Thraxas at War

Thraxas At War

Martin Scott

Copyright © 2003 by Martin Scott

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter One

I'm sitting at the bar in the Avenging Axe, a beer in one hand and a thazis stick in the other, trying to decide whether to have a glass of klee with my next beer. It's a difficult decision. There's a bottle of klee upstairs in my office. I could wait till I get there. But there's nothing quite like a glass of klee washed down by a flagon of Gurd's freshly drawn ale. Having examined my options for a while, studied the problem using the full weight of my experience, I decide on the klee. And another ale while I'm at it.

Dandelion, the idiot barmaid, looks as if she might be about to make some comment as to the wisdom of embarking on an ambitious drinking programme so early in the afternoon. I direct a stern glance in her direction. The last thing I need is a lecture about my drinking from Dandelion, a young woman who, while not working behind the bar, is generally to be found on the beach, talking to dolphins.

I frown. This tavern is really going downhill. It's bad enough having to put up with Makri and her moods without having to endure Dandelion's own particular brand of foolish behaviour. Worse, there's still no sign of Tanrose, the tavern's cook, coming back. I haven't had a decent meal for weeks. Life just gets worse.

Gurd, owner of the Avenging Axe and my oldest friend, sits down next to me. I'm about to launch into a complaint about the deteriorating quality of his barmaids but I bite back the words.

'No work, Thraxas?'

I shake my head.

'Things aren't so good. And you know why.'

'The investigation?'

I nod. A few months back I was accused of cowardice in the face of the enemy. Throwing my shield away on the field of battle. This allegation, relating to the Battle of Sanasa, which took place around seventeen years ago, is so completely without foundation that it should never have been brought to court. Not when the man being accused has fought bravely for his city. Unfortunately Turai isn't a city that rewards a man for his past valour. Rather, it's a place that seeks to drag an honest man down, allowing advancement to the rich and corrupt at the expense of the poor but upright.

'Business has really gone downhill.'

'No one believes it, Thraxas.'

'Maybe not, but these things are lethal for a man's reputation. I'm tainted. I'm beginning to regret not killing Vadinex when he made the allegation. Would have got it over with quickly.'

And you'd be a fugitive by now,' points out Gurd.

Vadinex fought at the Battle of Sanasa. Why he's now come up with this false accusation is something about which I'm still not certain.

I've spent the past weeks gathering evidence to defend myself in court. Plenty of men still living in Turai were at the Battle of Sanasa but it's not been easy finding

many who were close at hand when the alleged events took place. Even for a professional Investigator like myself some of my old comrades took a lot of finding. It meant a lot of uncomfortable trudging round the city in the hot rainy season. Having found a few old comrades, I'm reasonably confident I'll win the case. Unless my enemies do a lot of serious bribery, which is always possible in this city. If that happens I'll kill my accuser and leave town. It's not like Turai is such a great place to live anyway.

I'd have run into money problems by now had it not been for a rather successful series of visits to the chariot races at the Stadium Superbius. I picked the winner of the Turas memorial race and went through the card very successfully, ending the week's racing with an extremely healthy profit and my reputation as a gambler somewhat restored after last year's debacle. But the races last year were fixed, of course. Everyone knows that Thraxas never makes losses like that in normal circumstances.

The tavern door flies open. An assortment of foul Orcish oaths heralds the arrival of Makri. The uttering of Orcish oaths is both taboo and illegal in Turai but Makri. in times of stress, tends to revert to the language of her youth. As she grew up in an Orcish gladiator pit, she has a wide variety of Orcish bad language to choose from.

Gurd frowns at her. Dandelion looks pained. Makri ignores them both.

"You know someone just insulted me in the street? I was minding my own business and then for no reason this man said, "There goes that skinny Ore.'"

Makri reaches over and takes a thazis stick from me, igniting it from a candle and inhaling deeply.

'I hate this place,' she says.

Makri is one quarter Ore. In a city where everyone hates Ores, it can lead to trouble. Most people in Twelve Seas are used to her by now but she still runs into occasional hostility on the streets. Neither Gurd nor I take the trouble to ask what happened after the man insulted her. We already know.

'So aren't you going to ask what happened?' demands Makri.

I take a sip of my beer.

'Let me see. A stranger calls you a skinny Ore while you're walking down Quintessence Street. Now what could your response possibly be? You chuckle merrily and walk on? You congratulate him on a fine turn of phrase? No, don't tell me, I've got it. You punched him to the ground, then told him at sword point that if he ever bothered you again you'd kill him without mercy?'

Makri looks disappointed.

'Something like that,' she says. 'But you spoiled my story.'

Makri lapses into silence. These past few weeks she hasn't been any more cheerful than me. Not just because of the hot rainy season and her aversion to the continual downpour. Even now, when we've reached autumn, one of the brief periods when climate in Turai could be considered pleasant, she's not happy. This summer was one of the high points of her life, when she scored top marks at the Guild College and sailed into her final year of study as number one student, but after the elation of that faded she got to remembering that her first romantic encounter seemed to have come to an untimely end. This encounter featured a young Elf on the Isle of Avula; a young Elf who has since neglected to get in touch with her. Avula is some weeks' sail from Turai, but, as Makri says, he could have sent a message. So Makri has spent the past month being about as miserable as a Niojan whore, much to the distress of the customers in the tavern.

There was a time when the sight of Makri, struggling to remain in her tiny chainmail bikini while bringing a tray of drinks, was enough to cheer up the most downhearted local dock worker. Makri's figure - unmatched, it's reckoned, in the entire city-state - was of such renown as to make people forget their prejudices against her. As old Parax the shoemaker says, you can't hold a little Orcish blood against a girl with a physique like that. And there have been plenty more comments in a similar vein, not just from Parax. But even the finest physique can't compensate for a waitress who bangs your drink on the table and looks like she'll knock your head off given the slightest excuse. When dockers, sailmakers and the like come to the Avenging Axe after a hard day's work, they're looking for a little light relaxation, and when Makri's angry, it's hard to relax.

She tosses a small bag in my direction. It contains various pastries from Morixa's bakery. Morixa took over the place from her mother Minarixa last year, after Minarixa unfortunately partook of too much dwa; a deadly mistake. The drug has claimed a lot of lives in this city. Most of them I don't care about but I miss my favourite baker. Morixa doesn't quite have her mother's skill at the pastry oven, but to give her her due, she's been improving recently. Which is a relief for me.

The food in the Avenging Axe has suffered a sad decline in recent months. Without the bakery to keep me going I'd be in a sorry state. I'm a man with plenty of girth to maintain.

We have a new cook at the Avenging Axe, a woman by the name of Elsior. Not such a bad cook but not a match for Tanrose, peerless mistress of the venison stew, now estranged from Gurd and living with her mother in Pashish. When she and Gurd failed to sort out their romantic difficulties - their main difficulty being that Gurd finds it impossible to be romantic - I thought it would be no more than a temporary problem. Having come to rely utterly on Tanrose's stew, pies, pastries and desserts, I couldn't believe she'd be gone for long. I even went so far as to visit her to plead Gurd's case, not something that came easy to a man like myself, with a notably bad track record in matters of the heart. All to no avail. Tanrose remains outraged by Gurd's criticism of her book-keeping practices and refuses to return. My explanation that it was merely the rough Barbarian's way of showing affection came to naught. Tanrose is sulking in her tenement, and the patrons of the Avenging Axe are suffering.

I've marched all over the world with a sword in my hand. I've fought Ores, men, dragons and trolls. I've seen friends butchered and cities in flames, but I can't think of anything to compare with the suffering caused by Minarixa's death and Tanrose's departure. Life without either of them doesn't bear thinking about.

Gurd takes a beer from Dandelion, though he rarely drinks during his working day. He isn't the most cheerful soul these days either. Tanrose's departure was a severe shock. It took him more than five years to even acknowledge his feelings towards her. Having got that far, the recalcitrant old warrior was actually on the point of proposing marriage when the blow fell. He's not a man to express his private emotions, even to his oldest friend, but I can tell he's suffering. Only last week I was telling the story of our notable victory over the Niojans to a group of young mercenaries. When I looked over to Gurd to support me in my claim - entirely truthful -that the two of us had put a whole squadron of Niojan guards to flight, Gurd just sat there with a blank expression on his face, mumbling that it was a long time ago and he couldn't remember it all that well. It completely ruined my story. I was flabbergasted. If Gurd won't join in with the old army stories, there's something seriously wrong.

We make for a sad trio, Gurd, Makri and I. I order another beer. In the circumstances, it's the only thing to do.

Chapter Two

As afternoon turns into evening, Gurd leaves his place at my side to help serve the drinkers who begin to arrive in the tavern. After finishing their shifts in the local docks, warehouses, smithies or tanneries, many of them prefer to brace themselves with an ale or two before going home to the local tenements, which are generally poorly built, draughty and leaky. Not comfortable places, with a family crammed into a couple of small rooms and the local water supply never being quite sufficient.

Every year the King promises that conditions will improve for the poorer inhabitants of Turai. The Consul makes the same promise, with a fine speech in the Senate. Our local Prefect, Drinius, is proud to share their sentiments. But nothing ever seems to get better. Turai has certainly become richer in the past twenty years, but precious little of that wealth has ever found its way into Twelve Seas.

I take two beers and a plate of stew upstairs to my room. Once more, the stew is a disappointment. Tanrose had a way with stew. It was a gift. Maybe a calling. The new cook has not yet found the art. Outside, the street is noisy. Vendors, taking advantage of the fine weather, are keen to sell their goods, hoping to make enough to get them through the harsh winter. Winter will be here in a month or so. Another reason not to rejoice. Winter in Turai is hell. Makri's right. It was a foolish place to build a city. A good harbour isn't everything.

There's a knock on my door, the one that leads via a staircase directly to the street outside. I consider answering it. I should. It might be a client. On the other hand, I'm tired and full of beer. Sleeping on my couch seems ike a better option. Let them take their problems to the Civil Guard, it's what they're there for. The knocking continues and it's followed by a loud voice.

Thraxas. Open this door. Official business.'

I recognise the voice. Hansius, assistant to Deputy Consul Cicerius. Not a visitor I can ignore, unfortunately. I haul the door open and scowl at the young man.

What do you want?'

'Official business.'

So what?'

I let him in. I've nothing against Hansius really, except that he's young, clean cut, and headed for a comfortable life as a Senator. I really hold that against him.

Hansius is clad in his official toga. He's a handsome young man and his teeth are a few shades whiter than you'd normally encounter in Twelve Seas.

"If Cicerius wants to hire me tell him he has to pay better this time.'

'The Deputy Consul has paid you adequately for all services rendered,' responds Hansius, curtly. He casts his eye briefly over the mess that clutters up my room. I feel annoyed.

'Want a beer?'

'No.'

Then what do you want?'

'Cicerius instructs me to summon you to a meeting tomorrow.'

'Sorry. I'm right off the idea of attending meetings these days.'

And why would that be?'

'Because my plate of stew was really sub-standard. And I'm facing a charge of cowardice. So I'm not so keen on helping the city at this moment.'

'It's an official summons,' declares Hansius, as if that's an end to the matter.

'Is there going to be food?'

'I imagine there will be provisions on hand.'

'Will you send a carriage?'

Hansius is a young man capable of tact and diplomacy. As aide to the Deputy Consul, he's already developed his political skills. But for some reason he starts to show signs of impatience.

Are you unable to make the journey on your own?'

'I might be. Is Cicerius going to let the charges against me proceed?'

'The charges against you, Thraxas, are not the business of the Deputy Consul's office. Once the allegation has been made it must go before the courts, as you know.'

'Sure I know. The fact that I risked my life a hundred times for this lousy city has nothing to do with it. What does Cicerius want?'

'Everything will be explained at the conference.'

'Conference? With other people? Cicerius isn't just hiring me to cover up some scandal one of his corrupt Senator buddies has got himself into?'

Hansius frowns. Now I'm annoying him. It makes me feel a little better.

"It is a formal meeting. At the Consul's office.'

"The Consul's office?'

That's surprising. Cicerius, the Deputy Consul, has on occasion summoned me when he needed some help with a matter not suitable for investigation by the higher class of Investigators who work up-town, but it's rare for any common citizen to be summoned to the office of Consul Kalius, the city's highest official.

'Please be there at noon.'

Having had enough of trading words with a large angry Investigator, Hansius abruptly departs. I head for the couch, but before I can lie down the door opens and Makri walks in.

"How many times have I told you to knock?'

Makri shrugs. She can't seem to get used to the civilised habit of knocking on doors. I shouldn't be sur-prised. After two years in the city, she's still not great with cutlery.

'What did Hansius want?'

I pick up my empty plate and brandish it.

'You see this stew? Deficient in every way. Taste, texture, presentation. All lacking. And you know why? I'll tell you why. Because Tanrose didn't cook it. And why is that? Because you advised her to leave the tavern.'

Makri refuses to acknowledge the truth of this. She claims that her advice to Tanrose was simply to take a little time to herself to consider her relationship with Gurd. She wasn't expecting Tanrose to up and leave. Since then I've spent many a dissatisfied mealtime cursing the day that an axe-wielding Barbarian like Makri ever got the notion that she was qualified to give personal advice to anyone.

'Will you never stop complaining about that?' protests Makri. 'I miss Tanrose too. It's bad enough that you and Gurd are continually going round as miserable as a pair of Niojan whores, but now I've got no one to discuss—'

I hold up my hand.

'Please. If this is going anywhere near the area of intimate female bodily functions, I don't want to hear it. I still haven't got over the last time.'

'Fine,' says Makri, sitting down on my only comfortable chair. 'So what did Hansius want?'

There was a time, not too long ago, when I never discussed my affairs with anyone. As an Investigator it's necessary to be discreet. But in the two years or so since Makri arrived in the city I've found myself, almost without noticing, slipping into the habit of telling her about my business. I still balk at this occasionally but in general I don't mind. Makri is discreet, trustworthy and, more to the point, as lethal a fighter as ever set foot in Turai. Many times over the past two years I've been pleased to have her sword or axe at my side. Not that I'm going to admit it to her. Makri is always bragging about her exploits as champion gladiator and doesn't need any encouragement from me.

'Summoned me to a meeting. At the Consul's office, which is unusual.'

Are you in trouble?'

'Possibly. But I didn't really get that impression from Hansius.'

'Maybe they're going to offer you another official position,' suggests Makri.

'That's unlikely.'

'You were a Tribune.'

It's true, I was. Still am, technically. Last winter I was appointed Tribune of the People by Cicerius, as a convenient way of giving me the official status necessary to attend the Sorcerers Assemblage. And a Tribune of the People turned out to have a fair amount of power. On one occasion I prevented Praetor Capatius from evicting the tenants of one of his buildings in Twelve Seas. The Praetor is one of the richest men in Turai and he wasn't too pleased about it.

The appointment has now almost expired, and I can't say I'm sorry. The post wasn't exactly cushy. It was unpaid and any action I took always led to trouble. Politics is a dangerous game in this city, particularly for a man without a party to support him. I haven't used the Tribune's powers for any reason recently, and I don't intend to.

'I'm bored,' says Makri.

'It beats being unhappy over an Elf.'

'I'm also unhappy over an Elf. But I'm bored as well. My college is closed for a week. Some stupid holiday. What do they need a holiday for?'

'Probably to recover from teaching you. Don't you have books or scrolls to study?'

'I've read them all,' says Makri.

Makri seems to be well in advance of her studies. The woman's energy can be quite disturbing. Reading scrolls, going to the Imperial Library, attending lectures, and working shifts in the Avenging Axe to pay for it all. And if it's not that it's weapons practice. At some point every day the back yard resounds with the noise of Makri knocking hell out of targets with her collection of swords, axes, knives, throwing stars and whatever else she has in her weapons chest. For a woman who can be ridiculously enthusiastic about some tedious old Elvish playwright, she still shows great dedication to her fighting skills.

Of course, I was a champion fighter myself, back in my younger days. And I didn't need to go around practising all the time. I just had a natural talent for it.

'Don't you have any criminals I could attack?'

'Well, technically, Makri, they're meant to commit a crime first. And business is quiet just now.'

'Do you want to go back to the Fairy Glade?' asks Makri, unexpectedly.

'That's a long ride.'

Makri and I did visit the Fairy Glade on one occasion, but we haven't had reason to go back since. Makri sighs. She liked it there, and the magical creatures of the glade certainly seemed to like her, even though no creature with Orcish blood is supposed to be able to enter. The fairies were all over her and she practically had to fight off the centaurs, who are lascivious creatures by nature.

Makri looks glum.

'I can't really take time off from the tavern just now. I need money to pay my fees at the library. You know, when I killed all those Ores and escaped to Turai to get an education, I never thought it would be so expensive.'

It's true. Turai is famed for its scholarship but almost all of the students are the sons of the upper classes, whose fathers can afford the fees at the Imperial University. The Guild College Makri attends is less expensive, and the Federation of Guilds provides some help for the students, but even so, all of the scholars there are sons of relatively wealthy Guild members - merchants, goldsmiths, glassmakers and the like. I don't think there's anyone else there actually paying their own fees like Makri.

'Maybe I'll just take a walk outside the city walls tomorrow. You want to come?'

The idea of taking a walk outside the city walls for no apparent reason is so baffling I'm stuck for an immediate reply. Makri says she just feels like seeing something different.

'Could we at least look at the Fairy Glade?'

'You mean by sorcery?' I shake my head. A good Sorcerer like Lisutaris could open a seeing-window on the Fairy Glade without much effort, but my own sor-cerous powers are so limited these days it would take too much expenditure of energy.

'Then I guess I'll have to make do with thazis,' sighs Makri, lighting one of my thazis sticks. I pour a little beer for her, then pass her a glass of klee.

'The intoxicants of the poor.'

I start setting up the pieces on my Niarit board. Niarit is a cunning game of skill and strategy at which Makri, despite her much-vaunted Tm-top-of-the-class' intellect, has so far never defeated me. Only to be expected, really. I'm the undisputed Niarit champion of Twelve Seas, and have in my time defeated lords, ladies, philosophers, Sorcerers and whoever else was foolish enough to challenge me. I take a hefty slug of klee and prepare for an infantry attack supported by elephants that will sweep Makri's forces from the board.

'This time you're dead,' mutters Makri, and moves her Hero quickly into play. And pass me the klee.'

Makri shudders as the fiery spirit burns her throat.

Top-quality klee, made by monks in the mountains. I let her Hero advance up the board, pretending to fall back with my troops, not even pushing up my Harper to increase the morale of my front line. Makri sends her heavy cavalry up my right flank, preparing, I imagine, for a pincer movement. Poor Makri. She might be number one chariot with a sword in her hand, and the smartest student in the Guild College, but she has a lot to learn about the art of war. Less than half an hour later Makri is looking glumly at the remnants of her army, now falling back in full retreat before the wave of elephants, infantry and light cavalry currently sweeping up the board as directed by Thraxas, unstoppable warlord.

True to her character, Makri refuses to surrender and plays the game to its bitter end. My troops place their siege tower next to her castle, swarm up the ladders, kill everyone inside and hoist a flag in triumph. Well, metaphorically anyway. There isn't actually a flag.

Makri stubs her thazis stick out in disgust.

'Why do you always beat me?'

'I'm smarter than you.'

'Like hell you are. You've just been playing longer.'

That's what Makri always says, generally with a angry scowl and occasionally with some implications of cheating on my part. She's a very poor loser. I ask her if she'd like another game. She shakes her head.

'I have to go out.'

'Out? Where?'

'I'm teaching a class.'

This is a surprise.

At the college?'

'No, they wouldn't let me teach there. Not that I couldn't. My Elvish is far better than some of these professors. I'm going to Morixa's bakery to teach some women to read.'

I'm still puzzled. Makri explains that she's been asked by the organiser of the local chapter of the Association of Gentlewomen if she'd like to teach reading to some women in the area.

'I didn't know you had a reading programme.'

