Thraxas Under Siege (ARC)

"I'm going to kill her," insists Makri.

"You can't kill a sick guest," says Dandelion.

"A person who breaks in to commit crimes doesn't count as a guest!" retorts Makri.

"Well . . ." says Hansius. "That's a moot point. We do have a strong tradition of hospitality."

Makri curses in Orcish. That's also taboo in Turai, and Hansius is annoyed.

"But if Sarin hadn't suddenly fallen sick I'd have killed her by now anyway," says Makri.

"Not necessarily," says Hansius.

"What?"

"She might have survived the combat. She might even have defeated you."

Makri looks aghast at the thought. I weigh in on her side.

"Ridiculous. Makri's a far better fighter. She'd already got rid of the crossbow with her axe."

Hansius glances at the floor.

"But Sarin has a sword. You companion had thrown her axe, and seems not to have brought another weapon."

"I'd still have beaten her," says Makri. "And why do you care about her anyway?"

"I don't care about her at all," says Hansius. "I'm just pointing out the foolishness and unpredictability of women fighting. Women should not be fighting. It's not their place."

Makri reaches down to pick up her axe, whether to show Hansius her place or whether to kill Sarin, I'm not certain. Either one would be fine with me but Dandelion interrupts us again.

"Stop this. It doesn't matter who would have won the fight. Sarin's sick with the malady and now we're going to look after her."

"No we're not," says Makri.

"You can't kill a sick person!" says Dandelion. "It's wrong. And it's bad luck. Isn't that right?"

Dandelion looks towards Hansius for support. There's no denying that the taboo against killing a sick person is very strong.

"I agree. Sarin should be cared for until she recovers, and then taken into custody for her crimes."

"Good," says Dandelion, ignoring the look of loathing currently being directed towards her by Makri. "Now help me get her to a chair."

Dandelion drags Sarin to a chair. No one helps her.

"I'm really not happy about this," says Makri. "How come it's all right for her to go around shooting crossbows at people and then it's not okay for me to stab her? It goes against natural justice. All these taboos are stupid. Don't blame me if the city gets overrun."

Sarin has now lost consciousness and is sweating profusely.

"It's a serious case," mutters Dandelion. "She's going to need a lot of looking after."

I turn to Hansius.

"Why did you come here anyway?"

"The Deputy Consul has instructed Tirini Snake Smiter to add her powers to Lisutaris's protection. I escorted her down. She should be here any moment."

On cue, Tirini Snake Smiter walks into my office. She is Turai's most glamorous Sorcerer, known far and wide as the woman who spent an arduous six months perfecting a new spell for preserving her nail varnish in perfect condition, no matter how trying the circumstances. And, it has to be said, her nails are never less than perfect. She arrives looking as elegant, glamorous, and about as out of place among the clutter as a person can possibly be. She's draped in a golden fur cloak that's so thick I'm surprised she can move. Her hair, the colour of gleaming corn, cascades around her shoulders in a way that makes me suspect it might be permanently controlled by a spell. The woman is obsessed with her appearance. Tirini has been wooed by princes, generals and senators, envied by their wives and daughters, denounced by bishops, and occupied more space in Turai's scandal sheets than any other person in history.

Despite all this, I know that Lisutaris regards her as a powerful Sorcerer, sharp as an Elf's ear when it comes to working her magics. I'm not at all convinced about this. Tirini is too young to have featured in the last war, so there's no way of knowing how she'll react in battle. I wouldn't wager a great deal of money on her prowess. It's all very well being clever with sorcery to make your hair look better. It's a lot different when there's a dragon diving out of the sky towards you, with an Orcish Sorcerer on its back firing spells, and a squadron of Orcish archers trying to outflank you at the same time.

I greet her, rather wearily.

"Cicerius asked me to check on dear Lisutaris's health," she says

She looks rather dubiously around the room.

"He didn't tell me there were other sick people."

"There are sick people everywhere."

"Who are they?"

"Murderous killer, murderous Assassin," I say, nodding towards the prostrate bodies of Hanama and Sarin.

"Really? How thrilling for you. Where is Lisutaris?"

"In the bedroom."

"Take me to her."

"You sure? So far everyone who's gone in there has fallen sick."

"I've had the malady," says Tirini. "And frightfully boring it was, as I recall."

Tirini walks into my bedroom, followed by Hansius.

Dandelion is meanwhile giving the medicinal potion to Hanama and Sarin. Hanama is still badly sick. Her brow is covered in perspiration. She winces as she moves her mouth towards the cup. The muscle pains brought on by the malady can be very severe, and she's still suffering.

"You'll be better soon," says Dandelion, encouragingly.

"I know," whispers Hanama, and manages to look determined for a few seconds. Her eyes close and she drifts back to sleep. I wonder what would happen if the situation was reversed. Somehow I can't see Hanama feeding medicine to anyone. Caring for people isn't in her nature. There again, nor is it in mine.

Tirini emerges from my bedroom.

"I would hardly say that this is a suitable place for dear Lisutaris to lie ill," she says.

"Neither would I. If you want to move her somewhere go right ahead."

"Cicerius has issued instructions that she should not be moved."

Tirini frowns.

"I have little confidence in Cicerius. Were it not for the efforts of the Sorcerers Guild, the city would have fallen to those dreadful Orcs by now."

The sorceress glances at her hands with distaste.

"I'm covered in dust. Does your maid never clean in there?"

"I don't have a maid."

Tirini looks at me like I'm mentally deficient. The possibility of not having a maid has probably never entered her mind. Her look of distaste intensifies as she glances at the small sink in the corner of my office.

"Where might a woman wash her hands?"

I direct her to Tanrose's room downstairs, probably her best chance of finding something clean and pleasant. It also contains a sick healer, but everywhere you go, someone is sick. It's not just the Avenging Axe. The malady has now made inroads into much of the population. Already there are shortages among the guards at the walls as men fail to report for duty.

Tirini departs, leaving the room with the slow, delicate gait of a woman who's wearing heels which might be suitable for tripping round a ballroom at the Palace but are far too high for the rough terrain you meet in Twelve Seas. In the last twenty years or so, upper-class Turanian women's heels have been becoming higher and higher, a fashion which has led to adverse comment from the Church, and other guardians of the nation's morals. For once I agree with them. Bishop Gzekius might have been talking nonsense when he condemned gambling as the quick way to hell, but he was spot on with his sermon pointing out the iniquities of frivolous footwear. Tirini's shoes, stitched from some yellow fabric with pink flowers embroidered over the toes, with the heel and sole decorated with beaten gold, are surely a sign of a society in decay. I doubt that a sailmaker would earn enough in a year to pay for them.

Makri regards Tirini balefully as she exits.

"I don't think she's the best person to protect Lisutaris. Anyway, I'm protecting her."

Before Hansius leaves he questions us about our encounter with the Orcish Assassin. I can't tell him much more than I did in my message to the Deputy Consul, though I do my best to let Hansius know every detail I can remember. Turai's security has been breached by Orcs before, but now, in time of war, with our defensive sorcery at maximum power, it's far more serious. Old Hasius the Brilliant, Chief Sorcerer at the Abode of Justice, has been down at the harbour, checking on the scene of the fight, trying to pick up clues as to how the Orc Marizaz might have entered the city.

With a final admonition to maintain our own security and look after Lisutaris, Hansius departs. Makri turns towards Sarin the Merciless.

"I'm still going to kill her when she gets better."

"At least you have something to look forward to."

I step towards the bedroom."

"Where are you going?" demands Makri.

"Just checking on Lisutaris."

"Keep out of that room."

"What the hell do you mean, keep out? It's my bedroom."

"You're planning on asking her for money."

"Preposterous. I have a duty to look after her too, you know."

I slip into the bedroom, pursued by Makri.

"I refuse to let you borrow money from a sick woman."

"I'm not going to borrow money. What's it got to do with you anyway?"

"I'm her bodyguard."

"So what? You're meant to protect her from Orcish Assassins, not Investigators in need. Besides, I have some important questions regarding the Ocean Storm."

I stare at Makri.

"Questions that need to be asked in private."

"Not a chance," says Makri. "The minute I'm out that door you'll be scrounging money."

"I order you to get out of my bedroom."

"You can't order a Sorcerer's bodyguard around," states Makri, firmly. "I'm staying."

Lisutaris groans.

"You see?" I say to Makri. "You're upsetting her. She needs peace and quiet."

"She's not going to get peace and quiet with you trying to get your hands on her money."

"What's a few hundred gurans to Lisutaris? She's rolling in money. Goddamn, it's not like she'd be taking a risk."

"You just said you weren't here to borrow money."

"I'm not. But if I was, I'd be doing Lisutaris a favour. She enjoys gambling."

"She's got a city to defend!" yells Makri. "We're meant to be getting her healthy so she can fight the Orcs! Have you forgotten that?"

"Life doesn't stop just because the Orcs are besieging the city!" I roar back. "All citizens have a duty to keep things going. It's good for morale."

"Playing cards doesn't count as keeping things going," protests Makri.

We're interrupted by some movement on the bed. Lisutaris struggles to raise her head.

"I'll give you the money if you'll just leave me in peace," she whispers.

"No, don't—" says Makri.

"I accept," I say, butting in quickly. "Very sporting of you, Lisutaris, and I won't forget you when I'm counting my winnings."

Makri looks furious. I hurry to Lisutaris's bedside. The sorceress lifts her head a few inches.

"How much do you need?"

"Don't give it to him," says Makri.

Lisutaris manages a thin smile.

"Makri. Thraxas has been looking after me. Which is so against his nature, I think he deserves something for his trouble."

She motions for me to hand her a fancy embroidered bag, which I do, hastily. Lisutaris fumbles inside the bag. It takes some effort on her part and I start to worry that she might pass out before she finds her purse. If she does, I'll probably have to engage Makri in combat before I can take possession.

Lisutaris finds her purse, and opens it with an effort.

"How much is there?"

I look inside. There are seven coins. Seven silver fifty guran pieces. Not a common sight in Twelve Seas.

"Three hundred and fifty gurans."

"Is that enough?"

"Just about."

Lisutaris hands them to me. I'm deeply moved. Surely this is one of the finest citizens Turai has ever produced. I cram the coins into the pocket of my tunic.

"Do you want anything?" I ask.

"Some peace," whispers Lisutaris.

"Absolutely peace is what you need."

I rise swiftly and turn to Makri.

"You heard her. Absolute peace. From now on, make sure no one disturbs Lisutaris."

I leave the room quickly, delighted after a successful operation. I now have 440 gurans and require only sixty more. Surely I can raise that in the next few hours. I'm just strapping on my sword when I am struck by an annoying piece of inspiration about the Ocean Storm. Right now I'm not looking for inspiration. I'm more concerned with raising the cash for tomorrow night's gambling extravaganza. I hesitate. I could ignore it, or deal with it later. I head for the door, but turn back with a sigh. It's no use. No matter how I try, I never seem to be able to ignore an investigation.

I stride back into my bedroom. Makri is sitting beside Lisutaris's bed, not actually mopping her brow but looking like she might do it any moment. She glares angrily at me as I reappear.

"Need more money already?"

I ignore her.

"Lisutaris. I just had some sudden inspiration."

Lisutaris turns her face towards me. She's still looking very unhealthy. The head of the Sorcerers Guild has really taken the malady badly. I've known far less healthy people than her recover from it quicker.

"What inspiration?"

"Yesterday we met an Orcish Assassin. No one knows how he could have got into the city without being detected. Have you had any thoughts on that?"

The Sorcerer shakes her head.

"We're working on it," she whispers.

"Before we met him I passed some mourners, close to the harbour. A couple of men and a woman. Or I thought it was a woman. She was wearing a veil. But now I'm wondering if it might have been Deeziz the Unseen."

Lisutaris stares at me. She stares at me for so long I wonder if she might not be completely with us. Finally she manages the smallest of smiles.

"Deeziz the Unseen? I thought I was the one who was sick. You must be hallucinating."

"I wasn't hallucinating. I didn't see anything strange. Just a standard Human mourner, in a veil. Deeziz is known for wearing a veil. So I'm wondering if it might have been him."

"But mourners often wear veils," says Makri, which is true.

"Did you sense sorcery?" asks Lisutaris.

"No, nothing."

"Did you sense Orcs?" asks Makri.

I admit I didn't.

"It's just a feeling."

Lisutaris tries to raise herself on one elbow, but can't quite make it, and sinks down again.

"Deeziz the Unseen is on top of a mountain hundreds of miles away. We'd have detected him if he'd come anywhere near Turai. Cicerius's intelligence service would have heard something about it."

"Maybe not," I say. "It's not unheard of for an Orcish Sorcerer to infiltrate the city. Makri ran into one only a few months ago when she rescued Herminis"—I break off to cast a dirty look at Makri, signifying my continuing disapproval—"and we both came across one at the races a year or so ago."

"True," replies Lisutaris. "But every Sorcerer in the city has been on the highest alert since Amrag attacked. I think we'd have detected an intruder. And General Pomius doesn't even think Deeziz has joined Prince Amrag."

Lisutaris motions to Makri for water, and Makri raises a beaker to her lips.

"You don't have any reason for thinking it was Deeziz the Unseen, do you? Apart from your intuition?"

"No. I don't. But I've made it a long way on my intuition. Now I think about it, isn't it strange the way you've taken the malady so badly? You should have been starting to recover by now. What if it's Deeziz attacking you with a spell? Sorcery can prolong an illness."

Lisutaris has already thought of this.

"I checked. I'm not being affected by any spell."

"You think you're not. What if you're wrong?"

"I'm not."

"I think you might be."

A hint of colour appears in Lisutaris's cheeks. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, does not appreciate anything which might be construed as criticism of her power.

"I'm the head of the Sorcerers Guild."

"And I'm an Investigator who's got you out of a few jams in the past. What if I'm right? What if the most powerful Orcish Sorcerer is wandering around in Turai? Who knows what new spells he might have brought with him?"

"You don't know what you're talking about. No one can catch me unaware."

Lisutaris is angry.

"I just gave you three hundred and fifty gurans to leave me in peace and now you're bothering me with this foolishness. Makri, get rid of him so I can sleep."

"No," says Makri.

"What?" Lisutaris looks surprised. "But you're my bodyguard."

"What if Thraxas is right?" says Makri.

Lisutaris finds the strength to haul herself up into a sitting position.

"I always thought you were the smart one."

"I am the smart one," says Makri. "But Thraxas often succeeds in his investigating. I don't think you should ignore him. Maybe Deeziz is here. Maybe he's attacking you and you don't know it."

"How many times do I have to repeat, I can't be attacked without me knowing it," insists Lisutaris. "I've had enough of this. What was Cicerius thinking, leaving me in this place? I need to be at home where I can recover without being surrounded by idiots."

Lisutaris makes an attempt to haul herself out of bed. Makri puts a hand on her shoulder and firmly pushes her back. Lisutaris's eyes widen in amazement.

"You can't leave," says Makri, firmly. "You have to rest and get better. Meanwhile Thraxas can investigate more."

"Would you like me to blast you with a spell?"

"Well that wouldn't be a very smart thing to do to your own bodyguard," says Makri, logically.

Lisutaris sinks back into the bed.

"I need thazis," she says.

"You can't have it," says Makri. "The healer says it's bad for you."

"To hell with the healer," says Lisutaris. She waves her hand, summoning her bag. It rises from the floor but Makri intercepts it and throws it in a drawer.

"No thazis till you're better," she says, sternly.

Fearing that Lisutaris might actually carry out her threat to start blasting people with spells, I decide it's time to go. As I leave the room Lisutaris is still complaining about not being allowed any thazis, and Makri is ignoring her.

I need food. I head downstairs to see what's on offer. Elsior the apprentice cook is standing behind the bar as I approach, with an apron round her waist, loading some pastries into a jar. I ask if there's anything more substantial on offer. There are plenty of hungry dock workers who visit the tavern at lunchtime so the cooking generally starts early.

"I'm a bit rushed," says Elsior, apologetically. "But the first batch of stew will be ready soon."

She puts her hand to her forehead.

"It's hot in here today."

"Hot? I hadn't noticed."

"Must be the heat in the kitchen getting to me," says Elsior.

I have a strong suspicion about what's going to happen next. Elsior blinks a few times, and brushes perspiration from her forehead. Then she leans forward, clutches the bar for support, and sinks slowly to the floor. I look down at her.

"So is the stew almost ready? Could I just take a bowl from the kitchen?"

Elsior doesn't reply. Makri appears from upstairs.

"Another casualty?"

"I'm afraid so. And the stew isn't ready yet."

"Tough break," says Makri.

We look down at Elsior's prone body.

"I'm starting to get quite fed up with all this," says Makri.

"Me too."

"Do you think these people are really trying to get better? Palax and Kaby have been sick for ages. Shouldn't they be healthy by now?"

I shrug.

"Difficult to say. Sometimes the malady's like that. At least no one's died yet."

"So where are we going to put her?"

Hanama and Sarin are sick in my office and Lisutaris is in my bedroom. Palax and Kaby are in Makri's room and Chiaraxi is lying ill in Tanrose's room. Moolifi is in the only spare guest room.

"Have to be Dandelion's room, I'd say."

Dandelion sleeps in a small room at the back of the tavern, when she's not down at the shore, talking to the dolphins. We pick Elsior up and start to carry her through the kitchen towards the back. As we do so we meet Dandelion bustling towards us.

