Thraxas Under Siege (ARC)

Thraxas Under Siege

Advance Reader Copy

Unproofed

Martin Scott

Copyright© 2006 by Martin Scott

A Baen Books Original

ISBN 10: 1-4165-2088-0

ISBN 13: 978-1-4165-2088-7

Cover art by Tom Kidd

First printing, October 2006

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 Twenty-Three

Chapter One

"Turai is doomed," says old Parax the shoemaker. He never was the most optimistic of men.

"Turai will survive," declares Gurd. "No damned Orc is chasing me out of this city."

He looks to me for support. I shrug. I don't know if we're going to survive or not. With our own army defeated, an Orcish army somewhere outside the walls, and no help on the way, it's hard to be too optimistic. Last month we suffered a catastrophic defeat at the hands of Prince Amrag, Orcish overlord. He took us completely by surprise, trapping and destroying our forces outside the city walls. We hadn't expected an attack in winter. The city authorities ignored the warnings of Lisutaris, head of the Sorcerers Guild, and we paid the price.

Despite their success, the Orcs failed in their attempt to take the city. They'd crossed the wastelands in midwinter, and they'd even managed to bring dragons with them. They were counting on a swift victory. Had they smashed their way into the city they could have wintered in comfort here, allowing fresh troops to join them from the east before mounting their invasion of the Human lands. As it is, they're stuck outside in the snow and that can't be comfortable, even for northern Orcs who are used to the bad weather.

"As soon as spring comes there'll be a relief force on its way," says Gurd.

Gurd is the owner of this tavern, my landlord, and my oldest friend. We've fought beside each other all over the world. These days his hair is grey and he sells beer for a living but his strength and fighting spirit are undiminished. Come the spring he's fully expecting to be marching out of Turai and sending the Orcs back where they belong. It's not such an unreasonable expectation. At this moment armies should be gathering. Simnia and all lands to the west will be arming themselves for war. The Abelasian General Hiffier will be preparing an army from the League of City States. The Elves of the Southern Isles will be preparing their ships and sharpening their spears. In theory, the first day of spring should see a huge force marching towards Turai from the west and another force sailing up from the south.

Unfortunately, we can be sure that at the same time a huge army of Orcs will be moving towards us from the west. Prince Amrag's reinforcements might get here first. And anyway, Prince Amrag might not wait till spring.

"I reckon he'll try and force his way into Turai before then."

Gurd shakes his head.

"He can't. He doesn't have enough Orcs to storm the walls. He doesn't have siege engines and the dragons can't fly so well in winter. Our Sorcerers can hold them off."

It's true. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, still has a formidable array of sorcerous talent under her command. While the Orcs broke our army, they didn't succeed in killing our Sorcerers and they've always been our most potent weapon. Gurd thinks that Prince Amrag miscalculated.

"Good attack, certainly. But not good enough. He didn't get into the city. I don't think he's even close any more. Why would he spend the winter out there in the snow? He'll head home and try again another time."

I motion for Dandelion to bring me a beer. Winter in Turai is never comfortable and the only reasonable thing for a man to do is sit in front of a roaring fire and drink beer till it's over. Unfortunately, civic duty requires me to spend a long time standing guard at the walls and I'm not enjoying it at all. If it wasn't for my magic warm cloak I'd have passed away already.

I'm an Investigator by trade but I'm not doing any investigating these days. Since the Orcs attacked, I haven't had a case. With the enemy outside the walls, the population is careful of its belongings. There are always shortages in Turai in winter and now it's going to be worse. Dragons burned the storage warehouses and food will soon become scarce. Crime hasn't gone away but with mercenaries, soldiers and Civil Guards everywhere, even the larger gangs that run the underworld have cut back on their activities. It means no one is paying me any money, but it's probably just as well. With my military duty to perform every day, I'd be pushed to find the time to investigate anything.

Gurd's tavern, the Avenging Axe, is very busy. There are plenty of customers trying to forget their troubles. Though Turai lost a lot of men outside the walls, the city is still fuller than I've known it for a long time. Mercenaries are everywhere, along with Turanian citizens from the outlying villages and farms who've made it into the city for shelter. Gurd, Tanrose and Dandelion are all busy serving food and drink, and so is Makri, apart from when she's with Lisutaris, performing her duties as bodyguard.

Makri works here as a barmaid. She used to be a gladiator, in the Orcish slave pits. She's a skilful woman with a sword. She has Orcish blood, as well as Human and Elvish. She's also the half-sister of Prince Amrag, leader of the Orcish forces. I'm the only person in Turai who knows that. I'm not about to pass the information along. The population of Turai hates Orcs. Recently Makri's had more than her usual share of comments and insults in the street, from anyone who feels like noticing her reddish skin, and pointed ears. If it was known that she was actually related to Prince Amrag she'd be in danger of being thrown from the city walls.

Gurd's also been spending time on military duty. Almost everyone has. Every tavern owner, Investigator, shoemaker, warehouseman, wagon driver, docker, and even those who never seem to have any sort of job that you can define, is obliged to report every day, sword in hand, ready to repel the Orcs.

I watch as Dandelion draws a tankard of ale for a mercenary who's still clapping his hands together for warmth and brushing snow from his tunic. She manages the operation reasonably competently, which is something of a surprise. Dandelion, our idiotic barmaid, talks to dolphins and has signs of the zodiac embroidered on her skirt. No one is quite sure how she ended up working in the Avenging Axe. She's not your average sort of barmaid, particularly not in Twelve Seas. This is the bad part of town and anyone working in a tavern has to be tough. Dandelion is not tough. When she first started, her incompetence was staggering, but she's more or less mastered the beer taps now. And while she doesn't have Makri's way of dealing with awkward customers—violence—she seems to get by all right by not exactly realising what's happening around her, and smiling sweetly at even the most hostile mercenary.

Tanrose emerges from the kitchen with a fresh pot of stew. I beat back several rivals in the food queue and take a healthy bowlful off her hands.

"Few more yams if you please, Tanrose."

Tanrose shakes her head.

"Can't give you them, Thraxas. No yams at the market today. There's a shortage."

"Already?"

Tanrose nods. Much of our supply of yams for the winter was burned in the warehouse fires. Immediately I'm depressed. Yams running out, and winter not even halfway through.

"I'll kill those Orcs for that," I mutter darkly, and I mean it. I'm a man with a healthy appetite, and a lot of girth to maintain. Interfere with my food supply and you're going to find yourself in trouble.

Chapter Two

Perturbed by the yam situation, I take a beer upstairs to my office and check my supply of klee. I've only three bottles of the fiery spirit left. Maybe I should go easy. I've been fortifying myself with a few glasses before heading for the ramparts, but if it's going to be a winter of shortages, perhaps I should cut back. Though how a man is meant to sit in a cold guard post staring out into the snow without a warming glass of klee inside him I really don't know. Living in a city under siege is hell at the best of times. Living in a city under siege without a plentiful supply of alcohol doesn't bear thinking about. A month ago I expected the Orcs to smash their way into Turai. Now, I'm not so sure. Gurd may be right. Perhaps Prince Amrag has decided they missed their opportunity. We don't even know how many Orcs are still out there. Some are billeted in the Stadium Superbius, outside the city walls to the east, but apart from that, we can't tell. Their forces have withdrawn from sight. Our Sorcerers have scanned the area but the Orcish Sorcerers cast their own spells of hiding and it's hard for anyone to be certain. Lisutaris thinks that there are still Orcish forces guarding every exit from the city, but the main bulk of their troops may have retired southwards towards the forests, where it's not so exposed to the elements. Unfortunately for us, this winter is not as fierce as the last few have been. The Turanian winter can be bitingly cold, but after the first severe snowstorms, this one has turned unusually mild. No aqueducts have frozen up and the alleyways of Twelve Seas, usually clogged with thick drifts of snow, remain clear and passable. It might have been better for us had the weather been worse. The Orcs would have been less likely to remain.

After a glass or two of klee I find myself slightly more optimistic. We'll hold them off till the spring. The armies will arrive from Simnia and the Elves will sail up and we'll survive, just like we did fifteen years ago, last time the Orcs attacked.

The memory makes me frown. Last time we threw them back after a desperate struggle but we wouldn't have if the Elves hadn't arrived at the last moment. I was on the eastern wall when it collapsed and I was a second away from being mowed down by an Orcish squadron when we were rescued. No amount of klee, or passage of time, can make these grim memories fade. I get the uncomfortable feeling that if my life ends right here, then I haven't made that much of a success of it. Failed Sorcerer now scratching a living as an Investigator in the poor part of town, working for impecunious clients on cases so hopeless no one else will take them on. I curse, throw another log on the fire, and wish I'd studied more when I was an apprentice. If I hadn't discovered beer at such a young age, I might have been a real Sorcerer instead of a man who knows a few tricks. I'd be up in the Palace, living in luxury, with enough yams and klee to get me through any shortage.

Possibly the Palace isn't such a great place to be these days. The King is infirm and practically bedridden. The heir to the throne, Prince Frisen Akai, is so far gone on wine and dwa that he's no longer allowed out in public. Young Prince Dees Akan was killed when the Orcs attacked. Consul Kalius is wounded, traumatised, and out of action after the Orcish attack, leaving the administration in the hands of Deputy Consul Cicerius. A good man in his way, but not a warrior. All military planning is in the hands of General Pomius. He at least is an experienced soldier. He might just get us through, particularly as he has a proper respect for Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, head of the Sorcerers Guild and one of the most powerful people in the west. With someone like that on our side, there's always a chance of holding off the Orcs, and she's not the only strong Sorcerer in the Guild.

Makri walks into my office.

"Will you never learn to knock?"

She shrugs.

"Why?"

"It's civilised."

"We're under siege."

"No reason to abandon all standards. I thought you were spending the whole day with Lisutaris?"

Makri scowls. She takes off her heavy winter cloak then sits down on the chair nearest the fire.

"Lisutaris had to go to the Palace to meet the King. I couldn't go along."

Her eyes flash.

"Isn't that ridiculous? I can't attend a private meeting with the King because I've got Orcish blood. Who was it that saved Lisutaris from the Orcs?"

Makri is angry, though she knew what she was in for when she took the job. No one hates Orcs more than Makri and she's butchered a lot of them in her time. Nonetheless, she does have one quarter Orcish blood and that's never going to allow her access to the most refined places in the city.

I notice Makri's looking a little skinnier these days. She's still filling out the chainmail bikini well enough to earn a bundle of tips from the mercenaries in the tavern, but between her shifts as a barmaid and working for Lisutaris, I don't think she's been eating properly.

"I hate the way the library shuts in winter," she says. "I need to study."

Makri works here to earn money to pay for her education at the Guild College. I can't believe she's still thinking about education at a time like this.

"The Orcs are about to storm the walls. Can't you ever take a break?"

Makri shrugs.

"I like it. Samanatius isn't taking a break."

Samanatius is a prominent philosopher in Turai. Makri holds him in great respect. I regard him as a fool because he teaches for free. Obviously the man has no knowledge worth selling. To be fair to him, he was on the field of battle when the Orcs attacked, even though he could have been excused military duty because of his age.

Makri runs her hand through her great mane of dark hair. She looks dissatisfied.

"I wanted to dye it blond."

This takes me by surprise. Makri was champion gladiator by the time she was thirteen. She's such a brutal fighter I always think of her with a sword in her hand. Outside the city walls she stood over the unconscious body of Lisutaris and defended it with an astonishing display of savage determination, unflinching in the face of impossible odds. Hearing her come out with anything concerning personal vanity is strange, though since arriving in Turai she has taken on board a few of our feminine fashions, mainly low-class ones like a pierced nose and painted toenails.

"It'll make you look like a whore."

"No it won't. Senator Lodius's daughter has blond hair."

True. Turanian women are generally dark-haired. Blond hair is usually only sported by prostitutes, but the style is also affected by senators' daughters, and sometimes their wives. Why only rich women and prostitutes do this, I don't know.

"No one is going to mistake you for a senator's daughter. But what do you care? You've already managed to outrage the city. What's a little more public opprobrium?"

"I'm not worried about the public," says Makri. "I just don't have time. I have to work and study and be a bodyguard and then the Orcs are going to take the city and I'll be killed which I don't exactly mind but I wish I'd had time to see what I looked like with blond hair."

This is beyond me. My own hair hangs down in a long ponytail like the rest of the humble citizens of Twelve Seas and I never think about it from one day to the next. I ask Makri what news there is from Lisutaris.

"Nothing much. She can't tell how many Orcs are outside the city and General Pomius doesn't want to risk sending men to find out. But the Sorcerers have been busy with the messages. Everyone is making ready to help us in the spring."

Makri doesn't sound convinced. Our neighbours to the west, Simnia, might decide they'd rather hold the line against the Orcs on their own borders, and so might Nioj to our north. Everyone says they'll march to our aid but whether they will or not remains to be seen.

Makri's talk of Lisutaris worsens my mood. For one thing I'm annoyed that I'm reduced to learning news of the war from Makri. I used to be a Senior Investigator at the Palace, abreast of all the city state's affairs. I was a man with contacts. A man who knew what was happening. Now I'm a man who's dependent on rumour and gossip. It's irritating. What's more irritating is that I have to speak a spell every morning on behalf of Lisutaris. Unbelievable as it may sound, this spell is to help conceal Herminis, a senator's wife whom Makri, Lisutaris and several other criminally minded women broke out of jail just before the Orcs attacked. Herminis had been sentenced to death for the murder of her husband, a senator. The Association of Gentlewomen decided to intervene. As a result of this, Herminis ended up at the Avenging Axe and Lisutaris prevailed on me to help hide her from the authorities. It's not a task I welcome, and had Lisutaris not bribed, cajoled and blackmailed me in the most shocking manner, I'd have refused to have anything to do with it.

"It's not right," I say, quite forcibly.

"What isn't right?"

"Me having to help hide Herminis. If the Abode of Justice finds out I'm involved, they'll be down on me like a bad spell. I blame you."

"Why me?" protests Makri.

"Because you messed up your rescue operation. Not that there should have been any rescue operation in the first place. And then Lisutaris has the nerve to rope me into covering for her. Talk about ingratitude. I picked that woman up and carried her off the battlefield. I saved her life. And did she exhibit the slightest sign of gratitude?"

"Yes. She gave you a new magic warm cloak."

I wave this away.

"A magic warm cloak? Lisutaris can make a magic cloak by snapping her fingers. Not the sort of gift that really says 'thank you for saving my life.' Especially from a woman as rich as Lisutaris. You think it would have harmed her to open up her coffers once in a while? I tell you, these aristocrats are all the same, not a shred of decency among the lot of them."

"Thraxas, is there any chance of you shutting up?"

"Absolutely none. I tell you, next time Lisutaris finds herself on the wrong end of an Orcish phalanx, she can look for someone else to rescue her. The woman's lack of gratitude is a scandal."

"She sent you a gift. It's downstairs."

"What?"

"I brought it down in a wagon. She said to tell you it was for saving her life."

I pause.

"Possibly I spoke harshly. What is it?"

Makri shrugs.

"I lost interest a while ago."

I'm deflated. I wasn't ready to stop complaining yet.

"This doesn't excuse her getting me involved with Herminis."

Makri curses me for a fool, yawns, and departs to her room. I hurry downstairs to take a look at my gift. I can't remember when anyone last sent me a present. Maybe my wife, on my wedding day. That was more years ago than I care to remember. My wife, wherever she is now, probably wouldn't want to remember it either.

The tavern is full of drinkers. There's a very large crate behind the bar. Gurd is curious as to the contents, as are Viriggax and his squadron of northern mercenaries. I ignore them all and drag the box upstairs. If Lisutaris has sent me anything good, I'm not going to share it with a bunch of drunken mercenaries.

I wrench the lid off, drag out some padding, then start emptying the contents on to the table. There's a layer of bottles, and the very first one I take out makes me stop and stare. It's a bottle of klee with three golden moons painted on the side. I know what that means. It's the Abbot's Special Distillation, a brand of klee so rare and fine as to never be seen in Turai outside the Imperial Palace and a few exclusive residences in Thamlin. Compared to the klee I normally drink it's like . . . like . . . well, there's no comparison. The only time in my life I drank this was at a banquet at the Palace, and even then I had to sneak it off the Consul's table. I place the bottle reverently on my table and find there are three more in the box. Four bottles of the Abbot's Special Distillation, made with love and care by the most talented monks in the mountains. Already I can feel my worries fading away.

I burrow further into the box and drag out another bottle, this one being thicker, of brown glass, with fancy calligraphy on the label. As I recognise what it is, my legs go slightly weak. The Grand Abbot's Dark Ale, a brew so precious, so fine in every way, as to be the only beer ever deemed fit for the King. Beer is not normally imbibed by the city's wine-quaffing elite, but an exception is made for the Grand Abbot's Dark Ale. I doubt if the monastery that produces it brews more than fifty barrels a year, and every one of them goes to the Palace. So famous is the Grand Abbot's Dark Ale that a barrel of it was once used as part of a treaty with the Simnians. This beer is the finest beverage in the known world, and I haven't had a drop for more than ten years. Lisutaris, a woman I have always held in the highest regard, has sent me eight bottles. I dab a little moisture from my eyes. Beer like this just doesn't come to a man more than once in a lifetime.

Underneath the beer is a small sack of thazis, but not the dried brown leaves we normally have to put up with in Twelve Seas. This is moist, green, and pungent. Thazis grown by Lisutaris herself. Again, I'm amazed. The sorceress is devoted to thazis. Not only does she have a house in her garden with walls made of glass, specially for growing the plants—an unheard-of extravagance—she has actually developed a spell for making the plants grow faster. There is no finer thazis anywhere, and she's sent me enough to get through the winter, and more.

Underneath the thazis are six bottles of Elvish wine. I'm not a connoisseur of wine but I know, from the standard of the other goods, that this will be from the finest vineyard on the finest grape-growing Elvish isle. At the bottom of the box is an enormous joint of venison, wrapped in an unusual fold of muslin. It doesn't seem to be dried, or salted, as venison usually is in winter. There's a note pinned to it.

From the King's own forest. Will stay fresh till you want to eat it.

My senses pick up the tiniest flicker of sorcery. The joint is magically protected against ageing. I place it with the other goods on my table then sit down to stare in wonder. Four bottles of klee, eight bottles of ale, six bottles of wine, a bag of thazis and a joint of venison. All of a quality never seen in this part of town. It's an outstanding gift. I'm man enough to admit that I was wrong about the Mistress of the Sky. She's a fine woman and a credit to the city. A powerful Sorcerer and sharp as an Elf's ear. I've always said so. Long may she lead the Sorcerers Guild to greater glory.

Before retiring for the night I carefully place locking spells on both my doors. No disreputable inhabitant of Twelve Seas is going to get his hands on my excellent present.

Chapter Three

Next morning I wake feeling more cheerful than I have for weeks. Even the prospect of food shortages can't dim the enthusiasm of a man who's got eight bottles of the Grand Abbot's Dark Ale waiting for his attention. I'm tempted to open one for breakfast but I restrain myself, with an effort. I should wait till I return from guard duty and savour the brew when I'm warm and comfortable. I decide to make do with a little of Lisutaris's thazis instead, and construct a stick of modest size. As I inhale, the world, already not looking so bad, improves considerably.

There are some strange noises outside my inner door, the one that leads down to the bar. Normally I'd be annoyed at such an early interruption to my day but I wander over genially and drag the door open. Out in the corridor I find Palax and Kaby, two young street musicians. There was a time when I'd have been displeased to see them because the young couple are not what you'd call your standard citizens of Turai. They affect the strangest clothes and hairstyles and have facial piercings never seen before in the city, and they live in a caravan which they park behind the tavern. Not the sort of behaviour to endear themselves to the average Turanian, including me. However, I've grown used to them these days, and I've enjoyed some good nights in the Avenging Axe when they've been playing their lute and fiddle.

"We need help," says Palax, anxiously. I notice that Kaby is trembling. I scowl at them.

"Didn't I tell you dwa would kill you?"