Makri notices the disapproving tone in my voice.

'You think it's a bad idea?'

'Not at all. A fine idea. If someone else was organising it.'

'So who else is going to organise it in this city?'

Makri has a point. Very few women go to school in Turai. The wealthy classes often arrange private tuition for their daughters, but only a tiny proportion of women in a poor area like Twelve Seas have ever had any sort of schooling. Not that the men round here are exactly intellectual. I wouldn't disapprove at all if it wasn't for the involvement of the Association of Gentlewomen, a collection of malcontents, harridans and troublemakers who are quite rightly frowned upon by all honest citizens of Turai.

'Remember what happened last time you taught anything?'

Makri frowns.

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'I wouldn't say you were a patient tutor. You almost killed that young Elf on Avula.'

Makri waves this away.

An entirely different matter. I was teaching her to fight. A little rough treatment was necessary.'

A little rough treatment? I saw you kick her in the face.'

'So? She learned how to fight, didn't she? She won the junior sword-fighting tournament. I regard the whole thing as a triumph.'

'Well,' I say, 'if you start kicking the local women in the face, don't come complaining to me when they run you out of town.'

'I won't,' says Makri, and departs.

Later I see her leaving the tavern, on her way to her first teaching assignment. I notice that she has a sword at her hip and a knife in her boot. She's carrying a bag of scrolls, but from the way it bulges I'd guess she's got her short-handled axe in there as well. Makri never likes to go anywhere without some weapons to hand. I shake my head. As this enterprise involves both the totally incompetent Association of Gentlewomen and the fiery-tempered Makri, I have complete confidence that it will end in disaster.

Chapter Three

The Consul's office is situated inside the Palace grounds. North of the river, and a long walk from Twelve Seas. Not feeling like a long walk, I take a landus. As the horse-drawn carriage trots up Moon and Stars Boulevard, working its way slowly through the heavy traffic, I wonder what they want me for. As far as I know, the city isn't gripped by any particular crisis at this moment, though when you a have a man like Prince Frisen-Akan as next in line to the King, there's always something scandalous likely to happen. If he drinks himself to death before succeeding to the throne he'll be doing the city a favour.

We turn left at Royal Way and travel through the wealthy suburb of Thamlin. I used to live here. When I worked as a Senior Investigator at the Palace. Before they threw me out on some pretext of drinking too much.

The Imperial Palace comes into view. Were I a man who was impressed by large buildings, I'd be impressed, t outshines the palaces of many larger states than Turai. entrance alone is enough to make visitors gaze in wonder - huge gates carved in the shape of twin lions, six times the height of a man. Inside are some of the most beautifully laid-out gardens in the whole of the Human lands. Long avenues of trees lead to contoured lawns, beds of flowers and gleaming fountains, all engineered by Afetha Ar Kyet, the great Elvish garden-maker. In one corner of the grounds is the Imperial Zoo, home to a collection of fabulous creatures, including, at one time, a dragon from the east, though that was killed a while ago. Killed by the King's daughter, Princess Du-Akai, actually, though it's not a story that was ever made public.

The Palace itself is a huge building, constructed of shining white marble topped by silver minarets. It's a fabulous place. I used to work here. Now I'm about as welcome as an Ore at an Elvish wedding. Seeing the luxury all around me does nothing but add to the general feeling of gloom I've had for the past few days.

Security at the Palace is tight. Civil Guards prevent anyone suspicious from coming too near, and inside the grounds officials from Palace Security are on patrol. If someone wanted to assassinate the King, they'd have to put in a lot of effort. You can't really blame the King for his security concerns. The city state of Turai contains some very talented assassins, and the King has enemies.

I'm searched when I enter the grounds and again when I approach the Consul's offices. I turn in my sword to a member of Palace Security while a Sorcerer checks that I'm not carrying any spells.

I'm deposited in a reception room. There's a tall man there I don't recognise, staring out of the window. More importantly, there's an elegant trolley in the corner laden with food. My long journey has made me hungry, so I head straight for the trolley and get to work. The food provided for the Consul's guests is beautifully prepared, though I can't say I'm overimpressed by the size of the portions. There are some small pastries stuffed with venison, which, while tasting good enough to please the most demanding palate, are really not large enough to satisfy a man with a healthy appetite. I put one in my mouth, take another, grab a plate from under the trolley and load it with fifteen or so of the pastries. There's a carafe of wine on the table nearby which I use to wash down the pastries before moving on to the next dish, some sweet-tasting cakes delicately iced with sugar. Once more it's high-quality produce but somewhat on the small side. I fill up my plate with every cake on offer and retire to a chair in the corner, carafe of wine still in hand.

I've hardly sat down before my plate is empty. I catch the eye of my fellow guest, a dignified-looking individual in a green robe. Looks like a foreign priest, or maybe some sort of minor official.

'Not really generous portions, are they?' I say, affably. He turns back to the window without replying. Doesn't speak our language, probably. I saunter back over to the trolley, but apart from a plate of eggs there's nothing else on offer. I eat the eggs but really I'm not satisfied. If the Consul asks a man to a meeting at his office the least he can do is feed him properly. I look around hopefully, wondering where I might get some more food. At this moment the outside door opens and a woman in a long white dress comes in. Rather a fancy outfit for a waitress, but at the Palace they like their formal wear.

Any chance of another trolley?' I ask, politely.

'Pardon?'

'More pastries. These ones seem to be finished. And maybe another tray or two of cakes? Hell, bring in more eggs if you want to get rid of them, I'm not too fussy. And do you think you could get this carafe filled up again?'

The waitress seems to be starring at me in an odd manner. Have I offended her? Palace etiquette can be tricky; even the servants need to be spoken to properly.

Thraxas, guest of Consul Kalius,' I announce. 'Wondering if you might be able to bring me another platter of your fine cuisine?'

'I am the wife of the Juvalian ambassador,' she replies, not looking too pleased.

'Oh ... Sorry'

She sweeps past me with her nose in the air, and stands by the man in the window, who, from the outraged look on his face, is almost certainly the Juvalian ambassador. I'd no idea they wore green cloaks.

'Well, have you seen a waitress anywhere?' I ask, but they ignore me.

An inner door opens, a quiet word is spoken and the ambassador and his wife - no doubt a well-bred woman who has never worked as a waitress - are whisked inside to meet the Consul. I look around me with some dissatisfaction. I really need more to eat. The outside door opens and another young woman in a long white dress appears. I regard her dubiously.

Are y^u an ambassador's wife?'

She sLakes her head.

A young relative of the royal family?'

'No. I serve food to the Consul's guests.'

I can feel my face lighting up. This is exactly what's required. I point to the empty food trolley.

'Is there any chance of a bite to eat? There weren't more than a few crumbs left by the time I arrived. The Juvalian ambassador and his wife, they just ate like hogs.'

The waitress smiles pleasantly, nods her head, and leaves the room. She's gone no more than a few minutes before reappearing with another trolley which is overflowing with food - pastries, sweetmeats, pies, cakes and other more exotic delicacies.

'Here you are,' she says brightly.

I like this waitress. As she produces another carafe of wine I reflect that, even in an unfriendly city like Turai, you occasionally come across a person who's willing to help out a man in difficulty. The waitress departs and I get to work. With luck the Juvalian ambassador will take up a lot of the Consul's time. As I plough through the first tier of the trolley, with my eye already on the hearty provisions on the level below, I feel like I'm in no hurry.

Despite my best efforts I haven't quite finished all the food when the ambassador and his wife reappear. They pass out of the room without giving me so much as a look. An official summons me into the next room. Inside I find Consul Kalius, wearing the gold-rimmed toga that denotes his rank. He's sitting at an enormous wooden table in the company of Deputy Consul Cicerius, Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, head of the Sorcerers Guild, Old Hasius the Brilliant, Chief Sorcerer at the Palace, Rittius, head of Palace Security, and Galwinius, Prefect of Thamlin. With them is General Pomius, the highest-ranking soldier in the state. A high-powered collection of Turai's finest. I'm still carrying the carafe of wine. I put it down casually on the table.

Kalius regards me somewhat coldly.

'Why did you ask the Juvalian ambassador's wife to bring you food?' he enquires.

'I thought she was a waitress.'

Kalius shakes his head.

'The ambassador was insulted.'

'It was a mistake anyone could have made.'

'Surely, as a man who once worked at the Palace, you can tell the difference between a foreign dignitary and a waitress?'

'Thraxas was rarely sober while employed at the Palace,' comments Rittius, who's always been an enemy of mine. 'He probably has little recollection of his time here.'

'I remember you well enough, Rittius,'

The Consul holds up his hand and looks stern. Consul Kalius, with his grey hair and sculpted features, can be impressive when he wants. While he's not exactly as sharp as an Elf's ear - and definitely no match for Cicerius in terms of intellect - he does always look the part. The city trusts him, almost, and he's remained reasonably popular throughout his term of office.

'Enough. We have not asked you here to discuss the lamentable history of your time at the Palace.'

I'm prepared for some long-winded explanation of why exactly they have asked me here, particularly if any part of the explanation comes from Cicerius. Any time the Deputy Consul has asked me to do something for him it's been proceeded by a long lecture on how vital it is to the welfare of the city, followed by another lecture on the patriotic duties of all Turanians. Kalius, however, does not dissemble.

'Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, believes that an attack from the Orcish Lands is imminent. For the past week we have been involved in meetings with all trustworthy elements in Turai with regard to the defence of the city. In your capacity as Tribune, you have a part to play in our preparations.'

This wasn't what I was expecting. The last war with the Ores was what - sixteen, seventeen years ago? We threw them back from the walls but it was the bloodiest struggle in the history of Turai and we were lucky to emerge as victors. If the Elvish army hadn't arrived when it did the city would have fallen. I always knew that I'd have to fight the Ores again. But I hoped that maybe I wouldn't.

It's the first I've heard about this. In a city like Turai it's very hard to keep anything secret. If they've been having meetings for a week without word getting out they've obviously gone to a lot of trouble to keep things quiet.

Uninvited, I take a chair.

'Prince Amrag?'

Kalius nods. We've been hearing reports of Prince Amrag for some time now. He started off as a young rebel in the Orcish lands, and in what seemed like a very >hort time, he'd conquered his kingdom and started exerting his influence on those around him. It was to be expected that he might one day work himself into the position of war leader and overlord of all the Ore lands but it's come quicker than anyone anticipated.

The Orcs hate us as much as we hate them. The only thing that prevents them from attacking us constantly is their own internal feuding. Once someone comes along who's capable of uniting their nations, an attack on the west becomes inevitable."

'What do you want me to do?'

'Firstly,' says Kalius, 'you must speak of this to no one. We are not yet certain that the attack will happen.'

'We are certain,' states Lisutaris, flatly.

Old Hasius the Brilliant sniffs.

'I am not certain,' he mutters.

Lisutaris is head of the Sorcerers Guild, not just for Turai, but for the whole of the west. She's a woman of immense power and as great intelligence. If she says it's going to happen, I believe her. Old Hasius is himself a mighty Sorcerer but he's well over a hundred years old, and I'm not certain he's as bright as he used to be.

'In your capacity as Tribune, we wish you to assist Prefect Drinius in various tasks in Twelve Seas. These include the checking of the southern part of the city walls, the inspection of the water supply, an account of all men of fighting age in the locality and the allocation of areas for the storing of weapons and other supplies.'

'Consul Kalius, I'm willing to help, of course, but I'm not qualified or experienced in any of these things.'

'We know. The Prefect has a staff of his own and he will be assigned additional men who are specialists in their fields. But we wish you to assist in the organisation. As Tribune you have the power to get things done, more power, in some ways, than the Prefect. Although it was not our intention to appoint any more Tribunes, we have now assigned one to each quadrant of the city. You will have a vital part to play in our defence.'

I nod. It's going to mean working for Prefect Drinius, or Drinius Galwinius as he sometimes styles himself. He's a cousin of Galwinius, Prefect of Thamlin, and keen to play up the powerful connection. I've never got on too well with the local Prefect, but in the circumstances, I can't object.

'Please remember that you must be absolutely discreet. At this stage, the population of the city must not know of the threat. It will cause panic, and if it turns out to be a false alarm we will have panicked them unnecessarily.

Lisutaris frowns slightly.

'It is not a false alarm,' she says. I get the impression she's been saying that a lot.

'How long do we have?'

'We're not sure,' replies the Consul. 'But even if the Ores' preparations are as far advanced as Lisutaris believes, there are only three weeks left till winter sets in. We can be confident that they will not arrive before then, and of course, they cannot march from the east during winter. So we have five months at least.'

I leave the meeting knowing far less than I'd like to. I didn't press for too much information. They're not going to tell me everything they know and they have other people to see. But I intend to visit Lisutaris as soon as I can. The head of the Sorcerers Guild owes me some favours. Enough favours to tell me what we're up against, I hope.

Once back at the Avenging Axe I hunt for Makri. She's out in the back yard, practising a complicated series of movements with her axe. I ask her to leave her weapons practice and come up to my room. Once upstairs I clear some junk off my floor and get out the very last of my supply of kuriya.

'What's happening?' asks Makri. 'You have a case?'

The kuriya pool can produce magical pictures. An experienced practitioner of sorcery can use it to look almost anywhere, even back in time. I don't have the power to control it so well but I still remember enough from my Sorcerer's apprentice days to make it work, on occasion. I concentrate for a while and the air around the saucer of black liquid cools slightly.

'What's that?' asks Makri, as a picture starts to form in the pool.

'The Fairy Glade.'

In the Fairy Glade everything is tranquil. Naiads swim lazily in pools. Fairies flutter gently around the bushes and centaurs rest under the trees. We watch for a long time. It's a peaceful scene, and quite magical. I don't think I ever really appreciated it before. After a while, my power and control over the liquid runs out and the pool goes black. I look round at Makri. She's smiling.

'That was good. What did you want to look at the Fairy Glade for?'

'Suddenly it didn't seem like such a bad idea. If I'd any time I might even go for that walk outside the city walls.'

Makri frowns, knowing that something is wrong.

'What is it?'

'The Orcs. Prince Amrag is gathering his army and Lisutaris says they're going to attack. Probably as soon as winter is over. Once that happens, we're not going to have much time for anything peaceful.'

Chapter Four

For the next week I'm busy checking the water supply in Twelve Seas and sending off reports about damaged aqueducts and blocked wells. It's not the most exciting job, but it's important. If the city comes under siege the infrastructure has to be able to support the population till help arrives. The Consul is doing his best to put Turai in some sort of order, though some things have been neglected for far too long to be easily repaired. Not that Kalius and his military advisers are anticipating a siege. Historically, the Human nations have united to face the Ores on the battlefield. While I'm not party to any of the secret negotiations going on between nations at this moment, I've no doubt that frantic communications are being carried out at the highest levels. When the Ores arrive from the east they'll find themselves confronted by a massive army drawn from all the Human lands, with an Elvish army at our side.

Working under the direction of Prefect Drinius isn't as onerous as I'd anticipated. He's too busy handing out tasks to his officials to remember that he doesn't like Investigators. I don't particularly mind that my task doesn't seem like the most important thing a man could be doing right now. When the time comes, I'D be in the thick of the fighting.

So far the population of Turai remains unaware of the threat. Prefect Drinius has put the story around that the King has increased the municipal grant given to Twelve Seas, and that his officials are busy taking stock of the needs of the area prior to extensive improvements. I find myself enthusiastically greeted by citizens who tell me it's about time their local well or aqueduct had some attention.

Arriving home after a hard day at the aqueducts I climb the stairs to my office, intending to dump my cloak before heading for the bar downstairs. It's a mild shock to find my office occupied by Makri and five other women. I can't say I'm pleased.

'What's going on?'

'Literacy class,' says Makri, as if that explained anything.

'In my office?'

'We had a small crisis at the bakery,' says another of the woman. It's Morixa, heir to the pastry empire of her late mother, Minarixa. Morixa explains that the back room they were using for their classes is currently full of the last shipment of wheat before winter sets in.

'So we came here instead,' adds Makri.

'Why my office? What's wrong with your room?'

'It's too small'

I'm not pleased. No Investigator would be. A man's office is for working, drinking and sleeping on the couch. Maybe for thinking about an investigation. Not for reading classes taught by Makri. I'm about to speak a few harsh words when I remember how much the bakery means to me. Morixa might not have her mother's touch but she's making progress.

'Is this going to happen again?' I demand.

Makri shakes her head.

'We're just finishing. We'll be back in the bakery next time.'

I decide to let it pass. No sense outraging the baker for no reason. The women, all inhabitants of Twelve Seas by their dress, thank Makri and file out of my office. I look at Makri. She looks at me.

'Don't start,' says Makri.

'Start what?'

'Criticising and complaining.'

'Wouldn't dream of it. After all, what can a man expect once the Association of Gentlewomen put their hands to anything? Chaos is bound to follow. If that's the worst I have to suffer I'll be getting off lightly. How are the classes going?'

'Okay,' says Makri, but doesn't elaborate. 'How are the war preparations?'

I've informed both Makri and Gurd about the impending arrival of the Ores. Gurd took the news philosophically. He's sharpened his weapons and is ready to fight whenever required. As a resident alien in the city, he'll be called into the army. Makri won't. Already she's annoyed.

'You think I'm going to sit here while an Ore army marches up? Forget it. I'm joining up.'

'Women can't join the army.'

'Then I'll just have to tag along.'

I know that Makri will join in the fighting. It would be pointless for anyone to try and dissuade her. She detests Ores. She likes fighting. Nothing will keep her from the fray. However, I do point out to her that what we're about to face is unlike anything in her experience.

'You can beat just about anyone in close combat, Makri. I've seen you do it. But a battlefield isn't like the gladiatorial arena and it's not like fighting in the street either. There's no space to move, nowhere to go. You just stand there in a phalanx with a long spear in your hand, and the enemy phalanx charges towards you, and the strongest phalanx forces the other one back. You get trampled to death or stabbed by a spear held by someone you can't even get near. Fancy sword-play doesn't come into it, believe me. Most times you don't even get your sword out till the battle's half over.'

Makri informs me testily that she is well aware of battle tactics, having read everything the Imperial Library has to offer on the subject. I wave this away.

'Books and scrolls can't tell you what it's like. I can tell you more than any military historian. I've been in the phalanx. I've mown down enemy divisions and I've run for my life after my own phalanx was broken. Back in the war with—'

I stop myself. Now that the Ores are on their way I don't like my own war stories as much as I used to. Makri gathers up her scrolls and picks up a hefty-looking book.

'What's that?'

Architecture. Advances in vaulted-arch construction in the last century. I'm learning it at college.'

'What for?'

'What do you mean, what for?'

'Seems like a reasonable question, with the city about to be attacked by a vast Orcish horde. Who cares about vaulted-arch construction?'

'I do,' says Makri. And if the city gets destroyed and needs some new vaulted arches built, I'll be in a good position to help.'

We head downstairs, me for some ale and Makri for her shift as barmaid. We're immediately confronted by Dandelion, who hurries out from behind the bar. She advances towards Makri, something which causes Makri to flinch, possibly fearing that she's about to be told all about today's encounter with the dolphins. Dandelion wears a long skirt embroidered with signs of the zodiac, and wanders around in bare feet. Possibly as a result of this, she seems unable to talk about anything sensible. To be fair to the young woman, she has, after a struggle, learned how to operate the beer taps. Apart from that, she's as bad as ever. It's largely Makri's fault that she's here. Any reasonable person would have thrown Dandelion out on her ear shortly after she arrived but Makri, showing a hitherto unsuspected soft streak, let her hang around till she became something of a fixture in the tavern, ending up eventually as a waitress and barmaid.

'You've got flowers!' blurts Dandelion, merrily. 'I put them in water. Look, they're behind the bar!'

There are indeed flowers behind the bar. A very large bunch, well presented in a blue vase. I glance at Makri's face and I can tell she's thinking that perhaps her Elf has finally got in touch. Pretending not to care, she strolls casually over.

