Thraxas and the Dance of Death

Chapter Six

On my way back to the Avenging Axe, I call in at the local Messengers Guild station, sending a note to Lisutaris letting her know what’s happened. I suggest she try to locate the jewel again and also suggest she uses her considerable powers of sorcery to find out what the hell is going on. Seven dead bodies is a lot for one pendant that no one is supposed to know about.

The sun is directly overhead and the streets are intolerably hot and dusty. There’s little activity save for a bunch of ragged children splashing around in an old fountain that feeds off the local aqueduct. A few more days like this and the water supply is likely to dry up, which will probably lead to a riot. The mood I’m in, I wouldn’t mind doing some rioting. I have the grimmest foreboding about what’s going to happen now I’ve used my Tribune’s powers. I’ll have to send a report to an official at the Senate, and once that’s made public, there’s no telling what the result will be.

It’s clear to me that there was no proper inquiry at the Guild College. According to the young student Rabaxos he’d left the money in his locker for only a few minutes while he went to hand in a paper to one of his tutors. When he returned, the door had been forced open and the money was gone. I checked the lockers. They’re little more than wooden boxes with a clasp. Anyone could have forced it in less than a minute. No one saw the theft, but Makri was observed by several students entering and leaving the locker room around the time of the incident. Apart from that, there doesn’t seem to be any evidence against her. This doesn’t mean the staff at the College were outraged by her expulsion. Nor were the students. They’re all pretty much of the same opinion as Professor Toarius: that it was only a matter of time before Makri’s Orcish blood came to the fore and she started stealing.

Normally I’d be inclined to agree. Orcs are thieves, cheats and liars. You can’t trust an Orc for a second. Even a small amount of Orcish blood makes a person unreliable. Everyone in Turai knows that. Unfortunately, I also know that Makri didn’t steal the money, which means I have to find out who did. It’s going to be a lot of work over a measly five gurans, and a lot of work for which I’m not going to be paid. I shake my head. As a general rule, I never investigate for free. It creates the wrong impression.

As for Lisutaris’s jewel, that case went bad as soon as it started. If the pendant is really the last reliable way of warning Turai against imminent Orcish invasion, it might be time to consider leaving the city. No matter what Lisutaris believes, someone else obviously knew all about the pendant, probably before it was stolen. You don’t get multiple deaths and a burning tavern over any old piece of jewellery.

The fountain’s centrepiece is a small statue of St. Quatinius talking to a whale, modelled on one of the numerous exploits of our city’s patron. According to the story, the whale was full of religious knowledge. Perhaps signifying this, water pours from the beast’s mouth. I shove a few children out the way and take a drink. I eye St. Quatinius.

“You want to help me sort this out?” I ask. He doesn’t reply. To the best of my knowledge St. Quatinius has never come to my aid, though as I’m a man who frequently misses prayers, even though the regular saying of prayers is a legal requirement in Turai, I suppose I can’t complain.

Back at the Avenging Axe, I grumble to Tanrose about the undignified outbreak of gambling on matters which are not suitable for gambling, namely Thraxas-related deaths. I’m expecting a sympathetic ear from our kindly cook. Unfortunately Tanrose is in a bad mood and brushes aside my complaints. It’s very rare for Tanrose to be in a bad mood. Apparently she’s been arguing with Gurd over payments for food deliveries. Gurd is at the far end of the bar, looking the other way, but when I take a beer and a plate of stew over to the far corner of the room he abandons his post at the bar and joins me. He’s not happy either.

“Never accuse a cook of paying too much for her eggs and flour,” I advise him. “It’ll always lead to trouble. Makes them think you don’t value their cooking.”

“It was an argument about nothing,” protests Gurd. “Tanrose just yelled at me for no reason. It must be the heat.”

There’s an awkward moment of silence. We both know that the usual reason for the rare moments of friction between them is Gurd’s inability to express his emotions. He was a fine man with a sword or an axe—no one better—but when it comes to telling his cook he’s sweet on her he just can’t do it.

“You’re going to have to say something sometime,” I say, uncomfortable as always about this type of conversation. “It’s no good just hanging round looking as miserable as a Niojan whore all day then complaining about her bookkeeping when you can’t think of anything else to say.”

Gurd shakes his head. In the tremendous heat his long grey hair is matted round his shoulders.