Dwa, a powerful drug, has been the bane of the city in recent years.

"She hasn't take dwa. She's sick."

I look more closely at the girl. Her face is red, she's shivering, and sweat is glistening on her forehead. It's obvious what's wrong. I'd have noticed right away had it not been for the unusual potency of Lisutaris's green thazis.

"She's got the winter malady," I say.

"I know," says Palax. "I think she's going to die."

Kaby suddenly sneezes. I step back quickly. The winter malady is not quite as deadly as the summer plague, but it's bad enough. As the city is so crowded I wouldn't be surprised if we were in for an epidemic. Kaby begins to shake, quite violently.

"Palax. Pick up Kaby and take her to the empty guest room at the end of the corridor. Keep her warm with a blanket and give her water and nothing else. Don't leave the room and don't let anyone else in. The malady spreads quickly and if anyone else comes near they'll catch it."

"Is she going to die?" asks Palax, looking quite desperate.

"No. She's young and strong. She'll be better in a few days. Now get her out of here and along to the guest room. I'll get the healer."

Palax does as I say. He has some difficulty carrying Kaby but I don't offer to help. I've had the winter malady before and it's commonly believed this makes a man less liable to get it again, but I don't feel like taking the risk. The disease isn't usually fatal but it's unpredictable. There have been times when it's struck with unusual ferocity. People can die from it. I drink some klee then go downstairs to tell Gurd the bad news in private. Gurd is alarmed.

"How bad is she?"

"Couldn't tell. The malady always looks bad at the start."

"What'll I do?" asks Gurd.

I'm not certain. Any case of the winter malady breaking out in a public building should be reported to the local Prefect's office. Unfortunately the Prefect can then impose a quarantine. If Gurd reports Kaby's illness to Prefect Drinius he's liable to see the Avenging Axe shut for at least a week, and that's a lot of business to lose. He could just keep quiet about it, which is fine if Kaby recovers and no one learns of it. But if the Prefect discovers what's happened, there'll be trouble.

Gurd chews his lip.

"Three years ago that silversmith from Lorn took the malady. He just stayed in his room and he got better. I didn't report it then . . ."

I remember. The incident passed off harmlessly enough. The winter malady often does. Some years very few people catch it, and it doesn't seem virulent enough to kill. Unfortunately there have been years when it's been a lot worse. My younger brother died of the winter malady, a long time ago. A lot of people died of it that year. Gurd decides to look in on Kaby, judge her condition, then visit Chiaraxi the healer in private. Chiaraxi is a friend, and won't close him down if it doesn't seem necessary. I watch him hurry upstairs then walk over to the counter for a beer. Makri is serving.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing," I say. "Have you heard of Moolifi?"

Makri shakes her head.

"She's a singer up at the Golden Unicorn."

Makri sneers. I raise my eyebrows.

"How did a barmaid who grew up in a gladiator slave pit become such a snob?"

"I am not a snob," retorts Makri.

"Oh no? You sneer at anything that wasn't written five hundred years ago by some obscure Elvish bard."

"I sneer at anything which involves the performer taking her clothes off before the end of the first chorus."

"Well it might brighten up some of these musty old Elvish plays. Besides, I hear Moolifi has a terrific voice."

"From who?"

"From Captain Rallee. Who has apparently been stepping out with Moolifi for the past week."

It's an interesting snippet of news, even for Makri, who's not normally one for gossip. Captain Rallee did used to be something of a lady's man, but generally these days he's too busy to pursue them. He's in charge of one of the local Civil Guards posts, and with half his men absent on war duty, he's even more overworked than usual.

"He's as happy as an Elf in a tree. He's been strutting round with her on his arm, making the locals jealous."

I muse for a while on the Captain, and his new lady. I've never seen her perform.

"I haven't been up to the Golden Unicorn for a while."

"Are you feeling the need for some exotic dancers?"

"No. But there's a big game of rak played there every week, lot of rich players. I'd like to sit down at a table with some of them."

"So why don't you?"

"Can't afford it," I admit. A man needs a lot of money before he can play cards with Praetor Capatius and General Acarius."

"You gamble too much," says Makri.

I point out to Makri that she herself has not been averse to the odd wager since arriving in Turai.

"Only because of your bad influence."

"Bad influence? I'd call it rounding out your personality. All you used to do was work and study. These days you're slightly less unbearable."

Tanrose is further along behind the bar, ladling out stew to Viriggax and a few of his mercenaries. When she's filled their bowls she hurries over to me and leans across the bar, lowering her voice so as not to be heard by anyone else.

"Thraxas. I need to consult you."

"You mean an investigation?"

Tanrose nods.

"I'm due for guard duty right now. Can it wait till I get back?"

Tanrose nods, and I tell her to come to my office when my shift at the walls ends. I've no idea what she might want me to investigate, but as she's the finest cook ever seen at the Avenging Axe, I'm more than willing to give her whatever help she requires.

Chapter Four

I have two magic warm cloaks. The first one is a fairly inefficient garment. Keeps out the chill for a while but soon starts to lose its potency. I made it myself but my sorcerous powers just aren't up to the task these days. The cloak which Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, made for me is much better. She put a spell on it which only needs a word from me to revitalise it each day. The cloak stays warm for a long time. I've done enough soldiering in freezing weather to appreciate the favour. Not that Lisutaris didn't owe me a favour or two, as I pointed out to Makri, with some justice. As do various others, I reflect, during my long spell on the walls. I gaze out into the frozen waste below with a feeling of dissatisfaction. I've fought for this city. I've lived here, worked here, paid taxes. I've sorted out the problems of the rich and poor. My investigating talents have helped keep Lisutaris in her job and Deputy Consul Cicerius out of disgrace. And where has it got me? Two rooms above a tavern in the poorest part of town with little prospect of improvement.

The wind blows a little colder. I wrap my cloak tighter around me. Down below is the rocky stretch of shoreline that leads to the harbour. Since talking about Captain Rallee and his girlfriend, I keep thinking about the card game in the upstairs room at the Golden Unicorn. General Acarius and Praetor Capatius are both regular visitors to the table. The General has a reputation as the finest gambler in the Turanian army, and he's very wealthy. Half the Turanian fleet is built from wood grown on his family's vast estates. As for Capatius, he's the richest man in Turai. He owns his own bank and his trading empire extends all over the west. If I could just get myself around a rak table with these two I'd soon show them how the game should be played.

I do have a slight connection to the game at the theatre. Ravenius plays there. Ravenius, a senator's son, also comes down to the Avenging Axe to play at our weekly game. The stakes at the Avenging Axe are a lot lower than Ravenius is used to at the Unicorn, but the young man is such a keen gambler he enjoys playing anywhere. Perhaps he could introduce me to General Acarius. I shake my head. It's hopeless. You have to lay down a lot of money before they'll allow you to sit at the table. More than I can raise.

My companion in the lookout post is Ozax, an old soldier now turned master builder. Something catches my eye and I call him over.

"A ship?"

It's an unexpected sight. Ships don't sail these waters in winter; the gales are too severe. Though this winter isn't particularly harsh, there have already been several storms fierce enough to sink any warship or trader foolish enough to venture out. We watch as the vessel limps towards the harbour.

"Trader," mutters Ozax. "Looks like it's barely afloat."

The ship's masts are broken and it's crawling along under one ripped sail. It's low in the water, and though we can't see it clearly at this distance, I'm guessing that all spare hands on board are currently pumping out water for all they're worth, trying to keep the vessel afloat. I can see soldiers hurrying along the harbour walls, ready to deal with any emergency. In time of war, no ship can enter the harbour unbidden. It's protected by both chains and spells, and the harbour master won't admit anyone till he's very sure that it's not an enemy.

As we watch, the stricken ship crawls up to the entrance to the harbour then halts, its bow pressed against the thick chains that block the entrance. Sounds of shouting float over the water. Probably whoever's on board is yelling at the defenders to let them in before they go under, which won't be long. The vessel hovers perilously at the entrance, sinking ever further in the water. Just when it seems it's about to slide beneath the sea, the great chains are pulled back. The Sorcerer on duty at the harbour removes the defensive spells and the ship begins to crawl into the harbour. They've made it to safety.

It's an interesting occurrence. As a curious sort of person, I might be inclined to take a walk over if I hadn't promised to see Tanrose after my shift. I run into Makri as I'm walking back to the Avenging Axe. She's wearing a man's tunic and leggings, and her floppy green pointed hat. Its a foolish item she picked up on the Elvish isle of Avula. Only Elvish children wear them and it looks ridiculous. Along with her new golden nose ring, it makes for a particularly offensive sight. The assorted lowlifes who frequent the Avenging Axe are always going on about how great it is the way Makri bulges out of her tiny chainmail bikini in all the right places, but as far as I can see they're missing the point. For one thing she's far too skinny round the waist, and for another, even if you like the skinny type, a pretty face and figure don't make up for her numerous faults. She paints her toenails gold like a Simnian whore, she has her nose pierced like some refugee from an Orcish brothel, she's got the longest and most unruly hair in the city, and beneath that are a pair of pointed ears. Together with her short temper, her foolish intellectual pursuits and her weird puritanical streak it makes for a very unattractive package. Anyone ending up with Makri as a partner would soon come to regret it.

"What's the hurry, Thraxas?"

"I need a beer."

"Since the Orcs arrived you've hardly been sober."

"Who wants to be sober when the Orcs are outside the walls? Last time they were here I was drunk for three months. And still fought heroically."

There are some people on the streets, but between the cold weather and the war there's not a lot of merriment about. Makri isn't helping. She's unusually gloomy. Even the sight of a new batch of swords being laid out in the armourer's window doesn't bring a smile to her face, and Makri is a great weapons enthusiast.

"You notice how it's not such a bad winter?" she says.

I nod. It's cold, but nothing like last year.

"Wouldn't you say it's warm enough for the Guild College to open?"

Makri has a strange passion for education. It's another of her faults.

"It always shuts in winter. Anyway, you said they'd suspended classes for the duration of the war."

"But they could have stayed open and we'd have been able to take our exams before the spring. Might have got the whole year finished before the Orcs attacked."

"Makri, you must be the only person in the city who's thinking about learning anything right now. Chances are there won't even be a city after the spring."

"That's just the point," says Makri, now agitated. "Supposing the college goes up in flames and all the records are destroyed? I'm number one student, two years at the top. I'm going to finish with distinction this year and who's going to know if they don't give me my certified scroll?"

Poor Makri. If it were anyone else complaining about their education at a time like this I'd ridicule them, but I've realised over the past two years what it all means to her. Makri has moved heaven, earth and the three moons to complete her studies at the Guild College. This college, a place for the sons of the lower classes to further their studies, didn't want to admit her. Makri had to struggle all the way, and she's still struggling, scraping together enough money to pay for her classes, and dealing with a lot of hostility because of her Orcish blood. It's quite an achievement for her to have accomplished as much as she has. Makri's dream is to enter the Imperial University of Turai. It's a hopeless dream, but I've giving up mocking her over it.

"Don't worry, we'll hold off the Orcs for a while yet. Hell, we don't even know if Prince Amrag's got any sort of force out there."

Makri shakes her head.

"Even if we win the war it'll still delay the exams. I need my certified scroll to apply to the university."

"Makri, do you have enough money to pay for the university?"

"No."

"Do you have a plan to circumvent the article in the university statutes which forbids the education of women?"

"No."

"Do you have some means of getting round the other part of their constitution, which forbids admitting anyone with Orcish blood?"

Makri purses her lips.

"No," she admits.

"So what's the difference? Even if you nail your scroll to the university doors they still won't let you in."

"I'll think of something," says Makri, stubborn in the face of the uncomfortable truth.

"Think of something? What?"

"I don't know. Just something."

"Threatening them with your axe won't work."

"Then I'll think of something else."

"Maybe," I suggest, "when Prince Amrag takes over the city he might make you a professor."

Makri whirls to face me, a furious look on her face.

"I told you not to mention him!"

"I'm an Investigator. I find it hard not to mention things."

Makri glares at me, but refuses to discuss it further. Since learning that she's half-sister to the new overlord of all the eastern Orcs, I've certainly been curious to learn more. However, apart from the vague information that they had the same father but a different mother, and that Amrag escaped early from the Orcish slave pits, leaving Makri there to fend for herself, I've learned nothing at all. Makri refuses to discuss it and insists that I never mention it to anyone. I'm okay with not mentioning it. It's not the sort of thing she'd want the public to know. But I can't help feeling she ought to tell Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. In time of war any information about the enemy leader would surely be helpful, and Lisutaris wouldn't give Makri away.

We walk past some small alleyways. Each one we pass is occupied by someone either selling dwa, or using it. The distinctive smell of the burning substance assails us from all sides. It's impossible to travel more than a few yards along the narrow pavement without being approached by someone trying to make a sale. By the third or fourth time I give up answering and just bat them out the way.

"Turai is going to hell," I mutter, stepping over the prone body of an addict, sprawled out in the street. Many of them are young men who should be doing military duty. "If this gets any worse the city won't be worth defending."

I shake my head.

"I should have left this place long ago."

"So why didn't you?" asks Makri.

"I could never think of any place better to go."

The outskirts of the harbour is a really bad part of town, worse even than the rest of Twelve Seas. Shivering young prostitutes, wrapped in threadbare cloaks, try to attract our attention as we pass. Beggars hold out their hands hopelessly, and a few children, far too raggedly dressed to be out in this weather, stand forlornly outside taverns, waiting for their parents to emerge. Things don't improve when I spot Glixius Dragon Killer coming towards us. He's a large man, broad and vigorous. Even without his rainbow cloak he'd stand out from the poor miserable masses around him.

His eyes narrow as he approaches, and so do mine. Glixius Dragon Killer is an old enemy. He's a powerful Sorcerer, though not one who's ever been a credit to the city. Until recently he was outside the influence of the Sorcerers Guild, though he's been brought back into the fold due to the current crisis. That doesn't alter the fact that he's a criminal. He may have escaped conviction, and he might even be fooling the Sorcerers Guild, but he's not fooling me.

Like any successful Sorcerer, Glixius is wealthy. I wonder what he's doing in the poor part of town. Something illegal no doubt. I'm wearing my spell protection charm but I get ready for action because Glixius is strong, and quite capable of launching a physical assault if he feels like it.

Glixius halts right in front of me.

"Thraxas the cheap Investigator," he says, getting straight to the point. I look him in the eye, but don't bother to reply.

"I've been talking to Ravenius," continues the Sorcerer. "He tells me you play rak every week in your cheap little tavern."

I'm surprised. I can't imagine why this would interest Glixius.

"I usually play with General Acarius and Praetor Capatius at the house of Senator Kevarius. But Kevarius has closed his doors for a few days. His wife is down with the winter malady."

He looks at me mockingly.

"I imagine your stakes are too small to be of much interest."

I'm not certain if he's angling for an invitation to our game or merely taking the opportunity to insult me.

"So why don't you join us?"

"I doubt there'd be enough money on the table to make it worth my while."

"You can stake anything you like. I'll be pleased to take it off you."

Glixius eyes me for a few moments. I think he might be smiling though it's hard to tell. He's a square-jawed, steely-eyed sort of individual, and it would take a lot to brighten up his face.

"I never like to sit at a game without five hundred gurans in front of me."

"Five hundred gurans is fine." I reply. "Bring more if you like. It'll be a pleasure to show you how the game is played."

Glixius sneers, then gives the faintest of nods, and marches off.

Makri is looking puzzled.

"What was that about?"

"He wants to play cards."

"At the Avenging Axe? Why?"

"Because he hates me," I say. "Can't get over the time I punched him in the face. Probably he's been looking for revenge ever since. And now he thinks he can humiliate me at the card table. Poor sap. I'm number one chariot at rak."

Makri is doubtful.

"I still think it's strange the way he just walks up out of nowhere and says he's coming to the Axe to play cards."

"That's because you don't appreciate how much he dislikes me. After all, I did once publicly accused him of a serious crime when he was completely innocent."

"You've done that to most people in the city," says Makri.

"That's true. But it's probably still on his mind."

We walk on towards Quintessence Street.

"You don't have anything like five hundred gurans, do you?" asks Makri.

I admit I don't. The most I can raise is about forty. Which might be a problem.

"Do you have anything spare?" I ask.

"Of course I don't," says Makri. "Who does?"

Light snow is falling as we reach the Avenging Axe. I'm looking forward to a beer and a seat by the fire.

"Are you meeting Lisutaris soon?"

"Forget it," replies Makri. "I'm not asking her to lend you money."

"You don't need to ask. Just bring up the subject. She'll probably volunteer."

Makri declines, and I'm obliged to drop the subject as Tanrose is waiting for me when we enter the Axe. I'd like to thaw out in front of the great fire downstairs but she doesn't have a lot of time before getting back to her cooking, so I content myself with taking a bottle of beer upstairs to my office, and lighting the fire. The room is cold and I leave my cloak draped around my shoulders as I take a seat at the large, dark wood desk I use to transact my business.

Tanrose sits down opposite me. She's not a thin woman, but she's not as large as might be expected, given the excellence of her cooking. Tanrose is currently one of the Avenging Axe's more cheerful inhabitants. If she's worried about imminent Orcish invasion it doesn't show. Since becoming engaged to Gurd she's been happy.

"It's odd consulting with you professionally, Thraxas."

I shrug.

"It's about my mother."

"How is she?" I ask politely. I've met her once or twice. Before moving to the tavern Tanrose used to live with her up in Pashish.

"Quite well," says Tanrose. "Though her memory's not so good these days."

She hesitates, and taps a finger on the desk.

"Last week she told me her father once buried a cask containing fourteen thousand gurans near the harbour and it's never been recovered."

I raise my eyebrows.

"Fourteen thousand gurans?"

"In gold."

"Where did the money come from?"

"He was captain of a ship which raided a Simnian convoy."

"Your grandfather was a captain in the navy?"

Tanrose nods. I'm surprised. Common sailors have low status in Turai but ship's captains usually come from wealthier backgrounds. If Tanrose's grandfather was a captain, it means the family has come down in the world. Tanrose is aware of it.

"He was put in prison and most of the family's wealth was confiscated. That's how my mother ended up in Pashish."

"Why was he jailed?"

"He was accused in the Senate of profiteering in the war with the Simnians. He was meant to hand over all booty he collected to the King but it was alleged that he'd held on to his."

"Which, according to your mother, he had."

Tanrose nods.

"There was some dispute over how much money he'd brought home, and what was owed to him. Back then I don't think all the captains were actually in the navy. Some of the ships were private, and the navy used them when there was a war."

I nod. It's true. There were various famous seafarers in the last century who fought for Turai but weren't exactly part of the navy. Some of them were little more than pirates before the great war between Simnia and the League of City States. When war came, Turai overlooked their previous crimes and drafted them into the navy. It wouldn't be unheard of for one of these captains to find himself in possession of a lot of booty, and later find himself in dispute with the King over who exactly owned the loot.

"It's an odd story, Tanrose. But maybe not so unbelievable. What happened to your grandfather?"

"He died in prison. Quite soon after the trial, I think."

"Why did your mother never mention this before?"

Tanrose isn't sure. She thinks her mother may have preferred to forget about the disgrace in the family rather than have it all raked up again.

"But now she thinks the city's going to be overrun by the Orcs. So she wants the gold recovered."

"When exactly is this supposed to have happened?"

"After the Battle of Dead Dragon Island. Forty-two years ago."

"And where was the money buried?" I ask.

"Beside the harbour."

"That's not very specific."

"It's all she could tell me."

"There must have been a lot of change round the harbour in forty years. Though I don't remember ever hearing a story about fourteen thousand gurans being unearthed. Maybe it's still there. If it was ever there in the first place."

I eye Tanrose.

"You said your mother's memory was bad. How bad exactly?"

Tanrose shrugs her shoulders.

"Not so bad really for a woman of eighty. Do you think it might be true?"

I extinguish the stub of my thazis stick.

"Perhaps. I'll have to talk to her first."

I agree to visit Tanrose's mother tomorrow. Tanrose hurries off downstairs, to cook. As she leaves, Makri walks into my office.