'There's a card,' says Dandelion. 'But I can't read it. It must be Elvish!'

Makri almost smiles. She picks up the card and the moment she reads it her expression hardens.

'Is this someone's idea of a joke?' she snarls, looking round angrily.

'What's wrong?'

'This isn't Elvish. It's Orcish.'

I hurry over to look.

'Orcish?'

Very few people in Turai speak any Orcish and even fewer can read it. Both Makri and I are fluent in the common Ore tongue. I gaze at the neatly written card.

'To Turai's finest flower. From Horm, Ruler of the Kingdom of Yal.'

Makri looks baffled. I look baffled.

'Horm the Dead sent you flowers?'

'So it seems.'

'Filthy Ore lord,' snarls Makri, and sweeps the flowers on to the floor, vase and all.

'But they were nice,' protests Dandelion.

'I don't take gifts from Ores,' says Makri, and storms off.

Horm, Lord of the Kingdom of Yal, or Horm the Dead as he's more commonly known, is actually half Ore, half Human, as far as I know. But he's an Ore lord all the same, as well as a fairly insane Sorcerer who's rumoured to have brought himself back from the dead in some ghastly ritual, thereby increasing his powers. A few months back he appeared in Turai, trying to steal a valuable item from Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. On encountering Makri, he was frankly impressed. Impressed enough to offer to save her life if Orcish troops happened to be sacking the city any time in the near future. Makri punched him in the face, which was quite a sight, and something that was long overdue. Horm has tried to destroy Turai and deserves a lot worse. He hates us bitterly. Why he was so attracted to Makri I couldn't quite fathom.

I'm glad his flowers met with a poor reception. For a fraction of a second I was worried Makri might have been pleased, because although few people would guess it, she is peculiarly susceptible to small gifts, particularly flowers. At various times in the past I've smoothed over some difficulties with a similar gift. Not something I'd have thought of myself of course, Makri being the mad axewoman she is, and me not being the sort of man who goes around buying flowers, but Tanrose suggested it, and it worked well. Something to do with Makri growing up in a gladiator slave pit, and never getting any presents, or so Tanrose believes.

Thinking of Tanrose brings the painful realisation that I haven't eaten for hours. I purchase a large bowl of stew, which is again really not up to standard. This has gone on long enough. If I'm to fall on the battlefield I don't intend to meet my death looking like a man who hasn't had a proper meal for months. I rise to my feet.

'It's time to bring Tanrose back, and I'm not taking no for an answer!' I declare. I'm practically skin and bone.'

'You're slightly smaller than an elephant,' says Makri.

'Exactly. I'm fading away. I'm getting Tanrose.'

As I leave the tavern, I run into a small figure, dark-haired, pale-skinned, clad in the common grey garb of a market trader. It's Hanama, third in command of the Assassins Guild. A loathsome woman with a loathsome trade. I step back sharply, hand already on the hilt of my sword.

'What do you want?' I demand.

'Nothing that concerns you,' replies Hanama.

As always, I find it hard to believe that this small, innocent and youthful-looking woman is such a notoriously efficient Assassin. She looks like she should be in school, not out killing people. But killing people she does, for the highest bidder. Even though I fought beside her one occasion, she's not a person I'm ever pleased to see.

'Everything around here concerns me. I'm the local Tribune.'

Manama almost smiles, though her eyes remain cold.

An honorary appointment, I understand. And not one that ever had the power of preventing a free citizen from going about their business. Step aside. I'm here to visit Makri.'

Makri does have some sort of friendship with this unpleasant woman. I scowl at her and walk on by, shaking my head at the deplorable state of affairs in the Avenging Axe these days,. Time was when it was an honest tavern where a hardworking man like myself could drink beer without interruption from undesirables. Look at it now. Makri, Dandelion, Hanama. A collection of women from hell. They should all go and live with Horm the Dead and pick flowers together.

Since leaving the Avenging Axe, Tanrose has been living with her elderly mother in a tenement in Pashish, just north of Twelve Seas. I make my way through the busy streets, then climb the stairs with a determined look on my face. Tanrose herself opens the door. She's pleased to see me and welcomes me in. Her mother doesn't seem to be around, so I get straight down to business.

'Tanrose, you have to—'

'Would you like something to eat?' says the kindly woman.

I nod eagerly. Business can wait. Tanrose leaves the room and bustles around in the kitchen for a while before returning with a large tray of food. After the unsatisfactory fare at the Avenging Axe, I attack the venison pie, yams and assorted vegetables like a dragon descending on a juicy flock of sheep.

'Would you like—'

I nod vigorously. Whatever it is, I want it. Tanrose brings me a second helping. When I'm finished I sigh with contentment. I feel ready for action. I haven't felt this good for months.

'Tanrose, you have to come back to the Avenging Axe. I know things are awkward between you and Gurd, but maybe you can sort it out, and if you can't sort it out, what the hell, you can just be mad at each other, I mean, who really cares? There are more important things in life. Should some slight personal difficulties keep you from your rightful place? You belong in the Avenging Axe. Personally I'm prepared to put up with any amount of bad feeling as long as you're back where you belong, dishing up the stew.'

Tanrose frowns.

'Thraxas, is your stomach more important than my peace of mind?'

'Define more important.'

'I really can't come back. Not while things are still awkward.'

I rise to my feet in frustration.

'Please come back. I'm begging you.'

'Sorry, I can't.'

'I'm still a Tribune, you know. I order you to return.'

Tanrose laughs.

'Thraxas. It's gratifying the way you miss me so much. Or at least miss my cooking. But really, you know I can't just walk back in without a lot of talking to Gurd first.'

I slump into my chair, defeat staring me in the face. Things haven't looked so bleak since Gurd and I, employed as mercenaries in the Juvalian jungle, accidentally stumbled into the wrong camp after a night's drinking. I can still remember the look on the enemy commander's face as I clapped him heartily on the back and offered him a swig from my flagon. Fortunately, at that moment, the camp came under attack from the third army involved in the rather complicated war and Gurd and I made our escape in the confusion.

This time, however, there seems to be no escape. I'm trapped for ever with Elsior's inferior cooking. When the Ores arrive I'll be lucky if I have the strength to pick up a sword. Suddenly inspiration strikes. Trying to inject some sincerity into my voice, I inform Tanrose that if she doesn't come back now she might never get the chance.

'What do you mean?'

'The Ores are going to attack as soon as winter is over,'

'Is this true?'

'It is. It's a state secret and I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but it'll be common knowledge soon enough. So if you want to sort things out with Gurd - and maybe cook a few pies and stews in the mean time - this might be 3'our last chance.'

Tanrose looks serious.

'Will we defeat the Ores?'

'It's possible.'

And it's possible we won't?'

I nod. Tanrose needs only a few moments to make her decision.

'In that case, Thraxas, you're right. I'd better come back.'

I leap to my feet in triumph. With the prospect of our treasured cook returning to the tavern, I'm now as happy as an Elf in a tree.

'You wouldn't believe how bad the tavern has become. Dandelion being insane, Makri being insane. Horm sending flowers.'

'What?''

I inform Tanrose about the flower incident.

'Which was worrying, of course. You know what a sucker Makri is for flowers.'

'So how did she take it?' asks Tanrose.

'Swept them to the floor with disgust. Quite right. The nerve of that Horm. What did he think he was going to achieve? Just because I can produce spectacular effects with flowers on the axe-wielding mistress of the bad temper doesn't mean he can. You know, the more I think about it the more convinced I am he stole the idea from me. Probably he was spying when I arrived home from the flower seller's. It's not the sort of thing Horm could ever have thought of himself.'

'I remember you took a lot of persuading,' says Tanrose. 'I wouldn't worry. Makri is never going to fall for an Ore lord.'

'Who's worried? Makri can do what she likes. I just don't like Horm stealing my ideas.'

I leave the tenement, still as happy as an Elf in a tree. Okay, I had to tell Tanrose an important state secret to convince her to come back, but what the hell, it worked. Tanrose is very trustworthy. She won't tell anyone.

I pick up a landus in Pashish and instruct the driver to take me to Truth is Beauty Lane, home of Turai's Sorcerers. As the carriage runs along Royal Way I rest my hands on my stomach, appetite fully satisfied for the first time in weeks. Let the Ores come. When they find a well-fed Thraxas leading a phalanx against them, they'll regret they ever made the journey.

Chapter Five

Successful Sorcerers in Turai usually become wealthy and their villas in Truth is Beauty Lane are luxurious dwellings with enough space for substantial gardens outside and a large contingent of household staff inside. There's nothing to show that the villas are occupied by Sorcerers, rather than Senators. Sorcerers are as worried about their status as the rest of Turai's upper classes, and it would be frowned upon to make any overt public display of their powers. While they might occasionally put on some fancy entertainment in their gardens, they wouldn't dream of lighting up the front of their houses with spells, or making any other sort of vulgar show. The highest class of family in Turai rarely goes in for sorcery, deeming it to be beneath them. Keen not to lend weight to this notion, Sorcerers are generally careful not to do anything that might be construed as common.

As I roll up to Lisutaris's villa I find signs of some serious activity, namely every top Sorcerer in the city state emerging from her house and climbing into their private carriages. Harmon Half Elf, Old Hasius the Brilliant, Melus the Fair, Lanius Suncatcher, Tirini Snake Smiter. Even Coranus the Grinder - famed for both his power and his bad temper - is there, and he very rarely visits the city, preferring to stay all year in his villa by the coast at Ferrias. As he strides to his four-horse carriage, younger Sorcerers like Capali Comet Rider and Anumaris Thunderbolt defer to him while lesser lights of the Sorcerers Guild such as Gorsius Starfinder and Patalix Rainmaker look on enviously.

Last to leave is Ovinian the True, who's helped into his guided carriage by a brace of liveried servants. Ovinian isn't all that powerful but he's Chief Sorcerous Adviser to the King, which gives him a lot of rank. In common with all Sorcerers in Turai, he's wearing a rainbow cloak. His is particularly bright. Lisutaris's cloak is rather more tasteful; well cut and more muted in colour. I'd say that the more powerful the Sorcerer, the more discreet is their cloak. Coranus's is mostly grey, with the rainbow motif only just visible around the collar. Tirini Snake Smiter is something of an exception. She's powerful, but not given to discretion in matters of fashion. She wears a very elegant cloak, silky and nearly transparent, to go with the elegant gown she wears under it, itself silky and close to transparent. Tirini is a great beauty, the most glamorous Sorcerer in the city state, and keen to never let anyone forget it. Her hair is daz-zlingly blonde, and for a naturally dark-haired woman that takes a lot of herbal treatments and probably a spell or two. She caused a scandal last year by arriving at Princess Du-Akai's birthday celebrations in a dress so clinging and diaphanous as to endanger the health of several elderly Senators who were present. Bishop Gzekius was so outraged he denounced her from the pulpit the very next day, much to the amusement of Tirini.

I studied sorcery when I was a youth, but I failed my studies and never accumulated more than a fraction of the power of these people. I draw back from the gate, letting them make their exit before approaching the house. Not that I think any Sorcerer is better than me. I just don't like to have my past failures pointed out.

After they've all departed I walk up the long garden path through the bushes and shrubs and knock on the door. It's answered by a servant who recognises me from my previous visits. She looks at me dubiously and informs me that the meeting has finished.

'I didn't come for the meeting. It's a private visit. Lisutaris will see me.'

The servant, looking about as welcoming as the hounds that guard the gates of hell, is not at all convinced that Lisutaris will see me. She leaves me at the door. I wait for a long time. Eventually she returns with the message that her mistress is engaged and would I like to arrange to call another time.

'No,' I say, and barge past her, using my considerable body weight to bat her out of the way, a tactic I've found very useful over the years. I know where Lisutaris will be. The Mistress of the Sky is a slave to thazis, ingesting it at a rate quite beyond the capacity of any other citizen. As she'll have been unable to indulge herself fully while conferring with her Sorcerer buddies, she'll now be ensconced in her comfortable room overlooking the gardens, sucking on her water pipe. I head for the back of the house, pursued by angry servants. We're wading through a carpet of quite astonishing luxuriousness. There's a lot of money in this house. The walls are hung with Elvish tapestries and the furniture, tastefully arranged and not too intrusive, is antique, mostly Elvish, and fantastically expensive. Lisutaris is one of the few Sorcerers who does originate from the very highest class of Turanian society, and she has a hefty fortune to play around with.

Suddenly the air around me cools. I'm gripped by a powerful force which renders me temporarily immobile. I'm wearing a good spell protection charm which will deflect most magic but Lisutaris, as head of the Sorcerers Guild, has spells in her possession which are not easily deflected.

'Lisutaris,' I roar. 'Get this spell off me and let me in. I know you're not busy in there, you're only smoking thazis.'

I struggle against the spell, forcing myself forward a few inches at a time.

'I'm not going away. Let me in or I'll beat the door down!'

The spell abruptly ceases and I'm catapulted forward. The door opens and I end up in a heap on the floor. Lisutaris, sitting on a gold cushion in her favourite chair, looks down at me with.idle disdain.

'Thraxas. If you ever try beating down one of my very expensive doors I'll explode your head,' she says. And what brings you here anyway? I have little time to spare these days.'

Having only had a few minutes at her water pipe Lisutaris is not yet too intoxicated, but from the powerful aroma in the room and the lazy expression on her face she's not so far off. Lisutaris packs enough thazis into her water pipe to knock out a dragon. This is the woman who invented a new spell for making thazis plants grow faster.

'What brings me here, Lisutaris, is a desire for knowledge.'

'Ah. Has Makri finally shamed you into bettering yourself?'

'Very amusing. I'm here to learn what's going on and how long I've got before I'm due on the battlefield, and anything else you know about the impending invasion. None of which anyone in government is going to tell me. Could you stop sucking on that thing for a second?'

An observer of this conversation might be surprised at my rather casual attitude towards Lisutaris. She is, after all, the head of the Sorcerers Guild, not to mention an aristocrat of the purest blood. However, in the past year or so I've rendered some sterling service to her. It was me who got her elected as head of the Guild, more or less single-handed, and only this summer I saved her reputation by locating a very important mystical jewel she'd carelessly lost at the race track. Besides, I've seen her keel over in my office from overindulgence in thazis. After that I figure there's no need to be too formal.

'You'd need something to calm you down if you'd had to spend time with these people. Harmon is a dreadful bore and both Lanius Suncatcher and Old Hasius doubt the accuracy of my observations.'

'They do?'

Lanius is Chief Sorcerer at Palace Security. Hasius is Chief Sorcerer at the Abode of Justice. Lisutaris suddenly looks annoyed.

'They do indeed. It's a difficult business looking into the heart of the Orcish Lands, Thraxas. Even with the green jewel at my disposal and all the powers I command, it's almost impossible to get a clear picture. The

Orcish Sorcerers Guild have been working hard at their own protection. I can't make a connection to Prince Amrag himself and I can't eavesdrop on his private meetings. But I can get close enough to learn what he's planning. And it involves a swift invasion, you can be sure of that. I've seen the troops gathering and the dragons massing.'

'So why do they doubt you?'

Lisutaris shrugs, and draws on her pipe.

'Old Hasius the so-called Brilliant has always resented that I was elected head of the Guild. It clouds his judgement. That and his senility. It's high time they pensioned him off. As for Lanius, who knows? Palace Security are always looking out for their own interests. His boss Rittius has never been a friend of mine. Between them all they're proving to be a problem. It's a time for the city to be making preparations and forging alliances, not bickering about the precise meaning of what I've seen in the east. Naturally that oaf Ovinian the True reports their doubts back to the Palace. That man is a fool. How he ever became Chief Sorcerous Adviser to the King is beyond me.'

I sympathise with her annoyance.

'It's often the way in this city. Worthy men are passed over in favour of some dolt who's good at flattery. Look at me. Thrown out of my job at the Palace. I was the only decent Investigator they had.'

'You got drunk at Rittius's wedding and insulted his bride,' says Lisutaris. 'Right after you insulted Rittius. Which, as I remember, was almost immediately after you insulted Praetor Capatius.'

'So what were you doing? Taking notes? These people

deserved to be insulted. It's no wonder I was driven to drink. Is there any chance of a glass of wine?'

Lisutaris ignores my request, being too busy muttering about Ovinian.

'He had the nerve to suggest that my judgement may be clouded due to my annoyance over Herminis. As if I would let a domestic matter interfere with my war duties!'

I wonder if Lisutaris is going to lecture me about Herminis. I've already listened to several long diatribes from Makri on the subject. Herminis is the wife of a Senator, or was until a few months ago, when she stabbed him in the back with his own dagger. In court she claimed that her husband had violently abused her for all the ten years they were married. The court, feeling that this was not an adequate defence for a charge of murder - which legally it wasn't - sentenced her to death. She's currently languishing in prison awaiting execution. What's particularly annoying Makri, and probably Lisutaris, is that if the situation had been reversed and the Senator had killed his wife, he would have been given the option of exile from Turai. In all but the most exceptional of cases, members of the Turanian ruling classes are allowed to leave the city before execution. This option has not been extended to Herminis. Tough on the lady, but that's the way things work in Turai. Why Makri feels the need to berate me about it I've no idea. Fearing that Lisutaris may be working up to some berating of her own, I ask her how things stand in the matter of forging alliances.

'Quite well, fortunately. We've sent messengers all over the west and contacted the Elvish nations.'

It's a strange thought that as we sit here, smoking thazis in this peaceful room, all over the west the first preparations are being made for the raising of a gigantic army.

'What sort of force can Prince Amrag muster?'

'Hard to say. He's been in a position of dominance for a relatively short time. Yet from my observations it seems as if the other Ore nations are answering his call. We're guessing that their army will be roughly the same size as last time.'

'Who exactly is we?'

'The War Council. As organised by the Consul. I never had that much regard for Kalius, but at least he's got things moving quickly'

We sit in silence for a moment, both reflecting on the last war. After a lot of desperate fighting there came a point where we threw them back from the city walls, and at that moment I was, at it happened, standing next to Lisutaris. I saw her bring dragons down from the sky, and when her sorcerous power ran out I saw her pick up a sword and behead an Ore who made it to the top of the walls. Immediately after this the wall collapsed. I've no idea how any of us survived. We wouldn't have if the Elvish army hadn't arrived at that moment and taken the Orcish forces in the flank.

'Still, we beat them last time. We can beat them again.'

'Perhaps,' muses Lisutaris. 'Though the armies of the Humans and the Elves are probably weaker these days. Not too much weaker, I hope. If they are, we're going to have to flee a long way west before we find a place to hide.'

Lisutaris doesn't show any sign of summoning refreshments.

Any chance of some refreshments?'

'I have no beer.'

'But you do have a notably fine wine cellar. Nothing too fancy, a nice Elvish table wine will hit the spot.'

Lisutaris pulls the bell rope, summoning a servant. She's not such a bad woman, really. Smokes far too much thazis and spends a lot of money on clothes, hair styling and the like, but she's served the city well. We're about the same age, though you'd hardly know it. She's preserved her looks a lot better than me. Of course, she had more looks to preserve. And my life has been a good deal harder.

I take a glass of wine.

'Good wine. Maybe you ought to spend the next four months enjoying the contents of your wine cellar.'

'If we have four months,' says Lisutaris.

'What do you mean?'

'I suspect the Ores may march earlier.'

I'm puzzled.

'Earlier? Winter is only a week or two away. They can't cross the wastelands in winter.'

Lisutaris looks thoughtful.

'So everyone says. And they never have before. But I picked up a message from Amrag to another Ore lord that seemed to imply they might be planning it this time.'

I'm sceptical about this. Campaigns are rarely launched in winter; the weather is far too fierce for marching.

'I can't believe Amrag would do that. What would it benefit him?'

'He'd get here before the Elves could. They can't sail in winter. If he can bring his army over here before they arrive, he'll have already avoided half the opposition.'

