the uncomfortable weather. I swore I wouldn’t use my Tribunate powers again for any reason. Now, thanks to Makri, I’ve been forced into it. I know what’s going to happen now. People are going to appear at my door, asking for help. Once the downtrodden masses learn that I’ve invoked my powers, they’ll all be looking for assistance. Every person in Twelve Seas with some gripe against authority will be demanding action. I’d better strengthen my door-locking spell. I’ve no intention of spending my life helping the downtrodden masses; I’m downtrodden enough myself.

That’s not the worst of it. Deputy Consul Cicerius was furious when I used my powers during the winter, particularly as it was to aid Senator Lodius, head of the opposition party. If I get involved in anything else of a similar nature, Cicerius will be down on me like a bad spell. Once a man gets involved in politics in this city, there’s no telling what might happen. Time was when the Tribunes of the People were forever entering into the political fray. More often than not they ended up being assassinated for their troubles, or dragged up in court on trumped-up charges by their opponents. To be a politician in this city you need a lot of backing, and a lot of backing is something I don’t have.

When I remember that not only has Makri forced me into using my legal powers, thereby practically ensuring that I’ll be run out of town at the earliest opportunity, as well as placing bets on how many corpses I’m liable to run into in the next few days, but she’s also received an invitation to Lisutaris’s smart party, I start to seethe. Damn the woman. How can I be expected to get along in this city when I have to act as nursemaid to a pointy-eared ex-gladiator who doesn’t know how to behave in a civilised society? It wasn’t too long ago that she was terrifying the honest citizens of Twelve Seas by talking publicly about her menstruation problems, and if it’s not that, it’s killing a dwa dealer and bringing the Brotherhood down on my neck, or getting so drunk when we went to the Elvish Isles that she actually threw up over the Crown Prince’s sandals. Much more of this and I’ll be taking a fast horse southwards.

By the time I reach the library—another room containing an indecent amount of books and scrolls—I’m in a thoroughly bad mood. I demand to see Rabaxos and, ignoring the multitude of requests for me to keep my voice down, I keep on demanding till eventually a student leads me behind a book stack to a small table where a puny-looking individual with his hair tied back with a cheap piece of ribbon has his nose firmly in a scroll written in the common Elvish tongue. I speak Elvish myself, though I don’t go around studying it in libraries.

“I’m here investigating the theft of your money.”

He shrinks back in his chair.

“And if you don’t tell me exactly what happened, I’ll make sure you end up on a prison ship. It’ll be a long time before you get to study an Elvish scroll again.”

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