"Oh dear," says Dandelion. Another one?"

"We were going to put her in your room."

Dandelion accepts it with good grace.

"You best tell Gurd," I say. "He's going to have a lot of hungry dockers and mercenaries here in a few hours and nothing to feed them."

Dandelion wrinkles her brow.

"I'm not a very good cook."

She turns to Makri.

"Can you cook?"

Makri looks quite offended, and shakes her head.

"Well, I'm off to investigate," I say, and depart briskly. I'm not so bad at mixing up a stew on a campfire, but I'm not planning on pitching in and helping. The thought of me cooking for dockers and mercenaries is quite ridiculous, but the way things are going, I wouldn't put it past someone to suggest it.

Chapter Thirteen

I return to my office to pick up my sword and load up with a spell or two. I cram some thazis sticks and a flask of klee into a pocket. When I turn round I find Sarin the Merciless staring at me. I glare at her.

"Aren't you better yet?"

She doesn't reply. She's huddled up in one of my blankets, as is Hanama. Hanama at least contrives to look innocent. Sarin just looks like a killer.

"I'm off to find the Ocean Storm. No doubt you intended to find it and sell it to the Orcs. Well, you can forget it."

"I'd have it already if I hadn't got sick," she whispers.

"No you wouldn't."

"I've outwitted you in the past."

"So you claim. And here you are, sick on my couch. Try outwitting that."

"You're not making sense," sneers Sarin.

"Not making sense? Try this. I work every day and I fight for my city. You're a parasite who feeds off honest people. Does that make sense?"

Sarin mops her brow. She's bathed in perspiration, suffering badly from the disease.

"There's no difference between us," she says. "We're both empty. I fill it up with crime. You fill it up with food and beer."

I blink. It's an odd thing to say.

"You're rambling, Sarin. The malady does that. When you get healthy you'll remember which one of us is the honest upright citizen. And you're not going to be healthy for long once Makri's done with you."

Sarin sneers.

"If she had any sense she'd have done with me already. But at least her life isn't empty like yours."

"Oh no?"

"No."

"She works as a barmaid and wastes her time listening to Samanatius the phoney philosopher."

"You don't like Samanatius?" says Sarin.

"I don't."

"That shows what a fool you are."

Not willing to engage in further conversation with a woman who is clearly delirious, I leave through the outside door, place the locking spell on it, and hurry down the steps into Quintessence Street. As soon as I hit the cold thoroughfare it strikes me that I don't really know what I'm looking for. Whales, maybe, but I've already checked Twelve Seas quite thoroughly, and I'd swear there wasn't one lurking in the shadows. As for the Ocean Storm, who knows where that might be? As far as I can gather, it was gone from Borinbax's house before Sarin killed him. If it hadn't been she'd have it by now, and wouldn't be troubling me.

A squadron of troops marches by, on their way to bolster the harbour defences. Each man has a long spear and a shield over his shoulder. By this time the city is awash with rumours that the Orcs are going to batter down the sea wall, and the area is continually being reinforced. As well as additional soldiers, Cicerius has assigned more Sorcerers to the sea defences. Even Kemlath Orc Slayer is down there, in charge of one section of wall. Kemlath was banished for his crimes, crimes which I detected, but he's been recalled for the duration of the war. I'm not objecting. The city needs the services of everyone who can wield a spell.

I find myself in the narrow street where Makri and I met Marizaz, Orcish Assassin. What a strange affair that was. One that I really should have looked into further. I would have had my mind not been preoccupied with raising money, and looking after the sick. I can hardly be blamed for some neglect when it comes to investigating. The way the Avenging Axe is bulging with ailing people just now is enough to put anyone off. Once more I find myself wondering if there might be some sorcery behind it. Lisutaris can insist all she wants that no magic is involved, but I still say it's unnatural the way no one can set foot in my office without catching the malady. It goes against all reason.

I glance down at the spot where Makri killed Marizaz. A tiny splash of colour catches my eye, bright against the dull frozen mud. I reach down to pick it up. It's a small scrap of cloth, a few threads of pink. Unusual. There's not that much pink fabric to be found in Twelve Seas. It's an expensive colour. The dye has to be imported from the far west. Upper-class women might flaunt their wealth by wearing pink garments, but no one does in Twelve Seas. I wonder how it got here. As far as I remember, Marizaz wasn't wearing pink. I put the threads in my pocket and look around some more, without finding anything. Then I return to the Avenging Axe. I've made no progress and I'm stuck for inspiration.

Captain Rallee is sitting at a table with Moolifi. I decline his invitation to join them. The Captain is more gregarious these days but I'm not in the mood for admiring the fineness of his lady friend. I'm starting to resent the way he's sitting around here being pleased with himself while I'm out investigating in the cold streets. I make a brief enquiry about the likelihood of food and learn that Gurd has sent out for an emergency cook. Meanwhile he and Dandelion are attempting to manufacture some sort of stew. Knowing Gurd's lack of culinary expertise, I don't hold out much hope, unless the emergency cook turns out to be a woman of extraordinary skill, which isn't that likely.

By now in a thoroughly bad mood, I traipse upstairs to my room to have another look at Makri's book. Unfortunately it's not there. I glance suspiciously at Hanama but she's sleeping and she isn't holding a book. I'm concerned. If someone's stolen Makri's book she'll go crazy, and probably accuse me of not looking after it properly. I hunt round my room, without success. Finally I put my nose through the bedroom door, in case Lisutaris might have it. I'm surprised to find Makri sitting on the floor, reading the book in question. She looks up as I enter, and shifts uncomfortably.

"Thraxas. Finished investigating?"

"Just came back to do some research."

I stare at the book.

"Some research from that book, as it happens."

I hold out my hand.

"You can't have it," says Makri.

"What do you mean, I can't have it? I need it."

"So do I."

"What for?"

"College."

"College is closed."

"I have to prepare a seminar. For next year. On naval history."

I stare at Makri.

"Makri, you are a terrible liar. You don't have a seminar to prepare, whatever that means. If you did you wouldn't have lent me the book."

I take a step towards her.

"Hand it over."

Makri leaps to her feet.

"Back off," she says. "I need this book."

"You're researching whales, aren't you!" I cry.

"Whales? You're talking rubbish. Why would I be researching whales?"

"Because you're trying to get your hands on Tanrose's gold! How did you learn about it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," says Makri, not very convincingly. She really is a bad liar. Faced with a master of the art like me, she's wasting her time. Nonetheless, she doesn't look like she's going to give up the book without a fight. I take a step backwards, and draw myself up to my full height.

"I might have expected this from you. I'm out there doing an honest day's work and the moment I get home I find you stabbing me in the back."

"No one is stabbing you in the back. And what do you mean, you might have expected it of me?" demands Makri.

"The Orcish blood. Never trust a person with pointed ears."

Makri narrows her eyes. When she does that they have an odd, slanted appearance. Another sure sign of her non-Human untrustworthiness.

"I'm getting fed up of your Orcish insults," she says.

"Feel free to leave the city any time," I respond, and I mean it. We stare at each other angrily for a few seconds.

"How did you learn about the whale story?" I demand.

"Everyone knows about it," snaps Makri. "Glixius Dragon Killer was in here asking about whales while you were out."

"Glixius? How did he learn about it?"

"Servant gossip. Tanrose's mother's servant is the sister of one of Glixius's cooks."

Servants are notorious for gossiping. I should have guessed it wouldn't remain a secret. I'd better find this gold, and soon. If I don't, there's no telling how many people might start trying to muscle in. I curse Glixius. This man really is the bane of my life. Not only is he searching for the Ocean Storm, he's apparently looking for the hidden gold. It's not like the man is poor. He doesn't need a share of 14,000 gurans the way I do. The thought makes me even angrier. I feel slightly better when I remember that I'll soon have the chance to take some of his money from him at the card table. Unfortunately I'm immediately reminded that I don't have enough money to sit down with yet, and I get angry again.

I leave the room. To hell with them all. I've got about thirty-six hours before Turai's richest gamblers roll up to the Avenging Axe, and nothing is going to prevent me from finding the cash I need to play with them. There's a knock on the inner door. I open it to find Tirini Snake Smiter outside. I glare at her. Tirini hasn't actually stabbed me in the back but she's an associate of Lisutaris's and Makri is Lisutaris's bodyguard, so I'm annoyed at her by association.

"What do you want?" I ask.

Tirini looks surprised.

"To protect Lisutaris, of course. That's what I'm here for, remember?"

I let her in, muttering under my breath all the while.

Tirini eyes me with mild distaste.

"Don't blame me. This tavern is the last place I'd choose to spend my time. But some of us have to make sacrifices for the good of the city. Did you give up guarding the walls?"

"I have a few days off."

"Really," says Tirini, raising her eyebrows. "How reassuring. One trusts the Orcs are also enjoying a holiday."

Tirini sweeps past me and on into the bedroom to check on Lisutaris. I notice she's wearing another fancy pair of shoes with pink and gold embroidery. Was she wearing them before? I can't remember. The pink looks rather similar to the threads I have in my pocket. The ones I picked up from where we left Marizaz.

There's probably nothing in it. Lots of rich Turanian women have embroidery on their shoes. It's a popular way of showing off your wealth. But maybe I'll examine them later to see if there are any threads missing. I don't completely trust Tirini. She never appeared on the battlefield. For all anyone knows she could be an Orcish spy. Lisutaris trusts her. But Lisutaris also employs Makri as a bodyguard, so it's not like you can trust her judgement in everything.

There's a knock on the outside door.

"Go to hell!" I shout.

The door flies open. Harmon Half Elf strolls into the room. He has long fair hair, and an elegant green cloak with the rainbow motif of the Sorcerers Guild embroidered around the hem.

"Where is the meeting?" he asks, politely enough for a man who just countermanded my locking spell and barged into my office.

"What meeting?"

"The Sorcerers' meeting."

"What Sorcerers' meeting?"

Before I can reply, Coranius the Grinder strides in though the door. Coranius is one of Turai's most powerful Sorcerers, and a man of notoriously short temper.

"Where is the meeting?" he asks, curtly.

I'm starting to feel annoyed.

"There isn't any meeting."

Coranius stares at me.

"Stop talking rubbish."

A carriage draws up outside. Anumaris Thunderbolt, one of our younger Sorcerers, hurries into the office.

"Am I late for the meeting?" she asks. "Hello, Thraxas."

I nod at her politely. I fought at Anumaris's side only a month or two ago, when the Orcs attacked us outside the walls. It was her first time in battle and she did well, so I greet her rather more politely, but tell her once more there isn't a meeting.

My bedroom door opens. Tirini leans out.

"In here, everyone," she says.

"What's going on? Did you organise a meeting in my room without telling me?"

No one listens. Before Harmon, Coranius and Anumaris have disappeared through the door, Lanius Suncatcher, Chief Sorcerer from Palace Security, is hurrying in, followed by Melus the Fair, resident Sorcerer at the Stadium Superbius.

"Is there any chance of a glass of wine?" asks Melus.

I'm speechless. If a bunch of Sorcerers think they can just turn up and start demanding wine from me they're sadly mistaken. I'm about to give them all a piece of my mind when old Hasius the Brilliant himself hobbles into the room complete with three attendants. Old Hasius is reputed to be 112 years old, and he's starting to look it. He very rarely leaves his chambers at the Abode of Justice yet here he is, walking into a tavern in Twelve Seas like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Various other Sorcerers crowd in, some powerful, some less so, and some I don't even know. I fight my way to the door of my bedroom and peer over their shoulders. My bedroom is a mass of rainbow cloaks of every description. Sorcerers are perched everywhere, on the floor, on the bed, all acting like they belong here. Meanwhile Makri is sitting calmly beside Lisutaris. It's enough to test anyone's patience.

"Would someone tell me what's going on?" I yell, loud enough to stop their babbling. They all turn to look at me.

"Sorcerers' meeting," says Coranius, sternly.

"Yes, I know it's a Sorcerers' meeting. But why in my bedroom?"

"Because Lisutaris is here."

"And she can't be moved."

"Sorry Thraxas," says Lisutaris, who's still looking weak, but has managed to sit up in bed. She has her cloak draped round her shoulders, and looks rather regal.

"Isn't it meant to be a secret that she's here?" I ask.

"It remains a secret," says Coranius.

"Not much of a secret if every Sorcerer in Turai suddenly appears."

"We're Sorcerers," says Coranius. "We can cover our tracks."

I'm about to raise several more objections when Glixius Dragon Killer suddenly appears.

"Sorry to be late," he booms, brushing past me. "Has the meeting started yet?"

I give up in disgust. My own private space invaded by my enemies, and there's nothing to be done about it. Much as I'd like to sling every one of them out into the street, I can't. The weakest Sorcerer here still has more power than me. Unable to think of even a good line to leave on, I turn on my heel and depart. I'm seething, not least because Makri seems to be welcome at the meeting whereas I'm obviously not. I head straight downstairs to the bar. I need beer, and plenty of it. And I need it quickly. Gurd is standing behind the bar, a welcoming sight.

"Beer. Quickly. My rooms are full of Sorcerers."

Gurd pours me a beer. He hands it over with a sympathetic look.

"It's an outrage," I say. "A man can't even call his room his own any more. First it was invaded by sick people and now it's Sorcerers. I detest them all."

"Perhaps the Sorcerers will get sick," says Gurd.

"I hope so. I tell you, Gurd, this city makes me sick. Apart from you, I hate every inhabitant."

Gurd grins, but his smile fades quite suddenly and he starts to look vague. He puts his hand to his forehead, then stares at his palm, which is damp with sweat.

"Is it hot in here?" he asks.

Before I can reply, Gurd is sinking gently to the floor.

"And you're sick as well," I say, and shake my head sadly. "Now I don't like anyone."

"Look after the tavern," gasps Gurd.

Dandelion appears on the scene. She gives a small cry when she sees Gurd lying on the floor.

"Oh my goodness, Gurd is sick. Help me get him to his room. Thraxas? What are you doing?"

"Pouring myself a beer."

"We have to help Gurd."

"I will. I just need a beer first."

At this rate there will soon be no one left. Gurd was my last ally. Now he's gone it's just me against the hostile world, and at this moment the hostile world seems to be winning.

Makri suddenly appears at my side.

"Shouldn't you be with your Sorcerer buddies?"

"They threw me out," says Makri. "I'm completely offended."

"Well, Sorcerers are always secretive."

"But I'm Lisutaris's bodyguard."

Poor Makri. She's under the misapprehension that this gives her some sort of status. It doesn't really. She's acknowledged to be a good woman with a sword, but fighting abilities alone don't win status in this city.

"Help us get Gurd into his room."

"I hate all these sick people everywhere," says Makri.

Chapter Fourteen

It's a chaotic evening at the Avenging Axe. Dandelion and Makri are both serving behind the bar, which means there's no waitress service, which in turn leads to a long queue of thirsty drinkers all competing for service. Mercenaries and dockers become impatient. They're not used to waiting so long for their tankards of ale, and they're not shy about complaining. The food is being prepared by some temporary cook whose name I don't even know. She seems to be taking a long time about it, which leads to more impatience. There are more than a few angry words and sharp exchanges as Makri and Dandelion struggle to cope. It's a bad situation, and a less experienced drinker than myself might be inclined to panic. Fortunately I've had a great deal of practice and I've got a lot of weight on my side. I lever some mercenaries out of the way, force back a sailmaker, and slide up to the bar without too much trouble.

"Happy Guildsman, Makri," I say, holding out my extra-large tankard for a refill.

Makri looks at me balefully.

"Have you considered helping out?"

"Helping out? Why?"

"Because we need help," she says, logically enough. Logical or not, I brush it aside.

"I'm not employed here. I'm a paying customer."

Even Dandelion is slightly harassed as Barbarian mercenaries compete for her attention.

"It really would be nice if you were to help, Thraxas," she says.

"Afraid I can't do that."

Makri hands a tankard of ale over to a customer, then pauses.

"Then you're not being served," she says.

I gape at her.

"What do you mean?"

"If you won't help, I'm banning you from the tavern."

Only the crush of bodies prevents me from reeling backwards in shock. I'm not used to being banned from taverns. Or rather, I am used to being banned from taverns, but not the one I reside in.

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't ban me. I live here."

"I don't care," says Makri. "You're not getting any drinks. Either help out or step aside. There are people waiting."

"You dog!" I roar, and reach for my sword. "This time you've gone too far!"

I start heaving my way through the press of bodies to the hatch in the bar, intent on getting behind it and skewering Makri at the first opportunity. Makri grabs the axe she keeps for emergencies and waits for me to arrive.

"No one refuses beer to Thraxas!" I yell, still struggling through the crowd. I find my way blocked by a Barbarian mercenary who stands about seven feet tall and almost as wide. It takes me a while to work my way round him and it doesn't calm my temper. Meanwhile I'm yelling insults at Makri and she's yelling insults back at me. By the time I make it behind the bar, fifty or so assorted mercenaries, dockers and other Twelve Seas lowlifes are looking on with some amusement. I ignore them.

"Pour me a beer or I'll run you through like a dog."

Makri raises her axe.

"Get out from behind the bar or I'll chop your head off, you cusux."

Even in the company of mercenaries and dock workers, not the most refined of people, Makri's use of an Orcish insult causes a few raised eyebrows. I take a step forward. Dandelion suddenly leaps in front of me.