'But think of the logistics. Marching in winter? Ores aren't that much hardier than Humans. They'd never get here. Neither would their dragons, they get sluggish in the cold. They couldn't fly all the way here in winter. And their navy couldn't support them on the coast.'

'That's what the War Council thinks,' says Lisutaris. 'Old Hasius went so far as to suggest I'd intercepted a message that Prince Amrag had planted deliberately to confuse us.'

She shrugs.

'Possibly I did. The Orcish Sorcerers Guild is a lot more powerful than they used to be, and possibly a lot more subtle. Some of the mystical defences they've set up in the past few years have surprised me with their complexity. It's not impossible I've been misled. Nonetheless, I'm worried.'

'Has any other Sorcerer reached the same conclusions as you?'

Lisutaris admits they haven't. No other Sorcerer thinks there is any chance of the Ores attacking before winter is through. According to Lisutaris, several foreign Sorcerers are doubtful that the Ores are planning to invade at all. Personally, I don't doubt Lisutaris for a second. Few Sorcerers can equal her in terms of power and knowledge. Few in the west, and none in the east. The Mistress of the Sky has a matchless talent. Apart from when she's too wrecked on thazis to work her spells. That's not too often.

'Could you pull that bell rope for me?' she asks. 'I can't seem to lift my arms.'

I frown at her.

'No thought of giving up thazis for the duration of the war?'

'Why?'

'So you can lead the forces of western sorcery in a last-ditch attempt to save humanity?'

Lisutaris starts to giggle.

'Save humanity,' she says, several times, and laughs out loud. Her laughter subsides to a chuckle before she sticks the water pipe back in her mouth.

The last piece of information I learn from her is that there's a meeting of the War Council tomorrow, followed by a meeting of the Lesser War Council, at which I will be expected to attend. As I leave the room she's slumped on her chair, puffing thazis, still laughing about the amusing notion of saving humanity. Her servants follow me to the front door.

'The mistress should not allow you in this house,' says the servant I barged past at the door.

'You're right. She shouldn't. I'm a bad element.'

She glares at me with loathing in her eyes. That happens to me a lot.

Chapter Six

The meeting of the Lesser War Council is chaired by Cicerius, assisted by Hansius. Thirty people are gathered in the conference room, many of whom I've never encountered before. Prefects from each part of the city, their assistants, the Praetors who normally answer only to the Consul, the newly created Tribunes, plus officials from the Palace, the Civil Guards and the military. I'm surprised to see that Senator Lodius is here. Lodius is the head of the opposition Populares party. He's the main opponent of the Consul in the Senate and a bitter critic of the Traditionals. His reforming, anti-monarchy party has been enjoying increasing support in Turai in the past few years. In consequence, the city's rulers hate him. I can only presume he's here as some sort of attempt at national unity in the face of a crisis.

I'm not exactly keen on Lodius myself. He's always going on about the need to distribute the city state's wealth more fairly. I could do with some wealth being distributed in my direction, but he's always struck me as a man who'd say anything in order to gain power for himself. I have the strong feeling that if he ever did come to power, all talk of democratic reform would be quietly forgotten about. Apart from this, he blackmailed me into helping him last year, and I resent being blackmailed.

Lodius is accompanied by Rittius, a political ally of his. Rittius hates me more than anyone in the city.

Being at such a meeting is a strange experience. I've had little to do with officialdom in any capacity and have never served on a committee before. It goes against the grain. Due to the urgency of the situation and the danger we're all facing, I've managed so far to forget my natural mistrust of the city authorities. I've even managed to take orders from Prefect Drinius without abusing him to his face, but as I sit in the room listening to Prefect Resius drone on about the capacity for grain storage in Jade Temple Fields, I find myself impatiently wishing the meeting to be over. The organisation of the city's defence is important but it's starting to get on my nerves.

While Prefect Drinius is giving a report on the available stock of raw material for weapon making - which will be followed by another report on the capacity of the royal armoury - I find myself nodding off and have to concentrate to stay awake. I'm looking forward to a break for food. By my calculations lunch should be served any time now. Unfortunately, Cicerius seems dissatisfied with some elements of Prefect Drinius's report and begins a long series of questions which Drinius responds to with equally long answers. I sigh. When I fought in the last war I had no involvement in its planning. I didn't realise it was so tedious.

I start daydreaming about the possible food on offer. It will, I understand through some determined questioning of the catering staff, be delivered through the back door on a series of trolleys. Will it be a proper meal with platters of beef and venison? Or just a collection of those small fancy pastries they seem so fond of in the Consul's offices? I'm hoping for something more substantial. Not that there's anything wrong with the pastries - they're made by a fine hand in the kitchen - but they're not really enough to sustain a man. Not when he's faced with several hours of talk about aqueducts. I look suspiciously round, wondering who else might be planning a sudden dash towards the food. It could be I've made something of a tactical error in sitting in the middle of the room. When the victuals arrive I might miss out. Prefect Galwinius, right at the back, is a notable eater, as is his assistant. They both have a hungry look about them and they're well placed for a sudden dash to the trolleys. If they get to the food first there'll be precious little left for latecomers. I curse myself for my carelessness and start edging my chair backwards. If Prefect Galwinius thinks he's having it all his own way with the provisions he can think again. I've outsmarted better men than him at the pastry cart.

'By this time next month there must be at least one hundred tons of raw iron ore at the—'

The Deputy Consul is interrupted by the clattering noise of food trolleys appearing through the door. I'm on my feet and halfway to the back before anyone else has moved. Galwinius sees me coming and makes a brave effort at hauling himself out of his chair, but I knock him out of the way and tread on his assistant's foot as I pass, leaving them reeling in confusion. I make it to the trolleys first and start hacking a thick slice off a slab of venison before grabbing a handful of yams and loading them on to my tray, followed by as much as everything else as I can lay my hands on.

'You ill-mannered oaf,' hisses Galwinius, appearing at the rear.

'Wartime,' I reply. A man needs to be quickly into action.'

All in all, it's a successful mission and I'm moving away from the trolleys with a heavy tray of food while the stragglers are still making their first approach. It's the sort of fast and deadly assault which made me such a force on the battlefield. I find myself next to Deputy Consul Cicerius and greet him affably.

'You did not take long to avail yourself of the Consul's hospitality,' he says, drily.

'When it comes to a crisis I know how to act.'

Cicerius eyes me with distaste.

'I was in the middle of a speech.'

And very interesting it was too. I count it an honour to be in your service.'

I excuse myself and make for my chair, head down, ignoring the crowd. In truth, the crowd are pretty much ignoring me. I'm out of my social class here, and well aware of it. Most of those at the meeting belong to Turai's aristocracy and are clad in togas. My dull tunic is shabby in comparison. Their hair is short, neatly styled. Mine hangs long down my back. Their voices are more refined and their manners far better. Even my name, Thraxas, gives me away as low-born. It's an odd quirk of fate, really, that I've ended up in this position. Had Cicerius known he was going to be stuck with me as a city official when he made me a Tribune, he might have thought twice about it.

The venison is excellent and the yams are cooked to perfection. Whoever takes care of the cooking for the

Consul's office really knows his business. The man is a credit to his city. So fine is the food that it's a positive shock to the system when I bite into a sweet pastry and find it's not been baked quite properly. Inside it's doughy, as if it's not been in the oven for long enough. I shrug, and push it to the side of my plate. Even the greatest chef can have an off moment, I suppose. Maybe one of his assistants was responsible. The next pastry is well up to the usual standard and I forget my disappointment, particularly when I see Cicerius and Hansius standing at the trolleys looking like two men who've arrived late at the party. There's nothing left except a yam or two. Cicerius, always keen to maintain his dignity, pretends he doesn't care, but I can tell he'd have liked a slice of venison, or maybe some grilled fish. The grilled fish was quite superb, and I speak as a man who doesn't eat a lot of fish as a rule. When you're in a stranger's house you just have to take what you can get.

I'm about to ask one of the catering staff if there might be any beer on offer when the Consul himself walks into the room and I'm obliged to stand as a mark of respect. The city Prefects who are here - Galwinius, Drinius, Resius - gather around him. There's a moment's awkwardness when the Consul turns round and finds himself face to face with Senator Lodius. In the spirit of national unity the Consul greets him courteously. Given some of the things Lodius has accused the Consul of in the Senate this year, this must take some effort. Senator Lodius, probably keen not to be seen doing anything which might rock the boat at such a perilous time, returns the Consul's greeting, equally courteously. The Consul steps away to talk to Cicerius, leaving the Prefects still in the company of Lodius. Galwinius and Drinius are both opponents of Lodius, though Prefect Resius has been suspected in the past of having some sympathy for the Populares. Again there's some awkwardness. Galwinius fiddles with a scroll he's carrying and Resius scratches his head. Despite this, they mange to carry on with their show of civility. No one wants to be seen causing dissension, not even Lodius and Galwinius, who are due to face each other in court soon in a messy fraud case. In an effort to be civil, Senator Lodius even goes so far as to raise the silver platter he holds in his hand, offering Galwinius a choice of food. The Prefect accepts his offer, taking a small pastry from the plate. I'm impressed. National unity is going over big in all quarters.

Prefect Galwinius turns to speak to Senator Bevarius, the Consul's assistant. Before he can complete his sentence, his face goes red and he puts his hand to his throat, as if choking. There's a sudden deathly silence in the room as all eyes turn to the Prefect. Drinius reaches out to support him as he sags to the ground.

By this time I've hurried over, because I've got a good idea that Galwinius is not just choking on his food. It's hard to see through the clutter of Prefects and Praetors, but from the way his face is turning green and his eyes are bulging I'd say Galwinius has been poisoned. People cry out in alarm and yell for a doctor. I force my way through. Galwinius is already in his death throes. He shivers for only a few seconds more, then goes still. He isn't going to be needing a doctor. The Prefect is dead.

Chaos erupts in the room. Some people are yelling for assistance while others struggle to get closer to the prone body as if somehow their presence will help. Unable to carry out any sort of examination, I let myself be forced back from the body. I look around. The only person who's standing quite still is Senator Lodius, the man who handed the food to the Prefect. I cross over to him and look him right in the eye. From the blank way he stares through me I'd say that he was profoundly shocked. Or possibly horrified by what he's just done.

'Lodius. What do you know about this?'

Lodius looks blank. I shake him by the shoulder and he manages to focus on me.

'Lodius. Where did you get that bowl from?'

'Get your hands off me!' he snarls.

Before I can respond, two uniformed Civil Guards get between us. The room is filling up with Guards, which is only adding to the confusion. Finally a commanding voice rises about the babble of the crowd. Cicerius, the finest orator in the city, speaks in such an authoritative manner that the room falls silent.

'Make room for the doctor,' he says. And everyone in this room remain where you are until the Consul orders otherwise.'

This causes some consternation. The high-ranking Senators and Praetors in the crowd aren't used to being treated like suspects in a murder case. I am. I've been in the slammer more times than I can count. While others are still milling around, I take a chair and sit down to wait. There are going to be a lot of questions asked and I'll be here for a long time.

Chapter Seven

Turai has been in chaos before. We've suffered riots, plague, sorcerous attack and drought, not to mention the civic unrest that erupts every couple of years when elections roll around. In the past few years crime has exploded with the mushrooming of the trade in dwa, the evil drug that has the city in its grasp, adding to the turmoil. But in my long experience, the city has rarely been gripped by fever in the way it is now.

Perfects have died in battle or died from illness but no one can remember one expiring from poison. As Prefect of the richest part of the city, Galwinius was a very important official, ranking almost as highly as the Praetors. More influential in some ways, given the wealth of his constituents. His murder comes as a shocking blow to the population. It doesn't take long for the truth to come out about the reason behind the meeting. Soon the whole city knows that the Consul had gathered his officials together to plan for the defence of Turai against the Ores. Panic erupts on all sides. The news-sheets hardly know which terrible story merits more prominence. Crowds gather on the streets and the common opinion is that it's the end of the world as we know it. Which it might well be.

It was ten hours before I was allowed to leave the consular buildings. Though I had to answer a lot of routine questions, for once in my life I'm not a suspect. That was three days ago, since when I've once more applied myself to the task of checking aqueducts. Figuring that if the world is about to end there's no sense in wasting beer, I make a brief report to Prefect Drinius before heading back to the Avenging Axe. It's been a hard day and the weather is turning cold. I cheer myself up with the thought of the bottle of klee that's waiting for me in my office.

Also waiting in my office are Makri, eight other women, a lot of scrolls and a powerful aroma of thazis.

'We're just finishing,' says Makri.

'Finishing? What are you doing here?'

'Reading.'

'How dare you read in my office! Didn't you say this wouldn't happen again?'

'The bakery is still full'

I inform the assembled women that I don't care how full the bakery is, they can't use my office for their classes. I spy an empty bottle of klee on the table.

'Is that my klee? Did you drink my klee?'

Makri is unapologetic.

'Just being hospitable to my guests.'

'With my klee? Were you thinking of paying for it? Where are my pastries? Did you eat them?'

I realise that everyone is looking at me in a particularly disapproving manner. Morixa the baker turns to me and speaks quite sternly.

'The women of Twelve Seas do not exist merely to cook pastries for you, Investigator. We have our own aspirations. And we will pursue our aspirations despite your continual harassment.'

'Harassment? I'm the one who's being—'

'He reminds me of my father,' says a young prostitute to her companion. 'Drove my mother into an early grave. Makri, if this man threatens you in any way, send a message. I'll bring my guild round to protect you immediately.'

The women collect their belongings and begin to file out of my room. Makri bids them all a polite farewell and shuts the door behind them.

'Was I just threatened by the Prostitutes Guild?'

'I think so. You better watch out, they know how to look after themselves.'

'Makri, this has got to stop. I demand you never teach women to read in my office again.'

Makri shrugs.

'Okay. We'll go somewhere else. Not that it's such a big inconvenience. You might be a little more supportive. You know I need the money. I expect I'd earn more as a waitress if it wasn't for all the times I've helped you investigate. And of course I had to pay for having my axe sharpened after I blunted it saving you from—'

I hold up my hand.

'Spare me the moral blackmail. Just find another place. After checking aqueducts all day, I need my space.'

Makri lights another thazis stick. The room reeks of the stuff.

'I thought you'd be busy investigating the Prefect's murder.'

'No one's asked me to.'

'But you were right there in the room.'

Makri still has some difficulty in understanding that I don't investigate for fun. I do it for a living.

'No one is going to hire me to investigate Galwinius. Palace Security and the Civil Guards are all over it.'

'I'm still confused as to why there are two Galwiniuses,' says Makri. 'Isn't the Prefect of Twelve Seas called Galwinius as well?'

'That's Drinius Galwinius. Cousin of the murdered man. These aristocrats, they're all related. Inbred, probably.'

'Everyone says Lodius did it. Is that true?'

I admit I don't know.

'You saw him hand over the food.'

I did. But I don't know if Senator Lodius meant to poison the Consul. If he did, I'd have expected him to be more circumspect about it. While I don't normally have that much confidence in the investigative powers of either Palace Security or the Civil Guards, I'm fairly sure they'll sort this one out, if only because for an affair of this magnitude they'll be employing the talents of every Sorcerer in Turai. Sorcerers can on occasion look back in time, and though it's a tricky business I can't see the combined talents of Lisutaris, Hasius and Lanius failing to come up with a culprit.

'It's been three days now,' points out Makri. 'And they haven't arrested anyone.'

'True. I wouldn't mind joining in the investigation, because I'm offended that anyone could be murdered while I'm in the same room. But they're not going to call on my services and that's that.'

There are two popular theories currently circulating. The first is that Senator Lodius, tired of years of political strife with the Traditionals, had decided to move things along by taking some direct action. But even the most ardent supporter of the Traditionals can see problems with that one. Lodius isn't stupid. And a man would have to be fairly stupid to hand over a poisoned pastry in full view of thirty or so Senators and expect to get away with it.

The other popular theory is that the murder is the work of the Ores, seeking to destabilise the city before they attack. I'm dubious. Ores are low, despicable creatures, but they've never poisoned any Human official before and I can't see why they'd start now.

Consul Kalius has insisted that war preparations must go on interrupted. It's hard to concentrate in the hubbub, and not as easy to go about my business any more. People were glad to see officials ostensibly preparing improvements for the city, but now that news of the Ores has got out, any official soon finds himself surrounded by anxious citizens asking for news, demanding to know how long we have till the Ores start marching.

There's a coldness in the air that says winter is no more than a week away, maybe less. When winter comes the city would normally grind to a halt. This time, we'll have to keep going. Many things have to be done before the spring. Lisutaris has given warning that the birth rate of dragons has gone up dramatically in the past few years, something which the Orcish Sorcerers have until now managed to conceal.

'So let them come on their dragons,' says Makri as we walk downstairs to the bar. 'I've killed dragons before.'

'You killed one dragon.'

'Well, if another one had come along I'd have killed that too.'

'We didn't kill that dragon in the Fairy Glade,' I remind her.

'That was a hefty beast,' admits Makri. 'But I chased it off.'

'What do you mean, you chased it off? I was there too.'

'You were ogling the naiads in the water.'

'Very humorous, Makri. I was chopping up a squadron of Ores so you could get to the commander.'

The door of the Avenging Axe swings open and a messenger struggles in weighed down by an enormous bunch of flowers. He places them on the counter.

'Delivery for Makri.'

The messenger departs. Makri looks at the card. She scowls, then sweeps the flowers on to the floor.

'Horm again?' says Gurd, appearing from the storeroom. Makri nods, and looks annoyed. Gurd is troubled. When the Ores are about to attack, no tavern owner wants to be receiving bunches of flowers from one of their leaders. People could get the wrong impression.

'Why does he keep sending you flowers?' asks Gurd.

Makri shrugs.

'Did you encourage him in some way?'

Makri is offended.

'Of course I didn't encourage him! Thraxas, did I encourage Horm the Dead to send me flowers?'

'Of course not. No encouragement at all. Though you did wander into my offices wearing your chainmail bikini while he was there. Maybe if you'd covered yourself up a bit better . . .'

Ah,' says Gurd, nodding his head. "The chainmail bikini.'

'Which has been getting smaller and smaller in recent months . ..'

'I need to earn tips!' exclaims Makri. 'You know how much it costs at the College!'

'I suppose there's some truth in that. Though it doesn't entirely explain why you were flaunting yourself at a foreign Sorcerer who was not, as far as I remember, buying drinks at the time.'

'This is outrageous,' says Makri. 'I was not flaunting myself.'

'Well, you know,' I say, 'a mad half-Ore Sorcerer spends all his time in the wastelands surrounded by stone-faced troll-girls and when he arrives in Turai the first thing he sees is you sauntering around practically naked, it's bound to have an effect. He'd only met you for about a minute when he was offering you a position.'

Gurd laughs.

'What position was that?'

'Captain of his Armies,' says Makri, not sounding at all amused.

And he called you the finest flower in all of Turai, I remember. Which might explain the flower motif. Probably since he left Turai he's spent all his time languishing in his mountain palace or wherever he lives, thinking about you.'

Having now had enough of this, Makri turns on her heel and departs in a bad mood, leaving a few Orcish curses in her wake. I'm just taking a jar of ale from Gurd when the door opens again and Tanrose walks in. I'm about to rush and embrace her - something I can't remember doing for a good many years - but Gurd beats me to it.

Thinking it best to leave them in peace, I pause only long enough to mention to Tanrose that I really would enjoy one of her substantial venison pies for dinner tonight, and maybe a lemon tart for dessert, before heading upstairs to my office. I sweep some junk off the couch prior to lying down for an afternoon sleep. Unfortunately, as is so often the case when I'm headed for the couch, some damned client knocks on the door. I haul it open and make ready to repel visitors. I'm faced with a plump, well-dressed middle-aged woman who's accompanied by a brawny young man, a servant from his attire.

'May I come in?' asks the woman in a voice so refined she could cut glass with it.

'If you must.'

I welcome them in, if allowing them to find their way through the mess on the floor while scowling roundly at them could be called a welcome. What does this Senator's wife want with me? She settles down quite gracefully on the chair in front of my desk.