"What did Tanrose want?"

"A private business affair."

"What was it?"

"Private."

Makri frowns.

"But I want to know what it was."

"Well that's unfortunate. Thraxas the Investigator does not reveal details of private consultations with his clients. Now move out the way, I'm needed downstairs for beer and a roaring fire."

Chapter Five

I'm sitting in front of the fire, musing on Tanrose's tale. There's probably nothing in it other than the confused ramblings of an old woman, but I'm willing to check it out. For one thing, I like Tanrose, and for another I'm greatly in need of money. I need at least 500 gurans to sit down at the card table with Glixius. If I unearth a chest containing 14,000 gurans I'm bound to earn at least that. Possibly more, depending on how grateful Tanrose's mother turns out to be. My thoughts are interrupted by Gurd. Kaby is still sick. Worse, Palax has now come down with the malady. They're both shivering in the guest room. Gurd is still unwilling to notify the authorities.

"They'll close the tavern. First thing I learned about keeping a tavern, don't let the authorities close you down."

Gurd asks me if I'd mind taking a plate of food upstairs for them. I eye him suspiciously.

"Why me?"

"You've had the malady," replies Gurd.

Even though it's generally believed that once you've had the winter malady you won't catch it again, the memory of lying in bed, burning up inside, panting for breath, every bone and muscle in my body racked with pain, makes me unwilling to take any risks. Must have been fifteen years or more since I had it, but I haven't forgotten.

"I had to go a week without beer. It was hell."

Tanrose emerges from the kitchens clutching a pot of stew. She's accompanied by Elsior, the apprentice cook, who's learning the trade.

"I can't believe you went a week without beer, Thraxas," says Tanrose.

"That's how sick I was."

"I was there," says Gurd. "He didn't go a week without beer."

"I did. I remember."

Gurd shakes his head.

"The healer told you to lay off the drink. Two hours later we found you crawling towards the tavern, rambling crazily about how the healers were trying to kill you. It took three men to drag you back to your tent and even then you wouldn't shut up till I brought you a tankard. By that time I was ready to kill you myself, so I figured 'What the hell?' "

Tanrose laughs.

"That's not how I remember the story at all," I protest.

"Enough about the malady," says Gurd, looking round shiftily. "We can't let anyone know."

Gurd is nervous, and not just because his tavern might be quarantined. Since Tanrose agreed to marry him he's been happy and anxious in turns. Tanrose touches his arm. Gurd is embarrassed to be caught in even this mild act of intimacy in front of an old fighting companion like myself. He shoves a bowl of soup towards me. I take it upstairs, unwillingly. Palax and Kaby are a nice enough pair but I don't like them enough to risk a repeat dose of the malady. Besides, I dislike acting as a waiter. Life is demeaning enough. On the other hand, it is a powerful tradition in Turai that you look after anyone who falls sick under your roof. Not taking care of Palax and Kaby would be close to taboo, and bring us bad luck. I'm wary of garnering bad luck with such an important game of cards coming up.

Palax and Kaby are huddled together on the small bed in the guest room. Despite the winter cold, they're both flushed and sweating, and have thrown off their blankets.

"Brought you some soup," I say, setting it down on the floor.

"Thank you," gasps Kaby.

"Don't worry, it'll pass soon. You want anything else, Makri will bring it for you."

I depart as swiftly as I arrived. In the corridor I crash into Makri.

"Hey watch it," she says. "What are you doing?"

"Taking soup to the patients."

"And retreating as fast as possible," notes Makri.

"Damn right I'm retreating as fast as possible. I don't want to come down with the malady again."

"Sickness will come and go. It's part of the natural process of life."

"Says who?"

"Samanatius."

"That old fraud?"

Makri is offended.

"He's the greatest philosopher in the west."

"Then tell him to bring soup for Kaby. And I don't see you volunteering."

Makri looks slightly uncomfortable.

"I don't want to get ill. I've never had the malady. I'm needed for the war effort."

"And I'm needed for an important game of cards."

Makri asks me if I've come up with a plan for raising the money for the game.

"Yes. You ask your employer Lisutaris."

"She won't do it. She's not going to risk five hundred gurans on your dubious card skills."

"My card skills are not dubious,"

"Last week you lost money to Gurd, Rallee, Ravenius and Grax. I'd say that was dubious."

"It was a fluke. The cards were against me. It happens to the best players sometimes. I'm number one chariot at rak. Stop smiling."

"Lisutaris will be here soon," says Makri. "You can ask her yourself."

"What's she coming here for?"

Makri isn't sure, though she thinks the Sorcerer might want to check I've been doing the daily incantation for Herminis. If the authorities ever find out that I was involved in her escape they'll be down on me like a bad spell. I wonder if I might be able to use this to apply a little pressure on Lisutaris. Maybe hint that unless she lends me a sum of money I might neglect to do the incantation?

"Don't you dare try and put any pressure on Lisutaris," says Makri, reading my mind. "She's busy keeping up the magical defence of the city against the Orcs. She doesn't need you fooling around with inconsequential matters."

I'm about to point out that winning money at cards is not an inconsequential matter when Lisutaris herself sweeps up the stairs and into the corridor. The Sorcerer is as well dressed as ever, with a thick fur wrap draped elegantly over the rainbow cloak that denotes her rank, and some delicate white shoes that owe more to winter fashion at court than the practicalities of moving around the streets in bad weather. Not that Lisutaris has to walk anywhere. As head of the Sorcerers Guild and an important member of the war council she has a fleet of carriages at her command. Though her hair is carefully styled and her make-up expertly applied by her personal beautician, I'd say she was looking tired. Slightly under the weather even. The strain of doing too many spells, no doubt. Last month on the battlefield she expended a fantastic amount of energy fighting the Orcs. She pulled down two of their greatest beasts, huge war dragons carrying Prince Amrag and Horm the Dead, creatures that were protected by every defensive spell known to the most powerful of Orcish Sorcerers. I was standing next to Lisutaris at the time. I can still hear her voice as she intoned the spell in some dead, dread forgotten language, bending her will to the almost impossible task of overcoming the huge brute strength of the dragons and the powerful sorcery that protected them. I'd say it was one of the greatest feats of sorcery ever performed in the heat of battle. Since then I doubt she's had much time to rest, and it shows.

I thank the Sorcerer for the gift she sent.

"Would you like some . . . ah, Abbot's Ale? Maybe some Elvish wine?"

Lisutaris senses the rather unwilling nature of my offer, and smiles.

"Keep it for yourself, Thraxas, I'd rather see you drink it than some of these people at the Palace. You'd be surprised how many healthy young men have suddenly found themselves keen to work in the administration rather than report for military duty."

Lisutaris frowns.

"I don't remember this happening in the last war. What happened to the people's spirit?"

It beats me. Lisutaris is right. There's a lot less patriotic fervour around these days. I don't exactly know why, unless it's got something to do with the wealth that's flooded into the city in recent years. That and the dwa, I suppose.

Lisutaris comes into my office. Makri follows on, uninvited. I give her a questioning look.

"I'm the bodyguard," says Makri. "And what's this about the Grand Abbot's Dark Ale?"

"A rare and fine brew."

"I want to try it."

"I'm saving it for a special occasion."

I tell Lisutaris that I've been doing the incantation every morning to protect Herminis, though I don't bother to sound enthusiastic about it. Lisutaris assures me it's safe enough.

"No one's looking for Herminis any more. The city's got enough troubles."

Lisutaris takes a seat, and takes out an elegant little silver case containing thazis.

"I'm in the middle of an investigation," she says. "And you, being an Investigator, might be able to help me."

"Is someone about to pay me for helping?"

The sorceress shakes her head. She's constructing a thazis stick; quite modestly sized by her standards.

"No pay. It's official war work, part of every citizen's duty."

"I tend to starve when I'm doing my duty."

"You could afford to lose some weight," says Lisutaris. "Anyway I'm not here to hire you. Senator Samilius is in charge of the investigation and he's got agents all over Twelve Seas already. I'm just looking for advice."

Lisutaris inhales deeply from her thazis stick.

"Have you heard of the Storm Calmer?"

"No. What is it?"

"A sorcerous item. One of the items I inherited when I became head of the Guild."

"What's it do?"

"It calms storms."

"Right."

Lisutaris explains that the Storm Calmer is a conch shell imbued with powers to quieten the seas.

"It was made by the Grand Sorcerer Elistratis about eight hundred years ago and brought to Turai by her daughter after Elistratis was killed in a sea battle far down to the south. Elistratis's daughter sailed here through the winter storms, using the conch shell to calm the seas. Or so the story goes."

"Sounds like a useful item," I say. "Particularly in this part of the world. How come it's never used? We lose a lot of ships every year to the weather."

"It's too important for that," explains Lisutaris. "The Storm Calmer is part of our national defence, like the green jewel I use for far-seeing. It's kept secret, for use only if a hostile Sorcerer tries to batter down our sea walls by conjuring up a storm."

"Last time you mentioned one of these important items of national security," I say, "it had been lost. Has the Storm Calmer gone missing?"

"No. It's safe. But its brother has gone missing."

"The Storm Calmer has a brother?"

"In a manner of speaking. No one knew about it till recently but apparently there's another shell called the Ocean Storm. A Turanian captain came across it on the uninhabited isle of Evoli last autumn. Or so he claims. It hasn't really been confirmed by anyone else. He sent a message to the Sorcerers Guild, saying he'd bought it from some ancient Elvish hermit."

"On the isle of Evoli?"

"That's right."

"So it's not really uninhabited?"

"It's uninhabited apart from one hermit."

"No one else? A cook, maybe, or a maid?"

Lisutaris looks annoyed.

"What sort of hermit has a maid? Please stop making irrelevant comments."

"I'm an Investigator. I need the full facts."

"We don't have the full facts. Just a story that a sorcerous artefact exists which is powerful enough to whip up a storm that would batter down Turai's sea walls and let the Orcs sail in."

By now the Mistress of the Sky is rolling another thazis stick. She is inordinately fond of the substance.

"The Ocean Storm was on its way to Turai last week. No ships sail in these weathers, but this one did."

"I saw it," I say. "Limped in, just made it."

Lisutaris nods.

"It was brought in by the first mate and the four remaining crew members, all experienced sailors, so I understand."

"And the captain?"

"Captain Arex was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared."

"Taking the Ocean Storm with him?"

"Exactly. Which is a problem. We don't really know if this item exists or not. None of the surviving crew had ever seen it. According to them they didn't even know their captain had sent a message to the Sorcerers Guild. If it does exist, we can't let it fall into anyone else's hands. Which means that we're now moving heaven, earth and the three moons to find something we're not sure is even in the city. Or even ever existed."

I muse for a moment, and light a thazis stick of my own.

"This all sounds unlikely to me."

"In what way?"

"Every way. A powerful sorcerous item no one's heard of before? You know better than me that these items don't happen along every day of the week."

"True. But we can't take the risk. If an Orcish Sorcerer starts trying to batter down our sea walls with a powerful new weapon, we'll be in trouble."

"It wouldn't be easy to use," I point out.

"True," agrees Lisutaris. "You'd have to be a very powerful Sorcerer indeed to pick up a strange magical talisman and use it right away, particularly for controlling the weather."

She pauses, inhaling from her thazis stick.

"But I could do it. If this Ocean Storm really exists, I could use it. A few others might be able to. The most powerful of the Orcish Sorcerers. Like Horm the Dead. Or Deeziz the Unseen."

I'm slightly surprised to hear the name. Deeziz is reputed to be the most powerful Sorcerer in all the Orcish lands, but he was last sighted somewhere in the mountains of Gzak and no one's heard anything about him for a decade.

"Deeziz? He's not with Amrag's army. No one's seen him since the last war."

"He retreated to a mountaintop to seek wisdom, or so we heard. Some people say he was banished when the Orcs were defeated," says Lisutaris. "Finding out anything about him is next to impossible. He's cloaked himself with so many spells of hiding we can't tell where he is. Even when he did used to appear, no one ever saw his face."

Deeziz always wore a veil. People generally assumed he must be horribly mutilated in some way, and given the brutal nature of Orcish sorcery, it's not unlikely. I ask Lisutaris why she's suddenly mentioned him.

"Has there been news that he's heading this way?"

She shakes her head.

"No news at all. But I thought of him when I heard about the Ocean Storm. He always was a master of the weather. If he suddenly appears outside the city with the Ocean Storm in his hand, we've got a problem. Anyway, it doesn't have to be him. Horm could probably use it. We can't let it fall into their hands."

"Probably it was just some piece of junk the captain was hoping to sell for a profit."

Lisutaris admits this is possible,

"Though I don't know how he'd have hoped to convince me it was real. You don't get to be head of the Sorcerers Guild by buying fake sorcerous items."

"True, it wouldn't have fooled you. But he might've had some idea of selling it to some other hapless member of the government. I've known senators get conned by stupider things than that."

"Can't you use your own sorcery to tell if there's a new sorcerous item in the city?" asks Makri, butting in with a question I was just about to ask myself.

"I haven't come up with anything," replies Lisutaris. "But that's not really conclusive. An unknown sorcerous artefact, inactivated, wouldn't necessarily give out any signals that could be traced. There are a great many objects and people in this city who give off sorcerous vibrations. Picking up some unknown source isn't easy."

"What do the ship's crew say about the captain disappearing?"

"Nothing. They don't know what happened. They were so short-handed that each of the five sailors was at his post, bringing the ship in. And suddenly the captain wasn't there."

"He probably fell overboard drunk," I say. "If he's anything like the other captains around here."

"It might all be nothing," agrees Lisutaris. "But suppose it isn't. Suppose the Ocean Storm is real and someone has stolen it. What would you think?"

"Then I'd think it was serious. It might have fallen into the hands of someone who'd be happy to see the Orcs batter down the harbour walls with a tidal wave and sail their fleet in. Has Samilius found out anything?"

"No."

"No surprise. Samilius is an idiot."

"I know. I've taken charge of the sorcerous part of the investigation and assigned several good Sorcerers to the hunt," says Lisutaris. "I trust you don't think I'm an idiot?"

"I think you're a woman who sent me an excellent gift. What do you want me to do?"

"Help us search," says Lisutaris. "When it comes to asking awkward questions and finding lost goods in strange places, you have some talents."

"I have. Are you sure there's no money involved?"

The Sorcerer looks frustrated.

"Regard it as an extension of the battlefield, Thraxas. This is war."

"Of course. It's my patriotic duty. But there is a matter of supreme importance occupying my attention just now, which really calls for a substantial sum of money. Do you think you could see your way to lending me five hundred gurans?"

Lisutaris is suddenly overtaken by a fit of coughing. I use the opportunity to press my case.

"I'm not asking you to take a risk. It's money loaned at a guaranteed return."

Lisutaris attempts to rise, falters, then falls to the floor. I gaze down at her, perplexed. I didn't think she'd be quite so shocked by a simple request for money.

"Well, you know, maybe three hundred would be enough to get me started—"

"Thraxas, you idiot, can't you see she's sick?" yells Makri.

"Sick?"

Lisutaris's face is turning red and her breath is coming in heavy gasps. Beads of sweat appear on her forehead.

"She's got the winter malady," says Makri.

"She can't have. She's head of the Sorcerers Guild."

I gaze down at her on the floor, cursing my luck. One of the richest women in Turai, right here in the Avenging Axe, and before she can listen to my business proposition she comes down with the malady. I've always felt that the gods had it in for me.

"Get Chiaraxi," says Makri. "I'll put Lisutaris in your bed."

"I don't think that's really the best place for—"

"Get the healer!" yells Makri.

While I'm not at all pleased to have a sufferer from the winter malady dumped on my own bed, there doesn't seem to be a better alternative. It's a serious matter having the head of the Sorcerers Guild fall sick at a time like this.

"If she comes round, ask her about lending me some money."

I depart. Before making my way along Quintessence Street to the home of Chiaraxi, I stop downstairs to appraise Gurd of current events. The brawny old Barbarian looks alarmed.

"Lisutaris? Sick? Here? Can't she go somewhere else?"

"Not in her condition."

Gurd curses under his breath. It's going to be difficult to keep this secret. A quarantine order is looking more and more likely. It's unfortunate timing. The tavern is full of mercenaries and soldiers. Gurd's business has never been so good. Provided the city doesn't get destroyed by the Orcs, he's in line for a healthy profit over the next few months. I leave him to his worries and hurry along to fetch Chiaraxi. Chiaraxi is alarmed as I barge into her office, possibly due to the fact that the last time I arrived here in a hurry was because Makri was about to die from a crossbow bolt, fired into her chest by Sarin the Merciless, one of the worst villains ever to blight Turai.

"Makri? Is she—"

"It's Lisutaris. She's come down with a bad case of the malady."

Chiaraxi frowns, and starts loading herbs into a bag.

"How bad?"

"Very bad, I'd say. Started coughing and then collapsed. I'd have thought such a powerful Sorcerer would have some protection against illness."

Chiaraxi shakes her head.

"Sorcery's no use against the winter malady. You can die just the same."

We hurry back towards the Avenging Axe. Chiaraxi asks me if it's the first case there's been. I admit it isn't.

"Palax and Kaby are sick with it."

"Has Gurd reported it to the Prefect?"

I remain silent. Chiaraxi purses her lips, indicating disapproval. I take the healer up the outside staircase that leads directly into my office, not wanting the customers in the tavern downstairs to suspect what's happening. Unfortunately my office isn't empty. I left without placing a locking spell on the door, and Captain Rallee and his new lady friend Moolifi are sitting together on the couch. Makri is standing uncomfortably by the door into the only other room, where Lisutaris is lying sick.

The Captain is around my age, but better preserved. His blond hair, long and tied at the back, is only just beginning to streak with grey, and his lifetime of pounding the streets has kept him in shape. We used to be friends. We fought together, a long time ago, and we worked together when I was an Investigator at the Palace and he had a far cushier job at Palace Security. Since I got sacked and the Captain got forced out by the endless politicking and favouritism that goes on there, we haven't get on so well. The Captain doesn't like the fact that's he's back on the beat, working a tough patch like Twelve Seas. From his point of view, private Investigators only get in the way.

I've never seen Moolifi before, and know her only by reputation. They say she's got a good voice. She has a lot of fair hair and a good figure, which probably helps things along. She looks quite a lot younger than the Captain. I get the impression he's not displeased to be here with her at his side. Puts him in a good light. A lot of people must have been vying for the singer's attention and the Captain doesn't mind it at all that he's come out the winner.

"Captain? What brings you here?"

The Captain looks at Chiaraxi.

"Who's sick?"

"Me," I reply.

"What's the matter?"

"That's between me and Chiaraxi," I reply.

The Captain looks suspicious. I intimate that I'm in a hurry to get my medical problem attended to so could he please make it quick. It turns out he wants Moolifi to stay at the Avenging Axe for a few days.

"She's had some trouble up at the Golden Unicorn."

"What sort of trouble?"

"Trouble with her manager. She had to leave in a hurry. I'd like you to keep an eye on her for a few days till she gets something sorted out."

Normally I could see reasons for objecting to this. If Moolifi is in trouble in her theatre in Kushni it probably means the Society of Friends is involved, because that criminal organisation runs the Golden Unicorn. I'd rather not offend the Society of Friends. Furthermore, I don't owe the Captain any favours. However, with Lisutaris sick in the next room I'm keen to get the Captain out of here as quickly as possible. I don't want to let the Civil Guards know that Gurd's been hiding a case of the winter malady from the authorities. So I tell him it's fine with me.

"If Gurd has a spare room for her I'll check she's safe. Now if you'd let me get on with my examination?"

As soon as they're gone I take Chiaraxi through to the bedroom. Lisutaris looks bad. Paying no further attention to either Makri or me, Chiaraxi takes out her herbs and potions and gets to work.

I tell Makri that we've got a problem.

"Captain Rallee wants to put Moolifi in the guest room. We can't let him find Palax and Kaby in there."

"So what are we going to do?"

"Carry them into your room."

Makri's face twitches.

"I don't want them in there."