"Stop this at once," she says. "With everyone sick we all have to work together."

I eye her with loathing.

"Dandelion, have I ever told you how much I despise you?"

"Don't pick on her, you fat oaf," shouts Makri. "Dandelion, get out the way so I can chop his head off."

Dandelion turns to face Makri.

"You have to stop it as well. We shouldn't be fighting among ourselves."

"Goddamn you, you ignorant zutha bitch," roars Makri, giving vent to another of her favourite foul Orcish insults. "Get out the way or I'll chop you in half."

Dandelion takes a step backwards, intimidated. She turns to me, and then back to Makri. And then, quite abruptly, she bursts into tears.

"I was only trying to help," she wails, then runs off into the back room, leaving me and Makri staring at each other with weapons raised, feeling a little foolish.

"Well there was no need to make the girl cry," says one of the loudest voices in Turai. It's Viriggax, who's standing at the bar with a look of disapproval in his eye.

"Poor little soul," says Parax the shoemaker, agreeing with him. "Always tries to do her best."

"I never like to see a young woman bullied," growls Viriggax. "Goes against the grain."

"Oh come on," I protest. "We weren't bullying her. Everyone knows Dandelion is an idiot."

Another mercenary at the bar, a man with a scar running from his ear to his chin, clucks in disapproval.

"Always thought she was a helpful young wench. Don't see any reason for threatening her with swords and axes."

There are mutters of agreement from all over the tavern.

"I wasn't really going to attack her," protests Makri.

"You insulted her in Orcish," says the mercenary, and looks at her suspiciously.

"Are we ever going to get a drink?" demands another large mercenary, and bangs his fist on the bar. Realising that the mob is against us, and remembering that Gurd's last words were to look after his tavern, I sigh, and sheathe my sword. If these people don't get drinks soon there will probably be a riot. I pick up an empty tankard, and place it under the beer tap. I can't believe it. Thraxas, once Senior Investigator at the Imperial Palace, now reduced to serving beer.

"I'll get you for this," I mutter to Makri.

She puts her axe away and picks up an empty tankard.

"You started it," she mutters back.

Chapter Fifteen

In the early hours of the morning I'm slumped on the floor, my back against the bar, exhausted.

"That was one of the worst nights of my life."

"I told you it's not so easy serving beer," says Makri.

She takes a sip from a glass of klee and winces. Klee is a fiery spirit at the best of times, and Gurd's is not of the highest quality.

"Why do I drink this stuff?"

"It has reviving properties," I reply, and pour some for myself. I've always liked the spirit's dark gold colour. Warms a man before it even hits the throat.

"How did this happen?" I muse.

"What?"

"Everything. One day I was a Sorcerer's apprentice, the next day I was a mercenary, then I was an Investigator at the Palace and now I'm serving drinks to mercenaries. You couldn't say I've gone up in the world."

Makri shrugs.

"You're serving drinks because everyone else got sick. As for the rest, who knows? Anyway, do you want to go up in the world?"

"I'd like to get out of Twelve Seas."

"That might happen soon."

I sip some more klee, and wash it down with beer.

"True. If the Orcs swarm over the sea wall I'll probably have to move."

"I'm not moving an inch," declares Makri. "We ran away last time. I'm not doing that again."

Makri didn't really run away. She helped shepherd some important Sorcerers back into the city after our troops were defeated. If we hadn't saved Lisutaris we'd have even less hope of survival than we do now. Makri doesn't exactly see it that way.

"I'm making my death stand here."

I don't argue the point. She won't be the only one making their death stand, if only because there will be nowhere to run. I look over at her.

"Why did you want to find Tanrose's gold?"

"To pay for the university. In case there's a university left."

Makri looks depressed. She doesn't mind dying in battle but it's annoying that all her hard work at the Guild College will be wasted. It wasn't so long ago that she marched into the tavern with her arms aloft, celebrating her triumph in the exams, where she finished top of her year.

"If we could just find the Ocean Storm," I say, "the city would have a lot better chance of surviving. The Sorcerers Guild could still hold the Orcs off."

"Do you have any idea where it is?" asks Makri.

"No idea at all. Whoever finally ended up with it is powerful and smart. No one's picked up the slightest trace."

I haul myself to my feet.

"Time to get busy."

"What? Where are you going?"

"The harbour. Looking for whales, gold, and the Ocean Storm."

Makri leaps to her feet.

"I'm coming too."

I shrug.

"Okay."

"I get to share the gold if we find it."

"I'll consider it."

"I have plenty of ideas about what 'under the whale' might mean."

I raise my eyebrows.

"Really."

"No," admits Makri. "None at all really. But I might think of something. If we find it I can pay for the university. If we find the Ocean Storm too we can save the city."

"It's all starting to sound simple. We'll be heroes."

My bedroom is still full of Sorcerers. They've been cloistered in there for hours. I slip into my office, pick up both my magic warm cloaks, and hand one to Makri. We hurry down the outside steps then stride along Quintessence Street, which is cold and deserted. The oil lamps at the corners cast a feeble light, barely sufficient to navigate by. I speak a small word of power to light up my illuminated staff.

We pass a night-time Civil Guard patrol. They stare at us suspiciously before recognising us as familiar Twelve Seas characters. They walk off, swords at their hips, marching in an untidy fashion. Not for the first time it strikes me that our Civil Guards are not the most imposing bunch of men. Hardly enough to strike terror into the hearts of marauding Orcs. The King has some good troops, and there are some experienced mercenaries in the city. But for the most part, our defenders are poorly trained rabble. There was a time when every man in Turai, no matter what his profession, had undergone enough military training to take up arms at a moment's notice. Everyone could fight like a proper soldier. That's no longer the case. Back in those days there wasn't such inequality in the city. Now there are incredible riches at the Palace, and terrible poverty in the slums. In between the people and the King, our senate has become powerless and corrupt. Money, crime, corruption and drugs have ruined our fighting spirit.

"When's the card game?"

"Tonight."

"So really you're only out investigating in the middle of the night in a last desperate attempt to raise the money? As opposed to saving the city?"

"You're sharp as an Elf's ear, Makri."

Makri shrugs.

"It's a relief really. The notion of you becoming heroic was quite worrying."

We walk all the way down to the harbour. There's a watch tower at the end of the city wall, with a lookout post and a beacon on top. Great chains hang from the walls, covering the entrance to the harbour. I can sense the sorcery that's laid over the chains, strengthening them against assault. Since Cicerius sent more protection to the south of the city the whole area reeks of magic.

"Whales never come here," says Makri.

"I know."

"Except occasionally a dead one gets washed up. Can you remember when that last happened?"

"I can remember seeing the carcass of a whale when I was young, but it was long before the Battle of Dead Dragon Island. I don't think it was buried anywhere. Just rotted away on the beach."

"Maybe Tanrose's grandfather buried the gold on the beach?" suggests Makri.

"She said at the harbour. The beach is quite a way from the harbour."

"Perhaps he was confused?"

"Why would he bury his gold under the rotting carcass of a whale? Hardly the easiest place."

We stare out to sea.

"How about if we ask the dolphins?" suggests Makri.

"Are you feeling feverish?"

"No," says Makri, sharply. "Why did you say that?"

"Because you don't usually make insane suggestions. Okay, you do. But they're not usually dolphin-related."

"The dolphins might know something about a local whale incident."

"You're starting to sound like Dandelion."

Makri smiles.

"Maybe. But I want that money. I want to go to the university. Anyway, the dolphins once gave us a healing stone. Saved my life."

It's true. They did. And they gave me a handsome reward as well. Several valuable old coins, which I exchanged for a hefty purse of gurans. It was a good deal, though not one I ever talked about afterwards, not wishing the hardened inhabitants of Twelve Seas to know that I'd been accepting payment from dolphins. I'm still not convinced they can speak, though Dandelion claims she can communicate with them.

Makri takes out a thazis stick. She cups her hands carefully around a match as she lights it, preventing any sudden gust of wind from blowing it out. Matches are expensive items; it doesn't do to waste them. If I was any sort of Sorcerer I'd be able to light a thazis stick without a match. But I'm not and I can't. I take out a stick of my own and light it from Makri's.

"You might have let me try some of the thazis Lisutaris gave you," says Makri, accusingly.

"Doesn't she give you a supply of your own? For being her bodyguard?"

"No. Why would she? She doesn't want her bodyguard walking around intoxicated. And you might have let me try that special beer as well. What's the matter that you're so mean about everything?"

I'm stuck for an explanation.

"Habit, I suppose. You know what Twelve Seas is like. Full of leeches."

By this time we've reached one of the small gates in the wall. It leads through to the rocks outside the harbour. From there you can walk over to the beach. At a time of national crisis it's illegal for the gatekeeper to let anyone through, but the man on duty is a long-time resident of Twelve Seas, a man I've known all my life. I slip him a small coin and he lets us through the gate. He leers as we pass, probably imagining I'm off for some fun with a wench.

"It's not that reassuring that a small bribe gets us through the gate," says Makri, as we clamber over the rocks.

"I expect he'll charge the Orcs more. Are you sure Dandelion will be here?"

Makri nods.

"She always goes to the dolphins when she's upset."

Makri looks troubled.

"You think we have to apologise for making her cry?"

"I don't know."

"You do it," says Makri. "I can't make apologies. It never comes out right."

I can feel the tiredness and thazis affecting me as we clamber over the black rocks. Makri goes nimbly from rock to rock but I'm not as agile as I used to be, and I have to take care not to plunge into one of the icy pools. We finally make it to the edge of the beach.

"I can't believe I'm going to talk to the dolphins," I mutter. Again."

The dolphins in the bay are popular in Turai. They're regarded as lucky. I don't think they ever brought me any luck. I don't suppose they ever harmed me either. Maybe if I patted one on the head I might win at cards.

"There she is," says Makri.

I peer into the darkness. I can't see anything. Makri's Elvish eyes are far better at seeing in the dark than mine, and we walk quite a long way before I finally make out the outline of a young woman standing right at the edge of the water. She turns as she hears us approach. I hold up my staff, illuminating Dandelion's face. She still seems to be crying. I immediately feel uncomfortable. Makri treacherously takes a step backwards, leaving me to sort it out.

"Hello, Dandelion. Having a nice chat with the, ah . . . dolphins?"

Dandelion doesn't respond. Just stands there looking as miserable as a Niojan whore, or maybe worse.

"We wonder if you might be able help us."

Dandelion remains silent. I start to feel frustrated. There's no need to make such a meal of everything. It's not like Makri whacked her with her axe or anything, and God knows no one could have blamed her.

"Sorry to have made you cry, but you know . . . it was only a small argument. You have to expect that in a tavern. Especially in Twelve Seas. Happens all the time. If you think it's bad in the Avenging Axe, you should try visiting the Mermaid. It's weapons drawn all the time in there. People murdered every day. Hey, it's not like we meant it. Be reasonable, you can't expect Makri and me to watch every single thing we say just in case it upsets you. Goddammit, what do you expect from us? We can't all go around writing poetry about dolphins all the time. Some of us have to work, you know. I mean, you're hardly normal, Dandelion."

I pause.

"Good apology," says Makri. "One of your finest."

Dandelion brushes a tear from her eye.

"I wasn't crying about your argument. The dolphins just told me the Orcs are already here."

Makri and I draw our swords simultaneously, whirling round to fend them off. There's no one in sight.

"Where are they?"

"In the Avenging Axe."

Makri and I look at each other.

"We've just come from there. No Orcs around."

"Did they attack after we left?" says Makri.

Dandelion shakes her head.

"They've been there for days."

"For days?"

"Yes."

I sheathe my sword.

"Without anyone noticing?"

Dandelion nods.

"But the dolphins know all about it?"

"They can sense it," says Dandelion. "Because of the dragon line running up from their cave right through the Avenging Axe."

"But we've been living there," I protest. "We'd have noticed."

Dandelion shakes her head.

"The dolphins know."

I can't prevent myself from snorting in disgust. I can feel something of a headache coming on, not uncommon when talking to Dandelion.

"Maybe they just sensed Makri," I say.

"Hey!" says Makri. "I'm not an Orc."

"You're one quarter Orc. Probably enough to confuse a dolphin at long range."

"It's not Makri," says Dandelion, quite emphatically. "The dolphins like her."

I snort in disgust for a second time.

"They would."

"What's that supposed to mean?" demands Makri.

"It means it's strange the way these otherworldly creatures take to you. I still haven't forgotten the way the fairies in the Fairy Glade all flocked around you."

"Aha!" cries Makri. "I knew you were still annoyed at that. You couldn't stand it the way they ignored you."

"A man of my reputation does not depend for his status on a bunch of dolphins and fairies."

"The centaurs liked me as well," says Makri.

"Centaurs like anyone with breasts."

"The naiads were also friendly."

"Naiads have notoriously poor judgement. And will you stop bragging about how many non-Human creatures like you? It's nothing to be proud of."

"You've been jealous of me ever since I arrived in Turai," says Makri, hotly. "Always putting me down. Ever since I became Lisutaris's bodyguard you've been criticising me, just because I get to hear a few things and you don't. It's not my fault you got sacked from the Palace; you shouldn't have got so drunk all the time."

"What? Are you lecturing me? Am I actually standing on a beach being lectured by a woman with pointy ears?"

I notice Makri's hand straying towards her sword.

"Stop arguing!" yells Dandelion. "Why are you always arguing?"

I shake my head.

"The war. The Orcs outside the walls. It drives everyone mad. Apart from you, obviously."

Dandelion sighs.

"It's true. Turai is a sad place these days. And now the Orcs are in the Avenging Axe. Do you think that's why everyone's sick?"

"Who knows? We'll check it out when we get back. Meanwhile, could you ask the dolphins if they know anything about local whales?"

Dandelion looks puzzled. I explain to her the nature of our quest.

"Do you really need fourteen thousand gurans?" she asks. "Will it make you happy?"

"We plan to give it to the poor," I say.

"Oh. All right, In that case . . ."

Dandelion turns back towards the water and makes some odd noises. Very odd noises. I'd be more disturbed had I not heard her doing this before. Even so, it's a very strange experience. She makes a sort of whistling, clicking sound, then stares over the ocean, waiting for a reply. I notice for the first time that she has a piece of dried seaweed in her hair, a decoration so strange I can't bring myself to ask about it.

Dandelion converses with the dolphins for a while. She turns to Makri.

"They're pleased you got better."

She looks at me.

"They think you're drinking too much."

"Oh come on, you're just making this up. How the hell can dolphins know how much I drink?"

Dandelion faces back towards the ocean. I'm aggrieved. I refuse to believe the dolphins said I was drinking too much. Dandelion just slipped that one in herself.

After a lot more twittering and whistling, she lifts her arm, and waves goodbye.

"I told them we wouldn't let the city fall to the Orcs," she says.

"Anything on whales?"

Dandelion shakes her head. The seaweed seems to be fixed quite firmly, and remains in place.

"They didn't know what it could mean for treasure to be buried under a whale."

"Excellent," I say. "Tonight has been well worth the trouble. A long walk on a cold beach just to be insulted by a pack of dolphins."

I heard back towards the rocks, followed by Makri.

"Maybe you shouldn't take it as an insult," she says. "Perhaps they were just worried about your health."

I'm not placated.

"Damned fish. They'd do better to worry about their own health. I'll be down on them like a bad spell if they keep spreading rumours about me. Drink too much indeed."

I bring out the small silver flask of klee I always carry, and take a sip. We re-enter the city through the small gate.

"Keep a lookout for anything that resembles a whale," I say, as we pass the harbour.

"I've already looked everywhere," says Makri. "There's nothing."

As we pass the large grain warehouses a voice calls out to us to halt. It's Captain Rallee.

"Captain. On duty tonight?"

He shakes his head.

"Then what are you doing here?"

I had the impression that Rallee spent every spare moment snuggling up to Moolifi, though I don't want to come right out and say it.

"Just looking round," says the Captain. He lowers his voice. "Would you say there's anything in this area that might be described as a whale?"

I look at him sternly.

"Have you been drinking, Captain? No whales around these parts."

"Well it might not be a real whale," says Rallee. "Maybe something else that could be described as one?"

The Captain looks at Makri.

"Any ideas? Any old Elvish words spring to mind?"

Makri shakes her head.

"They rarely talked about whales. Almost never, in fact. It's quite strange how few references there are to whales in Elvish poetry."

Captain Rallee looks at her suspiciously.

"Have you been studying the subject?"

"Certainly not. Thraxas, have I ever studied whales or whale-related topics?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"What are you doing out at this time of night?" asks the Captain.

"Just taking a walk," says Makri. "Nothing to do with whales. Whales didn't even feature in our conversation. Until you mentioned them. But even then, nothing about whales really springs to mind."

I bid the captain a hasty goodnight and drag Makri off.

"Damn it, Makri, do you practise being such a bad liar?"

"What do you mean, bad liar? I thought I was very convincing."

I shake my head in disgust. Damn Tanrose's mother's servant. She's obviously been blabbing to everybody. Soon the whole city will be down here looking for gold.

Chapter Sixteen

It's deep into the morning by the time we trudge back into the Avenging Axe. Makri goes straight up the stairs to check on Lisutaris but I take a walk through to the back of the tavern to check on Gurd. Though I try to remain silent, the slight noise of my entrance brings him round.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb you."