'I wish to hire you,' she says.

'What for?'

'To clear my husband's name.'

'What's he accused of?'

'Murdering Prefect Galwinius.'

There's a brief pause while I digest this.

And your husband is?'

'Senator Lodius.'

I rise to my feet and point to the door.

'Can't do it. Try the Venarius agency uptown. They're more your sort of people.'

The woman remains seated. She looks unruffled, which makes me feel foolish.

'You are an Investigator for hire, are you not?'

'I am. And your husband blackmailed me last year. And called me a low-life piece of scum.'

'Did he really say that? It doesn't sound like my husband.'

I admit he might not have used those exact words.

'But he implied it.'

She wrinkles her brow just a little.

'Oh. I see. When you were recommended to me as a competent Investigator - and a man who'd fought in the war -1 did not expect you to be so sensitive.'

I'm not sensitive. I'm insulted. And I'm sensitive. Thanks to your husband I had to prevent an eviction.'

'Prevent an eviction? Was this unjust?'

'Well—'

I halt. I sit down.

'Possibly not, from the tenants' point of view. But it meant going against Praetor Capatius and it got me in a load of trouble.'

Trouble which hasn't gone away yet. That was the start of the accusations against me. It's fatal to become embroiled in the politics of Turai. Lodius forced me into it.

'Has he been arrested?'

'He will be very shortly. I received a message.'

And Senator Lodius sent you here to hire me?'

She shakes her head. It wasn't her husband who suggested it.

'Deputy Consul Cicerius recommended you. It was he who sent the message.'

This takes me by surprise. I've done some good work for the Deputy Consul in the past year. He's never shown much sign of appreciating it. I didn't know I'd risen enough in his estimation for him to be recommending me. And it's doubly strange, because Cicerius is also a bitter enemy of Lodius.

'Cicerius? Why would he try to help your husband?'

She shakes her head. She doesn't know.

'What did he say? Try Thraxas, he's a drunken disgrace to the city but he doesn't mind getting his hands dirty?'

'He was a good deal politer than that.'

The woman's facade slips a little, though she's not exactly close to tears. Upper-class women rarely cry about important matters; it would show bad breeding. On the other hand, they may weep profusely if the hairdresser is late.

I don't want to take on the case. Not only do I dislike Senator Lodius, I've a lot on my plate right now. Besides, with the Ores planning an attack, the city's liable to be razed to the ground in a few months' time. Then who's going to care who killed the Prefect? Still, I hate to see a murderer go unpunished. If the Civil Guards and Palace Security fail to catch the killer, he'll be walking around free, and that never sits right. If I take on the case and clear Lodius, it'll probably mean finding the real murderer. That, I suppose, would be good. But then I'd find myself on the wrong side of the city authorities and the King, who despise Lodius. That would be bad. I try to weigh things up but I'm drowsy from beer and tired from walking round Twelve Seas.

'I saw your husband hand food to Galwinius. Right after that Galwinius dropped down dead. It doesn't look so good for him.'

'My husband did not kill the Prefect,' says his wife, emphatically. 'No matter what the Sorcerers at Palace Security say.'

'The Sorcerers say he did?'

'I believe they are about to. An arrest warrant is being written as we speak.'

'Then Lodius is doomed.'

'My husband is not doomed.'

'He is. If the Sorcerers have fingered him, he's doomed. Sorry, lady, just because he's a rich Senator doesn't mean he doesn't have to suffer for his crimes.'

The woman looks at me coldly. She rises to her feet and speaks to her servant.

'Come. This man is not the person to help us. Deputy Consul Cicerius has misinformed us about his abilities.'

She turns away in a dignified manner.

'I'm sorry to have wasted your time.'

They walk to the door and leave via the staircase to the street below. I let them go, then take a hefty slug from my new bottle of klee. I'm annoyed. Usually when I give the brush-off to some unwanted client, they rant for a while, and insult me. Call me fat, or drunk, or cowardly, or something. They don't just apologise for wasting my time and walk out in a dignified manner. The more I think about it, the more annoying it becomes. Who does that woman think she is to just walk in here, be insulted by me, then leave in a dignified manner?

I cross swiftly to the door and haul it open again. At the foot of the stairs the servant is still helping his mistress into the carriage.

'Okay, I'll take the damned case,' I yell at her.

She raises her eyes towards me.

'Good,' she says, simply. 'Would you like to visit my house to learn more of the matter? Perhaps later this evening?'

I nod, then slam the door. Makri chooses this moment to walk in.

'So you're taking the case?' she says. 'Is Lodius innocent?'

'How do you know so much about it?'

'I was listening at the door. So? Is he innocent?'

'I've no idea. But now I have to find out. Damn it, I didn't want to have to work for Senator Lodius. I hate Lodius.'

'Then why did you take it on?'

'His wife tricked me by behaving in a dignified manner.'

'The calculating bitch,' says Makri. 'There's no way you could stand up to that.'

'You said it. Now I'm going to be defending the person the whole city will think murdered Galwinius. Probably at the instigation of the Ores. The news-sheets will be down on me like a bad spell. Why is it I always get the really bad cases?'

'Well,' says Makri, thoughtfully. 'You live in quite a bad part of town. Probably most of the better cases go to the high-class Investigators in Thamlin. And you drink a lot, which might put some of the more respectable clients off, and you're known to have a really bad temper, which again is off-putting for a lot of people. Also you've got quite a serious gambling problem so I suppose some people might think you're not really a trustworthy person to give money to. You've been thrown in prison quite a few times, you were denounced in the Senate and you've been regularly criticised in the news-sheets, including one really comprehensive report which included not only the time you were hauled before a magistrate for stealing a loaf of bread but also the time you tried to steal wine from the church in Quintessence Lane. You were sacked from your job at the Palace, your wife ran off, and you sometimes turn up to meet clients after smoking far too much thazis, which hardly gives a good impression, and didn't you once—'

'Makri, will you shut up. It was a rhetorical question.'

'I'm just explaining why—'

'Fine. I get the picture. Why don't you go downstairs and see if any Ore Sorcerers have been sending you flowers? I need to sleep.'

Also, you sleep on the couch when you should be working.'

Makri departs. To hell with her. One day that woman will push my endurance past its limit. I drink more klee and fall asleep.

Chapter Eight

I waken to the notion that I should be getting on with something. I've forgotten what. I'm splashing water on my face when I remember I've just been hired by the wife of Senator Lodius. It's one of the biggest criminal cases in the history of Turai. I guess I should be pleased to be involved. I'm not, and not just because I'm going to have to miss out on Tanrose's cooking for another few hours.

I curse out loud. Of all the assorted aristocrats who've ever looked down their noses at me, Lodius is one of the worst. In normal circumstances he wouldn't let me in his house. No doubt he laughed when I was booted out of my job at the Palace. The senatorial class have always had it in for me. Senators, Prefects, Consuls, I loathe them all. I put my life on the line for this city. What did they do in the Ore War? Hid in their villas, probably, while poor men like me did all the fighting. And did we get any thanks after the war? We didn't. I detest them.

I put my sword on my hip, place a spell in my memory in case of emergencies, and head downstairs for a final beer before setting off. Makri has finished her shift and wants to know where I'm going.

'To see Lodius's wife.'

'I want to come.'

'Why?'

'Gurd and Tanrose are having this intense conversation and it's making me uncomfortable. And Dandelion is being really irritatingly happy about them getting back together. She's talking about the stars smiling in the heavens and I can't take it any more.'

I'm about to tell Makri that she can't accompany me because I'm about to visit the house of a Senator and Makri, with her Orcish blood, won't really be welcome, but I stop myself. Why should I put myself out just to please some Senator's wife? Apart from when she's being the most aggravating person in the city, Makri's my friend. One of the very few friends I have. She can come if she wants. Do them good in Thamlin to see how the other half lives, I pick up another bottle of klee from behind the bar. Dandelion hands it over with a frown. She's possibly the only barmaid in Turai who doesn't really approve of drinking. Makri puts on her man's tunic, fits two swords at her hips, a knife in her boot and wonders if she should bring her axe.

'We're not going to fight a dragon, we're going to interview a Senator's wife.'

'That's what you always say. And then something bad happens and I really need my axe.'

'Believe me, no axe is necessary.'

Makri looks a little unhappy.

'You just don't like walking down the street with a woman with an axe.'

It's not long till nightfall. Unless we want to walk to Thamlin, we'll have to catch a landus quickly. Riding is forbidden in Turai after dark. We find one at the foot of Moon and Stars Boulevard. I tell the driver our destination and sip from my bottle of klee as we trot over the river. Makri lights a thazis stick. Thazis is still technically illegal, but with the influx of dwa, a much more serious drug, the authorities have given up caring about it. The driver wants to talk about the imminent attack from the Ores. We remain silent but it doesn't put him off.

'The end for Turai, I reckon,' he says. 'We can't fight them again. Where's our army going to come from? Half the young men in the city are off their heads on dwa. Half the Senators too. I heard that General Lamisius got thrown out of the army last week for selling the stuff to his men. And there's nothing in the armoury; the Brotherhood and the Society of Friends sold all our weapons long ago. And who's going to come to our assistance? The Simnians? No chance. They'll sit at home while we get butchered. And I can't see the Elves sailing up again. Why would they? They've got problems of their own, and anyway, I don't think the Elves have really got the stomach for another war. What does that leave us with? Nioj? There's no way they're going to help us; those northern pigs would probably laugh if the Ores destroyed us. Which leaves us the League of City States, and what's that worth these days? The League's been in chaos longer than anyone can remember. You think they're going to be able to raise an army? That's about as likely as sunshine in the underworld. We're doomed and everyone knows it. As soon as winter's over I'm taking the family and heading west. See if we can go far enough so the Ores won't find us.'

I try to ignore him. I've got enough on my mind without the relentless pessimism of a landus driver. Besides, there's more truth in what he says than I want to acknowledge.

Senator Lodius's villa is guarded by four uniformed men from the Securitas Guild. I'm expecting trouble gaining entry, but when I announce myself they wave me right through. Makri gets a few curious glances but they don't raise any objections. The servant who answers the door seems a little surprised, but even so she welcomes us in. She deposits us in a waiting room, where I look morosely at a small bust of Saint Quatinius which I recognise as coming from the workshop of Drantaax, one of Turai's most famous sculptors. Or he was, till he was murdered last year. I investigated the case. Another sorry affair full of malice and greed.

We wait for what seems like a long time. Makri wonders out loud if my clients always take this long to appear.

'Only the wealthy ones. Senators, Prefects, they never treat a man right. And their wives are worse. When she gets here she'll demand I clear her husband in the space of a couple of hours and probably add on a lecture about my public duty into the bargain. As if any of these people ever did their public duty.'

I take another drink of klee and belch noisily.

'Why did she hire you?' says Makri.

'Number one chariot at investigating.' I reply.

The Senator's wife, Ivaris, appears in the room, accompanied by a young female servant. She apologises for keeping us waiting, citing a crisis in the kitchen as an excuse.

'I was hoping you'd change your mind,' she says. And you are . . .?' She looks towards Makri.

'Makri. I help Thraxas with the fighting.'

Ivaris smiles politely. I'm half expecting her to throw us out on the spot, but even Makri's pointy ears, male attire and twin swords don't seem to upset her.

'I do hope you can help my husband. It would be a terrible tragedy were he to be unjustly convicted of such a crime.'

'Yes, he's a fine man. It's an honour to work for him.'

'I do not believe you like him at all,' responds Ivaris.

'I don't. But I'm taking the case. No one poisons a man when I'm in the room and gets away with it. Especially when I've been eating the food.'

'You find that particularly offensive?'

'I do. Tampering with food is a serious crime. I charge thirty gurans a day plus expenses. But when you hire me I'm in charge of the case. So don't get it into your head that you can start telling me how to do my job.'

Ivaris looks a little puzzled.

'I wouldn't dream of it.'

She's so polite. It's annoying.

'Where's Lodius?'

'At the Abode of Justice. Ostensibly he is helping with their inquiries but in reality they're not letting him out of their sight. He'll be arrested and charged any time now. It might already have happened.'

The Senator's wife again manages to conceal her emotions, though it must be hurting. I wonder if I should dislike her a little less. Being so wealthy, plump and clean she doesn't look like she's got an ounce of strength in her, but she probably has. She's the daughter of a Senator, from one of Turai's oldest families, naturally. Came with a lot of money, I expect, from her father's interests in the gold mines, and his shipping concerns.

Lodius himself is equally well born, though he's not above styling himself a man of the people when it suits him, because his family were originally fanners outside the city. But they made a lot of money by buying up land from families impoverished by the wars in the last century and I doubt if anyone in the family has touched a plough in the past fifty years. He's an aristocrat through and through, which might not save his neck this time. Even though the male aristocracy are, unlike the unfortunate Herminis, generally allowed to go into exile if convicted of a serious crime, I doubt that option will be offered in this instance. Public opinion wouldn't allow it, not for the killer of Prefect Galwinius. And if public opinion did allow it, the Palace wouldn't. Lodius is facing execution. The King will be delighted at an excuse to get rid of him.

'Do you have any idea what the evidence is? Apart from being the person who handed over the poisoned food?'

Ivaris shakes her head.

'It all came as a terrible shock. I have no idea why anyone would accuse my husband. He cannot possibly have docs such a thing.'

'Your husband spends his life berating the Traditionals. Galwinius was a very important Traditional. They were hardly the best of friends.'

'That is simply the way things are done in the Senate. My husband would never condone any act of violence.'

This isn't true. When the elections come round there's plenty of violence, condoned by anyone who wins votes as a result. I let it pass, but point out that being an opponent of the Consul might easily be enough to land Lodius in serious trouble.

'It wouldn't be the first false accusation of murder made in this city for political ends. I'm suffering a false accusation myself. Which Lodius and his Populares weren't falling over themselves to help me with, now I think about it.'

Ivaris looks upset. I move the conversation on.

'What about this court case? Galwinius was reported to be suing your husband.'

'A dispute over a will,' says Ivaris. 'But I do not know the details.'

I doubt that's true. Ivaris doesn't seem like a woman who's entirely ignorant of her husband's affairs. I let it pass. I can find out the details elsewhere. But already it's obvious that things aren't looking good for Lodius. He's just handed over a poisoned pastry to a man who was about to sue him. A man who was already his enemy.

'Did Cicerius say he'd get me access to your husband?'

'Yes. Can you go immediately? Or rather, as soon as Sabav is over.'

'Pardon?'

'Evening prayers. It's almost time.'

It's a legal requirement for all citizens of Turai to pray three times a day. The more devout among the population go to church, though that's not required by law. Anywhere will do. If I'm in my own room I ignore the call for prayer. Any time I'm unlucky enough to be caught outside I generally just kneel down in the street with the other unfortunates and doze off for a few minutes while they go through their routine. As for Makri, she has no affinity whatsoever with Turanian religious practices and generally makes sure she's well out of sight at prayer times. But now Ivaris is actually offering us the use of her family's prayer temple. I don't want to accept. Suddenly I'm painfully aware that I reek of klee. Though I'm not what you'd call a religious man, you never know. Entering a private chapel while stinking of alcohol might lead to problems. I've often felt I was cursed by the Gods. No point making things worse. I start to make an excuse but Ivaris waves it away. Makri is shuffling round uncomfortably and looks very unhappy about the whole idea. As Ivaris leads us towards the courtyard temple in the centre of the house, Makri whispers in my ear quite urgently.

'Will I have to say anything?'

'No,' I whisper back. 'Just nod at the right places. And don't sing any Orcish hymns or anything.'

'I don't sing Orcish hymns,' hisses Makri. 'I only curse in Orcish.'

'Well don't do that either.'

'Why would I?' says Makri.

'Who knows? I've never understood anything you do.'

Are you accusing me of being an Ore?' demands Makri, quite loudly.

'Not at all.'

'You were implying it.'

'So what?'

Makri looks angry.

'Why don't you just admit you think one day my Ore blood is going to take over and I'll start slaughtering Humans?'

I shake my head.

'You see, Makri, this is why I never bring you on cases. The slightest thing and you start getting upset and waving your swords about.'

'I'm not waving my swords.'

'You're close to it. Just calm down.'

'Calm down?' shouts Makri. 'I'm just minding my own business and you suddenly start accusing me of singing Orcish hymns. I don't know any Orcish hymns. Well, maybe one or two. But that's not the point.'

'Will you stop shouting? I bring you to a Senator's house and you just don't know how to act civilised.'

'Civilised? You're taking this woman's money and you said you hate the Senator and everyone like him, you cusux!'

'You see? Orcish curses just come naturally to you. I knew you couldn't get through Human prayers without reverting to type. We'll be lucky if you don't sacrifice someone.'

Ivaris coughs gently. We turn round to find about twenty or so members of the household looking at us rather nervously. A few of the brawnier servants seem to be preparing to defend their mistress.

'It's time for prayers,' says Ivaris, calmly.

'We're ready' I mutter, and we troop shamefacedly into the courtyard temple.

I can't remember when I was last in a place like this. Probably not since I burgled the Niojan attache's house. It's clean, white and peaceful. Ivy climbs the walls. A wisp of smoke from an incense burner trails lazily towards the sky, just enough to provide a delicate aroma in the open-air space. The evening is still warm. It's so quiet in here you could forget you were in the city. Stick a decent-sized couch down somewhere and it would be the perfect place for an after-dinner sleep.

The family has its own Pontifex to lead them in their prayers, an old, grey-haired man who's probably retired from his official church duties. As he intones the words I have to struggle to stay awake. Kneeling beside me,

Makri is fidgeting. She's probably worried that they might go on for hours. I'm feeling quite peaceful. I forget about the Orcish hordes gathering to attack us. I'm almost sorry when the prayers end.

I haul myself to my feet. The household disperses. Ivaris thanks the Pontifex. Makri backs out of the shrine as quickly as she can but I wait to say a polite farewell to the Senator's wife. I'd like to thank her for inviting us to share the family prayers but I can't quite find the words to do it. I look at her awkwardly.

'I'll clear your husband's name,' I say, eventually, and turn round smartly, picking up Makri on my way to the door. Our landus is waiting outside. Makri complains for a while about my rudeness towards her then falls silent as we continue towards the Abode of Justice. On arrival we're intercepted by Cicerius's assistant Hansius.

'The Deputy Consul has been expecting you.'

We're taken along a corridor and dumped in some sort of waiting room.

'Trouble already,' I mutter to Makri. 'The authorities are not going to like it that I've taken on Lodius as a client.'

I'm already feeling uncomfortable because I know that the decision to prosecute Lodius must have come from the top, which means the Palace. I really could be walking into a lot of trouble here. Damn Lodius's wife for being so polite and hospitable.

Cicerius - thin, grey and even more austere-looking than usual - enters briskly. As ever, he's clad in his green-rimmed toga, the mark of his rank. Our Deputy Consul is an unusual mixture of honesty, hard work, and overwhelming vanity. He's been strutting round all summer trying not to look too pleased at the new statue of himself that's just been erected outside the Senate, 'In appreciation of his sterling service to the city', as the Consul said at the unveiling ceremony. Cicerius, while publicly deploring the use of public funds for such a reason, is in reality as pleased as a man can be. It's rumoured he instigated the campaign to have the statue erected in the first place. On the plinth there's a quotation from one of his speeches: 'The true mark of a man is not what he achieves, but what he strives for.' Good advice, maybe. Cicerius has been striving for that statue for a long time.

'You are investigating on behalf of Senator Lodius?'

I nod. Cicerius looks thoughtful, and remains silent for a long time.

'The King himself has authorised the prosecution/ he says, eventually.

'I imagined that was the case.'

'It means you'll find a lot of difficulties put in your way. The King and Consul Kalius both wish to see justice done swiftly. No official in Turai is going to offer any help.'

'They never do,' I say. 'If you're trying to put me off, Cicerius, you're wasting your time.