"There's nowhere else."

"Couldn't they come here?"

"I've already got one sick person. You want me to look after everyone?"

Chiaraxi abruptly halts our argument by rising swiftly and issuing orders.

"Lisutaris is very ill. I want her isolated. She can't be moved and no one else is to come in here. If you have to move Palax and Kaby take them to Makri's room."

"I don't want them there," protests Makri again.

"I don't want Lisutaris in my room," I add.

"I don't care what you want," says Chiaraxi. "Do as I tell you."

Makri looks nonplussed. She turns to me.

"Can she order us around like this?"

"Stop wasting time and do as I say," says Chiaraxi.

It's difficult to argue with a healer when she's engaged in ministering to the sick. Makri and I reluctantly comply with her instructions. We swiftly haul Palax and Kaby into Makri's room.

"This can't be right," complains Makri. "I've only got one small room. How come I have to take two sick people? How can I study when they're here? What if I get the malady?"

We only just get the moving of sickly bodies completed before Moolifi and Gurd arrive upstairs. Gurd looks at me questioningly. I give a slight nod to indicate that it's safe to let her into the guest room. Moolifi thanks Gurd. Her voice is rather cool and gracious, less rough than I'd have expected a Kushni entertainer's to be. She says she's tired, and would like to lie down for a while.

"This is bad," says Gurd, after the singer departs.

"You're right it's bad. The head of the Sorcerers Guild is about to die in my bed and God knows what the Renowned and Truthful Chronicle will say about that."

We return to my office. Chiaraxi appears from the bedroom, briskly efficient.

"You must inform the authorities," she says.

"I can't," says Gurd. "They'll shut me down."

"They'll do a lot worse if they find you're trying to conceal an outbreak of the malady," points out the healer.

"I won't report it," says Gurd, stubbornly.

"Then I will," replies Chiaraxi.

"We can't keep it secret anyway," points out Makri. "People are going to notice if the head of the Sorcerers Guild isn't around."

True, of course. Lisutaris is among the most important people in the city. She can't just disappear. It's our duty to let the authorities know what's happened. It seems as if Gurd has no alternative but to report it all to the local prefect.

There's a very light tap on the inside door. Everyone looks towards it, suspiciously. I open it carefully. I'm confronted by a small, pale woman with dark hair who I'd take to be a worker in the local market if I didn't recognise her as Hanama, number three in the Assassins Guild. I stare at her balefully.

"What do you want?"

"Makri."

Hanama is softly spoken. Listening to her talk, you'd never believe she'd killed so many people. I detest her, as I do all Assassins. A foul and murderous breed without whom the city would be far better off. I'm about to slam the door in her face when Makri hurries over.

"What is it?" she asks.

Hanama puts her mouth to Makri's ear and whispers.

"Stop having murderous Assassins' conversations at my door," I say, harshly.

Hanama suddenly clutches at her throat and falls forward. A rather puzzling occurrence. She's not the sort of woman to take an insult so badly.

"She's got the malady," cries Makri.

"She can't have," I yell. "Not her. Not in my office."

I turn towards Gurd.

"This is getting out of hand. We have to get these sick people out of the tavern."

Chiaraxi bends over the Assassin.

"Carry her to the couch," she says.

"I refuse to let a sick Assassin lie on my couch."

Chiaraxi and Makri ignore me. Hanama is laid on my couch. Sweat pours from her forehead and her breath comes in heavy gasps. I glare at Hanama.

"Couldn't you get sick somewhere else? You're not staying here. I refuse to allow it."

"No one in Turai can refuse aid to a sick guest," says Chiaraxi.

"She's not a guest. She just barged her way in here."

It's hopeless. Chiaraxi is already busy with her herbs.

"Bring a blanket," she instructs.

"I refuse to let you cover Hanama with my blanket," I protest, but it's useless. Makri is already fetching it.

"How can Hanama be my guest? I don't even like her. Ask anyone."

No one is listening to me. I take out a bottle of klee and drink a good shot, shuddering as it burns my throat. Now I've got a sick Sorcerer in my bedroom and a sick Assassin in my office. I shake my head, and wonder how it can possibly have happened. It's not like these people don't have homes of their own where they could be ill.

Chapter Six

Deputy Consul Cicerius hurries down to Twelve Seas as soon as he receives my message. I haven't yet informed Prefect Drinius. I'm on bad terms with our local prefect and will leave it to Cicerius to do what's necessary. When Cicerius arrives I'm hesitant about actually letting him in my office. The way things are going I'm half expecting him to plummet to the floor the moment he enters.

"I have had the malady," he says, and sweeps past me. His assistant, Hansius, doesn't look quite so comfortable in the presence of disease. Cicerius is surprised to see Hanama lying on the couch. I'm not certain if he recognises her. Asleep, she looks more child-like than ever. Not at all like a woman who once killed an Elf lord and an Orc lord both in the same day, and a senator as well, as Hanama is reputed to have done.

"There is more than one victim? Where is Lisutaris?"

"In the next room."

I'm not thrilled at the prospect of the Deputy Consul of Turai entering my only private room, not least because it's even more untidy than my office. I get the strange feeling that I'm back in the army and my personal kit is about to be inspected by an officer. I start to bridle. One comment about the state of my rooms and I'll sling them out. Chiaraxi accompanies them into the bedroom. Gurd has gone back downstairs, leaving me alone for the moment with Makri, apart from Hanama, who's sleeping under the influence of some medicinal draught. Even so, I draw Makri to the far side of the room and talk to her in a low voice, careful lest Hanama should overhear. You can't trust an Assassin, even a sick one.

"What did Hanama want? Is it something I should know about?"

Makri shrugs.

"I don't know. She collapsed before she could tell me."

"Didn't she even give you a hint?"

Makri shakes her head.

"You saw how quickly she went down."

It's a mystery. Damn Hanama. Couldn't she have stayed on her feet for another thirty seconds?

"It must be something really serious," says Makri.

"I suppose so. Unless she just felt like talking to you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" declares Makri, sharply.

"Last month she brought you flowers."

"Will you just drop that?" says Makri. "There's no need to keep going on and on about it. Don't you have something else to think about?"

Hansius reappears and asks me to join the Deputy Consul. I notice his eyes flicker towards Makri. Hansius has been in my office before but I don't think he's ever encountered Makri in her chainmail bikini. Plenty of people regard it as a remarkable sight. Not just her breasts; Makri is the only woman I've ever seen with tightly defined stomach muscles. Even the dancers in the theatres up-town tend to have softer bellies. Of course, all decent women keep their stomachs well covered up.

Knowing that if Hansius keeps staring, Makri will say something rude, I take his arm and guide him back into my private room where Deputy Consul Cicerius is standing beside Lisutaris, looking thoughtful. The sorceress is conscious, but very weak.

Cicerius thanks me for notifying him.

"This is bad. I do not want news of Lisutaris's illness to be made known. It would be disastrous for the city's morale. Furthermore, and most importantly, the Orcs must not learn of it."

What the Deputy Consul says is true. Lisutaris is so important to the defence of the city that news of her incapacity might be all the Orcs needed before staging an attack.

Cicerius is a thin, grey-haired man, trusted by the population though not loved. He's too vain and too austere to generate much affection. But he's a better man than our highest official, Consul Kalius. Kalius was injured on the battlefield, and not gloriously. He's now recuperating but is too traumatised to take the reins of power, which leaves Cicerius in charge. The strain is showing. His face is thinner and his toga, normally as clean, white and well pressed as it could be, shows signs of having been put on in a hurry.

"The healer is concerned by Lisutaris's condition but not overly so. The Mistress of the Sky is a strong woman and should recover."

I glance at Lisutaris. Her eyes are open, but I'm not sure if she can hear us or not.

"So are you going to send a wagon to ship her back home?"

"No. She must stay here while she recovers," continues Cicerius. "Your healer advocates complete rest."

I start complaining loudly. Cicerius glares at me.

"Do you not trust this healer Chiaraxi?"

I'm forced to admit I do.

"She keeps people going in Twelve Seas and that's not easy."

Cicerius nods.

"I have the feeling she is to be trusted. I could send down healers from the Palace, but . . ."

He ponders for a while.

"But I would rather as few people learn of this as possible. Already this month our intelligence services have rooted out an Orcish spy in the Palace and another one in the senate. There are probably more. I'd far rather leave Lisutaris to recover here, away from all prying eyes. Makri is already employed as bodyguard to protect her. I'll send down a few other agents, discreetly, to ensure her safety. All being well, our sorceress should recover fully in a few days with no one even knowing she was ill."

"Won't people miss her at the Palace? Or on the war council?"

Cicerius shakes his head.

"I can assign her duties which would keep her away from the war council for a few days. And we can use her double for some public appearances, to allay any suspicions."

"Her double?"

Cicerius informs me that the Consul's office has people ready to play the parts of various important citizens in Turai, for precisely this sort of emergency.

"There is an employee at the Palace—a keeper of imperial records—who has already served in this capacity on occasion."

I'm impressed. I didn't realise our government was so organised.

"What about quarantine?"

Cicerius shakes his head.

"Prefect Drinius is not to be informed and the Avenging Axe is not to be quarantined. Do nothing which might attract attention to this tavern, until Lisutaris has fully recovered."

"And Hanama?"

"She must stay here. We cannot risk her leaving. She might let it be known that Lisutaris is ill."

"But it's not safe having her here. What if she assassinates Lisutaris?"

"That hardly seems likely," says Cicerius. "Assassins do not kill at random. They work to contract."

"I don't like this at all. Why should I look after a sick Assassin?"

"You are aware, of course," says Cicerius, "of the Turanian tradition which requires all citizens to give hospitality to a sick guest?"

"Of course. I just don't think it should apply to Assassins."

"It applies to everyone," says Cicerius, who's always keen on Turanian traditions, no matter how stupid they are. "Simply care for them, go about your business, and Lisutaris's illness should pass unnoticed."

I give up the argument. At least if the tavern isn't quarantined the card game can go ahead. I get the insane notion to ask Cicerius for 500 gurans but dismiss it immediately. He's not known for his generosity. Besides, he'd probably find it impossible to imagine that anyone could think of playing cards at a time like this.

Inspiration suddenly strikes.

"How is the hunt for the Ocean Storm?"

Cicerius looks at me suspiciously.

"You know of that?"

"Of course. Lisutaris came down to consult me. She knows I'm number one chariot at finding missing items."

"Any help you can give will be appreciated," says Cicerius, brusquely. "But there are already many people looking. Praetor Samilius is organising the search."

"Then you can expect not to find it. Best hire me. I've come through for you before. Shouldn't take more than—let me see—five hundred gurans should do it."

The Deputy Consul looks shocked.

"Are you trying to extort money for finding an item on which national security may depend?"

"Extort? You call asking for a decent wage extortion?"

"As I recall, your normal daily rate is thirty gurans," says Cicerius. "It saddens me to see any citizen of Turai trying to make money from the crisis."

"And me. But it so happens I need five hundred gurans in a hurry. That's not a great sum. You could lose it in the treasury accounts easily enough. So how about offering a reward of five hundred gurans for the swift locating of the Ocean Storm?"

Cicerius gives me a withering look. He clearly regards me among the ranks of the profiteers who buy up supplies in times of hardship and sell them for vastly inflated prices to the suffering population.

"If you locate the item I may authorise a small reward. But do not expect me to do you any favours in future."

"I never noticed you doing me any favours in the past."

Hansius reminds the Deputy Consul that they have an urgent appointment at the Palace. Cicerius nods.

"Thraxas. It is your responsibility to look after Lisutaris. While she is under this roof, I suggest you moderate your habits. For once in you life, try putting the interests of the city before your own."

Cicerius departs. It was typical of him to insult me at the same time as requesting I work hard for him. Cicerius can be a great speaker—in the law courts he's a fabulous orator—but he doesn't spend a lot of time working on his personal charm.

Chiaraxi provides instructions for the care of Lisutaris and Hanama. They're simple enough. Plenty of water, and the herbal concoction every few hours.

"Make sure they're kept warm. That should be easy enough for you."

I look at her blankly.

"Sorcery," says Chiaraxi. "You can light your fire with a spell."

"Right," I say.

It's a long time since my fire-lighting spell worked. These days I just don't have the power. After Chiaraxi leaves I check on Lisutaris and Hanama. Neither look like they're about to die in the next few moments so I do what I've been wanting to for some time, and hurry downstairs to the bar.

"Happy Guildsman, and make it quick."

Gurd hands me over the extra-large-sized tankard. From the expression on his face he could do with a few Happy Guildsmen himself.

"It's terrible," he hisses.

"Not so bad," I tell him, quietly. "No quarantine."

Gurd is still troubled.

"What if Lisutaris dies?"

"They can hardly blame you."

"Can't they? I never reported it when Kaby went sick. I should have."

I tell Gurd to relax.

"The Deputy Consul has entrusted the whole affair into my hands."

"What do you know about healing the sick?"

"Not much," I admit. "But all that seems to be required is regular doses of Chiaraxi's herbal concoction. Just pour it into the patients and wait for them to get better. Easy enough. I always knew these healers were making too much out of the whole thing. Probably helps them to bump up their fees."

I point out to Gurd that once Lisutaris has been successfully brought back to health the Avenging Axe could even benefit.

"Might get a reputation among Sorcerers as a good place to go, and Sorcerers are big drinkers. When I went to the last Sorcerers Assemblage they were taking it in like their lives depended on it."

Sorcerers rarely seem to practice moderation. Whether it's alcohol, dwa or, as in Lisutaris's case, thazis, they always need to go to excess.

Makri arrives with a tray full of empty tankards.

"Where are you going to sleep?" she asks.

"In the guest room, I suppose."

"You can't. Moolifi's in the guest room."

I forgot about that. I don't know where I'm going to sleep. Makri announces that she's sleeping next to Lisutaris, on the floor.

"Says who?"

"Me. It's my job. I'm her bodyguard."

Suddenly everything seems worse. Makri sleeping on my bedroom floor. Time was when no one entered my office apart from the occasional hopeless client. Now there's hardly room for a man to sit and drink beer.

I turn to Gurd.

"Looks like you'll have to put me up in your room. Be like sharing a tent in the war."

Gurd looks embarrassed.

"That would be, ah—"

Gurd abruptly feels the need to polish the far end of the bar, and moves away rapidly, working his cloth furiously. I'm baffled.

"What's the matter with him?"

Makri gives me a pitying look.

"You can't share his room. Tanrose shares his room. Didn't you know that?"

"Of course I didn't know that. When did this happen?"

"Right after he asked her to marry him," Makri informs me.

Now I'm stuck for inspiration.

"Maybe I can sleep behind the bar," I muse.

"Just sleep on the floor in your office."

"Sleep in the same room as an Assassin? No chance."

"You might form a bond," says Makri. "It's time you got yourself some female companionship. Hey, even Gurd's not alone these days."

Tanrose appears from the kitchen, carrying a tray of pastries.

"Tanrose, don't you think it's time Thraxas got himself a woman?" calls Makri.

"Definitely," says Tanrose. "I've been telling him for years he should settle down."

"Of course, Hanama's on the small side, so you'll have to be careful . . ."

No wishing to listen to any more mockery, I take a bowl of stew—with no yams—and depart to the far corner of the room, where I sit in front of the fire, listening to mercenaries talk about fighting. I wonder about the Ocean Storm, and I wonder about Tanrose's mother's tale of buried gold. Which is most likely to earn me some money in a short space of time? It's a difficult choice. I decide to investigate each one tomorrow, and see where it takes me.

Chapter Seven

Next day I'm out on the streets early enough to catch the first beer delivery. I recognise the large, red-haired man who's rolling barrels down to the cellar.

"What are you doing on a wagon, Partulax?"

Partulax gave up working the wagons a few years ago when he became an official in the Transport Guild. These days he spends most of his time sitting in an office giving out jobs and contracts.

"Driver shortage," he replies. "Most of the Guild's been called up for the war. Your delivery man's up at the Gardens."

Turai has a regiment of troops stationed close to the Pleasure Gardens defending the East Gate. There's been some suggestion of mounting an attack on the Stadium, but I think General Pomius is against it. We don't know how many Orcs are there and he'd rather not open any of the city gates till a relief force arrives.

"No shortages in the beer department?"

"Not yet," replies Partulax.

Just as well. If beer runs out it will be a crushing, demoralising blow for the city. I'd find it hard to carry on. Again it's a mild day, and Gurd is sweating as he helps fill the cellar.

"Off to the walls?"

I shake my head.

"My day off military duty."

"Then what are you doing up at this time?"

"Working on a case."

No one has been able to shed any light on the mysterious disappearance of the captain of the ship that was supposed to be bringing the Ocean Storm to Turai, so I'm off to interview the first mate. He's holed up at the Mermaid Tavern. An interesting choice, given that the Mermaid is the local headquarters for the Brotherhood. Not the sort of place an innocent man generally chooses for his residence, though it doesn't necessarily mean the sailor is part of the criminal gang. He might just need to be near to a supply of dwa. Or maybe he's sick of being investigated, and wants to be somewhere where the law doesn't go. Between the Civil Guards, Palace Security and the local prefect, he's already suffered a lot of investigation.

The lane that leads to the Mermaid is full of dwa dealers, small-timers at the mouth of the alley and a few more important figures close to the tavern. Trade is brisk, as always. Once more, I'm struck by the number of men who should be on military duty but aren't. Very lucrative for the Brotherhood, but maybe they won't think it was such a smart way to make a profit when the Orcs storm the walls and put them all to the sword.

As I'm about to enter the tavern, Glixius Dragon Killer strides out the front door. His great black boots, handcrafted by the master leather workers of Juval and probably costing more than I earn in three months, are scuffed and muddied from the alleyway. If I had such a fancy pair of boots I wouldn't wear them to the Mermaid. I'm surprised to find him here. As far as I know, Glixius doesn't use dwa. When I try to walk round him he gets in the way.

"I'm looking forward to our game," he says.

"Me too. Now move over, I'm busy."

"You're not calling it off then?" says Glixius, loud enough so the people hovering round the doorway can hear. "For lack of money?"

"I'll be there."

"I'll see you soon," he says, and strides off, his long rainbow cloak trailing behind him. It's an unusual sight, a Sorcerer in this alleyway, but I wouldn't say it attracts that much attention from the dwa dealers or their customers. They're all too busy with their own business.

Inside the tavern the first person I meet is Casax, local head of the Brotherhood.

"Well, well," says Casax. "Two Sorcerers in two minutes."

That's a joke, sort of. My failure at sorcery is well known. It doesn't help my mood.

Casax has a shaven head, dark features, and a gold earring in each ear. He's intelligent, and ruthless when he has to be. He's a powerful man, large, though not as large as Karlox, his enforcer, who stands beside him dwarfing everyone, even me, and I take a lot of dwarfing.

"You never told me you had a special game lined up," says Casax.

"What special game?"

"With Glixius and General Acarius. How did you manage to get the General to come to the Avenging Axe?"

"I didn't know he was," I admit. "But Glixius just invited himself."

"Well I hear he's invited Acarius. They usually play with Praetor Capatius. If the Praetor comes down it'll be the richest game ever seen in Twelve Seas."

He looks at me like I'm a man who doesn't have a lot of money.

"I can cope," I say.

Casax shrugs.

"You better make sure you've got a good stake to start with. Otherwise they'll just force you off the table."

Casax comes most weeks to play in the rak game at the Avenging Axe. Big money won't be a problem for him. Since he took over the Brotherhood in Twelve Seas they've tightened their stranglehold on crime and increased their profits.

"How's the Captain?"

"Rallee? He's fine. Why?"

"You might tell him to watch his back. You know that woman he's running around with's in trouble with the Society of Friends? She owes them money. Probably took up with Rallee for some protection," says Casax. "I quite like the Captain. Always admire an honest man."

"As long as he doesn't interfere with your business."

"It's a long time since the Civil Guards could interfere with my business."

Casax frowns at a sailor at the bar who's making a lot of noise. The sailor shuts up.

"Anyway they won't come after her in Twelve Seas," says Casax. "So you don't have to worry."