Gurd manages a weak grin. That's more than any of the other malady sufferers have managed. Gurd was always strong, and I don't doubt he'll be up on his feet in a day or two.

"Just had to lie down for a while," he says. "Be better soon."

"You will be."

I marched all over the world with Gurd. I'd have been killed in battle long ago if he hadn't been by my side.

"The tavern . . . is everything all right?"

I reassure him.

"I've got it under control."

"What about Tanrose?"

"Also all right. She'll be better in a day or two. Don't worry, I can keep things going."

Gurd nods. I've never seen the old Barbarian looking so pale.

"Big card game tonight," whispers Gurd. "Sorry I can't play."

"It'll save you money. I'm on good form."

Gurd grins again, but his eyelids droop, and I leave him to sleep.

The scene in my office is not as riotous as I feared. Sorcerers are notoriously intemperate and I wouldn't have been surprised to find them all lying drunk on the carpet. They've remained sober. A sign of how serious things are, perhaps. Coranius the Grinder is sitting behind my desk. Tirini Snake Smiter is in my armchair. And Hanama, to my surprise, is sitting up. The malady is passing. She's still deathly pale but she no longer has the haggard look that comes with the illness.

"Feeling better?" I grunt.

She nods.

"I'll leave tomorrow."

I should be delighted. I realise I don't really care.

I shrug.

"Have you any information about the Ocean Storm?" asks Coranius.

"None at all. How about the Sorcerers Guild?"

Coranius shakes his head. The artefact has vanished from sight. No one has the slightest idea where it is.

"We've been discussing it with Lisutaris. It's a worrying situation."

It has to be worrying if he's talking to me about it.

"What about this woman Sarin?" asks Coranius. "Does she have information?"

"I don't know for sure. I don't think so. I think she killed a thief called Borinbax who had it, but it was gone by then."

"We must question her as soon as she recovers."

"She doesn't know where it is," says Hanama.

"How do you know?"

"I asked her."

"And you believe her?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I know Sarin much better than you realise," says Hanama. "She doesn't know where it is. She came here thinking you did."

I notice that the killer in question isn't in my office.

"Where is she?"

"She dragged herself downstairs," says Hanama. "She said she'd rather lie ill in a store room than stay here any longer."

Sarin has gone. It's good news, though once again I find that I don't much care. I ask Coranius a question.

"So many people have fallen sick here. And it's taking them a long time to get better. Especially Lisutaris. Is there something sorcerous about it?"

"Lisutaris thinks not," replies Coranius.

"What do you think?"

Coranius shrugs. He's a man of medium size. Sandy-haired, not imposing in any way. But he's one of our strongest Sorcerers, not far behind Lisutaris in terms of raw power.

"I can't find any trace of sorcery. But you're right, it is taking her a long time to recover . . ."

Coranius looks troubled.

"People fall sick in clusters all the time," says Tirini. "That's what the malady's like. I don't think there's any sorcery at work. We'd be able to detect it."

"We can't detect the Ocean Storm," says Coranius.

"We don't even know if the Ocean Storm really exists."

I sit down on the couch, keeping a fair distance between myself and Hanama. It's a little strange to hear matters of state security discussed in front of an Assassin. There again, she's number three in the Assassins Guild, and the Assassins Guild is an officially recognised body in Turai. In some ways she outranks me.

"I think it exists," says Coranius. And if we haven't found a trace of it, we've found plenty of traces of Orcish activity around the south of the city. Incursions by an Assassin, ships sighted off the coast, traces of spells of spying."

I remember what Dandelion said to me on the beach. The Orcs are already in the Avenging Axe. I tell Coranius. He frowns, very deeply.

"Who is this Dandelion?"

"A strange young woman with seaweed in her hair."

"Seaweed? Why seaweed?"

"I don't really know. Usually it's flowers. She has astrological signs on her skirt and she talks to the dolphins."

I'm expecting Coranius to laugh. He doesn't. He looks grave.

"The dolphins really said this?"

"According to Dandelion. But she's fairly crazy."

But Coranius isn't listening. He's already on his feet, heading for the bedroom. I follow along, and enter in time to find Lisutaris and Makri arguing fiercely.

"Damn it, give me my thazis," demands Lisutaris.

"No," says Makri. "The healer says you aren't to have any."

"The healer got sick!"

"So what? That doesn't alter anything."

Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, motions with her hand and her bag once more floats up off the floor towards her. Makri intercepts it, grabbing it from the air and placing her foot on it.

"Give me that bag!"

"No."

"Give me the bag or I'll blast you through the wall!" roars Lisutaris, then coughs mightily with the exertion.

"You can't blast me," says Makri. "I'm your bodyguard. Now calm down, it's almost time for your medicine."

Lisutaris sinks back on her pillow, meanwhile casting the most evil of glances at Makri, which Makri calmly ignores. Coranius and Tirini are looking rather embarrassed to see the head of their guild so discomfited. Lisutaris glares at them.

"Can't a sick woman have five minutes' peace? What do you want?"

"Thraxas reports that a woman of his acquaintance has talked to the dolphins. The dolphins say the Orcs are already in this tavern."

"Hey it's only Dandelion," I say. "I wouldn't worry about—"

"Be quiet," snaps Coranius.

"The dolphins said this?" says Lisutaris. "What were their exact words?"

I'm angry at Coranius ordering me to be quiet. I'm about to tell them they can go and talk to the dolphins themselves if they're so interested, but Makri spoils it by repeating Dandelion's words.

"You were there as well?"

Makri nods.

"Can this woman Dandelion really communicate with them?"

Makri shrugs her shoulders.

"Maybe. She did it before."

"Why were we not informed of this earlier?" demands Coranius. "The gift of talking to the dolphins is very rare, even among Sorcerers."

He looks at me accusingly.

"No one ever asked. And Dandelion is a strange woman. She thinks there's a dragon line running up from the dolphins' cave through the Avenging Axe."

Tirini laughs.

"Oh please. Not the dragon lines again."

"Do they exist?" asks Makri.

"No," says Tirini.

"Possibly," says Coranius.

"We don't know," says Lisutaris.

I'm feeling very dissatisfied with all this.

"Since when did the dolphins become so important? All they do is swim around eating fish."

Everyone ignores me.

"Makri," says Lisutaris. "Please fetch Samanatius. I need to consult with him about this."

Makri nods. She puts on her cloak then slings Lisutaris's bag round her shoulders.

"Leave my bag here!" says Lisutaris.

"No. You can't have any thazis." says Makri, then departs.

Lisutaris scowls after her.

"That woman is the nurse from hell."

Lisutaris takes a scrap of paper from the small table beside the bed, scribbles a message on it then mutters a brief spell, sealing the document.

"Thraxas, please send this to Cicerius immediately. We need him here."

"This is a lot of fuss about a few dolphins."

"Do as Lisutaris says," barks Coranius.

I walk right up to the Sorcerer and put my face close to his.

"No one orders me around in my own room, and if you take that tone with me again I'll pick you up and throw you down the stairs."

Coranius growls.

"Are you asking to die?"

"No. I'm asking you to mind your manners, and if you try using a spell I'll knock your ugly head off before you can get the words out."

It looks like I may have to do just that because Coranius isn't a man to back down, but before he can speak Lisutaris interrupts him.

"Coranius, desist. Thraxas is quite right. We're his guests and I've been taking up his bedroom for a week. He deserves our thanks. Thraxas, please send the message, it is rather urgent."

I nod at Lisutaris, then march from the room, still angry. Behind me Tirini Snake Smiter is complaining that her shoes are dirty because the place has never been properly cleaned. Sorcerers. I detest them. Apart from Lisutaris, possibly.

Before taking Lisutaris's message to the nearby Messengers Guild outpost, I answer the door to Moolifi. The Niojan singer is looking a little less glamorous than usual. Her hair is slightly dishevelled and she's not wearing any jewellery. She's holding a tray with a beaker of steaming liquid on it.

"I've just come from the kitchen. Dandelion asked me to bring this to Lisutaris."

I nod. Dandelion is caring for a lot of patients, and it's decent enough of Moolifi, who's a paying guest in the tavern, to lend a hand. I show her to the bedroom. I notice that underneath her gown—blue, well tailored, and more expensive than your standard Twelve Seas resident could afford—she's wearing a pair of high-heeled shoes, yellow with pink embroidery. Very like Tirini's, and quite similar to those worn by Anumaris Thunderbolt. The pink threads I found were a great clue. Narrowed it down to only every fashionable woman in the city.

As I walk along Quintessence Street I find my self humming "Love Me Through the Winter," Moolifi's most popular song. She's sung it once or twice more in the tavern, and it's still a great favourite. She's a good singer, no matter what Makri thinks. I shake my head at the thought of Captain Rallee pounding round the harbour, looking for buried gold. No wonder. He'll need a lot more money than he can earn if he's to keep hold of Moolifi.

After sending the message to Cicerius I wonder what to do. Tonight Glixius Dragon Killer, General Acarius and Praetor Capatius are meant to be arriving at the Avenging Axe to play cards. I hardly have enough money to sit at the table with them, and despite my best efforts it doesn't look like I'll be raising any more. With the money I've borrowed from Lisutaris and Dandelion, plus my own meagre savings, I can scrape together around 440 gurans. Not enough, faced with the wealth of my opponents.

I shake my head. Treasure and magical artefacts. I've been spending my days chasing phantoms. I should have stuck to some solid investigating. Small crimes, men cheating on their wives, petty thefts. That sort of thing. It suits me better, and I might have earned more.

I walk down to the public baths, pay the admission fee, and wallow in the pool for a long time. Given the poverty that exists in Twelve Seas, we're not so badly off for public baths. The King loosened his grip on the purse strings some years back and helped renovate several of the area's old bathing houses. Even the poorest citizen can get himself a warm bath every now and then, and that's not the case in every city by any means. Not everyone is as clean as the Turanians. We're well known for it.

I relax for the first time in a long time. By the time I leave the bathing house I'm feeling a little more like my old self. I call into Ginixa's bakery and buy four pastries and eat them as I walk along the road. A street urchin stands right in front of me and holds out his hand. Feeling moderately benevolent, I break one of the pastries in half and give a piece to him. He thanks me and runs off. And then I have a sudden flash of inspiration. Perhaps it's a reward from the gods for being charitable. Or perhaps the relaxation brought on by bathing. More likely it's the pastries; I generally think better on a full stomach.

Makri is in the back yard at the Avenging Axe, practising with her weapons.

"St Quatinius once talked to a whale," I say.

"What?"

"St Quatinius. Patron saint of this city. One of our most famous religious figures. He once talked to a whale."

"Why?" says Makri.

"The whale was full of religious knowledge. So the story goes, anyway."

Makri eyes me.

"And you've only just thought of this?"

"My thoughts rarely venture into the realms of religious mystery. Anyway there's a small fountain in the back streets off Quintessence Street. The statue in the middle is of St Quatinius talking to the whale."

"And you've only just thought of that?"

"Do you want to come or are you just going to make sarcastic comments?"

Makri sheathes her swords.

"Number one chariot at investigating," she mutters. "He just remembers now there's a whale fountain in Twelve Seas."

We set off once more along Quintessence Street.

"I can't believe you didn't think of this earlier," says Makri. "Like maybe before we tramped all over the entire city searching for anything that looked like a whale."

"Don't exaggerate. Anyway, I told you. I have a mental blank on anything to do with religion."

"It's a fountain. With a statue of a whale. How much more obvious could it be?"

By now we're close to the street with the fountain. We turn the corner to find a riot going on. A mob is attempting to reach the fountain and the Civil Guards are trying to hold them back. The mob is mostly made up of beggars, but I can see a few shopkeepers in there, and one or two craftsmen. We stand on the corner and watch the struggle.

"It looks like other people were thinking the same thing," says Makri.

I nod. Apparently everyone wants to find out if there's gold under the statue. The mob advances. The Civil Guards put away their batons and draw their swords. The crowd hesitates, but doesn't retreat. Plenty of people in Twelve Seas are willing to risk a sword point for 14,000 gurans.

Before battle can be fully joined, a carriage thunders into the street, flanked by a troop of soldiers. The door opens and Prefect Drinius steps out, elegant in his snow-white toga. He holds up his hand and the crowd goes quiet. Turai might have become a disorderly place in the past few years, but the sight of the local prefect is still enough to quieten the mob. Drinius looks around him quite disdainfully, then starts to lecture the crowd. He isn't a bad speaker. Quite an effective orator in fact, given his total lack of talent at any other aspect of his job. Even the most useless of our senatorial aristocrats can often speak well in public. They learn the art at school, and later from private tutors. A man can't succeed in politics in Turai unless he has some skill as an orator.

The prefect castigates the crowd for their disorderly behaviour. He points out that at a time of crisis in the city, every man should be at his post, doing his duty, rather than scrabbling around for gold. He points out a few examples of heroic behaviour from Turai's glorious past. Then he reminds them all of the sacrilegious act they're about to commit, excavating under a statue of our city's patron saint.

"Nothing could ensure the downfall of the city more quickly than this profane act," he thunders.

By now the crown have quietened. Drinius softens his tone, and assures everyone that if they all go home now, the riot will be forgotten about. Besides, he says, there isn't any gold under the statue.

"I too have heard these rumours. I don't believe a word of them. There is no gold in Twelve Seas. And if there were, it wouldn't be under this fountain. I was here when the Consul himself laid the first stone in its foundations. I witnessed its construction, as did many of you. It rests on good Turanian earth, not a mythical chest of gold."

Looking at the fountain, he has a point. It's a hefty piece of stonework. I don't really see how a lone sea captain could have buried anything under it. Makri thinks the same.

"At least you weren't the only one with such a ridiculous notion," she says.

Drinius brings his speech to an end. The crowd, by now thoroughly abashed, begin to drift off. It's a job well done by our prefect.

"It's strange how a man in a toga can still win over the masses," says Makri.

As we leave the street, soldiers are already starting to cordon it off. A gang of workers make their way in, with picks and shovels.

"What's going on?" asks Makri.

"Now Drinius has cleared the rabble out of the way, he's going to have a good look under the fountain himself, of course. You can't expect the local prefect to miss out on a treasure hunt. I doubt there's anything there, though. One man in a hurry couldn't bury anything under that fountain."

"Any more ideas?"

I admit I haven't.

"I thought the whale fountain was a breakthrough. I was wrong. I'm just going to have to go into the card game short of funds and hope for the best."

"You don't sound very confident," says Makri.

"I'm not feeling very confident."

"Why not?"

I shrug.

"Who knows? The war. The malady. My continual lack of success at everything."

Makri bats me quite a hard blow on the shoulder.

"Is this Thraxas I'm talking to? Fighter, gambler, drinker, and all-round notorious braggart? Get a hold of yourself. I'm expecting you to sit down at that card table and make them weep. So Glixius is rich? So Praetor Capatius owns his own bank? So what? Who's the best rak player? You or them?"

"Me."

"Exactly. So just get in there and give them hell. Did I ever tell you about the time I was faced with eight Orcs and two trolls in the arena and my sword broke?"

She has actually, but I don't interrupt.

"You didn't catch me complaining," continues Makri. "I didn't start wondering if I was any good. I just killed the nearest Orc with my bare hands, took his sword and got on with business as usual. I set a new record for multiple slaughter."

"They had records?"

"Of course," says Makri. "I was champion in every category. I'm expecting you to be down like a bad spell on your opponents tonight no matter what the odds."

We walk on towards the tavern. I am slightly cheered by Makri's encouragement. Not that she understand the intricacies of playing rak, of course, but even so, she has a point. It's not like me to become discouraged.

"You're damn right, Makri. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm going to give them hell. Nothing will get in my way."

We walk up the steps to my office. My outside door is open. I frown, and hurry inside. Standing there quite calmly is Horm the Dead, one of the most powerful Sorcerers in the world and a deadly enemy of Turai.

"I suppose this could be a problem," I say, and draw my sword.

Chapter Seventeen

In the past few years my office has hosted some interesting gatherings. Sorcerers, senators, thieves, murderers, Assassins, demagogues, Orcs, Elves and a few you couldn't really put a name to have all passed through my door. Even royalty. Princess Du-Akai was once a client of mine. However, I'd say that the present gathering matches anything in terms of the diversity of characters involved. We have, in the middle of the floor, Horm the Dead, Orcish Sorcerer and Lord of the Kingdom of Yal. Once seen flying over Turai on a dragon, trying to destroy the city with a malevolent spell, and almost succeeding. He's caused a lot of trouble for Turai, and the fact that last time he was here he sent Makri some flowers hasn't endeared him in any way.

On the couch is Hanama, Assassin, cold, ruthless, previously sick but now looking somewhat better. She brought Makri flowers too, an occurrence so strange I don't really want to think about it.

At the door to the bedroom stands Coranius the Grinder, as grim and short-tempered a Sorcerer as Turai can boast, which is saying something. Behind him is Tirini Snake Smiter, still glamorous, and behind her is Anumaris Thunderbolt, looking young, keen, but possibly glad that the others are between her and Horm.

Samanatius the philosopher is standing next to my desk, grey-haired, some way past middle-aged, but very upright. As if the assembly wasn't splendid enough, Deputy Consul Cicerius and his assistant Hansius thunder up the steps and in through the door, followed by two armed guards. When the guards see Horm they fling themselves in front of the Deputy Consul to protect him. Horm the Dead greets them all courteously.

"You received my message?"