'I am not trying to put you off. It was I who recommended you to the Senator's wife.'

'I'd have expected you to be cheering on the prosecution, not helping with the defence.'

'I do not intend to help with the defence,' says Cicerius, sharply. 'But I wish to ensure that the matter is properly investigated.'

Are you telling me that Lodius is facing a phoney charge and your conscience is bothering you?'

Cicerius glares at me. He's seconds away from giving me a lecture about my manners but he restrains himself, probably because he has more important things to be getting on with.

'No. There is some evidence against the Senator. How strong it is, I'm not certain. If he's guilty I won't be displeased to be rid of him. Senator Lodius is a disgrace to the city and has caused us great harm over the years. Now, with the enemy practically at the gates, he's a disruptive force we could well do without. Yet. . .'

Cicerius lets the next sentence hang in the air. I catch his drift. The Deputy Consul is one of the few politicians in the city with any real integrity. He might be rather too keen to see himself publicly honoured, but he's never taken a bribe. Even though it would suit him to have Lodius out of the way, he can't bring himself to see an injustice done.

'My assistant Hansius will appraise you of the details. After which you will be permitted to visit Senator Lodius. Meanwhile, I think it best if you step down from the Lesser War Council. Everyone is appalled at the tragic events of the last meeting. It may be awkward if one of the members were to be involved in defending the perpetrator of the crime.'

Alleged perpetrator.'

As you say. Alleged perpetrator.'

Cicerius nods, and strides out of the room. Off to admire his new statue, I expect. He doesn't wish me luck.

Chapter Nine

The evidence against Senator Lodius isn't especially strong but it might be strong enough to hang him if a better suspect doesn't come along. According to Hansius, information from the government's Sorcerers is inconclusive. The alignment of the moons has allowed them to look back in time but the results are murky. There were just too many people around to allow for a clear sight of every action. No one can say for sure if Lodius put poison in the food. Old Hasius the Brilliant is a master of examining the past but even his best efforts haven't managed to locate the precise moment when the pastry was poisoned. Too many people passed by the food and even the best sorcery can't pick up every detail of every movement by every person in a crowded room. If Lodius did slip something into the pastry it can't be proved by sorcery.

Hasius has examined the remains of the pastry. Of course he's picked up the aura of Lodius from it but that doesn't prove anything. Lodius isn't claiming he never touched the poisoned food. He admits handing it to Prefect Galwinius, but claims he simply picked it up from the food trolley, not knowing it was poisoned. Also on the pastry were the auras of the kitchen staff, Lodius's assistant, Galwinius, a Senator who picked up the pastry before changing his mind and putting it back on the trolley, and various others who have not yet been identified. It's surprising how many people touched that pastry before it was eaten. Given the enthusiastic way I attacked the food trolleys, it's fortunate I didn't pick it up myself.

According to Hansius, no one at the Abode of Justice believes that Lodius picked up the pastry by chance. If that were true it would seem to imply that an^tem of food was randomly poisoned and left on the food trolley for anyone to take. This doesn't make sense, unless the kitchen staff were feeling particularly murderous that day, but then these things generally don't make sense until you dig a little deeper. Just because there isn't another good suspect in view doesn't mean my client is guilty.

I point out to Hansius that the natural conclusion a person might draw from Senator Lodius ending up with a poisoned pastry on his plate is that someone was trying to poison the Senator. Hansius is shocked, or pretends to be.

'The Traditionals do not poison their political opponents.'

That's true, as far as I know, though I wouldn't swear they haven't had a few of them assassinated by other means.

The poison used was carasin, which is rare in these parts. It comes from a plant that grows far south of here, and ingestion is always fatal. It only has one other use, as far as anyone knows, which is as a binding agent in the manufacture of coloured vellum, the sort of thing ladies might use for writing fancy messages to their lovers.

'That looks very bad for Senator Lodius.'

'Why?'

'Because he owns the only workshop in Turai which manufactures coloured vellum. It is the source of much of his wealth.'

'So? Anyone could have got hold of carasin.'

Hansius doesn't think so. Senator Lodius's family holds the exclusive licence for the import of the substance. The licence was granted to Lodius's father back in the days when the family hadn't taken sides against the Traditionals. Hansius is impressed with this as evidence. I'm not.

'So Lodius is the only legal importer of carasin into Turai. A pastry poisoned with carasin ends up killing Galwinius. That sounds like someone is trying to frame my client.'

'Your client handed over the pastry. And he's the only importer.'

'Then it's a good frame. But it isn't.proof of his guilt. What's his motive?'

'The enormous law suit Galwinius was bringing against him,' says Hansius, quite smugly.

I purse my lips. There is, of course, the enormous law suit.

'You are familiar with the details?' asks Hansius.

'Run it by me again.'

'Prefect Galwinius was about to prosecute Senator Lodius for forging a will. The deceased, Comosius, died in Abelasi last year, leaving a large fortune. Comosius was a cousin of Prefect Galwinius, and as he died without issue the Prefect, as head of the family, had expected to inherit the estate. However, Senator Lodius produced a will which purported to show that Comosius left his entire estate to him. The Prefect alleged the will was a forgery, made in Abelasi at the behest of Senator Lodius. The case was about to be put to the courts and in the mean time the money has been frozen. The court case ends with the death of GaLwinius, which means that Lodius now inherits the money. You must admit that this is a strong motive and gives credence to the charge of murder.'

I admit it's a motive of sorts. The forging of wills, particularly of people who die abroad, is a long-standing problem. Prefect Galwinius wouldn't have been the first one to have been cheated out of money in this manner. But it seems unlikely to me that Senator Lodius would involve himself in an affair like this. He must know that the authorities have it in for him. Why run the risk? He's a wealthy man

'Senator Lodius's political campaigns have eaten deep into his family fortune in the past years,' says Hansius. And investigations by the Abode of Justice reveal him to be short of the money he needs to carry on.'

I leave with a lot to think about. Makri meets me at the gate and we climb back into the landus. She doesn't seem to mind that she's been waiting. She's been studying the architecture around her.

'Vaulted arches?'

A few. And a lot of other things. It's strange how the palace and all the buildings around it are so fine and Twelve Seas is such a dump. Why does the population still like the King?'

'That's a hard question to answer. Because they always have, I suppose. And he's a symbol of the nation.'

'He keeps himself very comfortable.'

'That's what kings do.'

'What did you learn from Hansius?'

'Sorcerous evidence is inconclusive but Prefect Galwinius was killed with a poison which only Lodius imports into Turai. Galwinius was about to prosecute Lodius for forging a will to get his hands on a lot of money. Lodius needs the money because he's broke. Now Galwinius is dead he gets to keep the money.'

'Strong motives,' says Makri.

'Maybe.'

'You think he's innocent?'

'Of course he's innocent. He's my client.'

Makri says there's some backwards logic going on here. I ignore this. Logic is for her philosophy classes. When it comes to a client, I go on my intuition.

And my intuition is telling me Lodius is innocent.'

Makri looks me in the eyes.

'You're lying.'

I'm shocked. Makri isn't sophisticated enough to know when I'm lying.

'I am not lying.'

'You are. After careful observation I can read the signs.'

'Rubbish. You've a lot to learn about lying in the civilised world. My intuition tells me that Lodius is innocent.'

Makri shrugs.

'Okay.'

My intuition isn't telling me a thing. For all I know, Lodius could have packed the pastry with carasin and fed it to Galwinius with a smile on his face. I hope he didn't. I hate it when my clients turn out to be murderers. It makes things awkward.

On the journey home the air is noticeably colder. I shiver and draw my cloak around me. As I climb the stairs to my office, the first flake of snow settles gently on my sleeve. Winter is here. Tomorrow I'll have to put a warming spell on my cloak before I visit Senator Lodius.

In deference to his rank, the Senator will not be held in jail while he awaits trial. He's been placed under house arrest. Humiliating for a man of his class, but not as bad as languishing for months in a cell with common criminals. Justice in Turai can move painfully slowly and there's little prospect of Lodius coming in front of a judge before the winter is over. The preliminary hearings normally wouldn't start till the weather improved. It's possible, I suppose, that the Consul might call a special session earlier in an attempt to get the matter over with quickly. Lodius has a lot of support in Turai and his party aren't going to take kindly to these events. The Consul will be hoping that the oncoming bad weather and the impending attack by the Ores will keep the lid on any civil unrest, but he can't be sure of it.

Reflecting that, in the circumstances, an early trial isn't that unlikely, I drag myself out of bed the next morning a good deal earlier than I'd like to. I set about placing the warming spell on my cloak. This is one of the few sorcerous acts I'm still able to perform, and with the Turanian winter being so grim, it's proved to be a life-saver in recent years. Then I head out into the first day of winter to clear the name of Senator Lodius, archenemy of the Consul.

At such an early hour there's no sign of a landus and I have to walk a long way up Moon and Stars Boulevard before I can find anyone to take me to Thamlin. The streets are busy with early activity as the city's traders try to make the best of the last few weeks in which they can trade. When winter really sets in, little business can be done. Ships are already hurrying into the docks, their captains relieved to have made it home safely before the storms arrive. The last wagons carrying goods from the south will soon be rolling in through the city gates. Both land and sea around Turai will soon be impassable. If the weather is particularly severe, the city itself is difficult to move around in. It's my ambition every winter to have enough money saved to enable me to avoid work completely, spending my time in front of the roaring fire at the Avenging Axe with a beer in one hand and a tray of food in the other. It rarely works out that way.

For someone facing a charge of murder, Senator Lodius doesn't seem particularly pleased to see the man who's about to investigate on his behalf. He's far less hospitable than his wife, and informs me that he's not certain I'm the right man for the job.

'This matter is obviously part of some plot by the Traditionals to discredit me and you don't have the right connections among the senatorial classes to investigate it properly. Furthermore, I do not approve of you bringing a woman with Orcish blood into this house. My shrine is at this moment being purified as a result of her presence.'

Like many of Turai's democratic politicians, Lodius is a terrible snob. With his short grey hair and perfectly folded toga he's every inch the Senator, and his manner strongly suggests that he'd rather not be spending his time in my company.

'I didn't approve of you blackmailing me last winter. So we're even. Maybe you want to tell me some facts about the case?'

'I understand you were recommended to my wife by Deputy Consul Cicerius? Hardly a recommendation she should have taken, one would have thought, given the man's antipathy towards me. Are you in his pay?'

I'm rapidly becoming annoyed by his attitude. I don't expect my clients to love me, but no Investigator likes being branded a spy. Remembering that his wife was very polite to me, I persevere.

'No.'

'So you say.'

'What are you insinuating?'

'That the Deputy Consul would be pleased to have an informer in my household as he prepares his case against me.'

'Senator Lodius, no amount of money would induce me to spy on a client.'

'You are claiming to be an honest man?' The Senator chuckles. And yet when I needed your services last winter, it did not seem so difficult to make you do as I wished.'

I'm now struggling to avoid abusing Lodius. I've taken his wife's money. He's my client. I make a final attempt.

'Perhaps you could tell me some details of the matter of the will? The one which Galwinius was about to prosecute you for?'

Lodius's face hardens.

'You will not investigate that matter.'

I'll have to. It's part of the case.' 'I repeat. You will not investigate it.' 'I have to. You're facing a murder charge, Senator Lodius. If I'm going to get to the bottom of it I can't miss out on parts of the story.'

'No doubt the Deputy Consul will be pleased to hear all the details of my affairs you may learn from me,' sneers Lodius.

I'm grossly insulted by the notion that I might be secretly working for the Deputy Consul.

'Lodius, you're a fool. You're going to hang and I'm the one person in the city who might prevent it.'

'What you are,' says Senator Lodius, 'is a man who's facing a charge of throwing away his shield and deserting the battlefield.' 'What?'

'Which would be an excellent reason for you to work for Cicerius. No doubt he has promised to drop the charges in return for spying on me.'

I take three steps towards Lodius then push him, using all my weight. The Senator flies into the far wall and slumps to the ground. He's on his feet quickly, an expression of fury on his face. 'How dare you lay a hand on me!' 'Consider yourself lucky. If you weren't my client I'd have punched your head off.'

I march out of the room and head for home. I'm madder than a mad dragon. When I find myself in dispute with a wool merchant over a landus in Moon and Stars Boulevard I bounce him out of the way without mercy. I can't believe I've just been accused of such a vile piece of treachery. Lodius is fortunate I didn't run him through. I pull my warm cloak around me and stare through the window of the landus. Snow is falling lightly. The wind's blowing in from the east. For the first time I can almost sense the Orcish troops massing. My sorcerous powers were never great, but the training left me with my intuition enhanced, or so I like to think. I can feel the Ores marshalling their armies.

I wonder if there's any equivalent to an Investigator in Prince Amrag's kingdom, maybe tramping the streets trying to clear some Orcish aristocrat of murder. I doubt it. Makri, one of the only people in Turai with any real experience of Orcish society, claims their level of civilisation is not so primitive as we Humans like to think. Maybe she's right. Even so, I've never heard of an Orcish Investigator. If such a creature does exist, he has my sympathy.

'How were things with the Senator?' enquires Gurd, as I reach the bar and hold my hand out for a refreshing tankard of ale.

'I knocked him over.'

'No, I mean your client.'

'That's who I'm talking about.'

Gurd looks puzzled.

'I didn't think you were meant to do that.'

'Well, it's not recommended,' I admit. 'But some clients, you have to beat them into shape.'

'We didn't have Investigators in the north,' says Gurd. 'But we didn't have much crime. Maybe someone stole seal blubber from a neighbouring village every now and then.'

Gurd sighs.

'I don't suppose I'll ever see the old village again.'

'Why not?'

'Come on, Thraxas. What're the chances of anyone surviving this war?'

Makri appears in the bar wearing her normal garb, a man's short tunic. She's accompanied by Hanama and another woman I don't recognise. They walk up the staircase without acknowledging us.

'Were they being furtive?' I ask Gurd.

'I don't think so.'

'They looked furtive to me. I don't trust Hanama. Any time she's with Makri something bad is going to happen.'

'You mean an assassination?'

I shake my head.

'No. Hanama wouldn't share her guild work with anyone. But something bad.'

Gurd nods.

'Where I come from, a woman like Hanama wouldn't be running around assassinating people. She'd be at home, cooking seal blubber.'

'And a good thing too. The city of Turai could learn a lot from your village, Gurd.'

I wonder what Makri is up to. I know she isn't teaching Hanama to read. The diminutive assassin is already an educated woman. Ever since the Senator's wife Herminis was sentenced to death, Makri's been acting strangely.

'Do you think they might be collecting money for an appeal?'

'Who?'

'The Association of Gentlewomen.'

The very mention of the name causes Gurd to frown.

'She'd better not collect money for that organisation in this tavern.'

Few men in Turai have any sympathy for the Association of Gentlewomen. The King doesn't like them, the Consul doesn't like them, and nor does the Senate. Tavern owners and Investigators likewise have very little sympathy.

'Herminis killed her husband,' I point out. 'What do they expect the city to do? Give her a medal?'

'Scandalous,' agrees Gurd, shaking his head. 'She deserves to be hanged.'

'Of course she does.'

'But only last month Senator Divanius was allowed to go into exile after he pushed his wife downstairs,' says Tanrose, appearing unexpectedly at our side.

'That was completely different,' I say. 'Divanius was a war hero.'

'So?'

'You can't go executing war heroes. It's bad for the city. Especially with the Ores at the door.'

'It's shocking hypocrisy,' says Tanrose, transferring her gaze to Gurd.

'That's just what I was telling Thraxas,' agrees Gurd. 'Back in my village, we treated women better.'

I'm shocked, rendered speechless by Gurd's base treachery. Tanrose puts her arm round his shoulders.

'Thraxas, you should learn from Gurd. You're too stuck in your old ways. The city's changing.'

Having had more than enough of this, I take my beer to the table in front of the fire and sit down to ruminate on my investigation. It's a very comfortable chair. After some moments' rumination, I drift off to sleep.

Chapter Ten

Two weeks later winter has the city in its grip. Snow is lying on the ground and the wind from the northeast is bitterly cold. It promises to be a hard season. This might not be such a bad thing. The Ores certainly can't march till it's over, something that Lisutaris is apparently still concerned about. No other Sorcerer or politician believes this to be at all likely, or so I understand. Now that my services are no longer required on the Lesser War Council, I don't hear all the latest talk. What snippets of sorcerous gossip I do hear come mainly from Astrath Triple Moon. My old friend Astrath is in permanent disgrace due to some indiscretions on his part when he was the official Sorcerer at the Stadium Superbius - Astrath not proving to be as incorruptible as the position demanded - but as he wasn't actually expelled from the Sorcerers Guild he still hears some of the news.

I think old Astrath might actually be looking forward to the war. He's bound to be called into action and might well get the chance to redeem himself, if he can bring down a dragon or two. Sorcerers are too valuable in wartime for any to be left out. There's even talk of Kemlath Ore Slayer being recalled. He's in exile for murder at this moment, but he was a tremendous asset during the last war.

According to Astrath, Lisutaris is out on a limb with her theory that Prince Amrag might march in the

I winter. Apparently it's led to a lessening of her influence on the War Council. Ovinian the True has reported adversely on her performance to the King. Prince Dees-Akan, in overall command of the Council, has been heard to say in private that perhaps the head of the Sorcerers Guild is losing her grip.

As for war preparations, they're proceeding reasonably well. The entire west is in a state of alert and the response to the call hasn't been as poor as the more pessimistic among us feared. Simnia, the large state to the west of Turai, will send an army as soon as winter breaks. The League of City States has managed to put aside some of its differences and each of the small member states is making preparations. The League will assemble an army under the control of the Abelasian General Hiffier, who's respected far and wide for his endeavours in the last war. Troops from further west -Hadassa, Kamara and others - should be arriving not long after the Simnians. Even Nioj seems to be co-operating. The eastern borders of Nioj aren't too far from the Orcish Lands but they're protected by a mountainous barrier which no army can penetrate. However, if the Ores march into Turai, there's nothing to stop them from turning north and heading into Nioj from the south. That being the case, the Niojans would rather make a first defence on Turanian soil than their own.

The Elves have sent word that they'll sail up from the south as soon as the seas are calm enough. Turai has good relations with most of the Elvish nations and we can depend on them. All over the west and south, states are arming themselves for war. Which is good news for Turai. Turai is the natural focus of any attack from the east. Once through the narrow stretch of land which makes up the city state of Turai, the Ores could flood into the rest of the west, which is why even the Simnians, who don't like us, are prepared to defend the line here. Thanks to Lisutaris's early warning, we might yet throw the enemy back.

The standing army of the city state of Turai is very small. At times of national crisis all able-bodied men are obliged to enlist. If weather allows, there will be training in phalanx manoeuvring outside the city walls. This is something which has been unfortunately neglected in recent years, though most men in Turai have seen military service of some sort. Any man over thirty, no matter what his position now, will at one time have picked up his sword and spear and marched into battle. Most of them will have been expecting to do it again, some day.

To bolster our forces, mercenaries are being recruited and the city's population is starting to swell. Mostly they arrive either singly or in small companies, but the King has managed to hire a large contingent several thousand strong, from Sumark, far to the north. They marched in before winter set in and are quartered at the Stadium Superbius, just outside the city walls.

With so many mercenaries in the city, Makri is permanently busy at the tables, which prevents her from complaining too much about her college being closed for winter. Instead she complains about the mercenaries' manners. After a few early skirmishes, they've now learned to respect her. The Avenging Axe is doing a fine trade. This pleases Gurd, as do his frequent encounters with old companions he's fought with in the past. When they recognise their former comrade now employed as a landlord, they laugh, bang their fists on the tables and demand to know what an old soldier is doing serving beer for a living.

'Doing well, you dogs,' bellows Gurd. And don't worry about me, when the Ores arrive I'll be cutting them down while you weaklings are still in your beds.'

