Thraxas and the Sorcerers

Chapter Eleven

The landus driver doesn’t want to take us to Twelve Seas. These uptown drivers hate to go south of the river.

“I’m a Tribune of the People.”

“Never heard of you.”

It takes a lot of argument to persuade him. I’m deep in thought as we travel down Moon and Stars Boulevard. I want to follow up the dragon scales, which means I have to talk to Rezox. As I just put him in prison he isn’t going to be keen to talk to me. Not in a friendly manner anyhow. Some abuse, possibly. I tell the landus to stop, and then hurry into a small way-station which acts as a forwarding post for the Messengers Guild where I quickly scribble a message to the Deputy Consul.

We travel on our way. The driver complains about the cold. Makri complains about the cold. She ought to put on a little weight.

“If you weren’t so scrawny you wouldn’t feel it so much.”

“Princess Direeva said I had a perfect figure.”

“I bet she did. Keep working your charms, you’ll get her votes.”

“I don’t want to charm anyone into voting for Lisutaris,” says Makri. “The whole thing is corrupt and I don’t approve.” She shivers. “Are you claiming you don’t feel the cold?”

I scoff at the suggestion.

“You call this cold? It doesn’t compare to the conditions I experienced up in Nioj. I’ve camped out for a month in weather worse than this.”

“You’re a liar,” says Makri, still quite cheerful after her fight.

There is great confusion at the corner of Quintessence Street where the aqueduct has collapsed. Workmen are still struggling to clear the area but there seems to be some other sort of activity going on. A gaggle of citizens are arguing furiously and Civil Guards are arriving on the scene. I urge the driver to edge his way past but Makri calls for him to halt.

“What’s happening here? These men are standing in front of Samanatius’s academy.”

Samanatius’s so-called academy is a miserable hall surrounded by equally miserable slums. Makri insists that she’s going to take a look.

“Fine, you can walk the rest of the way.”

Makri departs and the landus driver manoeuvres his way into Quintessence Street and along to the Avenging Axe. Inside the tavern I fill up with food and beer and enquire of Gurd if anyone has been here asking questions. No one has, which means that Lisutaris’s hiding spell is working for now. I’d like to spend a few hours in front of the fire but I can’t stay for long, though I refuse to leave the tavern till I’ve recharged my magic warm cloak. I can’t stand more outdoor work without some protection, no matter how much I brag to Makri about the weather not affecting me.

In my office I find Casax waiting, along with Orius Fire Tamer. Casax is head of the local chapter of the Brotherhood. A very important man in Twelve Seas. All crime is controlled by the Brotherhood. Since Casax took over, crime has been doing very well. Orius Fire Tamer is a young and recently qualified Sorcerer who seems to have hooked up with the Brotherhood.

“Don’t you know how to knock and wait politely?” I demand.

“Never learned that,” answers Casax.

He’s wrapped in an enormous fur. He doesn’t look cold. I notice he’s grown his hair a little longer, and tied it at the back. Casax has a fair complexion, but he’s weatherbeaten, a man who started out at the docks a long time ago and worked his way up. A calm, strong, intelligent man, and very dangerous.

“Having a good time at the Assemblage?”

“The time of my life.”

“Orius tells me you’ve been enjoying yourself,” says Casax.

I’m uncomfortable. A Brotherhood boss doesn’t pay social visits for no reason.

“You’ve been enjoying yourself a lot recently. Rolling around with Lisutaris and Princess Direeva, from what I hear.”

“You’ve been hearing things that are none of your business.”

Casax raises his eyebrows a fraction. Last year I found myself more or less on the same side as Casax in a case involving the chariot races. A fortunate occurrence, and since then the Brotherhood have left me alone. It doesn’t mean much. The Brotherhood are never well disposed towards Investigators.

He leans forward.

“You know anything about the death of a dwa dealer?”

“Which one? They die a lot.”

“Orius here thought he might be able to pick up a little Orcish aura round the death scene.”

I glance at the Sorcerer, then back to Casax.

“So?”

“Your young companion is part Orc. And handy with a sword.”

“Plenty of people are handy with a sword in Twelve Seas. And she’s not the only girl in town with Orc blood.”

Casax glances round the room.

“Is this it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean is this all you have? Tiny rooms full of junk? Furniture fit for a slum?”

“It suits me fine.”

“You don’t have something salted away? Gold in the bank?”

I look at him blankly.

“Why do you do it?” he asks.

“Do what?”

“Investigate.”

“I got thrown out of my last job for being a useless drunk.”

“You could still do better for yourself. Rezox would have paid you to let him go. So would plenty of others. You could live a lot better.”

The Brotherhood boss rises to his feet.