“It’s not so easy,” he mutters, and falls silent.

“Women, they’re all crazy,” says Parax the shoemaker, a very unwelcome intruder into the conversation.

I tell him to go away.

“And don’t start asking for the latest body count.”

“We already heard about the last three,” says Parax. “Seven so far. Makes my bet on twenty look pretty good.”

“Bexanos the ropemaker put a lot of money on twenty to twenty-five,” muses Gurd. “You think it might get that high?”

“Gurd, what’s got into you? How could you place bets on how many deaths there are going to be?”

“Why not?” says Gurd. “A bet is a bet.”

He has a point there.

“There’s no pleasing women,” says Parax, returning to his original theme. “My wife, no man could live with her.”

Parax’s wife might be happier if he spent more time actually making shoes and less sitting around in taverns, but I remain silent, not wishing to be drawn into this discussion.

“But we men, what do we do?” continues Parax. “Pander to them. Run around performing their every whim. It’s foolish, but that’s life.”

By this time Gurd is shifting round in his seat very uncomfortably, having no wish to hear his problems aired in public by anyone, particularly a shoemaker notorious for his lack of tact.

“Take Thraxas,” says Parax.

I sit up sharply.

“What about Thraxas?” I say.

“Well, where have you just been?”

I narrow my eyes.

“Working.”

“Investigating at the Guild College from what I hear. Trying to sort things out for Makri again.”

“What do you mean, again?”

“Come on,” scoffs Parax. “You’re always running round for that woman. You’ve been doing it ever since she arrived in the city.”

I should come back with a crushing rejoinder but the brazen audacity of Parax’s words has left me temporarily speechless.

“Don’t worry,” chuckles the idiotic shoemaker. “Plenty of men have fallen for girls half their age. And she’s got a fine figure, even if she does have Orc blood. Good enough to keep you warm in winter, eh, Thraxas?”

Noticing that I am now about to draw my sword and chop Parax’s head off, Gurd lays his hand on my arm. I manage to stifle the urge, but only just.

“Parax, you’re as dumb as an Orc. Go and bother someone else.”

Parax, like the insensitive troublemaker he is, won’t let it go.

“So how often do you work for free?”

“Never.”

“And how much is Makri paying you to sort out her problems?”

My bad temper gets a lot worse. Makri appears through the front door, cursing the heat. Perspiration makes her short man’s tunic stick to her body.

“Have you been to the College?” she asks immediately.

Parax guffaws.

“What’s so funny?” says Makri.

“Thraxas,” replies Parax, but noticing that I’m again struggling to draw my sword, he backs off, and moves away from our table. Makri pays him no further attention. She’s too eager to know what happened at the College.

“Professor Toarius wouldn’t speak to me,” I tell her. “He seems to hate you. In fact everyone there seems to hate you.”

Makri looks crestfallen. I’m pleased.

“But Rabaxos doesn’t really think you stole his money. He didn’t accuse you of the theft. Professor Toarius just leapt to that conclusion without any evidence as far as I can see. It’s odd the Professor is so vehement. He must know he doesn’t have enough evidence to stand up to my investigation.”

“He dislikes me enough not to care,” says Makri.

“Well, don’t despair. And don’t attack him with an axe. I’ll sort it out. And you can still do your examination.”

“I can? How?”

“I used my Tribune’s powers to stop the expulsion. That means it has to go before the Senate for discussion, which will take weeks. As of now, you’re still a student and can take the exam on schedule, in three days’ time.”

Makri is grateful, though you’d hardly know it. She mumbles a barely discernible thank-you. She’s another one who’s uncomfortable about showing emotion in public unless driven to it by rage. At the next table, Parax is sniggering. I rise to my feet.

“I have investigating to do,” I say, and depart briskly towards the stairs. I’ve barely sat down at my desk to consider matters when a messenger appears at my door carrying a missive from Lisutaris.

Have extended my powers, the message reads. Believe that jewel has now been transported to Blind Horse tavern in Kushni. Proceed there immediately.

I shake my head. The Blind Horse in the Kushni quarter. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the taverns are getting worse. The Blind Horse is the sort of place a man is grateful to come out of alive. If the clientele don’t get you, the klee will. With such a dubious venue as my next destination, I attempt to load a couple of spells into my memory. It takes a lot of effort. My sorcerous powers, always slight, are getting weaker every day. I still advertise myself as a Sorcerous Investigator to bring in the public, but really my powers are becoming negligible. Every time a Sorcerer uses a spell he has to relearn it before using it again, and these days I’m finding it very hard work. The door starts shaking from some violent knocking.