Gurd picks up his axe from behind the bar and brandishes it to show he's lost none of his prowess. The mercenaries roar with laughter, drink heavily, and ogle Makri. Makri has a purse slung round her neck in which she puts her tips, and I'd say she was doing better than she has for a while. The war is good business, at least for the taverns and the brothels.

Tanrose and Gurd seem to be reconciled. Maybe not in immediate danger of getting married but at least friendly again. As a result of this - and the upturn in business - Gurd ceases to be as miserable as a Niojan whore and once more becomes the cheerful Barbarian with whom I marched all over the world. It's a welcome change. As is the return of Tanrose to the kitchen. For the first time in months I'm well fed. Facing extra demands for food, Tanrose has retained the services of Elsior and is teaching her the proper art of cooking. A commendable idea, as I point out to Makri. If Tanrose gets killed in the war I'll still be able to get a decent plate of stew.

Are you going to be a troop commander or anything?' Makri enquires.

A commander? Me? I doubt it.'

'But you're a Tribune. You're on the Lesser War Council. And you've got wartime experience.'

'All good points,' I agree. 'Except I got thrown off the Council. And the rest doesn't count for much in this city. All the commanders come from the senatorial class. No one with "ax" or "ox" in his name ever got promoted in the Turanian army. Anyway, since I took on the defence of Senator Lodius I've been frozen out. I'm about as welcome as an Ore at an Elvish wedding up in Thamlin. I've spent three weeks investigating the case, and I've hardly learned a thing.'

'Why are you still on the case? Lodius doesn't want you.'

'I was hired by his wife. I took her money. Lodius is my client whether he likes it or not.'

That's the theory anyway. In practice I'm making little progress. My investigation has been blocked on all sides. Any official I want to talk to is either busy or not available. The city authorities are keen to pin the murder on Lodius and it's not hard to see why. Lodius has so much support from all parts of the disaffected population that they haven't dared to move against him before. Now, with the Ores practically at the gates and the population rallying round the flag, it's the one really good opportunity the King and his party will get to put Lodius away. If the Traditionals had tried to pin a murder on Lodius at any other time, the city would've been torn apart by rioting. But now, they might just get away with it.

'So let him hang,' says Makri.

'I can't. Not if he's innocent.'

Makri shrugs. Any time Makri suspects I might be following some sort of ethical code she laughs, and points out the numerous occasions on which I've acted with a notable lack of ethics. I don't know if she means it. She's an ethical woman herself, in her way.

'You're not really so bothered by that, are you? I mean, whether he's innocent or not? You just hate to give up on a client.'

'Maybe.'

'I can understand that,' says Malm. 'Sometimes in the arena they sent me in with a partner. I never liked it when they got killed. I used to protect them. Kill their opponents for them. Sometimes, anyway. But maybe that was just because I liked killing.'

'You liked killing?'

'Of course.'

'You must be looking forward to the war.'

'I am.'

'We're quite likely to get killed ourselves,' I point out.

Makri shrugs. She doesn't care about dying, as long as she has the opportunity to kill a lot of Ores. Makri's hatred for Ores is very intense.

I'm pondering my next step in the investigation. Thanks to Astrath Triple Moon, I've seen the best pictures available to the Sorcerers Guild when they tried looking into the past. We didn't fare much better than Old Hasius the Brilliant. There are too many people around and nothing is really clear. Astrath is slightly puzzled. By his calculations, the alignments of the moons at the time of the crime should allow for better sorcerous examination.

'Is something blocking it?'

Astrath doesn't think so.

'The pictures aren't as clear as I'd expect, but sometimes that just happens. Sorcerers can't explain everything.'

Astrath Triple Moon's pictures do tell me more than Hansius did. Lodius spent some time hanging round in the corridor before the meeting, which looks bad for him. But there was plenty of movement in that corridor: Senators walking this way and that, engrossed in private discussions; Praetor Capatius engaged in some sort of debate with Prefect Drinius, and joined by Cicerius and Hansius; Consul Kalius and his assistant Bevarius talking to Rittius. There's no sign of anything suspicious, however, and none of them entered the kitchen, as far as can be seen.

With official avenues blocked, I've been visiting supporters of Lodius, trying to make some sort of breakthrough from a different angle, but even that's proving difficult. Lodius's supporters are themselves suspicious of me. They know that the Senator doesn't trust me.

I did manage to speak to the man responsible for cooking the pastry which killed Prefect Galwinius. And in some ways my visit to the consular kitchens was very rewarding. Erisox, the man in charge, is a master chef and not too stingy at dishing out samples. From the moment I first tasted his food I recognised him as great man and it was a pleasure to meet him. We talked of pastry, venison, fish, yams, and other items of interest. He enjoys all aspects of food, and just because he spends a lot of time making fancy little dishes for the Consul's guests doesn't mean he disregards the importance of a hearty bowl of stew in winter.

Unfortunately, great man or not, he couldn't tell me anything about the murder. He swore that no stranger had entered his kitchen. I questioned him fairly intensely on the matter but he was adamant. No one had disturbed him as he prepared the food and he hadn't left the kitchen for any reason.

I'm inclined to believe him. I trust a man with such a great talent for food preparation. But of course Erisox couldn't see what happened to his pastries after they left the kitchen. The food was taken out on trolleys, some of which were left in the corridor for a space of time before being brought into the meeting room. I wish that Lodius hadn't been hanging round in the corridor, without a good explanation for why he was there.

I tried following up the carasin angle, attempting to find out who else might have brought some of the poison into the city, but the trail led nowhere. I've learned quite a lot about the manufacture of vellum, but other than that, nothing. It's the sort of task which really requires the services of a large body like the Civil Guard, but that's not going to happen. Guardsman Jevox, one of my few contacts in the force, told me at once that I was wasting my time nosing round the Guards. No Civil Guard is helping me on this one.

The one aspect of the case I've made progress on is the matter of Galwinius's law suit against Lodius over the matter of the forged will. Officials at the Abode of Justice weren't shy about handing over details of that and it looks bad for Lodius. Statements taken in Abelasi and a Sorcerer's report on the will both suggest that there was an attempt to defraud Galwinius. Given that the beneficiary of the fraud was Lodius, he would have had a hard time explaining the matter to a judge. But again, the Traditionals had it in for Lodius. Who's to say

Galwinius wasn't participating in some plot cooked up in the Palace to discredit him? Till I've made more investigations, I'm keeping an open mind on the matter.

One straw I've succeeded in clutching is that there are several other people in Turai who might well have been pleased to see Prefect Galwinius dead. The Society of Friends, for instance. They control all organised crime in the north of the city and Galwinius had just closed down two houses of ill repute which bordered on Thamlin. It's possible the Society might have taken revenge. Organised crime hasn't previously dared to assassinate such a senior politician but as their wealth has grown, so has their ruthlessness. I don't really think that they'd risk murdering a Prefect, but it's a sign of the confusion in the city that there are people who are prepared to believe it might be true. Just like there are people prepared to believe that the Association of Gentlewoman organised Galwinius's murder because he refused to commute Herminis's death sentence. .

Whilst mulling this over with a beer in one hand and a venison pie in the other, I'm suddenly struck on the back by a blow which sends me thudding into the bar and causes me to drop my pie. I turn round angrily with my hand on the hilt of my sword to find myself confronted by a huge man with long blond hair, a bushy grey beard and a scar on his face from temple to chin.

'Viriggax!'

'Thraxas, you dog! Come to sign up for the fight?'

'Worse. I live here.'

'You live here?'

'That's not all,' I add. 'Gurd's the landlord!'

'The landlord?'

Viriggax howls with laughter and pounds me another friendly blow on the shoulder. I pound him back.

'It's good to see you!'

Viriggax is a mercenary from some godforsaken island in the frozen north. I've fought many a battle in his company. I haven't seen him for twelve years or so but he doesn't seem to have changed, apart from maybe growing a little in every direction. He's got an axe strapped to his back that could chop a horse in half and a great iron shield slung casually over his shoulder. When he spots Gurd he lets out a roar that can be heard over the din in the tavern. Gurd looks round. His face breaks into a joyous, craggy smile and he hurries over.

'You run this hostelry?' demands Viriggax.

'I do,' replies Gurd.

'Then where's the beer?' roars Viriggax, who, I remember, never likes to talk quietly.

Viriggax looks towards the bar. His brow wrinkles as he sights Dandelion, who today has chosen to weave a circlet of leaves in her hair, defying both fashion and common sense.

'What is that?'

'One of my barmaids,' admits Gurd, apologetically, and winces as Dandelion steps out from the bar, revealing her lack of foot attire. Before Viriggax can comment, Makri waltzes past in her tiny chainmail bikini with a tray of drinks on her arm. Viriggax's jaw sags as he takes in her copper-coloured skin and pointed ears

'Have the Ores got here already?'

'Just another of my staff,' explains Gurd, uncomfortably.

'By the northern Gods, this is an odd place you have here, Gurd. Girls with no shoes and Ores with no clothes!'

Viriggax slaps his thigh and laughs mightily.

'That's what you get for living in the city! No life for a man! Now where's the beer, I've got a powerful thirst from travelling!'

Gurd calls for beer from Dandelion, clears us a table and we sit down to talk about the war and catch up on old times. Three or four ales later we're deep into a series of reminiscences.

'You remember those Juvalians who tried to cheat us at cards? We showed them a thing or two!'

'Or what about the time Thraxas fell into a ravine and we couldn't find him for two days?'

'He didn't want to shout for help because he had all the food with him. I swear he was happy to stay in that hole till the supplies ran out!'

'It was safer down there than up at the front with you! Viriggax, you're lagging behind. You northerners never could hold your ale.'

'What?' bawls Viriggax, emptying his tankard and banging it down on the table. 'I'll show you how a northerner can drink! More ale!'

Some hours later I've forgotten all about Senator Lodius. In fact I've forgotten about most things and am as happy as an Elf in a tree. I launch into a powerful rendition of the Turanian bowmen's drinking song - not that I was ever a bowman, but it's a fine song with a strong melody, and a chorus that requires a lot of banging of tankards on tables. I'm just getting to the verse where the enemy dragons are brought crashing from the sky, cut down by our mighty arrows, when the door of the tavern swings open and a messenger enters with an even more extravagant bunch of flowers than was previously delivered.

'Makri? Delivery for Makri?'

Makri is at the bar getting her tray loaded up so Gurd calls the messenger over and takes the flowers on to our table, something which I can sense is a bad mistake.

Gurd has a lot of ale inside him and may not be think' ing that clearly.

'What's this?' demands Viriggax, who's looking rather bloated around the face after consuming enough beer to float a trireme. He fingers the card that accompanies the enormous bunch of flowers.

'Orcish writing?'

'From Horm, I expect,' sighs Gurd.

Viriggax looks puzzled as he tries to work out exactly what this means. Makri, meanwhile, having been alerted by Dandelion, is hurrying over. She arrives just as it dawns on Viriggax who Makri is, and who Horm is.

'Your barmaid receives flowers from an Orc lord?' he cries, and stands up abruptly, pushing back his chair. 'What sort of traitorous establishment are you running here?'

'Traitorous?' yells Gurd, and leaps to his feet, or tries to. Actually his legs get tangled under the table and he's a little slow from alcohol so it takes him a while to get vertical. But once he's up, he's a formidable sight.

'That's what I think of Orcish flowers!' bellows Viriggax, sweeping them on to the floor.

'Hey, those were mine!' yells Makri.

'How dare you abuse my barmaid's flowers!' shouts Gurd.

'I'm getting completely fed up with Horm sending you flowers,' I tell Makri. 'It's really starting to get on my nerves.'

'I never asked for them!' protests Makri, before turning swiftly back to Viriggax and abusing him roundly for daring to touch her property.

A band of northern mercenaries are gathering behind Viriggax in case he needs some assistance. Viriggax is temporarily stunned by the ferocity of Makri's abuse but it doesn't take long for him to recover his voice. In no time a series of grim mercenary and Orcish curses are flying over the table.

'Excuse me,' says Dandelion, arriving at this moment and dropping to her knees to scramble round on the floor. 'I think I can still rescue the flowers if I get them into a vase of water.'

'I don't want them rescued!' screams Makri. 'I hate the flowers!'

'Sure, that's what you say now,' I shout. 'But I'm starting to think you're quite pleased to be getting them.'

'I am not!'

'The woman is a traitor!' roars Viriggax

'Don't you call my barmaid a traitor!' roars back Gurd.

'I never thought I'd see the day when Gurd of the North took the side of an Orcish bitch!'

There's only about half a second before the tavern explodes but in that half a second I have time to mentally sigh, clap my hand to my forehead and wonder why it is that my life has brought me to this. Now I have to fight my old comrade Viriggax, just because Makri has an unreasonable dislike of being called an Orcish bitch.

As soon as the words are out of Viriggax's mouth Makri leaps on the table and kicks him in the chest with such force that Viriggax is sent sprawling back into his companions. After that, the tavern erupts into a bar-room brawl the like of which I haven't seen since the Brotherhood and the Society of Friends went head to head for control of the Blind Horse in Kushni. Viriggax's companions pile in on top of Makri, I pile in on top of ' them, Gurd joins in, and the rest of the mercenaries in the tavern, not wishing to miss a good fight, pick sides at random and weigh in with their fists.

Shouts, screams, battle-cries and oaths come from every direction as the bar degenerates into a heaving mass of struggling bodies. Chairs and tables are picked up as weapons and splinters of wood fly over our heads. I pound my fist on the back of some monstrous mercenary who's attempting to attack Makri from behind and am immediately brought down by a blow from a table leg that causes me to sag at the knees. My assailant attempts to bring the lump of wood down on my head but is halted by Makri, who spins round and strikes him a blow on the temple that drops him to the floor. Gurd uses his mighty fists to beat a path through to us and the next thing we find ourselves surrounded by a solid circle of angry-looking northerners, all long blond hair, beards, and muscular arms.

'Get back, you scum!' I yell, picking up a chair and brandishing it fiercely. 'The first man to move gets—'

A shuddering assault on my left flank prevents me from completing the sentence. I wince, then hit my attacker with the chair.

'Ah!' yells Gurd, with relish. 'Like the old days!' Gurd is brawling with such enthusiasm that's he's forgotten it's his furniture that's being reduced to matchwood. He disappears under three mercenaries. There's a moment's heaving, then, like a volcano suddenly erupting, the three northerners find themselves tossed into the air as Gurd wrenches himself free and weighs in again with his fists.

After this, things get worse. I find myself next to a mercenary from the south who's decided to take our side and we use our combined body weight to good effect until three northerners drive a wedge between us with the remains of a table and I'm forced back against the wall, punching furiously in every direction. Makri, at something of a disadvantage in the close struggle due to her lack of weight, nonetheless proves her worth, leaping, twisting and turning to keep herself out of trouble while lashing out with the sort of blows she learned during her years as a gladiator. Undefeated champion between the ages of thirteen and nineteen, as she's fond of saying. Unfortunately she finds herself trapped in a corner, and when I see her hand flicker towards her boot, where she generally keeps a knife, I know that things are about to go too far. It's against the unwritten rules to use weapons in a bar-room brawl such as this, but Makri has little regard for rules when it comes to fighting. She'll quite certainly kill her opponent before conceding defeat. I'm considering using my sleep spell to settle things, though this does go against the grain. A good bar-room brawl shouldn't be settled by magic. The decision is taken out of my hands as shrill whistles sound outside and the Civil Guards start pouring into the room.

The fight gradually subsides as the uniformed men fill up the bar, separating the combatants and waving their batons.

Captain Rallee steps forward. He briefly survey the wreckage. All over the room bodies lie groaning on the floor and there's hardly a person standing who's not bruised and bleeding.

'What's this all about?' demands the Captain, looking towards Gurd. Gurd shrugs. Though he's normally on good terms with the Captain, he's not going to start complaining to the Civil Guards about a fight in his tavern, not when the fight could be classified as a small dispute among friends. The Captain turns his gaze towards me. We also used to be on good terms, though it's waned in recent years.

'Did you start this?'

'Me? I was hardly involved at all.'

Captain Rallee looks uncertain. He doesn't like trouble on his beat but the Avenging Axe isn't an establishment that generally causes him trouble. He's not sure whether to let it go or start rounding us all up.

Suddenly Viriggax steps forward, grinning effusively.

A small dispute among friends, Captain,' he says, loudly. 'Nothing more.'

'What sort of small dispute?'

'We were discussing flowers.'

As Viriggax says this, his companions burst into raucous laughter, and Viriggax himself howls with delight. Northern mercenaries are not entirely lacking a sense of the ridiculous. Makri is looking on suspiciously from the side of the room. Viriggax strides over to her, throws one extremely brawny arm around her shoulders and turns towards the Captain.

'This young woman and I were simply discussing the merits of various floral arrangements when things got out of hand.'

The enormous northerner, towering over Makri, beams down at her. Obviously, having been kicked across the room by her, he now considers her a worthy companion.

Captain Rallee glares at Makri.

'I might have known you'd be involved. If you want to stay in the city, keep out of trouble.'

He turns to Gurd.

And if you want to keep your licence, no more fights. We've got enough to do round here without you making it worse.'

Captain Rallee signals to his men and they depart as abruptly as they arrived. It's true that the Captain does have a lot to do. With the huge increase in crime in the past few years, the Guards are stretched, particularly in a bad area like Twelve Seas. As the city is now full of mercenaries, things are worse than ever.

Having had a good fight, Viriggax is now as happy as a drunken mercenary. Which, of course, he is. He pulls out a fat purse from his tunic.

'Drinks for everyone!' he yells. 'Now we've shaken the dust from our feet, we'll show those Orcish dogs a thing or two if they dare to attack this city!'

Chapter Eleven

The Text day I wake with the sort of hangover that makes a man realise the foolishness of all alcoholic beverages. I stumble from my bedroom to my office and grope for my supply of lesada leaves, which are carefully wrapped in silk in the bottom drawer of my desk. I place one of the small leaves in my mouth, wash it down with water and sit motionless, waiting for it to do its work.

The lesada plant grows only on the Elvish Isles. The Elves use it as a healing herb. Since I discovered its properties for curing hangovers I've had reason to bless its existence. It's possibly the finest thing ever to come from the Elvish Isles. Certainly more useful than their epic poetry.

My head is still pounding and it takes me a little while to realise there's a feeble sort of scratching noise at my door. I make my way gingerly over and pull it open. It all seems like a lot of effort and makes me nauseous, a feeling which isn't improved by the sight of Makri trying to crawl into my room, groaning and whimpering pathetically as she inches her way blindly forward. I shake my head sadly. She's not a great drinker. Last night's celebrations were very extensive, and she shouldn't have tried to keep up. By now the lesada leaf

I swallowed is doing its work, allowing me to regard Makri with some pity.

'It's strange really,' I say, looking down at the back of her head as she crawls past. 'Your peculiar mixture of Orcish, Elvish and Human blood seems to let you do most things well. Fine swordswoman, clever student, excellent with languages. And you're not bad with your axe either, though I've seen better. But for some reason it just doesn't seem to let you drink very much.'

'Shut up and give me a lesada leaf, you cusux,' croaks Makri.

'Of course, you're far too skinny, which probably explains some of it. Even so, with all your other attributes it's strange you're such a lightweight. Probably it would be best if you stuck to the weaker brews the women and children drink at public celebrations.'

Makri promises to kill me if I don't stop talking and give her a leaf. Fearing that she's about to vomit on my floor - something about which she would have no qualms -1 make with the leaf. Makri swallows it whole, then lies on the floor groaning and trembling. All in all, it's a shameful performance.

As the leaf does its work, her colour returns to normal.

'I thought I was going to die,' she says. 'What happened last night?'

'Last night? Not a great deal. A drinking competition between myself and some of the more optimistic members of Viriggax's troop. I put them soundly in their place, naturally.'

'Did I participate?'

I laugh, rather mockingly.

'You? In a drinking contest? That's hardly likely. You passed out the fourth time the klee went round. If Gurd hadn't hauled you up to your room you'd still be lying there like a sack of yams.'