Cicerius nods, but remains silent. He's slightly out of breath, due to thundering up the stairs, which he doesn't really have the constitution for. There's a long pause.

"I don't suppose it's any use telling you to get the hell out of my office?" I say.

"Ah, Thraxas. We do seem to meet often, don't we?"

"Your doing entirely. You just can't keep away."

"Really?" Horm looks thoughtful. "Perhaps you're right."

Horm wears a shiny black cloak. He has long dark hair tumbling down quite dramatically over his features, which are remarkably pale for a half-Orc. So pale that they lend credence to the common belief that he actually died and then came back to life in a ritual to increase his powers. Whether that's true or not, he certainly has a great deal of power. The city has fended him off so far but it says a lot for his strength that he's once more been able to walk undetected through Turai. He has a rather languid manner, as if bored by everything he encounters, but I know it's an affectation. Whatever brings him here, it's not boredom.

"I've been observing your investigations. If you don't mind me saying so, I'm rather disappointed."

"What?"

"I think you're losing your touch," says Horm. "I remember how you frustrated my best efforts in the matter of the Green Jewel. And once before, when you interfered with my transactions with Prince Frisen-Akan. How is the prince these days?"

There's an angry silence, tinged with embarrassment. No one likes to hear the heir to the throne of Turai mocked by an Orc. Unfortunately, it's hard to defend him. Although the matter was never made public, our prince did at one time have dealings with Horm, and everyone in this room is probably aware of the humiliating circumstances.

"And yet on this occasion you seem to have failed completely, Investigator. The Ocean Storm has eluded you. After it disappeared from the house of Borinbax you never came close to locating it. And as for the gold you seek, you're flailing around in the dark. It's interesting."

"Why is it interesting?" barks Cicerius. "And why are you here? Answer me before I instruct Coranius to eject you."

Horm looks slightly surprised.

"Eject me? Before listening to my offer? That would be rather foolish, would it not?"

He bows politely to Coranius. Coranius doesn't return the greeting. Horm transfers his attention back to me. Makri is standing at my side, waiting to pounce. She wears a spell protection charm, similar to mine. They're effective, but not necessarily against the sort of magic which Horm can produce.

"Why is Thraxas's lack of progress interesting? For no real reason, perhaps. The Investigator is not a man whose affairs will ever be of great concern to anyone. He possesses no great intelligence or perception. But I have noticed in the past that his dogged persistence does produce results. Though his adversaries are invariably superior to him in terms of intellect, he does tend to catch up with them eventually. I wonder if his failure on this occasion might point to a deeper malaise within your city? Nothing is going well for you now, either great or small. Your time has come. Prince Amrag will soon sweep you away."

There's some movement at the bedroom door. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, has finally risen from her sick bed. I'd like to say she's looking her usual regal and impressive self but I'd be lying. She's pale, dishevelled and tired. Just like a woman who's not yet got over a serious illness.

"No one is sweeping us away," she says.

"Ah. The Mistress of the Sky." Horm bows quite extravagantly. "I am delighted to see you making a recovery. As I observed your illness, I felt for you. The malady can be very severe."

If Lisutaris is disturbed to learn that Horm has been observing her illness, all the while remaining undetected himself, she doesn't show it.

"It can indeed. But I'm well enough to see you off. Which I will, this moment, unless you can give me a good reason not to."

"Indeed," snaps Cicerius. "What brings you here?"

"This," says Horm, and, apparently from thin air, he produces a large conch shell.

"What's that?"

Horm looks disappointed.

"You don't recognise it? Why, it's the Ocean Storm, of course. With this in our possession, the Orcish Sorcerers can break down your sea wall and allow Prince Amrag's fleet to sail in."

"Amrag doesn't have a fleet within a hundred miles of Turai," says Lisutaris.

"So you would like to believe," says Horm.

He holds up his hand.

"Please, Coranius, desist. I perceive that you are about to attempt the sorcerous theft of the Ocean Storm. I assure you, it won't work. I have placed one of my own spells on it. If any sorcery comes near it, it will instantly disappear and be transmitted through the magic space into the hands of Prince Amrag's own Sorcerer, Azlax. Once that happens, you won't see it again until your walls are tumbling down."

Coranius glances at Lisutaris. Lisutaris frowns, and says nothing, probably a sign that she believes Horm to be telling the truth.

"How did you get hold of it?" asks Lisutaris.

"I tracked it from the moment it arrived in Turai. It went through various criminal hands, and eluded me for a while. I was up against some rather sharp minds. However, I eventually found it in the house of one Borinbax, and removed it just before a certain criminal you may have encountered before could do so. I understand she was moved to kill Borinbax for being careless enough to lose it."

"So why have you brought it here?" demands Cicerius.

"To make a bargain, of course."

"We don't bargain with Orcs," says Cicerius.

Horm raises his eyebrows.

"Really? I seem to remember you did exactly that when you allowed Lord Rezaz to enter a chariot in the Turai Memorial Race. It suited both your interests at the time."

He turns to Makri.

"You remember the occasion, of course. You benefited hugely at the races."

Makri narrows her eyes. It's true. She won a lot of money but it's not something she'd want bandied around by the likes of Horm, particularly as her success relied on some gross cheating by the Association of Gentlewomen, aided by Melus the Fair, resident Sorcerer at the Stadium Superbius.

"I didn't really win that much," says Makri, and manages to sound so guilty that all eyes turn towards her.

"Not enough to make a large donation to the Association of Gentlewomen anyway," continues Makri. "Even if I'd wanted to."

She pauses, and looks flustered.

"The Association of Gentlewomen did not cheat at the races. And Melus the Fair is not a secret supporter. It's an outrageous accusation."

"Have I offended you?" says Horm. "I apologise. I regarded your success at the racetrack as merely another example of your excellence in every field. Really, Makri, you are such a remarkable person. The finest sword-fighter in the land, the cleverest student in the city, and the most beautiful woman in the east or west."

He pauses. A slight smile plays across his face.

"Yet here you are, still employed as a barmaid in a cheap tavern, surrounded by imbeciles of the lowest order. Why not admit it? Turai will never recognise your talents."

"Did you bring me here to discuss Makri's talents?" says Cicerius, angrily.

"Yes," says Horm. "I did. And to propose a bargain. Or rather, a sporting venture. Tonight Thraxas will be engaged in a card game, playing some opponents who have the reputation of being the finest gamblers in the city. Thraxas has frustrated me in the past, and I would enjoy the opportunity to best him at one of his favourite pursuits."

It's my turn to sneer. I'm not about to sit down and play cards with an Orc who walks into my office uninvited and insults my intelligence in front of everyone.

"Why would we let you play? It's Humans only. Orcs not welcome."

"You see?" says Horm, once more turning to Makri. "You see how they hate the Orcish blood? You don't belong here."

"Yes she does," says Samanatius, speaking for the first time. "Makri will always be welcome in this city."

"Welcomed by you perhaps, philosopher," replies Horm, in a tone that's a good deal more respectful than the one he used towards me. "But you are a man of uncommon wisdom and civilisation. As for the others . . . Is the Deputy Consul really comfortable being in the same room as a woman with Orcish blood? Did he protest when she was banned from accompanying Lisutaris to the Palace? How about you, Lisutaris? Did you argue on her behalf?"

"We're at war," snaps Lisutaris. "There wasn't time to argue."

"Of course not. You're pleased to have the protection of her fighting skills. But it's a different matter when it comes to mixing in polite society. I imagine that Makri has encountered very little of polite society during her employment with you."

Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky flushes slightly. Whether because of her illness, or because Horm has struck a nerve, I'm not sure.

"Well she's quite welcome here," I growl. "And you still haven't told us why I should let you join in our card game tonight."

Horm holds up the Ocean Storm.

"Because if you can beat me at the card table, Investigator, I'll hand this over to the city."

There's a pause while this sinks in.

"Which will give Turai some chance of survival," he adds.

"And what if he doesn't beat you at the card table?" says Cicerius. "What then?"

"Then Makri returns with me to the kingdom of Yal as my wife."

I doubt if Deputy Consul Cicerius has ever been lost for words before. He is now. He looks from Horm to Makri and back again. Coranius and Lisutaris do the same. I'm attempting to formulate a withering reply, but Samanatius beats me to it.

"Out of the question, Horm," he says. "Makri is not some chattel to be traded at your whim."

That's not quite as withering as I'd have liked, but it gets the conversation going.

"Abandon the notion, Horm," says Lisutaris. "You're not gambling for my bodyguard."

"He's completely insane," I yell. "Lisutaris, Coranius. Work some spell on him so I can throw him down the stairs."

Horm looks round at us.

"I don't believe any of you have the authority to make decisions on behalf of your city. Which is why I asked the Deputy Consul here. Well, Cicerius?"

Cicerius hesitates. To give him his due, he doesn't hesitate for that long.

"I refuse to consider it, Horm. A person cannot be traded as goods in this city. It's against the law."

"I understood that in time of national emergency, the laws could be superseded by the King? And if he was not in a fit state to rule, by the Consul? As your consul is unfortunately not in a fit state either, that power has devolved on to you."

Cicerius looks rather offended.

"I am not in the habit of making up laws to suit my own convenience," he says, sharply. "Not without a discussion and vote in the senate."

Coranius hasn't spoken up till now. He takes a step forward.

"It's not such a bad bargain for the city."

"Really Coranius," protests Lisutaris. She looks at him angrily, but Coranius is too senior a Sorcerer to be quelled by a look, even from the head of the Guild.

"Well it's not. We have here an item that may seriously harm Turai. We seem to have no other way of retrieving it other than Thraxas winning it at cards. So why not agree to the bargain?"

"Because it means gambling away a person's liberty, that's why not."

Coranius shrugs.

"One person is of little account compared to the welfare of the city."

"Coranius, this is outrageous. I refuse to discuss it."

"We have to discuss it."

Cicerius and Samanatius join in. Coranius stands his ground, and there's soon a heated argument raging around the room.

"Who knows?" says Tirini. "Makri might like being Queen of Yal. It has to be better than this tavern. Do you know, they have no servants to clean their rooms?"

"Can't you do something to circumvent this, Lisutaris?" demands Cicerius.

"Like what?"

"Use your sorcery, of course. There are four Turanian Sorcerers in this room. Simply remove the Ocean Storm from Horm's grasp."

Lisutaris shakes her head.

"No. He's telling the truth. It would immediately disappear into the magic space and end up with Prince Amrag."

"Then we have to agree to play cards for it," says Coranius.

Cicerius wavers slightly.

"I believe Thraxas does have a certain skill . . ."

"I refuse to countenance it," roars Lisutaris, then coughs mightily and looks unwell.

There's a pause in the discussion.

"Perhaps," says Horm the Dead, "we should ask Makri what she thinks?"

"Excellent idea," says Makri, quite briskly.

She turns to face the Deputy Consul.

"I'll do it if you let me into the Imperial University."

"What?"

"I'll put myself up for the stake if you allow me to enter the university. I'm qualifying as top student from the Guild College. It's enough to gain admission to the university. But they don't let women in. Or anyone with Orcish blood. If you promise to waive the rules, I'll do it."

"Don't be insane, Makri." says Lisutaris. "If Thraxas loses, you'll have to marry Horm."

"Thraxas is good at rak."

"Not that good, from what I hear."

"I'm number one chariot at rak," I protest. "Not that I agree to the bargain."

"But I do agree," insists Makri. "If I can go to the university."

All eyes turn to Deputy Consul Cicerius.

"It would require a change in the constitution of the Imperial University. Which would require a discussion in the senate."

He pauses, and looks troubled.

"I believe I could see it through the senate . . ."

"Then I accept," says Makri. "Thraxas, go and win the Ocean Storm."

"I don't want to do it," I say.

"Why not?"

"I don't want to play with you as the stake."

"Aren't you Turai's greatest rak player?" says Makri.

"As opposed to Turai's greatest braggart," mutters Coranius.

I draw myself up to my full height, which still leaves me a few inches short of Horm.

"I am both Turai's greatest rak player and Turai's greatest braggart. Unfortunately, I'm not Turai's richest man. It's going to be tough to compete against these rich senators. And what about Horm? How much money has he got?"

Horm draws a purse from the depths of his cloak. It's a very intricate little item, black leather with silver stitching. Though Horm is dressed entirely in black, I notice that a lot of the small details in his outfit are quite fancy. Silver stitching on his purse, a well-constructed necklace of shining black stones strung with silver, small earrings made from dragon scales, and some very elaborate inlaid silver on his scabbard. He's a half-Orc who cares about the details.

"I have one thousand gurans to hand," he says.

I turn to Cicerius.

"Well that's that," I say. "I've only got four hundred and forty. You can't send me in with a handicap like that. I need a thousand as well. You have to bring me up to his level."

Cicerius glowers at me.

"I can arrange for the money," he mutters.

"Then I accept the challenge. Horm, prepare to lose the Ocean Storm, your money, and anything else valuable you might have on you. I'm going to make you regret you ever came to this city."

"I always regret it," replies Horm. "But this time, perhaps not."

Chapter Eighteen

Gurd is still ill, and the news about the card game doesn't make him feel any better.

"Makri's the stake? That's a terrible risk."

"I wouldn't say that. I'll chase Horm from the table and everyone else as well. By tomorrow morning I'll probably be the richest man in Turai. And we'll have the Ocean Storm. I'll have saved the city. You think they might put up a statue of me?"

Gurd doesn't share my enthusiasm. Probably because he's too sick.

"What about the dolphins?"

This makes me frown. The winter malady can bring on some dementia, but even so, you don't like to hear a sensible man like Gurd talking about dolphins.

"What about them?"

"Dandelion. When she brought me medicine. She said the dolphins said the Orcs were already in my tavern."

"They were talking about Horm. Samanatius and Lisutaris have already discussed it."

"Samanatius? The philosopher?"

"The same. Apparently he's a repository of knowledge on the subject. No surprise really. Anyone foolish enough to teach philosophy in Twelve Seas might as well spend his time talking to dolphins. God knows why Lisutaris was wasting her time with him. Anyway, it's out in the open now. Horm's probably been popping in and out regularly while Lisutaris has been sick. He's good with his concealment spells, unfortunately."

There's a delicate knock on the door. Moolifi comes in, once more carrying a tray with medicine. Gurd struggles to raise himself in his bed. I help him up, and he puts the beaker to his lips. He thanks her, in his polite Barbarian way, and she departs.

"She's been a help," he whispers. "I wouldn't have expected her to."

"Me neither. Fancy singer that she is. Didn't expect to see her slinging herbal potions to the masses. Maybe she's taken a shine to us all since hooking up with old Rallee."

Gurd grins.

"Rallee. How often did we all fight together?"

"Plenty of times."

Gurd lies back down.

"We'll do it again. When I'm better,"

"We will. The Orcs will be sorry they showed their faces. You don't take on Thraxas, Gurd and Rallee without regretting it quickly enough."

Gurd suddenly frowns.

"This game tonight. With Horm. Don't lose Makri. And don't let anything happen to the tavern."

"I won't."

I leave Gurd to sleep. Upstairs my office is still full of people. Sitting around my desk are Cicerius, Hansius, Lisutaris, Coranius, Tirini, Anumaris, Hanama, Makri, and Samanatius. Lisutaris still has a blanket draped round her shoulders, though Hanama appears to be well on the way to recovery. A hearty fire is burning in the hearth. There's a bottle on the table and each of them has a small silver cup in front of them.

"Thraxas. Join us for a drink."

I stare at the bottle suspiciously.

"The Abbot's Special Distillation? Makri, have you been stealing drink from my supply?"

"Certainly not," declares Makri. "Although as I'm about to be gambled away as bride of Horm, I wouldn't have thought you'd begrudge me it."

"I took it," says Lisutaris. "You should know it's no use trying to hide alcohol from a Turanian Sorcerer. We were just about to drink to your success tonight."

"Really?" I feel quite flattered. It's not every day the Deputy Consul drinks to my success.

The inside door opens, revealing Captain Rallee and Moolifi.

"Moolifi told me what's going on. You're gambling with Makri?"

"Yes," says Cicerius. "We're drinking to Thraxas's good fortune."

The Captain walks over and parks himself at the desk, squeezing himself and Moolifi in at the corner.

"He'll need it. There's a lot of good players coming here tonight."

It's true, there are. I'm expecting to vanquish them all, but in terms of my bargain with Horm, I don't need to. I just need to beat him. Whichever one of us lasts longest at the table wins our bet. It's quite possible that after I've taken all Horm's money, forcing him out of the game, I could then lose to Praetor Capatius, or General Acarius, but even if that happens, it won't affect the deal regarding Makri and the Ocean Storm.

Captain Rallee raises his glass.

"Good luck," he says, and we drink.

"I'm still working on some way to get the Ocean Storm out of Horm's hands," says Lisutaris. "He's got a lot of magic protecting it, but I'm sure we can come up with something."

"So try not to lose too quickly," says Coranius.

"I'm not going to lose at all."

I brandish my illuminated staff.

"You see this? I won it from an Elf lord, on a boat in the middle of the ocean while I was sharing a cabin with Makri. About as stressful a situation as a man could face, and I still came out on top."

At that moment Dandelion arrives, with potion. She's concerned to find Lisutaris and Hanama drinking klee.

"Stop fussing," says Lisutaris. "We're getting better. But thanks for looking after us."

"Indeed," says Hanama. "Thank you."