I wrench it open angrily. Casax, local Brotherhood boss, strides in without waiting for an invitation. He looks round with distaste at the mess, which, if I remember correctly, he did last time he was here.

“This place is getting worse.”

“At least it hasn’t burned to the ground.”

Casax smiles.

“We saved most of the important things. Now, would you like to tell me why my headquarters was set on fire? It’s the sort of thing I should know. Me being the most important crime boss in the area.”

“Yeah, I can see it’s bad for your image.”

“Very bad. So who did it?”

“How would I know?”

Casax’s eyes glint.

“Thraxas. I’m asking you in a friendly manner. I’m feeling friendly because you had the presence of mind to remind that useless Sorcerer of mine that he could put out the fire. Otherwise I’d be here with a dozen men. If you want me to come back with a dozen men I will. But I’d rather you just told me what was going on. I hear you went down to the Spiked Mace looking for some jewellery. Next thing four guys were dead and the Guards are questioning you. They let you out and you come to the Mermaid and what do you know, the Mermaid is burning down and inside are three dead men who just happened to be selling stolen jewellery. Which makes me think you’re on the trail of some pretty important gems.”

Casax takes a seat.

“Is it anything to do with the Orc girl and the Guild College?”

It’s unpleasant to learn that Casax knows so much about my movements, but not a surprise. Casax is sharp as an Elf’s ear and he has a lot of men working for him. Few things happen in Twelve Seas without Casax learning of it.

“No. Nothing to do with Makri. She’s in a dispute over five gurans. Not enough to interest you.”

“Probably not. Though five gurans is five gurans.”

The sounds of arguing drift in from the street below. The vendors are still in dispute. Casax already knows all about Makri’s problems.

“One of my captains has a son at the College. Wants him to get some qualifications and go to the University. You think that’s a good idea?”

I shrug.

“Maybe. Better than a life of crime.”

“That depends on the criminal. Anyway, suppose the kid goes to the University and ends up in some post at the Palace or the Abode of Justice, taking bribes from Senators? You think that’s not a life of crime?”

“Maybe he’ll end up a professor. I believe they’re still fairly free from corruption.”

“No one is free from corruption in Turai. Still, you might be right. Education, it’s a bit of a mystery to me. I started in the business when I was six, running bets for a bookmaker. So I never had much time for school. But if my captain wants to send his son to the College, I’m not against it.”

He pauses, temporarily distracted by the increasing vehemence of the argument outside.

“Incidentally, this son I mentioned thinks that the Orc girl didn’t take the money.”

“She didn’t.”

“You’ll have a hard time proving it, Investigator. Up there Professor Toarius is the only one with authority. The Consul appointed him as a favour to the struggling citizens of Twelve Seas. I doubt he’s going to pay much attention to you.”

“He might.”

“You want that I should use a little influence? Old Toarius will back down quick enough if he finds his staff are about to withdraw their labour. Or maybe not turning up to work at all due to some mysterious warnings.”

The Brotherhood could certainly close the College if they wanted to. No porter or delivery man is going to go against an instruction from their guild not to work, and the Brotherhood has great influence in the guilds.

“I’ll sort it out. Why would you want to help anyway?”

Casax shrugs.

“Like I said, I don’t mind doing you a favour, Investigator. Providing you tell me about the jewel. Who are you trying to recover it for?”

“That would be none of your business.”

“Not something I ever like to hear,” counters Casax. “Everything in Twelve Seas is my business.”

“Nothing I do is your business, Casax. You might have the local guilds in awe of you but you don’t scare me. So why don’t you take a walk?”

“I’d say if Lisutaris hired you to find a jewel it must be a valuable item. Sorcerous probably.”

He knows about Lisutaris. I try not to look surprised.

“I read the message on your desk, Investigator,” says Casax. I look foolishly at my desk, where Lisutaris’s message to me is lying in plain view. And now Casax has read it. I can’t believe I’ve been so careless. He rises to leave.