I move a little closer to Casax.

"The Society worry me as much as the Brotherhood. Which is to say not at all."

"You hear that, Karlox?" says Casax. "We don't worry him. Better take care not to upset such a tough guy."

Karlox grins. I've had some run-ins with him in the past. He's dumb as an Orc but good at violence.

"What did Glixius want?" I ask, not really expecting a reply.

"To talk to a sailor about a missing item."

Casax points to a figure at a table, just discernible through the perpetual smoky gloom inside the Mermaid. I wonder if Glixius Dragon Killer has been looking for the Ocean Storm on behalf of the Sorcerers Guild. Lisutaris said she'd sent out some people. But Glixius isn't trustworthy. More likely he's working some angle of his own.

Casax loses interest in me. He doesn't care about me questioning the first mate. Maybe he figures it would be wise to cooperate, with the Sorcerers, the Civil Guards and Prefect Drinius all buzzing around. Or maybe he just feels like being polite because he's looking forward to the card game. He's not a bad player, Casax. Sharp as an elf's ear, or near enough, and difficult to read.

I sit down next to the sailor. His eyes are dull and they don't light up when I appear.

"I don't know anything about the Ocean Storm," he says, before I can even frame a question.

"How d'you know I was going to ask you about it?"

"Everybody else has. The Prefect. The Civil Guards. The Sorcerers."

His voice sounds weary. Perhaps the result of his arduous sea voyage. More likely he's midway between doses of dwa.

"What happened to Captain Arex?"

"He disappeared. We just made it into harbour, and when we got there, no Captain Arex."

"He just disappeared?"

"That's what I said."

"I saw the ship come in. The weather was calm. He couldn't have been washed overboard. Where'd he go?"

The first mate shakes his head. He doesn't know.

"You feel anything strange? Sorcery maybe?"

He shakes his head again. Of course, there are plenty of spells that can't be sensed by your average citizen.

"Tell me about the Ocean Storm."

"I don't know anything about it."

A waitress passes. I order a beer and sit in silence till it arrives. My companion doesn't volunteer any more information. He doesn't seem worried. He doesn't even seem interested. I sip my beer.

"When these people asked you questions—the Guards, the Prefect, the Sorcerers—did any of them offer you some financial reward for your trouble?"

This gets his attention. He looks straight at me.

"Now that you mention it, they didn't."

I take out my purse.

"None of them really know how to investigate," I tell him. "They're amateurs. Just get in my way, really."

I take out two gurans and lay them on the table. It's more than I'd normally pay for information in a place like this.

"Why did you go to the isle of Evoli?"

The first mate slides the coins off the table and into the pocket inside his tunic.

"To take on water. Not unusual."

"But something unusual happened?"

"The captain disappeared inland with a few sailors and he came back with something in a bag. Didn't say what it was and he didn't tell me where he'd been. Later the sailors told me he went to see some old monk. An Elf. I didn't know there was anyone on Evoli, it's just a rock in the sea really. A few trees and a stream."

"Was it on your normal trade route?"

"No. We made a diversion."

"Strange time to make a diversion, with the stormy season due."

"It was. We were lucky to make it back to Turai."

"So what happened to the captain?"

The first mate shakes his head.

"I don't know. I was busy working a pump when we came into port. We were shipping so much water we damned near went under."

I stare at him.

"I didn't pay you to tell me the same story you told the Prefect. I've been at sea. I don't imagine a ship's captain ever disappeared without someone on board knowing where he went. And I don't believe he was spirited away by a spell either. Where'd he go?"

The first mate looks at me pointedly. I slide another guran across the table.

"He has a woman in Silver Lane."

"Then give me the address and I'll be on my way."

He gives me the address. I finish my beer and depart, satisfied. Having cleared up any foolish notions of mysterious disappearances, I've more of an idea what's been going on. The captain might have been in negotiations with the Sorcerers Guild but he's obviously got an idea of how he might earn himself more than they were willing to pay. I'm guessing he's had a better offer from elsewhere, and has dropped out of sight while he tries to do a deal. Theft and greed. I'm back on familiar ground.

Silver Lane isn't far away. It's one of the many small streets In Twelve Seas with tall tenements crowding in on each side, dwellings which are never comfortable and often dangerous. The landlords bribe the city officials to look the other way while they build them up too high. Every year there's some disaster when one of them collapses and there's an outcry in the city for a while, but it never changes. I'd expect a sea captain to live in a slightly better area, but if he's on the run it's not a bad place to go, though the Guards or the Sorcerers would have found him soon enough if they weren't so dramatically bad at investigating.

The stairway is narrow, dark and dirty. I walk up three flights and knock on the door. There's no reply. Maybe they're out. Maybe they're not keen on visitors. I speak a minor word of power and the door swings inwards, easily enough. I'm pleased. I always am when any of my small knowledge of sorcery pays off. The hallway is neat, with a small table and a clean rug. The captain's lady keeps a nice slum. I can smell freshly baked bread. I glance in the first room, which is empty. I look in the second, which is not so empty. There's a few sticks of furniture and two dead bodies. One male, around my age, face somewhat gnarled, probable effects of a life at sea, stabbed in the back. One female, younger, rather plump, wearing the sort of dress a poor woman buys to greet her lover. Also stabbed, and also dead.

It's a depressing sight. The neatness of the room makes it worse. The woman lives in the poorest part of town but makes an effort to keep things tidy. Her lover arrives back with a plan for making some money, presumably to take them somewhere better. Soon afterwards they're both dead. Not such a great plan, all in all.

I take a look around. I'm not expecting to find anything and I don't. If the captain had the Ocean Storm on him, it's long gone. In the tiny kitchen there's a loaf on the table, newly baked. The captain's woman was skilful in the kitchen. He should have stuck with his homely comforts instead of trying move up in the world. I tear off a hunk of bread, cram it in my mouth, and close the door on my way out.

After I leave I feel downcast. I've spent too long sorting out problems in this city. With the Orcs outside the walls, I wonder why I bother. A beggar holds out his hand as I pass by. He's dressed in rags, and suffering in the cold. When winter is harsh, the beggars die. Maybe this year they'll make it through to spring. I should question him. He might have seen someone coming out from the tenement. But I hurry past, suddenly uncomfortable from the feeling that I'm going to end up like him, destitute and on the streets. The way my life has been going for the past few years, I wouldn't say it was impossible. My mood worsens when I pass a tavern at the foot of Moon and Stars Boulevard which has a quarantine sign outside it, a large black cross painted on the white door. The winter malady is starting to spread.

I'm not too far away from the tenement where Tanrose's mother lives. I could go and question her. I hesitate. Having just encountered two corpses I'm not really in the right state of mind to launch into a fresh investigation. But time is short, and I need money. I sigh, and head over to visit her.

Chapter Eight

Tanrose's mother is quite a frail, grey-haired woman. She's made it to eighty, which is old in these parts, but I wouldn't say she was going to be with us for too many more years. She has one servant, paid for by Tanrose, who leads me into their only large room where Tanrose's mother is sitting in a large chair with a brown blanket over her legs. Though the family isn't wealthy, the tenement they live in isn't as bad as many of the others in the poorer areas. It's small but comfortable, and well decorated, with some small tapestries on the walls, clean, uncracked glass in the windows, and polished floorboards covered by thick rugs. I catch a glimpse of the family shrine off the hallway and it's bright and clean, and smells of incense.

After the servant has brought me a glass of wine I wait for Tanrose's mother to get down to business. It takes a little while, and as she tells me the story there's an edge of bitterness in her voice. She hasn't forgiven the authorities for putting her father in prison.

"The privateers had an agreement with the King that they could keep whatever booty they took before they joined up with the navy. My father, Captain Maxius, attacked a Simnian treasure ship the day before he was due to meet with the squadron he'd been assigned to. Everything he took that day was his by right."

As she tells it, the authorities didn't see it that way. Captain Maxius took part in the Battle of Dead Dragon Island honourably enough, but when he arrived back in port he found himself summoned to the Palace, where he was accused of withholding treasure from the King.

"Other captains were jealous because he was so successful. The trial wasn't fair. He was put in prison when he refused to hand over the money."

Tanrose's mother coughs, and looks frail and upset. Some tears form in her eyes.

"He died soon after. He wasn't well after the voyage and he couldn't recover in prison. They killed him. Afterwards they were always questioning my mother but she never told them anything."

She sighs, and looks off into the distance for a while.

"That was all a long time ago. Now the Orcs are going to take over the city. Good, I say."

"Good?"

"Why should I care? The city ruined my family. My father was wealthy. Look at us now."

She pauses again. She seems to be tiring. She revives long enough to look up at me sharply.

"But the Orcs can't get my father's money. Find it for me. There's fourteen thousand gurans. If you find it you can have one thousand."

"Where exactly did he bury it?"

"Near the harbour. Under the whale."

"What?"

"Under the whale."

I scratch my chin.

"I don't know of any whale at the harbour."

"That's what he told my mother. Under the whale. And that's what she told me."

"I really don't think there's a whale in Turai harbour."

"Not in the harbour. Beside it."

"Even so—"

I break off. Tanrose's mother's eyelids are starting to droop. Any second now she's going to nod off.

The servant comes in and looks questioningly at me.

"I'm leaving," I say, and bid farewell. I leave the tenement very thoughtfully. She didn't seem crazy and her memory seemed to be intact. Her story wasn't that unlikely, given the history of Turai's naval past, and the greed of the Palace. Any captain arriving back with a fortune might well find someone there trying to relieve him of it. Besides, I've been offered a reward of 1,000 gurans for finding the loot, which makes me even more inclined to believe the story.

The only problem is I'd swear there isn't a whale beside the harbour. I'm still musing on it as I arrive back at the Avenging Axe. I'm not pleased to find Makri in my office and my mood isn't improved by the way she's kneeling over Hanama, their faces almost touching.

"What the hell are you doing?" I demand. "No, don't answer that. Just do it somewhere else."

I grab a bottle of klee and take a slug. All these sick women in my private quarters, it's starting to unnerve me. Makri springs lithely to her feet. Everything she does is lithe, agile and nimble. I never noticed before how annoying it can be.

"Hanama was trying to tell me something," says Makri.

I sit down at my desk. There's a brief silence.

"Stop pretending you're not interested."

"Nothing an Assassin says is of any interest to me."

"Isn't it time you lightened up on this hating Assassins all the time, Thraxas? It's getting tedious."

"Tedious? This woman kills for money. It's a vile trade that should have been outlawed long ago."

"You were a soldier. You killed for money."

"That's different."

"How?"

"It just is. And don't try and confuse the issue with some smart argument you learned from Samanatius the so-called philosopher."

Makri looks frustrated.

"Do you want to hear what Hanama had to say or not?"

"No."

"Fine," says Makri.

She sits down on the couch. I try to ignore her. After a few minutes I glance up. She's studying her nails. I tap my fingers on the desk, and take out today's edition of the Chronicle. It's full of news about the winter malady. There's been a major outbreak in the north of the city and it's expected to spread. Makri's still studying her nails.

"What the hell did Hanama have to say!" I roar.

Makri looks up.

"Pardon?"

"What was it?"

"I can't remember."

I've really had enough of this. I rise to my feet.

"Makri, I've got an office full of sick Assassins and Sorcerers and it's starting to get on my nerves. I'm not in the mood for you to hang around acting like an imbecile. What did Hanama say?"

Makri rises to her feet too.

"She said if that fat Investigator comes back tell him he's a drunken oaf."

I put my hand to my sword and draw it a few inches from its scabbard.

"Tell me what she said."

Makri's eyes blaze. She wrenches a long knife out of her boot and steps towards me.

"What if I don't?"

Makri brandishes her knife. I draw my sword. There's a knock on the inside door and Tanrose comes into the office. She looks aghast at my drawn sword and Makri's knife.

"What's going on?"

I sheathe my sword, with dignity.

"A private disagreement."

"You should both be ashamed of yourselves," says Tanrose. "What sort of way is this to behave?"

Makri puts her knife back in her boot and looks sulky.

"He started it," she mutters.

Tanrose frowns.

"I was going to ask you to look after the bar while I went to the fishmonger's. But I think I'll ask Dandelion instead. Try not to kill each other while I'm gone."

Tanrose departs. I sit back down at my desk. I light a thazis stick and throw one to Makri. She catches it and places it between her lips. There's a few moments' silence.

"That was strange," says Makri.

"What?"

"The argument. Even by our standards it didn't seem like time for drawing weapons."

I shrug.

"Everyone in Turai is crazy right now, with the Orcs outside the walls. Always happens. A city under siege is never a good place to be. Now that the malady's arrived, I expect a lot more citizens to start exhibiting their craziness."

I draw on the thazis; the mild narcotic calms me down.

"So what did Hanama have to say?"

"She says there's going to be an attempt on Lisutaris's life."

"Who from?"

"She passed out again before she could say any more."

I turn to look at the small Assassin, who's murmuring to herself, lost in the troubled sleep that comes with the malady.

"That's great. Couldn't she have stayed awake another ten seconds?"

"At least we got the warning," says Makri.

"It's not a lot of use. The way things are just now, half the city could be planning a bit of treachery to save their skins from the Orcs."

"What did Tanrose's mother want?" asks Makri.

I'm immediately suspicious.

"How did you know about that?"

"I heard someone mention it," says Makri, vaguely.

"It's a private investigation. A little trouble with her neighbours. Nothing important."

I'm not about to let Makri know that I'm hot on the trail of 14,000 gurans. Once word got out, there's no knowing what might happen. In a city as avaricious as Turai, half the citizens would be down at the harbour in no time, digging for gold.

Before Makri can attempt to prise any more information out of me we're interrupted by a knock on the door. It's a young man from the Messengers Guild. He hands over a sealed scroll. I sign for it, and close the door. The message is from Deputy Consul Cicerius.

Situation now grave. Lisutaris in great danger. Do nothing whatsoever that might draw attention to this tavern. Am sending Tirini Snake Smiter to provide sorcerous protection.

"I told you Lisutaris was in danger," says Makri.

I'm not that impressed by Cicerius sending Tirini Snake Smiter to help. She's not the sort of Sorcerer you'd turn to in a crisis. I'd be happier if he sent a regiment of troops to ring the tavern. Unfortunately this might alert the Orcs to Lisutaris's illness, which might precipitate an immediate attack.

"Are you going to cancel the card game?" asks Makri.

I'm puzzled.

"Why would I do that?"

"It'll draw attention to the tavern."

"No it won't."

"Of course it will. People are bound to talk about it, especially if General Acarius brings Praetor Capatius."

I get the slight feeling that things are spinning out of control, with sick people everywhere and the city's richest gamblers heading in my direction, but I force the thought away.

"In times of crisis, a man has to carry on as normal. I can't go around cancelling card games. It would be unpatriotic."

Makri scoffs at this.

"You're meant to be not drawing attention to the Avenging Axe. Staging the biggest card game in Twelve Seas' history might technically be seen as drawing attention."

"Cancelling it would only raise suspicions."

"Have you raised the money yet?"

"Not quite. But I can feel things moving my way."

Chapter Nine

I spend the evening sitting in front of the fire downstairs in the tavern, sipping beer and working my way through an enormous venison pie. Salted venison rather than fresh, as it's winter, but Tanrose has a way of bringing it back to life. My mood improves. True, the rooms upstairs are full of sick people, and the pie isn't quite the same without a few yams to mash up in the gravy, but looking on the bright side, I'm feeling on firmer ground with regard to the missing Ocean Storm. Now I've cleared up the matter of the so-called mysterious disappearance of the ship's captain, at least I know where I stand. I've no idea who might have killed him after he slipped away quietly into his lover's arms, but when it comes to a murder in Twelve Seas, I can generally sort it out. Criminals round here are careless. They make mistakes. I find them out. Sometimes it takes a smart piece of thinking. Sometimes just the willingness to plod on till I find the solution. I generally get there in the end.

Gurd's tavern is full, but despite the raucous drinking contest going on between a group of northern mercenaries and a company of crossbowmen from the Turanian village of Geslax, most people's attention is drawn to Moolifi. The Avenging Axe has never before played host to such a famous entertainer. Captain Rallee pretends not to notice but I can tell he's as pleased as a pixie. He loves it that he can sit at a table with Moolifi and let people see the way she looks into his eyes. He's replaced his tired old black uniform with a smart new one, polished up his boots and trimmed his moustache. Drinkers pause as they lift their flagons to their lips and glance over at the couple, jealous that the Captain has made such a catch. Singers and dancers are very low down in Turai's social strata, but even so, a golden-haired beauty like Moolifi would normally be spending her time with a wealthy member of the Honourable Merchants Association, or maybe even a senator. Now Rallee's hooked up with her, even though he's only a poorly paid captain in the Civil Guard. It says something for his qualities as a man, or so he likes to think.

Some drinkers call over to the Captain, asking if his lady would like to give us a song. The Captain waves their requests away for a while, and starts to look annoyed when a few young mercenaries are too persistent in their attentions. Rallee starts to get angry but Moolifi ends any bad feelings by smiling at the mercenaries and calling over that she'll be pleased to sing. She rises to her feet, a confident woman who's used to entertaining an audience. As the tavern goes quiet, Makri sits down heavily at my table, looking a little fatigued after her long evening shift.

"The men in Turai are fools," she says.

"We're in the middle of a war. Nothing wrong with a little entertainment."

Makri sneers. She lights a thazis stick, and keeps her back towards Moolifi, determined not to show any interest in her performance. She's the only one to do so. Voices are hushed and the drinking contest comes to a halt as Moolifi starts to sing. The hush doesn't last for long. As Moolifi launches into "Love Me Through the Winter," there are roars of appreciation. "Love Me Through the Winter" is her most popular song, and delivery boys and wagon drivers have been whistling it for months. It has a strong tune and by the time she's reached the first chorus tankards are starting to beat out time. As the song comes to an end the audience erupts with applause. Tankards, fists and sword pommels are banged on tables in thunderous approval.

"That was awful," says Makri. "What sort of idiot would enjoy that sort of thing? Thraxas, stop banging your tankard on the table."

"How could you not like it? She's a great performer."

I bang my tankard some more. Makri shakes her head in disgust and rises to her feet. She snatches my tankard off me and puts it on her tray.

"Bring me another beer!" I roar.

"Some time tomorrow," mutters Makri, and departs into the throng of drinkers with her tray, snatching tankards right and left.

Moolifi sings a few more songs for the customers. It's memorable night. Worries about the war are banished, and people still grieving for the friends and relatives they lost in the battle forget them for a while. Makri might not approve of cheap entertainment but it certainly goes down well at the Avenging Axe. As for Captain Rallee, I've never seen him looking so cheerful. He's in such a benevolent mood he forgets to be annoyed about the fact that we're both working on the same case.

"Thraxas. I hear you've been looking for the Ocean Storm."

I nod.

"Any success?"

I shake my head. I sent a message to the Guards telling them about the two bodies in Silver Lane, so Captain Rallee now knows about the murders. I sent the message anonymously so he doesn't know it was me who found them. Or possibly he does; Captain Rallee isn't a fool.

"It's a big thing for the city," says the Captain. "If you do somehow stumble across it, get it to the Sorcerers as soon as possible. You know there was a report of an Orcish fleet not far along the coast?"

I'd heard about it. I'm not sure if I believe it.

"I don't think they'll be out in this weather. There's no good anchorage along the coast. If they got caught in a storm they'd be done for."

"Maybe they don't plan to be out there for long."

The Captain's point being, of course, that if the Orcs get hold of the Ocean Storm they can use the magical talisman to batter down our defences around the harbour and sail right in. It's a good option for Prince Amrag. He doesn't have siege engines and it's hard to see how he can storm the walls in winter. The eastern and western gates of the city are heavily guarded by men and sorcery, and the North Gate, where the river flows into the city, is extremely well protected. Battering his way into the harbour might be his best plan.

Captain Rallee has a lot of men engaged in the hunt. So far they've had no more success than the Sorcerers Guild or Praetor Samilius. The Captain glances round to where Moolifi is engaged in a conversation with Dandelion and Tanrose. Then he looks at me. I figure I'm expected to say something.