I'm quite startled to hear the Assassin saying thanks. Maybe the bout of the malady has brought her a little humility. No bad thing, though she'll probably be back to killing people in a day or two.

The door bursts open again. There was a time when my office was a private place. Now it's busier than the senate. It's Sarin the Merciless. She's not looking healthy, and she's not displaying any humility either, though at least she's not pointing a crossbow at anyone.

"What's this I hear about Thraxas playing cards with Horm for the Ocean Storm?" she demands.

"I'm about to win it for the city," I reply.

"It's not Horm's to gamble," says Sarin. "He took it from me."

I shake my head. The woman is still crazy from the malady. She's faced with the city's Deputy Consul, the head of the Sorcerers Guild, and a captain of the Guards, and she's trying to insist on her rights to a stolen item.

"The Ocean Storm is nothing to do with you," says Cicerius. "You should concern yourself with your defence in court. As soon as the malady passes I'm taking you into custody."

"I'll kill Horm," says Sarin. "And you. And anyone else who tries to rob me."

She shivers, and looks unsteady on her feet.

"It's time for your medicine," says Dandelion, brightly.

"Damn your medicine," says Sarin, and spins on her heel, marching out of the room.

I suggest to Cicerius that he might take Sarin into custody now.

"She can't leave the tavern," replies the Deputy Consul. "It's ringed with my men. We'll take her away tomorrow, if she's fully recovered."

"You really believe in this hospitality-to-sick-guests thing, don't you?"

"Of course," says Cicerius. "It's one of our oldest traditions. Our city is founded on its traditions."

"Even if those traditions are foolish?"

"None of them are foolish," counters the Deputy Consul.

Immediately a discussions starts up about the value of traditions in the life of the city. Lisutaris and Samanatius weigh in, as does Coranius. Everyone seems to have an opinion apart from Tirini Snake Smiter, who looks bored, and busies herself in front of a small mirror. Makri wades into the conversation, arguing quite spiritedly with Samanatius over some point of history. Samanatius listens, then counters her argument. Lisutaris puts forward a different point of view and Cicerius tells them they're all wrong. In no time at all facts and opinions are flying round the table covering everything from the traditions of hospitality in far-away Samsarina to the ancient ethics of the Orcish warrior class.

I'm not much of a man for these sort of discussions. I fill up my glass with the Abbot's excellent klee, drain the glass, then head downstairs, ready to play cards.

Chapter Nineteen

I'm sitting at the largest table in the tavern. Young Ravenius is on my left and General Acarius is on my right. Next to him is Praetor Capatius and then Casax, the Brotherhood boss. Directly across from me is Glixius Dragon Killer. Beside him is old Grax the wine merchant. There's an empty seat between Grax and Ravenius.

The front door of the tavern is closed. The public isn't being admitted. Cicerius has decided that with so much at stake, and Horm on the premises, it would be best to keep everyone away.

If the rich card players find it peculiar to be playing in humble Twelve Seas, they haven't said so. Rather, they seem grateful to have the opportunity to gamble. General Acarius is quite effusive in his thanks. Since their friend Senator Kevarius had to close his house because of the malady, they've been searching for a good game, and if it means traipsing down to the poor part of town, they don't mind too much. Even Praetor Capatius isn't too objectionable. Like much of the senatorial class, he's very conscious of his status, but the prospect of an evening's gambling goes some way to making him forget about it. Indeed, with the people currently in the tavern, Capatius, Acarius and Glixius aren't as out of place as they might normally be. Some faces here are very well known to them. Deputy Consul Cicerius for one, who outranks everyone, and Lisutaris, one of our city's most famous residents. As for Grax the wine merchant, as a member of the Honourable Merchants Association, he's not unfamiliar with the city's aristocracy. He's a very wealthy man, and he's played with Acarius before. There's a good deal of surprised recognition and greetings when they all arrive. The Praetor wonders what the Deputy Consul is doing here, but Cicerius diverts the question.

Lisutaris, Coranius the Grinder, Tirini Snake Smiter and Anumaris Thunderbolt have all remained to watch the game. No surprise, given who's also due to attend. If it turns out that Horm the Dead is hatching some evil plot as yet unknown to us, the four Turanian Sorcerers should be able to take care of him. The Avenging Axe is now one of the best-protected buildings in the city. The whole area from here to the harbour is crammed full of soldiers and Sorcerers. If Prince Amrag is planning on sailing in tonight he's not going to find us unprepared.

Captain Rallee would normally play, but he's declared the stakes too rich for him, and is here merely to observe. The Captain puts a brave face on it but I know he'd rather be taking part in the game than sitting with Moolifi, no matter how much he likes her.

Karlox takes a seat close to his boss Casax, while Hanama and Samanatius both sit quietly at the edge of the room, observing the proceedings. As for Glixius, he greets Lisutaris politely, but he's his usual glowering self as he takes his place at the table.

"Who's the empty chair for?" he asks.

I slip away towards the bar for a beer. Makri frowns as I approach.

"You've already drunk a lot of klee," she says. "You need to keep your wits about you."

"I had one small glass of klee."

"You had four. I was counting."

"Makri, did we get married without me noticing? Since when are you keeping track of how much I drink?"

"Since I became the stake in your card game," says Makri.

I'm gripped by a moment of doubt.

"Do you want to back out? There's still time. I don't much like this."

"You seemed keen enough upstairs," says Makri.

"I got carried away when Cicerius offered me more money."

Makri laughs. I'm not feeling much like laughing myself. I've never sat down at a card table before without confidently expecting to win. But I was never gambling over a person's future before.

"What if Horm wins?"

"Then I'll be a fantastic Orc bride," says Makri. "And captain of the armies. You might see me outside the city walls one day, leading a phalanx."

"It's not funny. Tell Cicerius you've changed your mind. To hell with Horm. Let him keep the Ocean Storm. We'll beat the Orcs anyway."

Makri shakes her head.

"We won't. We'll all die. Anyway, this way I get to go to the university."

"We could think of another plan. You can get to the university some other way."

Makri raises her eyebrows.

"Haven't you spent the last three years telling me I have no chance whatsoever?"

"Yes. And now I've changed my mind. I don't want to play with you as the stake."

"Are you losing confidence again?" says Makri. "What's the matter with you? Just get in there and give them hell."

Makri pours me a beer and hands it over.

"Get confident."

Makri's dressed in her standard serving-wench attire, her chainmail bikini. It's still an impressive sight. Men look at her with lust and I'm sure I saw Tirini glaring at her physique jealously as she passed by. I drink the beer down in one gulp and hold out the tankard for another.

"I told you to get confident," says Makri. "Not hopelessly drunk."

"I'm a long way from hopelessly drunk."

"A glass of klee, please."

I recognise the voice. It's Horm, who's arrived as silently and mysteriously as ever. The collar of his cloak is raised, preventing anyone behind from recognising him.

Makri pauses briefly, then pours him a glass of klee. She hold out her hand for the money. Horm smiles, and drops a coin into her palm. The sight irritates me.

"Does Prince Amrag know you're gambling with the Ocean Storm?" I ask.

"Prince Amrag is no concern of yours," replies Horm.

"You're going to be in trouble when he finds out."

Horm raises an eyebrow.

"If you're trying to unsettle me before our game, you're wasting your time."

He smiles at Makri.

"My mountain kingdom is a wild and beautiful place. It will suit you perfectly."

Makri glares at him, and remains silent.

"She's never going to go there," I say. "I doubt you will either. Amrag will have you killed once he knows what you've been up to."

"Who is to tell him?"

Good point. I'm stuck for an answer.

"How about Deeziz the Unseen?"

"What? Deeziz? Deeziz is hundreds of miles away."

"Maybe not. I've an idea he might be close by."

For the briefest of moments, an expression of concern flickers over Horm's face.

"Absolute nonsense, Investigator. Deeziz the Unseen is not in Turai."

"Well you better hope you're right. Because if he tells Amrag what you've been up to, he'll be down on you like a bad spell and you can say goodbye to your mountain kingdom."

I'm pleased to have unsettled Horm. It's no bad thing to discomfort your opponent before you sit down at the card table. I'm working up a few more insults when we're interrupted by a lot of raised voices.

"Deputy Consul, surely you cannot be serious! Horm the Dead coming here? To play cards?"

It's Praetor Capatius. He's just heard the news and he's not pleased. General Acarius joins in, declaring that he's deeply shocked.

"What is the reason for this?" demands the General.

Cicerius won't say. He simply informs the gathering that it's for important reasons of state. It's part of our bargain with Horm that the other players mustn't know what's going on. Otherwise Horm might suspect that they were ganging up on him. It's reasonable. In his position, I'd have expected the same.

"This is intolerable," cries Capatius. "No decent man could put up with the company of that foul Orc."

"Why look," cries Glixius. "There he is now, standing beside Thraxas."

Every eye turns towards us. I take a hasty step to the side.

"Thraxas has bought him a glass of klee!" cries Praetor Capatius. "Cicerius, is the Investigator blackmailing you somehow? Tell us the truth and we'll throw him from the city walls."

"Silence," barks Cicerius. "Horm the Dead is not blackmailing me. I have allowed him to play for reasons which I cannot explain. Suffice to say it is important for the welfare of the city."

There are a lot of angry and suspicious looks as I walk towards the card table, followed all too closely by Horm.

"Are you telling us that Horm's presence has nothing to do with Thraxas?" demands Glixius.

Cicerius is slightly troubled. He hesitates, and naturally everyone notices. By the time I reach the card table it's firmly fixed in every mind that I've brought Horm the Dead to the Avenging Axe for reasons of my own, no doubt as the first part of a traitorous attempt to sell out the city.

I can sense the Sorcerers at the nearby table expending all their energies in checking around them for unexpected Orcish sorcery, probing the air for spells, and all the while wondering if there is some way of removing the Ocean Storm from Horm. Horm no doubt senses it too, but remains calm. He greets everyone at the table quite politely, and sits in the vacant chair.

"Are we ready to begin?" he asks.

There's a long pause, and a few uneasy expressions around the table. Finally General Acarius speaks.

"Who is dealing the cards?"

We don't have a designated dealer at our games at the Axe.

"We usually just deal ourselves," says Grax.

"I think a dealer might be better, in the circumstances," says the General.

"I assure you, I have no intention of cheating," says Horm, smoothly.

"I wasn't referring to you," growls the General, and looks straight in my direction.

"Yes," says Glixius, also looking in my direction. "A dealer might be better. There are some players whom one can never trust not to manipulate the cards in their favour."

"Are you calling me a cheat!" I roar, rising to my feet.

"I wouldn't dream of it," says Glixius. "Although it has struck me as odd before now how every time Horm the Dead troubles our city, you're involved in it somehow."

"Gentlemen, stop this," roars Cicerius. "The game must proceed. Try and act like civilised Turanians. Glixius, I assure you that Thraxas's continual involvement with Horm the Dead is nothing more than coincidence."

There seem to be a lot of eyes turned in my direction. I get the impression they're judging how many men it will take to throw me from the city walls. Quite a few, probably, though I have lost a pound or two since the yam shortage began.

"Who will deal?" says Cicerius, looking round.

Moolifi rises to her feet.

"I'll do it," she says. "I've dealt a lot of cards in my time."

I doubt if the music-hall singer would be Cicerius's first choice, but he's keen to get things underway. He nods, and asks if anyone has any objections. No one has, so Moolifi takes a seat at the table and picks up the cards. We're finally ready to play.

Chapter Twenty

There are several varieties of rak. Tonight we're playing palace rak, with the standard pack of forty-eight cards. Four suits, black, red, green and blue, cards numbered 1 to 8 followed by bishop, queen, king and dragon. Two cards are dealt to each player and if you like what you've got you make a bet. You get dealt another card and you can bet again. When your fourth and last card is dealt, if you still like what you've got, you can keep on betting. The highest hand you can have is four dragons. It doesn't happen that often.

The first two cards Moolifi deals me are a green three and a red eight. It's a poor start and I fold immediately. The next five hands are no better and I don't place a single bet. I'm not averse to bluffing when necessary, in fact I'm a master of the art, but I generally don't like to do it too soon.

There isn't a lot of action from anyone in the early hands. Everyone is treading cautiously. There's a long way to go and no one wants to find themselves financially crippled after only a few rounds. I sip my beer and study my opponents, looking, as always, for some telltale signs that might give me a clue as to their play.

Moolifi deals the cards quickly and skilfully. She seems to have dressed up a little for the occasion. She's wearing a long dress of dark red material, quite eyecatching in its way. It leaves her arms bare and I notice that though her limbs are slender, she's quite taut and muscled, rather like Makri. She's not soft, Moolifi. I'd guess she can take care of herself. As she deals out the next hand we're suddenly interrupted by a fit of coughing. Old Grax the wine merchant splutters violently then slumps in his chair, perspiration running down his forehead. Praetor Capatius, sitting next to him, draws himself back quite suddenly.

"He's got the malady!"

I'm already on my feet.

"No need to panic," I say. "There's a lot of it around."

I help Grax out of his chair. Makri comes to assist and we carry him back to the store room behind the bar, while Dandelion looks on with concern.

"You have more medicine?"

Dandelion nods. We're so used to this now that we take it in our stride. Grax is a tough old customer. A few days' rest and a good dose of the medicine and I've no doubt he'll be back on his feet.

Before I return to the table I draw Makri to one side and whisper in her ear.

"Moolifi is not quite what she says she is."

"What?"

"There's something not right about her. I don't believe a Niojan chorus girl would be so good with a pack of cards."

Makri looks puzzled.

"Why not?"

"Just a feeling. I wonder if she might be a Niojan spy."

"So what do you want to do?" says Makri.

"I don't know. Nothing, probably. I'm just mentioning it in case anything happens."

Makri nods, and I return to the table and retake my chair. There are a few polite enquiries over Grax's health.

"He'll be fine. There's a healer giving him some medicine right now."

No one is really that concerned. It would be unlucky to have a player actually die at the table, but apart from that, everyone is keen to get on with the game. Matters proceed quietly enough apart from a brief moment of excitement when Ravenius takes a large pot, beating Casax's three dragons with four sixes. Casax loses a lot on the hand but, like the cool gambler he is, he masks his disappointment.

So far Moolifi has dealt me nothing worth gambling on. It means I haven't made any serious losses but I haven't been able to get into the game either. I'm just starting to feel slightly twitchy when she sends me two queens in the first deal, giving me some hope that I might finally be on to something. When everyone has their first two cards, Glixius pushes thirty gurans into the centre of the table. The bet is covered by Ravenius. I slide thirty gurans across too. Acarius and Capatius do likewise. I sip my beer.

When the third card arrives it's another queen. I now have three queens and that's a good hand. I take a brief look at the archaically dressed ladies on the cards, put them back face down in front of me, and wait for Glixius to make his bet. He slides a hundred gurans across the table. I'm next to bet.

"I'll cover your hundred."

Ravenius considers for a few moments, then tosses his cards back to Moolifi, dropping out of the hand. General Acarius immediately folds as well. Praetor Capatius, however, confidently pushes forward his hundred gurans.

There's a lot of money riding on this hand and Horm isn't even involved. So far he hasn't made any sort of substantial wager. If I win this I'll go well ahead of him. If I lose, I'll be a long way behind.

When my next card arrives it's a nine. I'm disappointed, but three queens is still a good hand. It's Glixius to bet. He muses on his cards briefly, then counts out another hundred gurans and places it firmly in the middle of the table. A little too firmly, maybe. I get the impression he might be bluffing.

Ravenius shrugs. He hands his cards back to Moolifi, taking care not to let them turn over. Even when you're dropping out of a hand, you don't want your opponents to see what cards you were holding. It might give them some clues as to your strategy.

I can either call Glixius, or raise him further. I'm fairly confident I've got the hand won and I'd like to raise him but I'm aware that I don't have all that much room for error. Two hundred and thirty gurans is a hefty chunk out of my capital. I'd risk it for myself, but there's Makri to think of. I utter a silent curse. Now I'm having to think about Makri it's interfering with my normal aggressive style. I put in a hundred gurans and call Glixius, then lay down my three queens for all to see. Glixius turns over a run of 6, 7, 8, 9, all green. A straight flush which beats my three queens. And then he actually laughs, which is a very low-class thing to do at the card table.

"My game, I believe," he says, and scoops up his money like a man who's never seen a few hundred gurans before.

I'm seething inside though I don't let it show.

Cicerius approaches the table.

"Time for a break, gentlemen," he says. "There are refreshments at the bar."

General Acarius looks up sharply.

"Time for a break? We've hardly got started."

The Deputy Consul shoots him a serious look.

"It's time for a break."

Acarius shrugs, and the players rise from the table. I attempt to follow them to the bar but I'm immediately surrounded by a gaggle of concerned Turanian citizens, demanding to know what I'm doing throwing my money away in such a rash manner.

"You lost two hundred and thirty gurans in one hand!" hisses Cicerius. "It was far too adventurous. Have you forgotten what this game means to Turai?"

"I had three queens," I retort. "It was a reasonable gamble."

Cicerius snorts in derision, though I swear he doesn't know one end of a pack of cards from the other. Meanwhile Lisutaris has hobbled up, still with her blanket round her shoulders, and she doesn't waste any time expressing her concern.

"Thraxas! If you keep on like this you'll be out of the game in five minutes."