“You know, I feel sort of sorry for that Orc girl. Working here all day and all night to pay for her classes. Especially as she’s so good with a sword. She ought to work for me. Let me know if you need some help at the College. Be a lot easier than using your Tribune’s powers. That’s going to get you into big trouble.”

Casax departs. I stare at the message on my desk. Thraxas, number one chariot when it comes to investigating, as I’ve been known to say. But not so good at keeping my business private. I curse. Now the Brotherhood know I’m looking for some important item for Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, head of the Sorcerers Guild, there’s no telling what’s going to happen.

Makri appears in my room without knocking. She asks how things are with the Lisutaris inquiry. I told her most of the details yesterday. A few months ago I realised to my surprise that I now tell Makri most of my business. There’s no reason not to, but it breaks a long-term habit of complete privacy.

“It’s all getting worse. I’d guess that whoever set this thing in motion hasn’t been discreet about it. Either the original thief, or the person who gave him the information, seems to have let half the city know how important that pendant is. Now Casax is on the trail.”

“How did he find out?”

“The Brotherhood have spies everywhere.”

Makri wonders how many people could know of the pendant.

“Very few, according to Lisutaris. The King, the Consul, the Deputy Consul, maybe a couple of senior Sorcerers. None of them liable to open their mouths, but who knows who else might’ve got hold of some information and passed it on. All of these people have staff, and staff can be bribed. Lisutaris’s secretary knew about the jewel’s powers. I’d like to question her but Lisutaris forbids it for some reason.”

“She’s very protective towards her secretary,” says Makri.

“How do you know that?”

“She told me at the Sorcerers Assemblage. While we were sharing a thazis stick. Some sort of young relation, I seem to remember. Niece or something.”

“You’re getting very intimate with our Chief Sorcerer.”

“You know she invited me to her masked ball?” says Makri, brightly.

“Really?”

“What costume should I wear?”

“Why would I want to discuss costumes with you? I’m still angry that you’ve been placing bets on my work.”

“I didn’t start it,” says Makri. “I just joined in after Moxalan started taking bets. Hey, when I arrived in Turai I didn’t even know how to gamble. You encouraged me.”

She has a point there.

“I didn’t encourage you to gamble on things like this.”

“Didn’t you tell me that you and Gurd once put a bet on how long it would take your commanding officer to die after he caught the plague?”

“That was different. It was in wartime. And no one liked that commanding officer.”

“You’re just annoyed because you weren’t in on it from the beginning,” says Makri, quite shrewdly. “If you’d thought of it first you’d have been sending me out to make anonymous bets on your behalf.”

“That’s not true. We’re talking about my work here. I have a huge responsibility to my clients. How do you think Lisutaris is going to feel if she learns that the degenerates at the Avenging Axe are taking odds on how many people are going to be handing in their togas before the case closes?”

“Moxalan is offering fifty to one for the exact total,” says Makri.

“Really? Fifty to one?”

“And twenty to one for a guess to within three of the total.”

“I am not interested in any odds,” I say, quite sternly.

“Of course not,” agrees Makri. “It would be quite unethical. Even though you are a man with plenty of inside information and would have a huge advantage when it comes to placing a bet at the very attractive odds of fifty to one. . . .”

I shake my head.

“No one has ever accused me of unethical behaviour.”

“That’s just ridiculous,” says Makri. “People accuse you of unethical behaviour all the time. No one in Turai gets accused of being unethical more often than you. Just last week—”

“That’s quite enough,” I say, interrupting before Makri can complete whatever damaging story she has in mind. I change the subject and ask if Gurd and Tanrose are showing any signs of making up.

“No. Still arguing.”

It’s a worry. If things came to a crisis and Tanrose left the tavern I’d miss her cooking desperately. I’m still reeling from the blow of Minarixa the baker’s death last year. Her daughter has taken over the bakery but it’s never been the same. Minarixa really understood pastry. It was a rare gift.

Makri looks thoughtful.

“I was champion gladiator. And I taught a puny young Elf to be a champion fighter. And I’m top of the class in every subject.”

“So?”

“So I have natural talents. I’ve never thought of applying them to other people’s problems, but probably if I put my mind to it I could help.”

“You do that, Makri.”

The thought of Makri as some kind of relationship counsellor makes me shudder. I’m still shuddering as I leave the tavern and make my way past the arguing vendors. If Makri puts her mind to fixing the rift between Gurd and Tanrose, God alone knows what disaster will result.

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