"She's a fine woman. Must be making your life brighter."

"She is."

The Captain suddenly looks downcast.

"Of course she's just hooked up with me for the duration of the war. You know how everyone goes crazy when the enemy is at the gates."

He looks at me again, but if he's expecting me to reassure him that Moolifi will love him for ever, he's come to the wrong man.

"When were we first in action together?" asks the Captain.

I shrug.

"About twenty years ago."

"We made it through a lot of fighting."

Captain Rallee stares into his drink.

"I'm not expecting to make it through this."

"Why not?"

"I just don't think anyone will come and help us. Turai's luck has run out."

I'm surprised to hear the Captain so pessimistic. He's always been a man who is confident of finding his way through, even in difficult circumstances.

"At least you've got Moolifi to cheer up your final days."

"True. But she picked a poor time to arrive in this city."

"Lucky for you though."

The Captain nods.

"Strange the way she hooked up with me," he says.

"That's the second time you've said that."

"So?"

"So what's your problem? You think Moolifi might be after you for your money?"

This make the Captain laugh. We both know that a captain in the Civil Guards doesn't earn enough to attract fortune-hunters.

Makri arrives, still scowling.

"Enjoy the singing?" asks the Captain.

"No," snaps Makri, grabbing his empty tankard and departing without another word. Rallee looks startled.

"What the hell?"

"She has harsh critical standards," I explain. "Doesn't really like anything if it's not Elvish. And old."

He shakes his head

"Makri the intellectual. I don't envy the man who ends up with her."

He looks straight at me. The Captain seems to be doing that a lot.

"I always figured you had a thing for her."

"Then you figured wrong. I'm going to my grave clutching a beer tankard."

"That still leaves one hand free."

"Then I'll pick up another beer."

"Maybe you ought to think about it more. None of us are liable to be here come the spring."

"Goddamn it, Rallee, since when did you become as miserable as a Niojan whore? Your pretty singer doesn't seem to be making you that cheerful."

"The pretty singer makes me wish I might live a bit longer."

I spend a very unsatisfactory night sleeping on my office floor in front of the fire. Lisutaris is still in my private room, with Makri on the floor by her side. Hanama is lying on the couch. I'm used to a bit of privacy and I'm finding this assortment of Turai's least desirable women hard to take. I'd considered sleeping in the store room downstairs, or even the corridor, but brief investigation reminds me that these places are all as cold as the ice queen's grave, and I'm not prepared to freeze to death just to get away from them all. I wrap myself in my cloak and lie in front of the fire, cursing the winter malady and everyone who's suffering from it.

At least I have the card game to look forward to. The evening after tomorrow I'll be sitting at a table with Glixius, Praetor Capatius and General Acarius. I'll show them a thing or two. I remember I haven't got enough money to play and feel downcast for a moment. I'd better do something about it. I resolve to head out early tomorrow and find the buried gold. Maybe I'll come across the Ocean Storm while I'm at it. I could do with some spectacular success. It has to happen to everyone sometime.

Next morning I wrap my magic warm cloak around me and head out early to visit Kerk, an informer of mine. In Quintessence Street the stall-holders are already at work, shivering behind their meagre displays of goods. I'm grateful for my warm cloak. It gives me a slight feeling of superiority to the procession of cold figures hurrying about their business in Twelve Seas. None of them have a magic item keeping them warm.

Kerk is at home; he's living in one squalid room at the top of a ramshackle tenement at the far end of St. Rominius's Lane. It's the sort of place where the very poorest people end up; one step up from sleeping in an alleyway. The landlords divide and subdivide the floors into smaller and smaller rooms, till they're barely sufficient for humans to live in. Nothing is good in a place like this: no sanitation, ventilation, hygiene, privacy, nothing.

Kerk opens the door and looks disappointed when he sees me. He has a slightly Elvish look to him, something about his eyes. If he does have a touch of Elvish blood it was no doubt deposited by some visiting Elf into a whore in Twelve Seas. Even visiting Elves need a little entertainment. I think he might have been a smart guy when he was younger. Occasionally he still is, but he's too far gone with dwa to ever get out of it. He scrapes up what little money he can, uses it to buy the drug, and then looks for more money to buy more dwa. The same thing, over and over, destroying himself a little more each time. I doubt he's eaten a proper meal in years. It doesn't seem like much of an existence. Maybe the Orcs will be doing him a favour if they destroy the city. Even if they don't, he'll be dead soon enough.

I tell him I'm looking for the beggar I saw outside the tenement in Silver Lane.

"The place where that sea captain was murdered?"

"The same."

Kerk holds out one hand. This early in the morning he's fairly lucid, but already trembling, in need of dwa. I hand over a very small coin.

"More," he says.

"More when you tell me something."

"I know where you can find him. Give me more."

I hand over another small coin. Kerk used to be a reliable informer. These days he's not so reliable and I'm not paying him too much in advance only to find he knows nothing. Kerk scowls at the two small coins in his hand.

"His name's Nerinax. He usually begs in front of St. Volinius's church in the morning. Good spot, usually gets something from the pontifex."

I give Kerk a larger coin. He stops scowling. I leave, picking my way carefully down the dark, litter-strewn stairway into the street below. It's not far to the church. A chill rain starts to fall and I walk swiftly over the frozen streets. I'm hoping I don't run into the priest, Derlex. He's had it in for me ever since I got into an argument with his superior, Bishop Gzekius. While I admit that I've never been the most godly of men, I still say it was going too far to use me as the main example in his famous sermon against the four great vices—gluttony, gambling, drunkenness and violence. Children still point at me in the street.

Nerinax the beggar is sitting right in front of the church. The last time I was inside the building I encountered some Orcs. Makri killed them. She was so keen to kill them I was left trailing in her wake.

Nerinax has a bowl in front of him containing a few small coins. There's a crutch propped up on the wall beside him, and one of his legs ends just below the knee. When I approach him he looks up hopefully. I take another small coin from my purse.

"Do you have a spot for begging up in Silver Lane?"

He stares at me, no longer hopeful. Now I'm not a person who's about to give him money. I'm a person who wants to ask questions, never a popular thing in Twelve Seas.

"Silver Lane," I repeat. "Do you beg there?"

"What about it?"

"Who did you see coming out of the building?"

"No one."

I drop the coin into his bowl and take out another one. So far I've bribed the sailor in the Mermaid, Kerk, and now Nerinax. It's the easiest way to get information. At least I haven't had to think too much.

"Are you from the Guards?"

"No. I'm an Investigator. And Captain Arex was murdered inside the building you were outside of. As I'm sure you know. So tell me about the people you saw coming out."

"I saw you."

"Who else?"

"Civil Guards. After you."

"What about before me?"

Nerinax looks round uncomfortably. He'd like me to drop another coin in his bowl but he doesn't want anyone to see him giving information to an Investigator. Giving information can be an unhealthy pastime in Twelve Seas. There's no one around. I drop the coin into his bowl.

"A few people were in and out of the building. A Sorcerer."

"A Sorcerer? A big man? Long cloak and fancy black boots?"

The beggar nods. So Glixius Dragon Killer was there. That's interesting.

"Who else?"

"A thin man in a cloak."

"What did he look like?"

Nerinax shrugs.

"He had his hood up. He was thin. He was looking down like he didn't want to be recognised."

"Was this before the Sorcerer?"

He nods. I question him some more but he can't give me a better description. A thin man in a cloak. Medium height, wearing a grey tunic, same as most people in Twelve Seas. It's not much of a description.

"Anyone else?"

He glances round nervously again. Fearing he's about to clam up, I take out another coin.

"Borinbax," he says, quite nervously.

I've heard of Borinbax. He works for the Brotherhood, which is enough reason for Nerinax not to want anyone to know he saw him. Borinbax is a thief by trade. Not famous for his exploits, but busy enough. Mainly works around the harbour warehouses but has been known to rob wagons coming into the city. He could be the sort of man to steal the Ocean Storm, though I never heard that he was a killer. If he does have it, it might be in the hands of the Brotherhood by now, which will make it very awkward to retrieve.

I hand over another coin. By now the rain has started to fall more heavily. The beggar shivers, and looks uncomfortable. The front door of the church opens. I glance up. It's Derlex, the pontifex. He glares at me. I depart swiftly.

Borinbax rents some rooms above a sailmaker's shop close to the docks. By the time I get there the sky is dark grey and the rain is coming down heavily. The water in the harbour is choppy. Out beyond the harbour walls the sea is cutting up quite roughly. If there are any Orcish ships out there they might be in for an uncomfortable time. Perhaps Prince Amrag and his whole army will drown. That would save us a lot of trouble.

Before calling on Borinbax, I look around for a whale, or something which might resemble one. I don't see anything. I wasn't expecting to. I've lived close to the harbour most of my life and I've never heard of anything called the whale. But Tanrose's mother definitely recalled that her father said the gold was buried under the whale. After some fruitless tramping of the streets I start to wonder if perhaps she's losing her mind. Always a possibility, after a long life in Twelve Seas.

There are various taverns dotted around the docks. I wonder if any of them might once have been called the Whale. It's a possibility. I'll check it out later. I abandon the hunt and turn my mind back to Borinbax.

There's a door beside the sailmaker's shop and a staircase leading up to Borinbax's rooms. The door isn't locked and I climb the stairs carefully. Whoever's taken the Ocean Storm hasn't hesitated to kill, and I keep my hand on my sword pommel as I make the ascent. I've got a sleep spell ready to knock out anyone who gets in my way. It's a small piece of sorcery but it's often helped me out of a jam.

Borinbax's front door is painted white. Most front doors in Turai are. It's the lucky colour for front doors. It's freshly painted, probably a sign that he isn't doing too badly for himself. The door swings open easily. Odd. No self-respecting thief leaves his front door open. I draw my sword and advance carefully into the hallway. It's dark, with no torch lit, so I take out my illuminated staff and speak the word to make it work. The hall lights up with a golden glow. My illuminated staff is a fine piece of craftsmanship. I won it from an Elf lord playing niarit. He was a fool to play me. I'm number one chariot at niarit.

The hallway is neat and clean. Fresh plaster on the walls and a small religious icon with a picture of St Quatinius, picked out in gold. There's a rug on the floor, another good item, Abelasian wool, better quality than you'd find in most places in Twelve Seas. Borinbax must be doing well for himself. Or was doing well for himself, I should say, because he's lying face down in the hallway, dead, and no longer enjoying his furnishings.

I creep further along the hall, examining each of his rooms. They're all neat and they're all empty. I go back to the body and turn it over carefully. There's an ugly wound in his chest. I stare at it for a few moments. Doesn't quite look like a stab wound. I try sensing the air for sorcery. I can't pick up anything. I take a further look around but I'm not expecting to find anything, and I don't. The Ocean Storm has eluded me again.

Chapter Ten

In the street below I call into the first tavern, buy a beer and down it in one gulp, then set off towards the Avenging Axe. Three people have now died because of the Ocean Storm. Every time I get close someone beats me to it. I wonder who else might be on the trail. I wonder about the oddly shaped wound in Borinbax's chest.

There's a cold mist rolling in off the sea which doesn't improve my mood. Nor does the thought that my office is currently infested with sick people. How long is Lisutaris going to loll around in my bed? It seems like time she was getting better. As for Hanama, the woman is meant to be a deadly Assassin. You might think she'd be healthy enough to just shake off an attack of the malady rather than collapse in my office and refuse to budge. I decide to ask Gurd if he can do something about clearing a store room. Maybe I could just throw Hanama in the cellar till she recovers, and to hell with what Chiaraxi says. I've had enough of that healer ordering me around.

I'm no closer to raising the required funds for the card game. No Ocean Storm and no sign of the buried gold. Unless I get some sudden inspiration as to what Captain Maxius meant by "under the whale," the treasure is going to remain undisturbed. The thought of not having enough money to play cards fills me with gloom. Might there be anyone else in the Avenging Axe who could lend me something? Dandelion for instance. She gets paid every week and what does she have to spend money on? As far as anyone knows, the only thing she ever does is go down to the coast and talk to the dolphins. She might have a few gurans laid by somewhere.

I trudge into the Avenging Axe with a mighty scowl on my face. Ignoring various friendly greetings from some of the regular customers, I march up to the bar and tell Dandelion to pour me a Happy Guildsman and be quick about it. Remembering that I'm about to ask her for money, I say thank you when she lays it on the counter. Makri emerges from the back room with a case of klee, replenishing the stocks behind the bar.

"You look as miserable as a Niojan whore," she says.

"No doubt. I have a lot to put up with. Dandelion, can you lend me any money?"

Dandelion looks surprised.

"Are you having problems?"

I've been considering spinning some lie, but I don't have the energy.

"I need it to play cards."

"All right," says Dandelion.

Makri interrupts, inevitably.

"You're crazy Dandelion."

"Makri, shut up. How much can you lend me?"

Dandelion thinks for a minute.

"Fifty gurans."

"Excellent. I appreciate it."

"That's the last you'll see of it," says Makri, quite mockingly.

"But Thraxas is an excellent card player," says Dandelion. "Doesn't he always win?"

"I do. And I appreciate the loan. You can count on a good return on your money, Dandelion. A pity more people in this tavern don't share your faith in a man."

I ask Makri whether Lisutaris is showing any sign of recovering.

"Not much. She's got it bad."

Palax and Kaby are a little better, but still unable to leave Makri's room, which doesn't please her at all. Makri is also worried about falling ill herself. Chiaraxi is still calling in regularly to minister to her patients, which is something. According to her, the malady is spreading and it looks like the city might be in for a full-scale epidemic. Bad news, with the Orcs outside the walls. We're short of fighting men as it is.

"I heard people in the market talking about the Orcs breaching the sea wall," says Makri.

"What? Who said that?"

"Just some people at the stalls. They'd heard the Orcs have got a new weapon and they're going to smash their way into the harbour."

I suppose the rumour was bound to leak out. With the Civil Guards, the Sorcerers Guild, and the prefects' office all looking for the Ocean Storm, word was bound to spread.

Makri notices I'm looking thoughtful.

"Do you think you can find it?"

"I don't know. Whoever else is looking for it keeps getting there ahead of me. And he isn't shy of killing either."

Makri wonders why whoever else is looking for the Ocean Storm killed the captain and Borinbax. I admit I don't know.

"Maybe just to protect his identity. It's odd that no one seems to know who exactly is involved. The Sorcerers and the Guards are all looking; you'd think they might have come up with something."

I wonder about the odd wound in Borinbax's chest. It didn't look like it came from a sword or a dagger.

"It looked like your chest."

"What?" says Makri.

"Your chest after we pulled that crossbow bolt out of you."

Makri looks interested.

"A crossbow bolt?"

A killer called Sarin the Merciless once fired a crossbow bolt into Makri's chest, nearly killing her. She's been keen for revenge ever since.

"I wonder if Sarin's involved. She's smart and she likes her crossbow. She might have removed the bolt afterwards to avoid giving herself away. And she wouldn't mind killing anyone who got in her way."

"If she shows up again I'll kill her," says Makri, brightening up at the prospect.

I finish my beer, and consider another. I need some sustenance, particularly as I've been obliged to sleep on the floor. I can still feel my back aching. It strikes me that as Tanrose has apparently moved in with Gurd, her room downstairs is now free.

"Of course," I say, slapping my palm on the bar. "I should have thought of it before. I can move into Tanrose's room till the sick people get the hell out of mine."

"You can't," says Dandelion.

"Why not? Tanrose won't mind."

"It's not empty."

"I thought Tanrose was—"

I stop, not wishing to complete the sentence in front of Dandelion.

"Sleeping with Gurd," says Makri, who has no delicacy about her at all.

"She is. But Chiaraxi is in Tanrose's room."

"What do you mean?"

"She got sick."

I gape at Dandelion, as does Makri.

"Dandelion, don't babble. She can't get sick, she's the healer."

"Well she did," replies Dandelion, placidly. "This afternoon. Just fell over when she was making potions. So we had to put her in Tanrose's room. I'm going to make up potions for everyone later, she gave me the recipe. We'll all have to work extra hard to look after people now the healer is sick."

I'm practically speechless and Makri isn't looking too pleased either.

"Well, this seems bad," she says. "Rather shakes my confidence in Chiaraxi."

"Mine too. The least you could expect from a healer is not to get ill."

"Damn them all! Can't they get sick somewhere else?" says Makri.

"You were the one who encouraged them all to hang around."

"I did not," retorts Makri. "Apart from Lisutaris. And maybe Hanama. I don't like this at all, Thraxas. Everyone's getting sick. Is it some sort of spell?"

Makri seems quite disconcerted by the whole thing. It's unusual for her to show signs of nervousness in any circumstances. I guess she really doesn't like the idea of becoming ill.

"Relax. If you catch it you'll get better."

"I'm not taking potions to anyone," she says.

"We all have to pull together," says Dandelion.

"Damn them all," says Makri again.

All thoughts of the winter malady are banished next moment when Captain Rallee, accompanied by four excited-looking Civil Guards, rushes into the tavern. He bangs his fist on the table for silence then shouts out to everyone in the room.

"There's a report of Orcs in Twelve Seas! Down by the church. Everyone with a sword follow me!"

There's a mass scramble for weapons. Viriggax and his mercenaries leap to their feet, hastily grab their swords and make for the door. Gurd appears from behind the bar, axe in hand, and runs after them. Meanwhile I'm moving as fast as I can in the same direction. If the Orcs have somehow arrived in Twelve Seas undetected the city might be about to fall a lot sooner than anyone expected. Makri disappears up the stairs to fetch her weapons and is so quick that's she's coming down the steps from my office to the street outside by the time I get there. We hurry along after the mercenaries and the Captain, towards the church. Unfortunately, by this time the wind has dropped and the mist that came in earlier has now enveloped Twelve Seas in thick white gloom. The Captain and his men have already disappeared from view, and those who are trying to keep up with him find themselves crashing into passers-by attempting to make their way home through the gloom. The city's lamplighters have already lit the torches that stand on most street corners, but their light barely cuts through the mist, making it almost impossible to see where I'm going.

Thick winter fogs are not that uncommon in Turai but I'm not certain whether this is completely natural. If the Orcs are indeed attacking, then sending in a sorcerous blanket of freezing mist as cover wouldn't be a bad idea. Controlling the weather by means of magic is extremely difficult, but everything we've learned about the Orcish Sorcerers in the past few years seems to indicate that they're growing stronger.

By the time I'm close to the church I've lost sight of everyone, including Makri. Somewhere ahead of me I can hear Viriggax bellowing at his mercenary company, ordering them to form up and advance behind him. I can't hear the clash of weapons but there's a lot of shouting coming from all directions, and several people crash into me from behind, rushing to the scene as word spreads that the Orcs are in the city. Suddenly the great bell at the harbour starts booming out a warning.

"Orcish ships!" screams someone, though from where we are, we can't see the sea. But the cry is taken up and soon the whole area around the church is a mass of people rushing blindly about in the mist, brandishing weapons and screaming that the Orcs are coming. I can't see more than a sword's length in front of me, and the way things are going I'm expecting to be run through by an overexcited mercenary before I come to grips with the enemy. I actually bump into Captain Rallee between the church and the harbour. He's lost all his men and he's sweating with the exertion of running around Twelve Seas.

"Have you seen anything?" he barks at me. I shake my head and he hurries off, blowing a whistle to rally his men, which isn't going to work in this confusion. Bells, whistles, shouts and screams rend the air from every direction. Having failed to locate any Orcs around the church, I'm making my way down towards the harbour, ready to repel invaders. It's slow progress. I've giving up running and pick my way carefully along. I know every inch of these streets but the torches haven't carried away any of the mist and visibility is almost zero. Inevitably, I find myself trampling over beggars and comatose dwa addicts, lying in front of alleyways, impervious to the excitement. I'm continually jostled by soldiers, Civil Guards, mercenaries, not to mention Twelve Seas civilians carrying whatever weapons they can find. I march round a corner with a sword in my hand and nearly decapitate a funeral party, two men in black cloaks and hoods, and a veiled woman, all treading slowly homewards, heads solemnly bowed. I cast a swift suspicious glance at their concealed faces—you wouldn't expect Orcs to invade the city disguised as a funeral party, but who knows what they might be up to these days—but they're Human, not Orcs. I can always sense the presence of Orcs. A useful talent that's stayed with me from my days as a Sorcerer's apprentice. As it happens, I do see one of their faces, when I tread on someone's toes and he lifts his hood to give me an angry scowl.