Makri scowls, but rises to her feet gracefully. The lesada leaf works quickly on her athletic frame, and after splashing water from my sink over her face and shoulders she declares herself fit for action.

'Another day serving the mercenary hordes. I'm making more money than I have done all year. Are you investigating?'

I shake my head.

'I can't. Today is the first day of troop practice. Weather permitting, my phalanx will be doing manoeuvres.'

'You have a phalanx?'

'Yes. Turanian phalanx number seven. We haven't met each other yet. Me and four hundred and ninety-nine others are going to be drilled in close formation work.'

Makri is interested, as she always is when it comes to fighting.

Are these all experienced men? You don't have a lot of time to learn manoeuvres.'

About half will be experienced. The young men won't be. It's up to us to show them the ropes. And you're right, we don't have a lot of time.'

Up till about ten years ago the whole male population used to do this sort of thing every year, but the city has let it slide recently.

'I think it was Consul Sebernius who stopped the regular drills, after the Honourable Merchants Association complained it was taking men away from their work and costing them money. It's a few years since I've even held a long spear in my hand. I expect it will come back soon enough.'

I pick up a long candle and start brandishing it enthusiastically, demonstrating to Makri how I held back the Ores at the Battle of Gorox River.

'Forced them into the river then slaughtered every one of them.'

'You outnumbered them two to one,' says Makri, who's been reading up on her military history.

'So? You don't stop to count heads when the Ores are coming at you in a phalanx with thirty-foot spears pointing in every direction. My phalanx did a fine job that day. Stayed rock solid, pushed them back and broke their ranks in two.'

I advance across the office with some gusto. The candle slips from my grasp and falls to the floor. I look at it rather ruefully.

'I expect it will all come back with practice.'

I hope it does. It's no easy task manoeuvring a phalanx of five hundred men, keeping everybody in the correct position during advance or retreat. You have to be able to run over rough terrain without breaking formation. A good phalanx will crash into the enemy in an unstoppable wave, or repulse an attack like an immovable wall, but it takes a lot of practice. I'm hoping that we have a competent commander. If it turns out to be some Senator's son who's never seen action, we'll be in trouble.

'What am I going to do in the war?' asks Makri 'They're not going to let me join the army. You know I'm going to fight anyway. Will I just have to walk out there on my own?'

'Difficult, Makri. Apart from Sorcerers, no Turanian women fight. Not officially anyway. I remember one woman joined up last time the Ores attacked. She dressed in men's clothes and fought in the light infantry and no one knew till she was killed and it was time to bury her.'

'Should I do that?'

'I don't think you'd get away with it. She was quite a brawny girl, passed for a man easily enough. You wouldn't. It's difficult. I don't really see where you might fit in.'

As well as the citizens' phalanxes, Senators' cavalry companies and mercenary squadrons there are various brigades of light troops - archers, crossbowmen, light cavalry and such like - but every one is commanded by someone from the senatorial class.

'They're just not going to let you join. But you know, if we suffer defeat in the field and the city comes under siege, no one's going to stop you defending the walls.'

'I'm not waiting till then,' states Makri, emphatically.

I promise to see what I can do. Maybe I can think of some way for Makri to enlist in the army. Really I'd prefer that she didn't. In a full-scale war with the Ores, casualties will be very heavy. I'd rather Makri was safe in the city. If we both enter the battle, it's very unlikely that we'll both survive it. I know from experience. When the last Ore War started I was a young man with a assortment of drinking buddies that could fill a tavern. When it ended I hardly had enough friends to fit round a table. You can't replace the companions of your youth. I still miss them, sometimes.

Winter is not the time for troop practice. It's going to be difficult finding many days that are mild enough to permit it. The authorities shouldn't have allowed this to happen. We're ill prepared. Turai has grown richer in the last decade but it has come at the expense of our defences. Now we're going to suffer for it.

Outside the snow has stopped but it's very cold. Fortunately I have my magic warm cloak which should last for half the day at least. I set off for the area around the Stadium Superbius, outside the city walls to the east, where the military training grounds are. Despite the bad weather, the imminent danger, and the frustrations of my current investigation, I'm feeling surprisingly good. Something about being a soldier again makes me feel alive. As I make my way through the Varquinius Gate I'm almost cheerful. When I find myself in the company of others I've fought with in the past, some of them men I haven't seen for fifteen years, I start to think that if I have to die in the upcoming war, it's not such a bad way to go. Maybe better than growing old and dying poor in Twelve Seas.

On reaching the appointed place, just south of the stadium, I join with the five hundred men of phalanx number seven. Some talk to their friends, some look thoughtful. Most just look cold. My feeling of well-being is enhanced when I recognise the tall figure of Senator Marius standing with his aide on a small knoll nearby. Senator Marius was a young commander of a phalanx in the last war. He did well and was commended for his bravery. If he's our commandeer, I'll be pleased. We could have fared a lot worse.

All around the stadium, other phalanxes have gathered for practice. Further away I can see a group of cross-bowmen practising with targets. Beyond them a company of light cavalry are wheeling in formation. I notice a few faces looking down at us from the walls of the Stadium Superbius. The mercenary army is quartered inside. Probably they're amused by the antics of the amateur citizen soldierly they're watching.

'We'll show them a thing or two,' I say, to the man next to me.

'Silence!' roars Senator Marius, right in my ear. 'Didn't you hear my order?'

Unfortunately I didn't. The Senator wrinkles his nose and looks at me suspiciously.

'I know you.'

'I don't think so . . .'

'You're Thraxas. You were in my uncle's regiment in the last war.'

'Really? I didn't know he was—'

'Silence!' roars Marius.

Marius is an unusually tall man and he stares down at me with distaste.

'I remember him talking about you. Half the time you were too drunk to hold your spear.'

This really is an injustice. It's the sort of wartime story that gets hopelessly exaggerated. Maybe it happened once or twice.

'Well there'll be no drinking on duty in my phalanx,' growls the Senator. "Turn up drunk and you'll be sorry. Gravius, keep an eye on this man.'

Centurion Gravius stares at me fiercely. I start to remember why life in the army wasn't so great. At this moment I'm under military discipline and the Senator has the power to lock me up for disobedience if he so wishes. Once you're in the ranks, even as a citizen soldier, your legal rights seem to vanish.

Marius still isn't satisfied. He reaches out a hand to finger my cloak.

'What's this? It's warm. You have a spell on your cloak?'

Under the gaze of the entire phalanx I'm feeling very uncomfortable.

'What sort of a man turns up for military duty with a magic warm cloak?' roars Senator Marius. 'Is this a regiment of women? Does the cold weather upset you?'

He stoops to place his face close to mine.

'You'll have a lot more to worry about than a little cold weather, you overweight excuse for a soldier! Now take that cloak off!'

I take it off, meanwhile cursing the bad fortune that has brought me into Marius's phalanx. The man is a petty dictator and a disgrace to the army. I wonder if I can pull some strings to get a transfer.

We start going through manoeuvres. The young men in the phalanx do everything wrong. They drop their long spears when advancing and get their shields tangled when retreating. The temperature drops. Senator Marius barks orders at us, liberally sprinkled with abuse. He keeps us at it even when the snow starts falling from the overcast sky. I'm as cold as the Ice Queen's grave. The whole day is a nightmare. I always hated being in the army.

When manoeuvres finally come to an end the afternoon light is fading. I'm chilled to the bone. I wrap my cloak around me but all the heat is gone. The men are silent as we trudge away from the field. The older soldiers are probably thinking much the same as me - as a phalanx we're hopeless, and we don't have enough time to get better. Probably these youngsters will break and run at the first sign of danger, leaving me to be mown down by an enemy dragon. What a pointless way to go.

Between the Stadium and the city walls I pass by the retinue of Consul Kalius. He's here to check on today's progress. I smell the pleasant aroma of cooking coming from a small tent. I swiftly duck inside and find Erisox the chef laying out some warm pastries on a silver platter, fresh from the small field oven he's brought with him. Trust Consul Kalius not to travel without some home comforts.

The chef recognises me, and grins.

'Still carrying on my investigation,' I lie. 'Been busy with the Consul.'

Erisox probably knows I'm lying but he doesn't try to prevent me as I scoop up several pastries.

'Best not let the Consul catch you,' he says, but he's still smiling. I depart quickly, eating as I join the throng re-entering the city through the East Gate. Excellent pastries, it has to be said. The Consul's chef can really turn them out, even in adverse conditions.

With so many men heading south there's no chance of finding a landus. I'm about to start off on the long walk home when I catch sight of Praetor Samilius's official carriage parked just inside the city gates. Praetor Samilius is head of the Civil Guard. I've been trying for two weeks to make an appointment to see him at the Abode of Justice. I'm quite certain the Praetor would have some interesting things to tell me regarding Lodius's arrest, but, in line with every other official in Turai, he has been unwilling to see me.

'It's your unlucky day, Samilius,' I mutter. 'When

Thraxas wants to see you, you get seen, one way or another.'

I can hear voices inside the wagon as I reach for the door handle. I'm well aware that the Praetor is going to be furious when I barge unannounced into his carriage and start interrogating him, but I'm so cold, fed up and frustrated at recent events that I'll welcome a confrontation with authority. I wrench open the door and haul myself in.

'Don't bother protesting, Samilius. I've got some questions for you and you're going to answer them whether you like it or not. Resistance is futile—'

I stop. Inside the carriage - a luxurious eight-seater - there doesn't seem to be any sign of a Praetor. No Prefects or Senators either. Not a single high-ranking official, in fact. Just Makri, Morixa, Hanama, Lisutaris and four other women huddled over some scrolls and a basket of food.

'What the—?'

'Thraxas!' exclaims Makri. 'What are you doing here?'

'How dare you disturb us in this manner!' says Lisutaris.

'He keeps doing this!' says Makri, agitated. 'Every time I get my reading group going he bursts in and interrupts us.'

Lisutaris regards me with a quite frigid stare.

'Do you have some objection to Makri's tutoring the women of Turai?'

'Tutoring? In the Praetor's carriage?'

'The Praetor and I were examining troop manoeuvres,' explains Lisutaris. 'I am looking after it for him while he is still on the field. We simply took advantage of the space while he was gone, not that it's any business of yours.'

'So get the hell out,' adds Makri.

'But you already know how to read,' I say to Lisutaris, rather weakly.

'I have no objection to aiding Makri in her patriotic endeavours. Morixa, you've spelled Samsarina incorrectly again.'

With the carriage already occupied by eight women and a large Investigator there's not a lot of room left inside. When someone opens the door behind me and tries to climb in there's a good deal of confusion accompanied by some raised voices.

'What is the meaning of this?' demands Praetor Samilius, forcing his way into his carriage. 'Who are all these people?'

'All right, that's enough for today,' says Makri, and leaves briskly by the other door. She's swiftly followed out of the carriage by six women, leaving me and Lisutaris facing an angry Praetor.

'Were the troop manoeuvres satisfactory?' enquires Lisutaris.

'Never mind that,' replies Samilius. 'Who were all those people?'

'Some guests of mine,' answers Lisutaris smoothly. 'I took the liberty of showing them your official carriage. They were most impressed by the upholstery. It does you great credit.'

'They said that?'

'Certainly. Most impressive.'

The Praetor seems pleased. He nods, then looks at me.

'Is he one of your guests?'

'No,' says Lisutaris. 'I really don't know why he's here.'

By now I'm no longer in the same belligerent mood I was when I hoisted myself into the carriage. Makri and her damned reading group has completely taken the wind out of my sails. When I tell the Praetor I'm here to ask a few questions it comes out in a very awkward manner, far removed from the merciless interrogation I had in mind. The Praetor informs me that I've got three seconds to get the hell out of his official carriage before he instructs his guards to haul me off to a cell at the Abode of Justice. I look to Lisutaris for support.

'We do have important war business to discuss,' says the Mistress of the Sky.

I give up. My taste for interrogating has vanished. I get the hell out of the carriage. As I take the long walk through the still-falling snow back to the Avenging Axe I rehearse a few harsh words to say to Makri. The woman's craziness has now reached new heights and has started to severely interfere with my work. I can't believe her reading group had the audacity to invade the official carriage of Praetor Samilius. It's among the most uncivilised acts I've ever heard of.

I march through the doors and head straight for the bar. Or what I believe is the bar. It's hard to tell. It appears to be covered with flowers. I'm puzzled. Up till now, Gurd has never been big on floral decorations. He's usually stuck with a more manly motif. A few axes on the wall, that sort of thing.

Makri appears.

'What's this?' I demand.

'Toraggax, mainly.'

'What?'

'Toraggax. Viriggax's nephew. He brought me flowers. To apologise for his uncle ruining the bunch Horm sent me.'

'But you didn't want the bunch from Horm.'

'That doesn't mean anyone was free to destroy it,' , says Makri. Anyway, I thought it was a nice gesture.'

'This is starting to make me ill.'

Makri shrugs.

'How were the manoeuvres?'

'Never mind how the manoeuvres were. What's the idea of infesting Samilius's carriage when I wanted to talk to him?'

'Reading group,' says Makri, as if that explains everything.

'But why there?'

'Lisutaris invited us in.'

'I mean why that part of the city?'

'It was convenient. Morixa had food to sell at the troop manoeuvres.'

'This all sounds very strange. Why were there Senators' wives there?'

'You think I shouldn't teach Senators' wives?'

'I think you should teach in a place where I'm not investigating.'

'Is that right?' says Makri. 'You've already tried to chase us out of Twelve Seas. Is there anywhere you'd approve of? Maybe I should take the group to Samsarina?'

An excellent idea.'

I'd prolong the argument but find myself in urgent

need of a beer, so I let it drop. Makri hands over a tankard. I drink it in one and take a swift refill.

'So how were the manoeuvres? Is the army in good shape?'

I shake my head.

'The phrase "ignominious defeat" springs to mind.'

'That bad?'

'Terrible. Phalanx number seven couldn't manoeuvre its way along Quintessence Street. Though we weren't quite as bad as phalanx number eight, who managed to crash into the Stadium Superbius. At least the mercenaries in the stadium had a good laugh. More beer. It's been a bad day. And how is a man supposed to enjoy his beer when he can't see over the bar for flowers? How many bunches are there? What did Toraggax do, loot the city?'

Makri leans over the bar to whisper.

'I think he's sweet on me.' •

'Right. So he's an imbecile,' I grunt. 'Inbred in his northern village, I expect.'

'Everyone's inbred according to you,' says Makri. 'Senators. Northern Barbarians. The entire population of Simnia.'

'Damn right they are. I wouldn't worry about Toraggax. When his uncle Viriggax finds out his nephew's been prancing round Twelve Seas buying flowers he'll soon sort him out.'

'Viriggax also brought a small bunch.'

I stare at Makri.

'You're lying.'

'No I'm not.'

Maybe Tanrose is right. Perhaps times are changing.

But I still find it hard to believe that old Viriggax, hardened mercenary, survivor of a hundred battles and feared all over the world, has been wandering around Twelve Seas looking for winter blooms. It defies common sense. Suddenly in a worse mood than ever, I take my beer upstairs, where I find that my office is freezing. I get out my grimoire, and make a determined effort to relearn the spell for lighting a fire.

Chapter Twelve

Next day I take in a large breakfast. I'm going to need my strength because I'm about to visit Rittius. Rittius and I have a long history, all of it bad. I'm still far from certain that he isn't behind the charge of cowardice that's still hanging over me.

As head of Palace Security, Rittius has been largely responsible for investigating the death of Galwinius, because the murder happened inside the Palace grounds. Praetor Samilius, head of the Civil Guards, has also been investigating. Probably this has led to some tensions and it might even have hindered the investigation. Palace Security and the Civil Guards never like working together.

It's taken me a lot of effort to get this interview, and I'm not sure why. Officialdom in Turai has been closing its doors to me but I wasn't expecting Rittius to go along with officialdom so readily on this one, because Rittius is a supporter of the Populares, as led by Senator Lodius. I might have expected him to lend some help to a man who was investigating on behalf of his own party leader.

Tanrose is in good spirits as she ladles food on to my plate. With a man like myself as a customer, she always feels appreciated. I'm not certain how things stand between her and Gurd but at least they haven't been arguing. With so many mercenaries needing service, they're too busy to do much else except hand over the food and drink. Gurd is looking at his most profitable winter season ever. He'll be well set up for the next year or two, unless we all die in battle and the city is burnt to the ground.

'It's bad,' I say, in between mouthfuls of bread. . Tanrose bakes bread with herbs and olives. It's a fine product.

'What, your investigation?'

'No, it's bad the way everyone keeps giving Makri flowers. I mean, what's got into them all? I never saw a bunch of flowers from one year to the next in this place and now a man can't move without bumping into a vase of winter blooms. It's not as if the crazed axewoman even likes them all that much. She's just pleased when anyone gives her a present.'

'So what's wrong with that?' asks Tanrose.

'What's wrong with it is that now everyone's started doing it, it won't work for me any more. You know it was your suggestion in the first place that I smoothed things out with a bunch of flowers when Makri was annoyed for some trivial reason—'

'Like when you called her a pointy-eared Ore freak?'

'That sort of thing. I still don't see why she was so upset. It's a reasonably accurate description. And I have to admit your suggestion worked well. But now she's getting spoiled. If the whole of Twelve Seas keeps marching into the Avenging Axe with flowers, where does that leave me? Next time she's upset at some imagined slight she'll get mad and stay mad and make my life hell'

'It's not the whole of Twelve Seas, Thraxas. Just an

Ore lord from the wastelands and some mercenaries from the north.'

'But where will it all end? It was bad enough with Horm the Dead playing the lovesick suitor. Now this idiot nephew of Viriggax is joining in.'

'I wouldn't say he was an idiot nephew,' says Tanrose. 'Maybe not as sharp as an Elf's ear, but smart enough. Good-looking too. A lot of golden hair, and muscular.'

'Spare me the eulogy. He's obviously a man of limited intelligence or he wouldn't be wasting his time with flowers. The city is doomed. We need fighting men to protect us, not some effeminate youth whose jaw goes slack at the first sight of a chainmail bikini.'

Tanrose smiles.

'I suppose the bikini helps. But there's more to it than that. People just seem to take to her. Maybe you should join in,' she suggests.

'What do you mean?'

'Bring Makri flowers.'

'But we're not arguing just now.'

'Well, just bring them as a present.'

I stare at Tanrose.

As a present? For no reason? Why?'

As a nice gesture to a friend?'

A nice gesture to a friend? You haven't noticed I'm a large, bad-tempered Investigator who isn't given to nice gestures?'

'I noticed. Maybe it's time you changed your ways.'

I shudder.

'Just hand over another bowl of stew, Tanrose. I stopped making nice gestures when my wife left.'

'You never made a single nice gesture in all the time she was here.'

'Is there some problem with the stew? Can a man get any food around here?'

Tanrose ladles more stew into my bowl. Not desiring any more personal advice, I take it over to a table in front of the fire and consider what to say to Rittius. I've no leads and no inspiration. The deeper I get into the case the worse it looks for Lodius. I've done a fair amount of digging into the matter of the forged will, and as far as I can see, Prefect Galwinius had a case. It's quite possible that Senator Lodius defrauded him. I've asked a lawyer to look at the papers and give me his expert opinion but I'm not optimistic about the result. If Lodius really was caught out by Galwinius attempting to defraud the Prefect, he had every reason to kill him. The meeting of the Lesser War Council wasn't the greatest time to do it, but maybe he just saw an opportunity and took it.

Once more I wish that I wasn't involved. Too late now. There's nothing for it but to place a warming spell on my cloak and hunt for some answers. And if the answers don't come out the way I want, tip off Lodius and advise him to flee the city. After praying in his temple, I figure I owe him that much, or owe it to his wife at least. As I'm leaving the Avenging Axe I again run into Hanama.

'Come to brush up on your reading skills?'

Hanama strides past me without replying. Assassins are never great with small talk.