"I'm doing fine!" I insist. "Even the best card player gets the odd reverse. Look, Makri's got more at stake than anyone and she's not worried, is she?"

"She was burying her face in her hands the last time I looked," replies Lisutaris. "And I'm not surprised. Keep on the way you're going and we'll soon be buying her wedding presents."

"Could you try showing a little confidence in me?" I say trying to keep my voice somewhere below a bellow. "You can't expect me to play cards when you're on my back every five minutes."

Cicerius and Lisutaris both open their mouths. I'm guessing they're not about to express confidence in me, so I break free and head for the bar, where Makri is serving drinks.

"Nice going, Thraxas," she says. "So, will you visit me in Yal?"

"You're not going to Yal."

"I should probably start packing. How long do you think I've got? Half an hour maybe?"

"Just hand me a beer and save the sarcasm. Glixius got lucky. I'll get him next time."

"Horm's hardly bet a thing yet," says Makri. "If you keep losing he doesn't have to. He'll beat you by default."

"He won't beat me by anything. Give me the beer and stop worrying. I'm just warming up."

Hanama joins us at the bar, and I swear I've never seen the Assassin look so perturbed.

"I knew this was a foolish venture," she says. "I won't let Horm take you off to Yal, Makri. The instant Thraxas loses I'm breaking you out of here."

"I'm not going to lose."

"How long do you think we have?" asks Hanama. "I estimate half an hour."

I shake my head, and grab my beer.

"You shouldn't be drinking," says Hanama. "You need a clear head."

"Do I tell you how to assassinate people?"

"No. But I'm good at that."

Not wishing to bandy more words with irritating Assassins, I head back to the table, avoiding the eyes of those who are staring at me with a marked lack of confidence; which is to say, everyone in the tavern.

We're all about to take our seats again when there's a loud knocking at the front door. We'd ignore it, but someone shouts loudly for Casax. The Brotherhood boss sends Karlox to find out what's going on. Karlox draws back the bolt, disappears briefly outside, then comes back to whisper in Casax's ear.

"Damn," mutters Casax. "I'll have to leave you gentlemen for a short while. A little trouble back at the Mermaid. Karlox will sit in for me."

There are a few nods and grunts round the table. It's unusual for a player to leave the table mid-game, but not unheard of. Providing he has a friend who can take over his seat, it's common practice in Turai to let him rejoin the game when he returns. Casax hurries off and Karlox takes his seat. Casax is shrewd. Karlox is dumb. It's an excellent opportunity to remove some of the Brotherhood's ill-gotten money.

Unfortunately, it's not me who does the removing. Moolifi keeps dealing me dreadful cards and I can't get into the game. It's dispiriting, particularly as Horm the Dead suddenly makes a move, sucking the hapless Karlox into an unwise gamble on two eights and two dragons. Horm beats him with three bishops, and rakes in several hundred gurans. I curse. Horm has suddenly leapt ahead of me. I'm down to about 750 gurans, and I'd guess he's on around 1,500.

Casax returns fairly quickly, having sorted out whatever criminal problem he was faced with at his own tavern. If he's annoyed to see how much money Karlox has lost, he doesn't show it. He retakes his seat, picks up his cards, and carries on playing. By now we're deep into the night. The fire is crackling in the grate and the torches are burning brightly on the walls. The spectators keep their voices to low murmurs and the players huddle over their cards, deep in concentration. I lose another fifty gurans on a reckless bid which I don't follow through, and I start to curse Moolifi for the cards she's dealing me. Horm's pile of money seems to be growing steadily while mine is shrinking slowly. General Acarius is the other big winner, while young Ravenius is doing badly, as he often does.

Moolifi deals the next hand. She sends me a black dragon and a red dragon. Very promising. General Acarius puts in thirty gurans and I follow suit, along with several others. Before Moolifi can deal the third card, the General starts to cough, quite violently. Sweat pours down his face. Acarius has come down with the winter malady.

"Another one?" says Ravenius. "This is strange."

It is strange, and not conducive to concentrating on the game. I look over at Horm.

"Is this your doing? Are you making everyone sick so you can win?"

"Nothing to do with me," protests the Sorcerer.

We haul the General back into the store room, which is by now resembling a temporary hospital. Dandelion fusses around him with medicine, as brightly as she did her first patient. Personally I'm heartily sick of all invalids and wouldn't much care if they died, but Dandelion seems to have taken happily to the role of nurse, and will probably keep them all alive. Makri arrives to see if we need any help. Dandelion shakes her head.

"I can manage all the sick people."

Makri nods, and looks thoughtful.

"You're really good at this," she says.

"What?" says Dandelion.

"Looking after all these people. I'd have given up long ago. But you've got it all in hand. You're really efficient when you put your mind to it."

Dandelion looks surprised.

"Am I?"

I'm not arguing. Now Makri has pointed it out, it's obviously true. Dandelion might be strangely dressed and have a bizarre aversion to shoes, but there's no denying she's kept the place running during the winter malady crisis.

When the game is restarted my third card is a four, no help to my two dragons. Glixius raises the bet by a hundred gurans. It's something of a risk for me to go along with this but I do. I have a good feeling about my fourth card. I send up a brief prayer to St Quatinius as Moolifi deals. My few moments of religious conviction have usually been at the card table.

My next card is an eight. I now have two dragons, an eight and a four. It's not a strong hand. Glixius raises another hundred gurans. I don't know if he's bluffing or not. I think about it for a while. I'd like to carry on betting, but if I do and I lose I'll be out of the game. My funds are already low. I could stand the humiliation of losing to Glixius but I've got more on my mind. I curse Horm and his ridiculous passion for Makri. It's ruining my game.

I shake my head, and hand in my cards, meanwhile sending up a strong protest to St Quatinius for coming down on the side of the rich oppressors. Obviously all tales of the blessed saint helping the poor and needy are just lies.

Perhaps the saint is offended by my complaints. One hour and a series of bad cards later, I'm down to 300 gurans and things are not looking good.

Praetor Capatius wonders out loud if there's any food on offer. The praetor is a man with a healthy appetite and probably gets well fed when he's playing cards up at Senator Kevarius's house. Dandelion informs everyone that our temporary cook has just finishing preparing the famous Avenging Axe stew, and while Capatius isn't exactly enthralled at the prospect—being used to better things, no doubt—he's willing to try it. Cicerius takes the opportunity to suggest that all the players take another break to refresh themselves. Some head for the bar for food and drink and some wait at the table, probably annoyed at the interruption. As for me, the moment I leave the table I'm besieged by an angry mob.

"What the hell are you doing?" demands Lisutaris. "Do you want Makri to get carted off to Yal?"

"Have you forgotten how important this game is?" demands Cicerius. "I've never seen anyone throw their money away in such a wanton manner."

"How did you get a reputation as a good card player?" says Hanama. "It seems to be completely undeserved."

"A good card player?" sneers Coranius. "We might as well hand the Ocean Storm over to the Orcs and have done with it."

Lisutaris hasn't yet come up with any sort of spell for removing the Ocean Storm from Horm's grasp.

"You were meant to be buying me some time, not surrendering at the first opportunity," she says, quite angrily.

I hold my hands up.

"Will you all get out of my face? I'm doing my best."

"Your best?" says Lisutaris. "Is that why you're almost broke and Horm is piling up the money?"

"I've been unlucky with the cards. Are you sure that woman Moolifi is on the level? I think there's something odd about her."

"The only odd thing is that we have entrusted you with the welfare of Turai," says Cicerius. "I blame myself. I've failed the city."

Makri walks past with a tray of beer.

"Take two," she says to me. "You might as well enjoy yourself. Be sure to visit me in Yal."

"You're not going to Yal. I'm just getting into my stride."

I've rarely seen so many people looking unconvinced. At this moment, belief in Thraxas's gambling powers has hit an all-time low among the leading citizens of Turai. Even the perennially cheerful Dandelion can't help frowning as she ladles out a bowl of stew.

"Please don't make Makri marry Horm the Dead," she says.

"Makri is not going to marry anyone," I declare, quite forcefully.

"Makri, you have to flee," says Hanama. "Get your swords and we'll fight our way out."

I notice some unfamiliar objects lurking on top of the food counter.

"Yams? Where did they come from?"

"Last consignment at the market," says Dandelion. "The new cook brought them down from Pashish."

I grab four large yams and retreat, clutching my stew. And as stew goes, it's not bad. I've tasted far worse. The temporary cook isn't such an incompetent as I feared. Managed to snare us some yams as well. I ignore all distractions, concentrating on getting the food inside me. It does me a power of good. It strikes me that it's little wonder my endeavours have been so ineffectual recently. I've not been eating well enough. It's quite understandable. You can't expect a man to go around solving crimes, finding treasure and beating everyone at cards if you're starving him at the same time. No one could stand it. With the stew, the yams and another beer inside me I start to feel a lot better. I feel so much better that I suddenly have a very good idea where Tanrose's mother's gold might be.

I take my empty plate back to the bar, ignoring all interruptions from discontented Turanians, and drag Makri to one side.

"Makri, I'm running out of money. I need more, and quickly. I just realised where the gold is and I'm going to get it. Take my place at the table for a little while."

Makri looks startled.

"I barely know how to play the game."

"It doesn't matter. Just put in your guran stake every time and don't get involved in any gambling. You can buy me enough time and I'll be back soon."

"Okay," says Makri. "I can do that."

She frowns.

"You're not about to flee the city in shame, are you?"

"Are you crazy? I've been in much more shameful situations than this and I never fled the city before."

"Yes you did."

"Well, not often."

"Doesn't this go against your agreement with Horm?" asks Makri. "You weren't meant to get any more money."

"No. No one was meant to give me any more money. Finding more money myself wasn't mentioned. If I happen across fourteen thousand gurans that's just his bad luck. Look after my place at the table and don't do anything crazy."

And with that, I depart, as swiftly as I can.

Chapter Twenty-One

The Church of St Volinius is by far the most imposing building in Twelve Seas. It's solid rather than elegant, but it's richly decorated, the beneficiary of numerous bequests from the local merchants. If you want to get ahead in Turai, it's a good idea to keep in with the True Church.

I've had a few encounters with Derlex, the local pontifex, and his superior, Bishop Gzekius. They wouldn't regard me as a friend of the Church; in fact I've been denounced from the pulpit on more than one occasion.

The church is closed. Having no time to waste, I walk boldly up to the front entrance and mutter the opening spell, one of the few incantations I can use with any confidence. The door creaks open and I walk in, muttering another word to light up my illuminated staff. I glance at the walls. At the far end of the church, to the right of the altar where the pontifex gives his sermons, there a picture of St Quatinius and the whale. I've seen it before. I saw it briefly when I was talking to Nerinax the beggar and Pontifex Derlex came out of the church, but it didn't register properly then. Not till I was full of yams and stew did I remember that the painting was here.

On the floor underneath it there's a grating, and a small brass plaque: Demetrius, first Prefect of Twelve Seas.

In the vault beneath the grating lie the bones of one of the city's ancient notables. Untouched for centuries, apart, perhaps, from when Captain Maxius hid his gold here. I speak my opening spell again and the grating creaks open. So far so good. Underneath the grating is a large marble slab. I hesitate for a moment. I'm about to open a tomb. Some people might look on this unsympathetically.

"But it's for the good of the city," I mutter. "No one could hold it against me."

I use my opening spell again. The slab groans. It's a weightier item than I'm used to shifting. For a moment I think it's not going to work. I reach down and start hauling at it, adding my own strength to the strength of the spell. Finally the slab moves over a foot or so. I wipe the sweat from my forehead. That was an effort. Without the desperate circumstances I'd never have pulled it off. I reach down into the coffin below, and at that moment the front door flies open and Bishop Gzekius and Pontifex Derlex stride into the church. I have rarely seen two men look more surprised.

"What is going on!" roars the Bishop.

"It's Thraxas," cries Derlex. "He's robbing a grave!"

"Send for the Civil Guards," roars the Bishop. "He'll hang for this!"

Pontifex Derlex is aghast.

"Thraxas!" he cries. "Even from you, I never expected this."

He turns to go, to summon the Guards.

"It's for the good of the city . . ." I begin, but abandon the effort. There's no way of convincing them, and time is short. Though I'm not used to casting two spells in quick succession, I can still do it, just about. I mutter the words of my sleep spell and the Bishop and Derlex both tumble gracefully to the ground. Then I have to sit down. The effort has drained me completely. It'll be a week before I can use a spell again. I have to force myself to move, shaking my head and reaching down into the marble coffin. The first thing I touch is a wooden box, something of a relief as I wasn't looking forward to dragging up a lot of bones. I take it out of the grave. It's sealed and there's a small metal nameplate on it. Captain Maxius.

So there it is. The Captain's treasure. Buried under a whale, more or less. I tuck it under my arm, pick up my illuminated staff and hurry from the church. For a first attempt at grave robbing, it's gone rather well. With any luck the Deputy Consul can explain things to the Bishop, thereby preventing any rash attempt to hang me for my crimes.

Outside the church I'm about to climb back on my horse when a hand grabs me by the shoulder and yanks me backwards. I tumble to the ground and find myself looking at a fancy pair of black boots and the fringes of a rainbow cloak. It's Glixius.

"Stealing from the church?" he booms. "Just what I'd expect of you, Thraxas. Hand it over!"

I struggle to rise. It's an effort. I'm still weak from casting the spells. I once knocked out Glixius with one punch but there's no way I can do that just now.

"I need this money," I say.

"So do I."

"What for?" I ask, trying to delay him while my strength returns.

"Gambling debts," says Glixius. "To the Brotherhood. Casax, in fact. He just learned that one of my credit notes from last month is bad. It could be awkward."

He raises one hand.

"But killing you with a spell and taking the fourteen thousand gurans seems to be a solution to all my problems."

Glixius suddenly sags at the knees, and then pitches forward on to the ground. Makri has appeared silently round the corner and hit him with a small leather club. I look at her rather wildly.

"Who's looking after my cards?"

"Aren't you going to thank me for saving you?" says Makri.

"Thanks for saving me. Who's looking after my cards?"

"I saw Glixius following you out so I followed him myself."

"Yes, it was brilliantly done. So who's at the table?"

"Dandelion."

"Aaarrggghhhh!"

"Did you just scream?" says Makri.

"Dandelion is looking after my cards? Of course I screamed."

I struggle to get on my horse, frantic at the thought of the barefoot idiot sitting in for me at the card table.

"She'll be fine," says Makri. "I told her not to do anything rash."

"Are you insane, leaving her in charge? Do you want to marry Horm?"

"Well you weren't doing so well yourself," says Makri. "Shouldn't you be getting back to the Axe rather than standing here talking?"

I mount my horse and spur it forward. It's a risk riding at night in the city as it's illegal, but there are so many people exempted from this law in Twelve Seas at the moment, with soldiers, Sorcerers and Civil Guards scurrying round shoring up the defences, that no one pays me much attention. Makri, an inexperienced rider, follows me at a distance.

I stable the horse and rush back into the tavern. If Dandelion has blown my money then it's all over. Once a player is out of funds he has to leave the table, and can't return. I've a faint hope that Makri might have been joking about Dandelion. My heart sinks—even further—when I see that she wasn't. Dandelion is sitting in my seat, with a suspiciously small pile of money in front of her. I glance round wildly at the onlookers, focusing finally on Lisutaris.

"You allowed this to happen? Are you crazy?"

Lisutaris shrugs.

"Captain Rallee volunteered to take your hand. But Horm objected."

I turn to face Horm.

"Since when can an Orc come in here and start objecting to people?"

"There are limits to how many replacements a man can have," says Horm, smoothly. "There was general agreement on the matter."

I glare at them all.

"It's all right, Thraxas," says Dandelion, quite cheerfully. "I'm getting the hang of it now."

"How much of my money have you got left?"

"Er . . . almost fifty gurans."

I drag the idiotic barmaid out of the way and retake my seat, not in the best of tempers. I scowl at the assembled players.

"Most amusing. Dandelion filling in for me while you rob a man of his hard-earned money. Well I've got a surprise for you."

I slap the wooden chest down on the table.

"That wasn't the only money I have."

Now this isn't such a strange thing to do, in normal circumstances. A player is quite entitled to bring in more funds. But given that Horm and I are meant to be playing with a stake of 1,000 gurans each, I'm expecting some argument, at least from him. When I stare him in the eye, however, he merely lifts an eyebrow, professing not to care.

"I am already far ahead of you, Investigator. I have no objection to you squandering whatever else you have scraped together."

"Scraped together? Try this, you half-Orc excuse for a card player."

I open the chest and turn it upside down quite dramatically, expecting a shower of coins to cascade on to the table. Fourteen coins tumble out in front of me. Fourteen single gurans. I stare at them, and then shake the box, hoping for more. There is no more. Apparently the tale of the Captain's treasure grew in the telling. All around the table there are guffaws of laughter.

"Brought your life savings?" says Casax.

I'm still scrabbling around in the empty chest, looking for more money. I can't believe I've gone to so much trouble for fourteen gurans. Damn that Tanrose and her lying family. Behind me Cicerius snorts in derision. Lisutaris and Hanama might well be about to join him but we're interrupted by a very loud banging on the tavern door.

"Open up in the name of the True Church. We demand the immediate arrest of the grave-robber Thraxas!"

"What is this?" demands the Deputy Consul, startled by the clamour.