"Watch where you're going," he barks.

"Possible Orcish invasion," I mutter back, by way of explanation, and plunge back into the mist.

When I'm almost at the harbour I bump right into Makri. She's carrying her black Orcish sword in one hand and a medium-sized axe in the other. Her Elvish sword is slung over her back.

"Have you seen the Orcs?" she cries.

"No. Have you?"

She shakes her head.

"No sign of them. Though I've bumped into most other people in Twelve Seas."

"Me too."

We stand in silence for a moment, as the chaos continues all around.

"We must have covered a fair bit of ground between us," says Makri. "You think we'd have come across an Orc by now."

She looks disappointed.

"You think it might be a false alarm?"

I nod.

"It's starting to look that way."

The great bell at the harbour has stopped ringing, though there's still a lot of confused shouting in the distance. Makri shivers. She ran out of the Avenging Axe wearing only her chainmail bikini, and now that the excitement is wearing off she's noticing that it's not an appropriate garment for walking around in a freezing fog.

"I need a beer. I'm going back to the Axe."

Makri hesitates. She likes to fight and she likes to kill Orcs. She's disappointed not to get the chance.

"Maybe they're hiding somewhere."

By now other people are starting to leave the area, looming in twos and threes out of the mist, muttering to each other about being called from the warmth of their homes to fight enemies that weren't there.

"I doubt it. Orcs aren't that good at hiding. We'd have found them by now. It's a false alarm."

We walk on up the street, through the mist. I pause, then walk on, then pause again.

"What's wrong?" says Makri.

"Nothing," I reply, but as we carry on along the road I lean over to whisper in her ear.

"I think someone's following us."

Makri raises her eyebrows, but carries on walking, careful not to let whoever might be behind us know that we've noticed. I whisper to her again.

"We better sort this out before we reach the tavern. Don't want to lead anyone to Lisutaris."

Makri nods. The mist is now thicker than ever. I can't see more than a few feet in front of my face, but every so often I'm certain I can hear a soft footfall behind us. As we pass the next alleyway Makri disappears into it completely silently, while I carry on.

I keep talking, as if she's still beside me.

"You're right, Makri. I was heroic on the battlefield last month. I expect the city will erect a statue in my honour. This city's been looking for a good man to lead it for a long time now. I wouldn't be surprised if they drafted me into the senate. Just fit me into a toga and I'd sort things out."

If our pursuer hasn't noticed that Makri went into the alleyway, he should now be between us. I turn round and retrace my steps.

"Makri," says a voice, quite clearly through the fog. I can't see anything. I walk quicker. I hear Makri's voice replying.

"Marizaz."

At the sound of the Orcish name I start to run, fearing that Makri has encountered an invasion force, but when I arrive on the scene I find her face to face with a lone Orc. Not tall, by Orcish standards, but very broad. He's carrying a sword in each hand and wearing a cloak and hood which might have got him through the foggy streets undetected. The Orc glances at me as I arrive.

"Who is this?"

"A friend of mine," says Makri.

"You have Human friends now?"

"Yes."

The Orc looks at me contemptuously. It's obvious I haven't made a great impression on him. I take out my sword. Perhaps that will help.

"We heard tales you'd joined the Humans," says the Orc. "But I didn't believe it till now."

They're talking in common Orcish, which I can also speak.

"Are you old friends?" I ask Makri, who's sheathed her axe and now holds a sword in each hand.

"This is Marizaz," replies Makri. "Number two gladiator in the Orcish arena."

"Now number one."

"Only because I left."

"I'd have killed you soon enough," says Marizaz.

"What are you doing here?" asks Makri.

"I'm here to kill your Sorcerer chief."

"That's not likely to happen," I say.

"I'd have killed her already had she not fled her household."

At the news that this Orcish Assassin has already visited Lisutaris's villa, I start to worry. I'm presuming he didn't just walk into Turai and wander round Thamlin without some help.

"How did you get into the city?" I demand.

"As easily as Amrag will, very soon," he replies, which isn't a lot of help really.

From the way Marizaz and Makri are staring at each other, I'd say they'd never been friends in the arena.

"You should have remained a gladiator," says Makri. "Assassination doesn't suit you."

"It suits me well enough. Killing you will be a fine bonus."

"Maybe you've forgotten the way I fight?"

Marizaz sneers.

"They gave you easy opponents because you were a woman."

Makri's expression is grim. I've rarely seen her so offended, and I've insulted her plenty of times. She turns her head towards me.

"Thraxas. Don't interfere."

Back when Makri was training a young Elf to fight on Avula, she once explained to me two different modes of combat she'd learned in the gladiator pits. One, the Way of the Gaxeen, seemed to involve being as insanely aggressive as possible and hacking your opponent to death no matter what the cost. The other, the Way of Sarazu, was more contemplative. Something to do with being at one with the water and the sky. I never quite understood it. It seemed like an overcomplicated way of thinking about fighting, though as the end result was killing your opponent, and Makri is always very good at that, I'm not going to criticise her for it. As she confronts Marizaz, I'd say there is more Sarazu going on than Gaxeen. She doesn't charge in aggressively; in fact they don't engage at all at first, but circle round each other warily looking for an opening. Finally Makri halts, and stands quite motionless, her eyes fixed on her opponent, her swords raised, not moving a muscle. Marizaz does the same. Makri withdraws her twin swords, holding one above her head with the point facing her opponent, and the other in front of her body, slanted sideways. It's an unusual posture, not one I've ever seen before. Marizaz does something similar, and stands in front of her as solidly as an oak tree.

For the first time in a long time, I feel a flicker of worry about Makri's skills. I was never a gladiator, but I've fought all over the world, and in my younger days I won the sword-fighting championship in far-off Samsarina. You get to recognise a good opponent by the way he carries himself. I'd say that Marizaz is a very good opponent. He has to be, to have survived the Orcish gladiator pits. He's got a lot of weight advantage, and studying his posture, I don't see any flaws in his defence. He's a little taller than Makri and he has a longer reach. I leave my hand on my sword pommel, ready to help out if necessary.

They stare at each other for a long time. Far too long for my liking. I'm not used to contemplating an opponent. I've never seen Makri take such a long time to get down to business. Usually when confronted by an enemy she just charges in and kills him.

Finally Marizaz moves, and he attacks so quickly it's hard to tell exactly what happens. He leaps forward in one smooth but explosive movement, his twin swords flashing towards Makri faster than the eye can follow. Makri, nimble as she is, doesn't move her feet. Her own swords descend, there's a clash of steel on steel, and a sudden sharp cry. Marizaz falls to the ground, still clutching his swords, blood pumping from a fatal wound in his neck. Makri watches him carefully, her swords now back in their defensive guard. As far as I could see she deflected both of his blades with her black Orcish sword then slashed his neck with her silver Elvish blade, although to be honest it all happened so quickly it's hard to be sure.

Marizaz dies quickly, expiring in seconds from his fatal wound. Makri regards his body quite calmly, finally lowering her guard.

"Congratulations," I say.

Makri nods.

"He was a good fighter. He should have stayed at home."

I drag the body into a an alleyway and pull some tattered fragments of sailcloth over it.

"I'll send a message to the Guards when we reach the Axe."

We start to walk away.

"I hate Orcs," says Makri.

She shivers.

"Give me your cloak," she says.

"My cloak? I need it."

"I'm only wearing this bikini."

"You should have put more clothes on before you came out. You don't catch me chasing Orcs in a bikini."

"Thank the gods for that. I'm freezing, give me your cloak."

Makri curses me in Orcish.

"Will you stop cursing in Orcish? Goddamn, between that and the pointy ears and the Orcish sword you're lucky people don't mistake you for the enemy."

Makri curses me further, using some quite obscene pidgin-Orcish words probably never heard before outside the gladiator pits. I shake my head, and take off my cloak, though I'm none too pleased about it. The freezing mist quickly penetrates my tunic.

Makri tells me to stop scowling.

"I can't believe how unhelpful you are sometimes. I've just killed the deadliest Orc swordsman this side of Gzak and you're complaining about lending me your cloak. Anyone would think you wanted me to catch the malady."

"If you do, you're on your own. I'm not feeding you any of that foul potion."

Makri halts, and looks at me quite sternly.

"You mean you wouldn't look after me?"

"Not a chance. I've had it with sick people."

"I saved your life."

"When?"

"Hundreds of times."

"Okay you've helped me out occasionally."

"So?" demands Makri.

I sigh.

"Fine. If you get sick, I'll feed you potion."

"You'd better."

We advance a few paces. Makri halts again.

"Will you mop my brow?"

"Not a chance."

"What do you mean, not a chance? You'd do it for Lisutaris."

"She's the head of the Sorcerers Guild."

"So that's the way it is," says Makri, raising her voice. "You'll spend endless time mopping someone's brow if they're important, but when it comes to me, a woman without whose help you'd have been dead and buried long ago, you're just going to leave me to die in the gutter?"

I make an exasperated gesture.

"How did gutters enter into this? Who said anything about you dying in a gutter?"

"Well, obviously I'd be just as well off lying in a gutter as being looked after by you. You probably wouldn't feed me any potion at all, you'd just get drunk and forget about it. Don't worry about Makri, she's an Orc with pointy ears, she can just get the malady and die for all anybody cares."

"Will you shut up? Did I ever let you die?"

"You can't wait to let me die. You're probably looking forward to it."

I stop, and look at Makri suspiciously. Is she becoming feverish?

"Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm fine," declares Makri.

"Then what's this about?"

Makri looks awkward.

"Nothing," she mumbles.

"Are you scared of getting sick?"

"I'm not scared of anything," says Makri, fiercely.

"Yes, I know you're not scared of anything. But apart from that, are you scared of getting sick?"

"A little," admits Makri. "I've never been sick. I hate the way these people are all sweating and tossing and turning. I don't want it to happen to me."

I try and speak reassuringly; not something I'm very good at.

"You probably won't get sick. You've lasted this long. And if you do, I'll feed you potion."

Makri looks placated.

"Well you'd better, or there'll be trouble."

"If I have to stand out here like a frozen pixie any longer there's going to be more trouble."

We make our way home.

"It's been a strange winter so far," muses Makri. "The Orcs defeat Turai in battle, we all get stuck inside the city and catch this disease, and now we're just waiting for the Orcs to force their way in. Plus Orcish Assassins are now in the city. How did that happen?"

I admit I don't know.

"Our Sorcerers should have detected any Orcish incursions."

"We shouldn't wait around to be picked off," says Makri. "We should do something."

"What?"

"Round up everyone that's healthy and attack."

"The city's too weak."

Makri doesn't like hanging round waiting for the Orcs. She'd rather gather up everyone in Turai who can carry a sword and go out and confront them. I point out that we don't even know where they are, but Makri thinks she'd find them if she had to. And she doesn't care how many of them there are. I don't scoff at her idea. I've been in campaigns which have been won by the smaller force taking swift decisive action. But General Pomius, head of the Turanian army, is quite a cautious man. Far too cautious to march out and confront an enemy of unknown size.

"Amrag doesn't have that big a force," says Makri. "He beat us because he took us by surprise. We ought to try doing the same to him."

"We don't know what's going on out there. He might have a larger army by now."

"More reason to attack him quickly," says Makri. "I'd get in a chariot and head right for him. Cut off Amrag's head and his army would melt away."

"We'll make it through all right till reinforcements arrive in the spring."

Makri doubts that they will. The gossip round the markets is that the western forces will hold the line on the Simnian border, leaving Turai to its fate. It might be true.

"Fine," says Makri. "We just wait here till the Orcs overwhelm us. I never get my diploma from college. I never get to go to the university. I never see what my hair looks like yellow and I never hear from my Elf again."

"Are you still going on about that Elf?"

"No."

Makri scowls. She had a brief romance with an Elf when we visited the southern islands. It's a continual disappointment to her that he hasn't been in touch since.

"You're lucky," she says.

"Lucky? How?"

"You don't have any ambitions left."

It's true enough. Though I did always feel I might one day go through the card at the Turai memorial chariot races and pick every winner.

Turai's morale isn't helped by the fruitless hunt in Twelve Seas. Next day the story is all over the city that Orcs were inside the walls and somehow escaped. In fact, Makri and I were the only people who did meet an Orc, and he was a lone Assassin, not an invasion force. I inform Lisutaris, but she's still so sick I'm not certain that she takes it in properly. I sent a message to Cicerius outlining what happened, and another message to Captain Rallee. The Captain picked up the body before anyone found it, preventing the city's population from panicking even more.

The citizenry are in a bad enough state of mind already, struggling under siege and illness. It isn't helped by news of the Ocean Storm leaking out. Soon the whole of Turai is aware that there's a sorcerous weapon capable of battering down our sea walls and letting the Orcish fleet sail in, and no one knows where it is. The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle runs an article on the affair; questions are asked in the senate. Deputy Consul Cicerius is forced to assure the senators that he has matters in hand. He sends more troops to the south of the city, along with Sorcerers to strengthen our protection. This carries some risk as it means leaving the other parts of the city less well guarded than they should be, though we still have enough Sorcerers in Turai to maintain our defensive spells. In reply to some harsh questioning from Senator Lodius, Cicerius assures him that Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, has our defences well in hand. As Lisutaris is currently lying ill in the Avenging Axe, this is not strictly true.

Lisutaris seems to be making a very slow recovery. She's taken the malady badly. I'm quite certain I got over it a lot quicker than our head of the Sorcerers Guild. Of course, I've always been strong. "Thraxas the Ox," they used to call me in my younger days. I was famous for my feats of strength. Ask anyone, they'll remember.

Chapter Eleven

Hanama, third in command in the Assassins Guild, slumbers on my couch. I look at her with distaste, and for the fiftieth time contemplate picking her up and slinging her out. Whoever made it taboo to abuse a sick house guest never had to put up with this sort of thing. I'm still not entirely convinced it isn't all some plot on her part. If she were to suddenly leap up and assassinate someone, I wouldn't be all that surprised.

I settle down at my desk and open a book about Turai's naval history which I borrowed without asking from Makri's room. She has a lot more books and scrolls in her room these days. They're expensive items, mostly out of her budget, but she's managed to fool Samanatius and his cronies into thinking she's a worthwhile student and they've been lending her more.

I peer at the book, frowning at the smallness of the writing and the dullness of the text. The historian manages to make some epic battles sound like very dull affairs indeed, and he has an annoying habit of quoting sources from all over the place, as if anyone really cares. I'm wading through the chapter on the Battle of Dead Dragon Island, hoping to pick up something which might help me locate Tanrose's mother's buried gold. I'm now fairly certain there's nothing in the vicinity of the harbour which could be referred to as a whale, but who knows, maybe these sailors used "whale" as a name for something else.

There's an oil lamp on the desk and I've got my illuminated staff cranked up to full power, but it's still not easy reading the endless pages of tedious facts. I realise why I never read a history book before. They're dreadfully dull. Soon I hate everyone involved, and I'm hoping they're all dead by the end of the chapter.

There's a knock at the door. Before I can answer it Makri strolls in. I glare at her.

"What?" she says. "I knocked."

"You're supposed to wait till I answer it."

"You're never satisfied, are you? Maybe I should send a message saying I'm coming."

Makri glances at the book on my desk and looks surprised.

"You're reading?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Just broadening my knowledge."

Makri looks suspicious.

"You don't have any knowledge to broaden. What is it?"

She lifts the cover to see the title.

"That's my book. Did you take it from my room?"

"Of course I took it from your room. Why, do you need it?"

Makri admits she doesn't at this moment, but she's displeased that I've taken it. I get the impression she doesn't trust me with it.

"It's only a book. What can happen?"

"Plenty of things. You might spill beer on it. Who can forget the incident at the library?"

I nudge my tankard away from the book.

"Preposterous. And why are you complaining anyway? You should be pleased I'm gathering a little knowledge."

Makri looks dubious.

"You're up to something. Tell me what it is."

"I'm not up to anything. Can't a man read a book without people making a fuss? What do you want anyway?"

"It's potion time," says Makri, and right on cue, Dandelion walks into the room with a steaming bowl of herbal medicine.

"How's Chiaraxi?" I ask, hoping she might have made a miraculous recovery.

"Not too bad," says Dandelion. "She doesn't seem as serious as everyone else. She wanted to get up and give everyone potion. But I told her I could do it."

It strikes me that the healer may regret this when Dandelion kills all her patients, but I don't mention it. Dandelion lent me money. I have to be polite to her, for a few days at least.

Dandelion doesn't wear shoes. The sight of her wandering round my room in bare feet makes me uncomfortable. Naked female feet are not exactly taboo in Turai but they're a rare sight. As for the circlet of flowers around her brow, it's frankly offensive. She holds Hanama's head and pours her medicine into her. Hanama is only partially conscious and some of the liquid dribbles down her chin. It's not an attractive sight. Makri places her hand on Manama's forehead.

"Still very feverish," she says.

"Any chance of her dying soon?" I ask, not entirely giving up hope.

Dandelion and Makri go through to the bedroom to minister to Lisutaris. I splash some water on my face and glance at the small cupboard behind my desk where my present from Lisutaris is hidden. I could do with a drink of the Grand Abbot's Ale right now but I'm not about to risk taking it out when Makri and Dandelion are around. I'm not planning on sharing it with anyone.

Dandelion and Makri reappear. Dandelion stands and looks at me.

"Don't let me detain you," I say, by way of a hint.

"Dandelion has something to tell you," says Makri. There's a slight glint in Makri's eye which immediately makes me suspicious. Makri always finds it amusing when Dandelion's strange ramblings start to infuriate me.

"I'm busy."

"It's very important," says Dandelion. "It's about the dragon line."

"The what?"

"The dragon line."

I frown.

"There's no such thing."

"There is. One of them runs right from the dolphins' cave through the Avenging Axe and up to the Palace."

I shake my head. Dragon lines are supposed to be mystical lines of power which cover the earth. Cheap charlatans, the sort who sometimes appear in the city before the Sorcerers Guild chases them out, tend to talk about them a lot. They promise gullible people cures for their problems if they walk along dragon lines, or dance on them, or whatever it is phoney mystics are recommending that day. It's all nonsense. They don't exist. Only people like Dandelion, who talk to dolphins and dabble in astrology, believe in them. Proper Sorcerers know they aren't real.

"They are real," says Dandelion, and looks surprised that I can possibly doubt it. "Why do you think the dolphins love that cave?"

"Maybe it's comfortable as caves go."

"It's on a dragon line," insists Dandelion. "Its energy draws them there. For healing. And spiritual advancement."

I tap my fingers on my desk. Now we've reached the spiritual advancement of dolphins, I'm about as far into the strange and fanciful realms inhabited by Dandelion as I care to go.

"Well that's very interesting, Dandelion, but I'm—"

"I really feel it's important, with the Ocean Storm still not found."

I halt. Dandelion lives so much in her own world I'm surprised she's even heard of the Ocean Storm.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't you see?" says Dandelion. "If the Orcs find the Ocean Storm they'll use it on the dragon line. It's bound to make it more powerful."

"What?"

"They'll use it to send a huge storm right from the dolphins' cave over the city walls and up to the Avenging Axe."

Dandelion looks worried.

"I'm very concerned about the dolphins."

I notice my mouth is hanging open. I close it.

"You can see it's a serious problem," says Makri, deadpan.

I crash my fist on to the desk. The aged black wood trembles under the blow.

"I've never heard such nonsense in all my life! A dragon line coming up from the dolphins' cave to the Avenging Axe? Are you completely crazy? No, don't answer that. For one thing, dragon lines don't exist, and for another, if they did exist don't you think we should be worrying about the people in the city rather than a few dolphins?"