“If you came here to give your pet Sorcerer a chance to see what he could learn, you’re going to be disappointed,” I tell him.

Orius Fire Tamer sneers at me.

“You think you have any power to affect me?”

“I think I could toss a knife in your throat before you got a spell ready, kid.”

Casax almost grins.

“He might, Orius. He’s a tough guy, Thraxas. Not so tough that he’d bother me, but tough enough. When he’s sober.”

He turns to me.

“If your Orc friend killed my dealer I’ll be down on her like a bad spell. Not that I miss the dealer. But I’ve got a position to maintain. You understand.”

They depart. I open my klee. The bottle is almost finished. I make a mental note to buy more. Makri appears.

“Was it about the dealer?”

“So they said. But I think Casax was more interested in what Lisutaris and Direeva were doing here. He won’t learn anything from Orius. That runt isn’t going to get through a hiding spell cast by Lisutaris. What’s the kid think he’s doing, linking up with the Brotherhood? When I was his age—”

“Thraxas,” says Makri, loudly. “Be quiet. I have something important to tell you.”

“If this is about See-ath, I don’t—”

“It’s not about See-ath. It’s about Samanatius. They’re trying to evict him.”

“What?”

“The landlord wants to demolish the block. He’s using the collapse of the aqueduct as an excuse. He’s been trying to get rid of Samanatius and the other tenants for months now, he wants to make money on the land.”

I’m staring at Makri in bewilderment. I can’t think why she’s telling me this. It almost sounds like she expects me to do something about it.

“You have to do something about it.”

I finish off my klee.

“Me? What? Why?”

“The owner got the go-ahead from Prefect Drinius, but it’s illegal to demolish the block without permission from the Consul’s office.”

I shrug.

“Happens all the time. If the local Prefect says its okay, the owner’s not going to wait for the Consul to screw things up. Just mean another bribe to pay.”

“They can’t evict Samanatius! He’s a great man.”

I don’t care one way or the other about Samanatius.

“You have to stop it.”

“Makri, what gives you this bizarre idea that I could do anything? I’m an Investigator, not a planning inspector.”

“You’re a Tribune of the People. You can halt any building work by referring it to the Senate for adjudication.”

My head swims.

“What?”

“It’s part of the power invested in the Tribunes. They could do lots of things to protect the poor. Stopping landlords from demolishing buildings was one of them.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m not. I looked it up in the library.”

“That was a hundred and fifty years ago.”

“Their powers were never rescinded.”

“But I’m not a real Tribune. It’s only a device to get me into the Assemblage.”

“It doesn’t matter,” declares Makri firmly. “Cicerius made you a Tribune and it’s legal. You now have the full power of the Tribunate behind you and you have to do something.”

I grab for the klee. It’s empty. There must be a beer round here somewhere.

“Makri, this is insane. I’m sorry your buddy’s getting evicted but I can’t stop it. What the hell is Cicerius going to say if I suddenly start using my supposed power to order the local Prefect around? The Senate would go crazy. So would the Palace, probably. I’d have the whole government on my back. Who is the landlord anyway?”

“Praetor Capatius.”

“Capatius? The richest man in Turai? Controls about forty seats in the Senate? Sure, Makri, I’ll take him on any time. Easy as bribing a Senator. I’ll just tell him to please stop behaving badly. Be reasonable.”

“You can do it,” insists Makri. “It’s part of your power.”

“I don’t have any power,” I roar, frustrated by her insistence. “And have you forgotten what else is going on right now? I’m in the middle of a case that’s quite probably going to end up with me rowing a slave galley and Lisutaris dangling on a rope. I’ve got Sorcerers, the Deputy Consul, and an election to worry about, not to mention Covinius, deadly Assassin, in case you’ve forgotten. And you expect me to march up to Prefect Drinius and say, ‘Excuse me, you have to stop this eviction because I’m a Tribune of the People’?”

“Yes.”

“Forget it.”

“Samanatius will not be evicted.”

“I can’t prevent it.”

“I’ll kill anyone who tries,” threatens Makri.

“Good luck. Now excuse me, I’ve got an investigation to be getting on with.”

I grab my warm cloak and depart swiftly. Stop the eviction indeed. Use my powers as Tribune of the People. That would certainly give the local population something to laugh about. They’d still be laughing when Praetor Capatius hired twenty armed men to chase me out of Twelve Seas.

It takes a long time to find a landus. I’m cold. I wish I had more beer inside me. I wish I wasn’t always having to visit the Deputy Consul. For a man who paid out good money only a few days ago to hire me, he shows a great lack of enthusiasm to see me when I finally roll up at his house.