"People can look after themselves," says Dandelion. "We have to help the dolphins."

I'm about to pick up Dandelion and bodily eject her from the office when I remember I'm meant to be polite to her. A physical assault may lead to a withdrawal of vital funding. I control myself, with difficulty.

"Dandelion. I really don't think the dolphins are in danger. If an Orcish fleet arrives they're probably smart enough to swim away. Besides, the Orcs aren't going to get hold of the Ocean Storm. I'm looking for it and so are a lot of other people. We'll find it before the Orcs."

"Really?" says Dandelion.

"Yes."

"All right," she says, gathering up her jars of herbal potion. "I'll go and reassure the dolphins." She departs, apparently satisfied that I'm doing my bit to help.

Makri takes a thazis stick from my desk and lights it. I scowl at her.

"Did you encourage her to do that?"

"Certainly not."

"You always think it's funny when Dandelion starts rambling about dolphins."

"Only when she's rambling in your direction. If it's me, I just walk away."

Makri looks thoughtful.

"Do dragon lines really not exist?"

"No. They're for fakers and fortune-tellers."

"I never had much involvement with Orcish Sorcerers when I was in the slave pits. But I seem to remember talk of dragon lines."

I light a thazis stick. I remember the high-quality thazis from Lisutaris I've got hidden away. Makri would enjoy that. She'd enjoy it too much. I don't bring it out.

"They don't exist."

Makri shrugs.

"Whatever you say."

It's time for me to abandon my studies and hit the streets. I take my best magic cloak and mutter the words to make it warm. It heats up immediately and I start loading thazis sticks and a small flask of klee into the pockets, enough to get me through a day's investigating. I'm humming a tune, without really noticing it, till Makri interrupts.

"Love me through the winter."

"What?"

"That tune you're humming. It's the one Moolifi was singing. 'Love Me Through the Winter'."

"It's a catchy tune."

Makri hasn't softened her opinions on Moolifi's performance.

"She's a terrible singer. No wonder she has to take her clothes off as well. And the tune's only catchy because it's stolen from an old Elvish ballad."

"What?"

"The Song of the Doomed Elvish Sea Lord."

"I've never heard of it."

"It's quite obscure," admits Makri. "It comes from an Elvish play by Ariath-Ar-Mith. He was never that well known, even among the Elves. I doubt his plays have been performed for four hundred years, maybe more."

"Makri, doesn't it worry you that you're starting to know more about ancient Elvish culture than the Elves themselves?"

"I like to know things. But don't you think it's strange Moolifi was singing something based on that tune? It's very obscure."

"It's probably a coincidence. How many tunes are there? They all sound the same after a while."

"Not really," says Makri. "There are fourteen main groups of—"

I recognise the signs, and hold up my hand.

"Spare me the lecture on every form of music ever known in the west. I have some investigating to do."

Makri would like to come out and investigate with me. Ever since I mentioned the possibility of Sarin the Merciless being involved, she's been eager to confront her. Unfortunately for Makri, she has to work all day.

"If I meet her I'll kill her for you."

Hanama rolls over on the couch and groans. Makri looks concerned. I stub out my thazis stick and head downstairs. I have investigating to do and I'm planning on filling up with stew before hitting the streets. Gurd is at the bar, alongside Dandelion. They're looking pensive.

"What's wrong?"

"Tanrose got the malady."

I stare at them, horrified.

"It can't be true."

Gurd nods miserably. I sink on to a stool, stricken with grief.

"Is there no end to it?" I mutter, and motion for drink. "We're cursed."

"I don't think she's so bad—" says Dandelion.

I wave her quiet.

"Tanrose. Ill. Who's going to cook?"

"Elsior can take over," says Dandelion.

"Elsior? She can't cook a proper stew. What have we done to deserve this?"

I start mentally shaking my fist at the gods. They've played a few nasty tricks on me in the past, but striking down the best cook in Twelve Seas goes beyond all reason.

"I just don't think I can carry on."

Dandelion puts her hand on my shoulder.

"You have to be strong, Thraxas. We can get through it."

"No. It's the end."

I look up at Gurd.

"This is your fault. You should have reported the malady as soon as Kaby got sick. Then the tavern wouldn't be full of sick people and Tanrose might have escaped. How could you be so irresponsible?"

"We're talking about the woman I'm engaged to," says Gurd, raising his voice. "It was your idea not to report the malady!"

"What?"

"You didn't want to report it so your card game didn't get cancelled!"

"Ridiculous! You were too worried about your profits. A bit less thinking about money and a bit more consideration for the welfare of others and this wouldn't have happened!"

"Tanrose is sick, and all you can think about is your stomach!" roars Gurd.

"If Tanrose dies you'll be sorry you forced her to work in dangerous circumstances!"

"I did not force her to work!"

Gurd is furious. So am I. He leans over the bar and I rise from my stool, ready to do battle.

"Stop this!" yells Dandelion. "You should be ashamed of yourselves."

I glare at Dandelion, then at Gurd.

"I have investigating to do," I say, stiffly. "Try not to kill off anyone else while I'm gone."

With that I leave. The thought of struggling through even a few days in Twelve Seas without Tanrose's cooking to keep me going is almost enough to make me give up altogether. You'd have to go a long way in this city for a better meal, and you'd need to pay a lot more money. Perhaps I can win enough at cards to dine out for a while? Maybe even go up to that eatery near Thamlin I used to frequent, back when I was Senior Investigator at the Palace? Their food was worth travelling for. I shake my head. I'll be back on guard duty soon, trapped on a cold wall, staring out into space. Little opportunity for travelling the city in search of a decent meal. I might as well face it, I'm not going to get a proper bowl of stew till Tanrose recovers.

Maybe that won't be too long. She's a hearty sort of woman. People like Tanrose and me, we're good strong Turanian stock. We don't lie around complaining of slight illnesses. We just rest briefly then get on with things, unlike these degenerate Sorcerers and Assassins currently plaguing the Avenging Axe.

I curse them all, and drag my attention back to investigating. The idea that Borinbax's oddly shaped wound might have been caused by a crossbow bolt, subsequently removed, isn't much to go on, but I have a feeling for these things and my feeling is that Sarin is connected to this affair. She's quite capable of killing anyone who gets in her way and she wouldn't have any scruples about selling a vital sorcerous item to the Orcs. I know from experience that she's a resourceful opponent. She once killed Tas of the Eastern Lightning, a very powerful Sorcerer who had the misfortune to form an alliance with her.

I have two days off from my duty on the walls, which allows me to devote my full concentration to investigating. The day is again mild and I let my cloak slip open as I stride through Twelve Seas. I pass several companies of soldiers marching down towards the harbour. Cicerius is making good on his promise to reinforce the defences around the sea walls. A few ragged children cheer as they pass. I also notice Harmon Half Elf, an eminent Turanian Sorcerer, talking with a shopkeeper outside the candle shop. It's unusual to see Harmon in Twelve Seas. At a guess, I'd say he's looking for the Ocean Storm. Now that news has leaked out, there's no need for anyone to do their investigating in secret. Harmon won't be the only one currently scouring the city. I'll be surprised if any of them find it. Investigating is a specialist art. Besides, Harmon is not what you'd call smart. He once called me an imbecile, thereby proving he's a man of poor judgement. When it comes to investigating, everyone knows I'm as sharp as an Elf's ear.

I get the sudden feeling that maybe it's all a waste of time. Perhaps the Ocean Storm doesn't even exist. Maybe Captain Arex was just a conman, hoping to wrest a few gurans from the Sorcerers Guild. Still, there's nothing to do but keep on looking.

I walk towards the southern end of Moon and Stars Boulevard, looking for a landus. I'm out of luck. They can be hard to find south of the river, and I end up walking all the way up to Pashish. I'm planning to visit Astrath Triple Moon. Astrath's an old friend of mine. Since being sacked from his position as Sorcerer at the Stadium Superbius, Astrath has eked out a fairly poor existence. Now the Orcs are causing trouble again, he's been brought back into the fold of the Sorcerers Guild. Turai needs all its Sorcerers at a time like this, honest or not. If Astrath has a good war he'll be right back in business and he's been going all out to show his worth. When the Orcs attacked he arrived early on the battlefield, and since then he's been so busy that I've hardly seen him.

I strike lucky. Astrath is home and he invites me to join him for dinner. His table is better provisioned than it has been for some time.

"How's life in the investigating business?"

"Better than rowing a slave galley, or just about. How about you?"

"I'm close to being a full member of the Sorcerers Guild again."

Astrath has a thick grey beard. When he's in a good mood it makes him look benevolent, jovial even.

"It's good to be back," he says.

I nod. It was tough for Astrath, being cast into disgrace. I load up with a good-sized portion of venison and half a bottle of wine before I mention the reason for my visit.

"I'm looking for the Ocean Storm."

The Sorcerer isn't surprised.

"Everyone is."

"Can you fill me in on some more of the background?"

"Astrath rings for more wine. I notice he's engaged a few more servants, a sure sign that things are looking up. He must be one of the few people in the city whose life has been improved by the war.

"There's not a great deal to tell. No one knows much about it. Even if we find it I doubt there's many people in Turai who could use it. Lisutaris, I expect. Maybe Coranius the Grinder."

"What about the Orcs? Could their Sorcerers use it?"

Astrath considers for a moment.

"I don't think most of them could. Not at short notice anyway. An item like that takes time to get used to. A few of their most powerful adepts, perhaps. Horm the Dead, maybe, or Deeziz the Unseen. Though Deeziz doesn't seem to be with Amrag."

"You really think it might be powerful enough to cause a storm to batter down the city walls?"

"Possibly. Our own Storm Calmer is an extremely powerful sorcerous tool. It can bring a hurricane to a standstill. If there's some sort of equivalent item for starting a storm, it could be strong enough to break through the sea wall. Remember, the Orcs have a lot of sorcery already. Even if the Ocean Storm only cancels out the effects of the Storm Calmer, it might allow them enough time to force their way through with their own spells."

Astrath pours more wine. It's some time since I've seen him so convivial.

"Firing spells on the battlefield. Made me feel alive again."

"My phalanx was wiped out," I remind him.

Astrath acknowledges this.

"A lot of people died, I know. But Thraxas, I've been expecting the Orcs to overrun Turai for the past thirty years. I've never thought we could hold them off for ever. I'm just glad to be back in the thick of it for the last battle."

"You sound like you're looking forward to it."

Astrath shrugs.

"I don't mind. It's not such a bad way to die."

"You're right, it's not. But I sometimes get the feeling I could have died for someplace better than Turai."

I ask Astrath if he's heard any war news through the Sorcerers Guild that hasn't been released to the public. He tells me that the Guild thinks they might have detected a large force of Orcs some way to the northeast of the city.

"Coming from Soraz, possibly."

"You mean Rezaz the Butcher?"

Astrath nods.

Rezaz the Butcher, Lord of Soraz, was one of the leaders of the Orcish army who almost captured Turai seventeen years ago. He wasn't with Prince Amrag when he attacked and no one knows for sure if he's pledged his allegiance to Amrag. There has recently been some sort of cooperation between Turai and Lord Rezaz, on economic matters which were beneficial to both sides, but that's not to say the Butcher wouldn't welcome another chance to march into Turai.

"We don't know for sure. The whole area is blanketed with Orcish spells of concealment. It might be Rezaz or it might be Amrag's army."

"I'd guess Amrag's army's gone south," I say. "There have been sightings of his fleet along the coast."

"It's possible," agrees Astrath. "Though we're fairly sure Queen Direeva in the Southern Hills hasn't joined up with him, which makes his going south less likely. But really, it's impossible to say what's going on."

I drink another goblet of wine, and take a small bolt out from my bag.

"A crossbow bolt?"

"It's the one that Sarin the Merciless once fired into Makri."

Astrath grins.

"How is Makri? Still tantalising the clientele?"

"If you call walking round almost naked with a permanent frown on your face tantalising, then yes."

I produce a small scrap of cloth, stained dark with blood.

"This is part of the tunic of a man I think was killed by Sarin. She wrenched a bolt out of his chest, which means she's touched this cloth. Can you use these two items to locate her?"

Astrath picks up the bolt and the cloth, one in each hand, as if weighing them. He studies them for a few moments.

"Maybe. I think they've both got some of her aura on them. Is it urgent?"

I tell him it is.

"Do you want to come back in an hour, say?"

"It's more urgent than that."

Astrath shrugs. I've done him some favours in the past and he knows I wouldn't press him if I didn't have to. He instructs a servant to provide me with anything I want, and takes the crossbow bolt and the scrap of cloth through to his private workspace at the back of his house. He scoops up a half-full bottle of wine before leaving the room. I finish off the venison on my plate, take the rest from the silver salver in the middle of the table, and ring for the servant.

"Any more venison?"

The servant politely tells me that no, there isn't. I look at her suspiciously.

"You did hear Astrath saying to bring me whatever I wanted?"

"I'm sorry, sir, that's the last of our supply."

A likely story. The servants are no doubt being economical with their master's household goods, possibly figuring that if they have to get through a winter on short rations, they're not about to share the supplies with a rather large Investigator.

"Anything in the way of spicy yams?"

"I'm afraid we finished the last of them yesterday."

I look her in the eye but she stares straight back at me, unflinching. Eventually I have to make do with a few pastries and a small bottle of wine. According to the servant—rather a harsh-faced woman, now I think about it—Astrath is not currently holding any beer in his cellar.

The servant leaves me to my wine. I pick up a magical text from a shelf and flick through it. It's a standard work, nothing too advanced, which doesn't mean there aren't plenty of spells in it I've never heard of. They had this book in class when I was an apprentice, yet I'd swear I've never seen most of the spells before. It shows how little attention I paid.

Astrath hurries back into the room. I'm considering asking him straight out, man to man, if he really doesn't have any beer in his cellar, but he appears to be agitated and waves me quiet.

"Did you say these were from Sarin?"

"That's right."

"And she's a killer?"

"She is."

"Then you'd better get back to the Avenging Axe immediately," says Astrath.

"Why?"

"Because she's heading that way right now."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure."

I rise, finish my goblet of wine, and throw my cloak around my shoulders in double-quick time.

"Can you find me a landus around here?"

"Take my carriage," says Astrath.

I'm surprised.

"You have a carriage?"

"Issued to all Sorcerers in wartime," explains Astrath.

I'm impressed. He really is going up in the world.

Minutes later I'm at the reins, thundering through the narrow streets of Pashish towards Twelve Seas. I turn into Moon and Stars Boulevard and head south, scattering pedestrians as I go.

"Out of the way, dogs!" I scream, as a tutor with three children fails to cross the road quickly enough. I thunder on. At this moment the head of the Turanian Sorcerers Guild is lying sick in my bed, and one of the most deadly killers ever seen in Turai is heading towards the Avenging Axe.

Chapter Twelve

I make it to the Avenging Axe in record time, pulling up outside the front door and leaping from the wagon like a hungry dragon going after a plump sheep. The first person I run into is Makri, carrying a tray of tankards.

"Sarin's here," I mutter, and head for the stairs.

Makri isn't far behind me as I burst into my office, though she's taken a diversion to pick up her axe. My sword is in my hand, ready for action. The outside door is open, and Sarin the Merciless is standing by the couch, looking down at the still-sleeping Hanama.

"Does your locking spell ever keep anyone out?" demands Makri, and raises her axe. I get myself in between them

"Makri. Wait till I know why she came here before you kill her."

Sarin regards us with her cold eyes.

"No one is about to kill me."

Sarin's a tall woman, with her dark hair cropped short, which is very unusual in Turai. Unlike almost every other woman in the city, from the market workers to the senators' wives, she wears no make-up of any kind, and her man's tunic is plain and undecorated. For some reason she has a liking for earrings, and there must be at least eight silver rings pierced through each of her ears. She wears a short, curved sword at her hip, and she's pointing a small crossbow at my heart.

"Don't you know it's illegal to carry a crossbow in the city?"

"And yet I never seem to get arrested," says Sarin.

She gazes first at me, then at Makri. There's a peculiar deadness to Sarin's eyes which is slightly unsettling.

"I've been looking for something that belongs to me," she says. "It wasn't there. But I believe you were."

She holds out her hand.

"Give me the Ocean Storm."

I'm staggered by the audacity of this woman, having the nerve to march into my office and demand I hand over a stolen item like she has some rights over it.

"Why would I give it to you?"

"Because I'm pointing a crossbow at you."

"So you are. Maybe you'd like me to roast your insides with a spell?"

"You can't," says Sarin, flatly. "You don't have the power. And I don't like long conversations. Give me the Ocean Storm."

"I'd like to, Sarin, but I just don't believe it belongs to you."

"I made an agreement with Captain Arex."

"Too bad for you someone else got there first."

"Too bad indeed. Hand it over or I'll kill you."

Makri suddenly makes a move. She hurls her axe, moving so quickly that the spinning blade knocks the crossbow from Sarin's hands before she can pull the trigger. Sarin curses and pulls her sword from its sheath. Then she coughs, puts her hand to her head, and sinks gently forward on her knees, sweat pouring from her brow. The sword drops to the floor.

"Oh come on," says Makri, and looks frustrated. Sarin continues to sink, ending up on the floor, her breath coming in short gasps.

I turn to look at Makri.

"What is this? Is there a sign up somewhere saying go to Thraxas's office if you get the malady?"

"I'm going to kill her anyway," declares Makri.

"Okay with me. I'm damned if I want another patient taking up space."

There's the sound of footsteps on the stairs and Hansius walks in through the open door. When he sees Sarin he looks alarmed.

"Didn't the Deputy Consul instruct you to maintain strict privacy? Why is the door open like this? And why is there another malady victim sprawled here for all to see? Get her out of sight this instant."

I stare at Hansius. Just because Cicerius can come down here and order me about doesn't mean his assistant can.

"What do you want?"

"Is that—"

"Sarin the Merciless."

Hansius frowns. Sarin once blackmailed the government out of ten thousand gurans, and they haven't forgotten.

"Why did you let her in?"

"I didn't let her in. She countermanded my locking spell."

"Thraxas's locking spell is useless," says Makri. "Anyone can get past it."

"Why did Sarin come here?" demands Hansius.

"Who knows? People just seem to like to visit these days."

Hansius eyes us with some distaste.

"Didn't the Deputy Consul inform you that we suspect a plot has been hatched to kill Lisutaris and betray the city?"

I look at Makri.

"I can't remember. Did he tell us?"

Makri shrugs.

"There's so many plots. It's hard to remember them all."

"You must be aware of security at all times!" insists Hansius.

I bend down to grab hold of Sarin.

"What are you doing?" asks Hansius

"Throwing her out."

"But I want to kill her," protests Makri.

"She'll die on the street anyway," I point out.

Hansius practically throws himself in front of the door.

"Have you no idea what it means to maintain security? This woman has heard us talk of Lisutaris. No one who knows that Lisutaris is ill in this tavern can be allowed to leave. We might as well just send a message to the Orcs inviting them to attack."

"Fine," says Makri, stepping forward. "I'll kill her now."

The inside door bursts open.

"What are you doing?" cries a very loud voice.

It's Dandelion, clutching potions.

"I'm about to stab Sarin the Merciless," explains Makri.

Dandelion hurries forward, a horrified look on her face.

"You're about to stab a sick woman? Shame on you, Makri."

Makri looks confused.

"But she deserves it."

"Put that sword away," demands Dandelion.

"Absolutely not," retorts Makri.

Dandelion confronts her.

"You can't kill a sick person."

"Yes I can. I'm going to do it now."

"You are not," states Dandelion, quite emphatically. "No one kills any person that I'm ministering to."

"Since when are you ministering to her?"

"Since I took over from Chiaraxi."

"Well this is just ridiculous," says Makri. "You're not a proper healer. You can't order us around."

"I'm the healer," says Dandelion firmly. "I look after everyone that's sick."

I've never seen Dandelion so determined before. She even casts a defiant glance towards Hansius, in case he might be about to argue with her.