“What do you want?”

“Beer. But it’s usually in short supply round here, so I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

“Have you disturbed me merely to request alcohol? I have an important appointment with Tilupasis.”

“She’s an efficient woman, Tilupasis. Sharp as an Elf’s ear. You ought to make her a Senator. I need to talk to Rezox. I threw him in the slammer a week or so back and I need some quick access. It’s to help Lisutaris.”

For all that he’s a crusty specimen and was a poor soldier, Cicerius can move quickly when he needs to. He’s known for his quick wits in the Senate. As soon as I hold up the possibility of helping Lisutaris, he moves into action, dashing off an official letter and granting permission for me to visit Rezox in prison. And when I mention that Rezox may not be forthcoming with the important information, he replies brusquely that he can deal with that if necessary.

“His crime was to steal dragon scales from a warehouse? Tell me on the way why this is important. If he seems disinclined to co-operate, I can offer him his freedom.”

I wasn’t planning on taking Cicerius along with me but he insists. Inside he’s no calmer than me. We’re just waiting for the scandal to blow up in our faces. The Deputy Consul lives in fear of anything damaging the interests of his beloved Turai. Furthermore, the repercussions of Lisutaris’s arrest would hand a huge slice of harmful ammunition to Senator Lodius, head of the Populares. The opposition party will use Lisutaris’s downfall to smear Cicerius, and by association Kalius, the Consul, and even the King.

We hurry to the prison in Cicerius’s official carriage.

“Powdered dragon scales form part of a rare spell for erasing the past.”

Cicerius still maintains that things would never have gone so badly wrong if I had looked after Lisutaris properly.

“It could be worse. Certain members of the population of Twelve Seas are suggesting I use my Tribune’s powers to stop Praetor Capatius carrying out an eviction.”

Cicerius is incredulous.

“What? You will do no such thing.”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning to. Although they have a point. It’s hardly fair of the Praetor to use the cover of a fierce winter to evict the poor. You’d think the man had enough money already without tearing down his slums.”

I know this will annoy Cicerius. Capatius is a strong supporter of the Traditionals and a huge contributor to their funds.

“Presumably Capatius is set on improving the people’s housing conditions.”

I laugh, which annoys him.

“Capatius is set on improving his bank balance. Which is odd really, seeing as he owns his own bank. Doesn’t it bother the Traditionals that some of your supporters spend their whole life bleeding the poor?”

“I do not intend to discuss Turanian politics with an Investigator,” says Cicerius.

He doesn’t mind discussing politics when it suits him. We’ve arrived at the prison. We hurry inside. A Captain of the Guards salutes the Deputy Consul and leads us to Rezox. Cicerius’s assistant Hansius, arriving before us, has arranged for the interview in a private room. He’s an efficient young man, Hansius. He’ll go far.

In detention, Rezox looks about as miserable as a Niojan whore, and the sight of me coming for a visit doesn’t cheer him up any. Cicerius begins to speak. Not having time for long speeches, I interrupt.

“Rezox. I need to know who you were passing the dragon scales on to. Spill it and Cicerius will get you out of jail.”

“Is that true?”

“Sure it’s true. Cicerius has the green-edged toga. He can authorise it. So long as you tell me now.”

Rezox weighs things up. If he’s worried about the morality of selling out his partner, it doesn’t delay him for more than five seconds.

“Coralex,” he replies. “Up at the top of Pashish.”

“Coralex?” says Cicerius. “I know of him. He’s a respectable importer of wine.”

Coralex is the biggest disposer of stolen property in Turai. I thought everyone knew that.

“Cicerius, you’re much too trusting. Okay, I’m off to see Coralex.”

Before departing, I inform Cicerius that the threat from Covinius is now very real.

“I don’t know if he had anything to do with Darius’s murder but I know he’s in Turai. There’s a strong chance his target is Lisutaris.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He’s a Simnian Assassin, isn’t he? Sunstorm Ramius might be favourite to win the election but that doesn’t mean the Simnians won’t try to get rid of the opposition.”

“I regard that as highly unlikely,” replies Cicerius. “Simnia has never attempted assassination in the Sorcerers’ contest.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Might his purpose in Turai be unconnected with the Assemblage?”

“It might but we ought to assume the worst. Can you provide any more of a bodyguard for Lisutaris?”

The Deputy Consul nods.

“Is Coralex really a disposer of stolen goods?” he asks.

“One of the biggest.”

Cicerius shakes his head sadly.

“My household has purchased wine from his warehouse. Some citizens have lost all sense of morality.”

I depart swiftly on the trail of the dragon scales. My sense of morality went into decline a long time ago. It kept getting in the way of my work.

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