"Ignore them," I say. "The Church doesn't have the authority to go around demanding things."

"This is Bishop Gzekius and I demand the arrest of Thraxas under the authority of the Church!"

"It's a moot point," I say. "Anyway, you outrank the Bishop."

"What have you done?" demands the Deputy Consul.

"Nothing."

"They're saying you robbed a grave!"

"A small misunderstanding when I dropped in to pray. Well, gentlemen, I'd say it was time to get the game underway again."

Cicerius goes off to the front door, hopefully to pacify the Bishop. He has to. They can't drag me off for grave-robbing; the safety of the city rests in my hands. Me and my sixty-four gurans. It's not going to be easy. I need more beer. I twist round in my chair to yell at Makri, who's now returned to her post behind the bar.

"Beer!"

Makri looks at me strangely, clutches her brow, and falls to the floor.

"She's sick!" cries Dandelion. "She's got the malady!"

"But I want beer," I say, and start to feel that the world really is against me. Captain Rallee goes to help Dandelion carry Makri into the store room along with the other casualties. I ignore the commotion, and focus on the task in front of me. At a rough guess I'd say that Horm the Dead has around 2,000 gurans in front of him, and that's a lot of money to claw back. For most men, it would be an impossible task. Of course, most men haven't roamed the world with a sword in their hands and only their native wit to protect them. Most men haven't gambled their way around every card table in the west. You can't compare Thraxas the Investigator to most men; it's not a fair contest. I bang my fist on the table.

"Are we going to play cards or not? Moolifi, start dealing. And Dandelion, bring me a beer. Goddammit, do you expect me to sit here parched with thirst all night?"

The room goes quiet, Moolifi deals the cards, and I get on with the business of mounting one of the most heroic rearguard actions ever seen at the card table. With only sixty-four gurans to my name, I'm facing overwhelming odds, but I remain undismayed. Lisutaris needs more time to complete her spell. Fine. I'll get her some more time. I sip beer, study my cards, play with the utmost caution, refuse to be drawn, and even pick up a small win with three 4s. As the night wears on, I start to show the assembled mockers and doubters what a real genius at rak can do when he's backed into a corner. By the time Ravenius goes bust, unwisely believing that Casax is bluffing when he raises 500 gurans on one hand, I've built my stake up to ninety gurans and am exhibiting the sort of quiet determination that gets a man through a crisis when everyone around him is losing their heads.

Three hours later I'm still in the game. I call loudly for more beer, curse Moolifi for the bad cards she's been dealing me, and roar at Dandelion to bring me some more yams and make it quick.

Horm the Dead laughs. He's enjoying himself. He's still well ahead of me and he's no doubt expecting to be leaving the city with Makri in tow. I'll show him. By three in the morning there are only four people left at the table—Praetor Capatius, Horm the Dead, Casax, and me. Each of them has several thousand gurans in front of them. I have 180. Horm decides that it's time to force me off the table. When I raise a cautious ten gurans on a hand, he calmly looks over at the money in front of me, counts out 180 gurans, and pushes it into the centre of the table. If I cover his bet it will cost me everything I have, and I'll be out of the game if I lose.

I turn my head slightly, and notice Lisutaris shaking her head discreetly. A signal that she has not yet found a counter spell to attack Horm, and doesn't want me to risk losing yet. I turn back to my cards, and push all my money into the centre of the table.

"Let's see what you have."

Horm turns over two dragons and two kings. I turn over three 10s. My hand is superior. I scoop in the money and now I've got 360 gurans in front of me.

Cicerius appears at the table and says it's time we took another break. It brings complaints from the players. Praetor Capatius hasn't been doing so well for the past hour or so, and like any card player on a losing streak, he wants to carry on. Horm shrugs. He doesn't mind either way. I'd as soon carry on playing because I've got a strong suspicion that Cicerius is calling for a break so he can lecture me again, but we rise from the table anyway. I head for the bar but don't make it that far before I'm once more surrounded by the angry mob.

"That was very rash," says Lisutaris. "I told you not to risk everything before I'm ready."

"I knew what I was doing."

"I wish I knew what you've been doing," hisses Cicerius. "Did you really break into the church of St Volinius and rob a tomb?"

"Yes. But only as part of an ongoing investigation."

"You know you could be hanged for this?"

"For what? For saving the city? I had to do it. Tell the Bishop it was vital war work. You ought to be getting behind me, not giving me a hard time. Who's the one that's doing all the work here? Who's the one that's making Horm look foolish at the card table?"

Lisutaris purses her lips.

"Good question. He has five thousand gurans and you have three hundred and sixty."

"I got off to a bad start. Now excuse me, I have a beer to pick up."

I break free and head for the bar, where Dandelion is handing a glass of klee to Horm.

"I want to see Makri," says Horm.

"You can't," replies Dandelion, firmly. "She's sick and she needs to rest."

Horm shrugs.

"This filthy city would make anyone sick. In my mountain kingdom, Makri will be healthy."

Hanama approaches silently.

"Makri isn't going anywhere near your mountain kingdom," she says.

"You trust Thraxas to save her?" asks Horm.

"Not for a moment. I'll save her."

Horm gives a languid smile, then departs without responding.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I say to Hanama.

"I have no confidence in you whatsoever," says Hanama. "And if you let Makri be taken by Horm I'll kill you myself."

Casax appears beside us. He's wondering what happened to Glixius Dragon Killer.

"Probably still trying to find the money he owes you," I tell him. From the look on Casax's face I can tell that he'll be wanting words with Glixius at the first opportunity. I'm pleased. Even if you're a powerful Sorcerer, it doesn't do to offend the Brotherhood.

Captain Rallee is looking rather weary. No doubt he'd rather be in bed, but with Moolifi dealing, he has to stick around. Moolifi is sitting beside him but her attention is taken by Tirini Snake Smiter who's at her side, talking about clothes.

"I adore your dress. The new Samsarina line is definitely you. And those shoes; I swear mine can't compete."

They both stretch out a foot, rather genteelly, to compare shoes.

"Such a beautiful pink," says Tirini.

"Thanks," says Moolifi. "But they're not quite perfect any more. I seem to have lost a few threads from the embroidery."

I glance at the shoes. It's hardly noticeable, but there are a few pink threads missing. Pink threads like the ones in my pocket. The ones I took from the place where Makri fought the Orcish Assassin. I don't quite know what that means, but I have a bad feeling as we sit down again to play.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Capatius, Horm, Casax and I resume the struggle. The air is thick with thazis smoke and the fire burns brightly in the huge hearth, kept alight by the occasional word from one of the Sorcerers. No one looking at Lisutaris, Coranius, Anumaris and Tirini would guess that at this moment they were busy working on a spell to defeat Horm, but I know they are. Three of them are anyway. Tirini is probably planning her outfit for the next reception at the Palace.

Deputy Consul Cicerius sits with Samanatius. I'm a little surprised to see that Cicerius apparently regards the philosopher as worthy of respect, as does Lisutaris. I wouldn't have guessed the practical Cicerius had much time for that sort of thing.

With 360 gurans I still can't afford to do anything rash. So far tonight I've rarely tried bluffing, though it's something I'm good at. But Praetor Capatius, being obscenely rich, likes trying to throw his weight around, and it goes wrong for him in spectacular fashion when he tries to bluff Horm out of a hand and Horm coolly stands up to him, and triumphs. The Praetor is left almost moneyless, and scowls mightily as he throws in his cards.

"I'm out," he grunts, and stands up, stretches his limbs, and heads for the bar to see if there's any stew still on offer. The praetor is a large man, and a healthy eater, and if he's used to more exotic fare that the Avenging Axe stew, it's not a bad meal for a man who's just been beaten at cards in the early hours of the morning.

As Casax, Horm and I battle on I can feel the eyes of the audience on us. I've worked my way up to 400 gurans, and when Moolifi deals me three kings I raise a hundred. Horm drops out but Casax follows me. Once more I'm forced to put in everything I possess. My nerves are straining as Casax turns over his cards, but I win the hand. I've now got 800 gurans and I'm back in the game. Casax is rattled and the very next hand he stays in far longer than he should and I end up taking another 300 gurans from him. Now I'm the one with the momentum. Horm plays quietly and cautiously while I systematically win hand after hand from Casax in an exhibition of card playing that will undoubtedly go down in history. When I finally chase the Brotherhood boss from the table, grinding him to dust with a lethal combination of masterly betting skills and a few lucky cards, he rises to his feet wearily, throws his cloak around his shoulders and walks away without even offering a parting insult. His henchman, Karlox, glowers at me evilly but I ignore him. Thraxas, number one chariot at rak, and no one can deny it.

"Just you and me, Horm," I grunt, and call for beer.

Horm sips his glass of klee, and stares at me for a few moments. I can't read his expression. He has turned out to be a better card player than I expected.

"Indeed, Investigator. Just you and me. For the Ocean Storm, or Makri."

"Myself, I'm more worried about the money."

"Are you serious?" says Horm.

"Women and magical trinkets are never in short supply. Personally I prefer a solid pile of cash."

Horm hesitates. For the first time ever, I seem to have disconcerted him.

By now it's quite likely that everyone in the tavern knows the nature of our bet. It's been obvious from the start that this is no ordinary game, and as the whispers and rumours have spread the intensity of the interest has grown. There's hardly a sound save for the crackling of the fire. I'm suddenly gripped with a thirst that can't be satisfied by normal beer alone. I tell Horm and Moolifi that I need to collect something from my room, then hurry upstairs, returning with a bottle of the Grand Abbot's Ale. I open the bottle and pour some into my tankard.

"Are you quite ready?" says Horm, now a little more irritated.

Moolifi deals the cards. She gives me a black 8 and a black bishop. Horm checks his cards idly, lays them face down in front of him and pushes 100 gurans into the middle of the table. I cover the bet. Moolifi deals again. This time she gives me a black 7. Bishop, 8 and 7, all black. It's a hand that's worth pursuing. Horm raises 2 00 gurans and I again cover his bet, quite calmly, giving nothing away.

Moolifi deals me the fourth and final card. It is a black queen. I have a straight run in the same colour. It will beat anything except four of a kind. Horm studies his money for a while. It's laid out in neat piles in front of him, unlike mine, which is strewn around messily.

"I have seven thousand gurans," he says. "Around the same as you, I'd judge."

He pushes it all into the centre of the table, and looks me in the eye.

"It's your bet," he says.

I count my money. I have enough to cover the bet, just. If I go along with it one of us will be forced from the table. With this one bet I can save Makri and rescue the Ocean Storm for Turai. Or I could lose everything. My straight run is a good hand. Horm's might be better. I could back out, escape with the loss of just a few hundred gurans. I wonder if Horm is bluffing. I can't tell. I take a sip of my excellent beer and think for a few moments.

I remember once when I was fighting as a mercenary away in the south, the captain of our company tried to force me out of a game by betting 100 gurans on a pair of 2s. One hundred gurans was all the money I had in the world and I'd had to fight hard and long to earn it. I covered his bet. I lost. I ended up fighting for six months as a mercenary and I was worse off than when I started. Gurd had to buy me food on the way home, and it was lucky he was with me or I'd have starved to death in some far-off land.

I start sliding my money across, pushing each ragged bundle of coins in one after the other. It takes me a few moments to count out the seven thousand. I stare at Horm.

"So, what do you have?"

"The Ocean Storm isn't yours to gamble," comes a voice, familiar but not entirely normal. It's Sarin, looking quite crazy. She's pointing a crossbow, illegal inside the city walls, but still her favourite weapon. From the wild look in her eyes I'd say she was deep in the grip of the fever. As a powerful Sorcerer in an alien land, Horm is undoubtedly protected by some powerful spells. But I don't know how safe he is. A full-size crossbow at such a short distance is a very deadly weapon. At this range the bolt would go right through a normal man and through the man behind him as well. I've seen it happen, and I wouldn't want to be the third man standing behind them either. I wouldn't lay much money on Horm's spells saving him from harm.

Before anyone can move, Sarin fires the crossbow. As soon as she releases the string, I jerk my head towards Horm, expecting to see him driven back from the table, but instead I find that Moolifi has raised her hand and caught the bolt, which is quite impossible. No one can catch a crossbow bolt in mid-flight; you can't even see it in the air. There are a few gasps from around the room. I turn towards Moolifi.

"Are you by any chance another Sorcerer in disguise?"

"I am," says Moolifi.

"I'm guessing Deeziz the Unseen?"

"Then you have guessed correctly," says Moolifi.

"Ridiculous," cries Horm. "Deeziz isn't a woman."

"I assure you I am. Though it's suited me till now to hide myself with veils and sorcery."

All around the tavern chairs are tumbling over as Lisutaris and her fellow Sorcerers leap to their feet. They're not the only ones. Captain Rallee is already upright, a baffled expression on his face as the shocking news that he's been dating the most famous Sorcerer in the Orcish lands sets in.

I turn towards Lisutaris.

"You see? I told you Deeziz was in the city."

But Lisutaris isn't listening to me. She's already speaking a spell. I get myself out of the way quickly but Deeziz remains in her chair. She appears quite untroubled. She raises one hand and moves it a few inches. There's a sort of ripple in the air, and nothing more.

"You can't harm me," says Deeziz. "I've negated your sorcery."

"We'll see about that," growls Coranius the Grinder, and lets loose a powerful bolt. Or tries to. The shaft of purple lightning that flies from his hand travels no further than a few inches before dissipating into the air.

"You are wasting your time," says Deeziz. "I am more powerful than any of you."

"I doubt it," says Lisutaris.

"Whether you doubt it or not, it's true."

Deeziz the Unseen rises gracefully to her feet.

"I spent ten years on a mountaintop while you attended parties and balls, Mistress of the Sky. I took my skills to new heights while Sorcerers in Turai cast horoscopes for princess. You doubt my power? Me? The Sorcerer who made you fall sick and sapped your strength?"

"The Sorcerer who fooled me into thinking she was a singer from Nioj!" roars Captain Rallee.

I can see why he's upset. It was hardly civilised of Deeziz to trick him. If we get out of this alive, it's not going to do his reputation in Twelve Seas any good at all.

"Disguising yourself as a beautiful woman when all the time you're a foul Orc!" continues the Captain.

Deeziz looks slightly pained.

"That's uncalled for, Captain. I wouldn't say I was foul."

She waves her hand again, and the Human disguise drops from her features. Her skin darkens, her hair turns black, her features become a little stronger. She looks at me.

"Do you think I'm unattractive?"

"Er . . ." I hesitate, and look round for support.

"I think you're still very pretty," says Dandelion.

"Good features," adds Tirini.

"I think you're very beautiful," says young Ravenius, then looks abashed as everyone stares at him. "For an enemy Sorcerer, I mean."

"Even so," I say, "you can see why the Captain's angry."

"The Captain was a most pleasant companion," says the Orc Sorcerer. "And made my stay in your city much more bearable than it might otherwise have been. But enough of this. Lisutaris, I'm disappointed in you. Your sorcery is less powerful than I've been led to believe. Deputy Consul Cicerius, you are a fool. And as for you . . ."

She turns towards Horm the Dead.

"Your life will not be worth living once Prince Amrag learns that you were willing to gamble the Ocean Storm away for the sake of a woman."

Horm moves very swiftly, trying to fire a spell at Deeziz, but she waves her hand once more, sending him crashing backwards against the wall. Nothing could demonstrate her power more than the ease with which she defeats Horm. I'm hoping Lisutaris has some brilliant plan for beating her, because I certainly haven't.

Deeziz snaps her fingers and the Ocean Storm rises out of Horm's cloak and flies into her hand. She looks at it thoughtfully for a few seconds, then towards Cicerius.

"Perhaps it was harsh of me to call you a fool. After all, you did what you thought was best. You sent troops and Sorcerers to the south of the city to guard the sea wall. But as you will see, that was a mistake."

"What do you mean?" asks Cicerius.

"I mean it's what we wanted you to do. I have created panic and suspicion in Turai. I have planted rumours of Orcish incursion. I've caused phantom Orcs to be seen around the harbour. I've spread rumours of Orcish fleets around your shores. I have introduced Orcish Assassins inside your city to bring panic. I've made you send so much of your defences to the southern walls that your other walls are now insecure. Your Sorcerers Guild has insufficient power left to guard the rest of the city."

Deeziz looks again at the Ocean Storm, and then, bizarrely, she starts to sing. She sings a verse of "Love Me Through the Winter," Moolifi's most famous song. Not emotionally, like the times she performed it for an audience, but quietly. Everyone looks on, quite mystified. If the most powerful Orcish Sorcerer arrives in your midst, the last thing you expect them to do is to start singing.

Moolifi halts, and looks towards Lisutaris. "I've sung that song every day since I arrived here. It's based on a powerful old Elvish invocation. I wove spells into it to baffle my enemies, and bring you to ruin. And now it's done."

"What's done?"

Deeziz tucks the Ocean Storm into her elegant little bag.

"Are you aware that this tavern stands on a dragon line?" she says.

"Yes," says Lisutaris.

"It runs right through the city to the northern gate, where the river enters Turai. I've sent the power of the Ocean Storm along the dragon line. In around thirty seconds a wave of incredible power will flow down the river, breaking all your defences and smashing the gate. As soon as that happens, Lord Rezaz will march into Turai."

"Rezaz is nowhere near Turai," cries Coranius.

"On the contrary, he and his army are about to march through your shattered northern wall."

At this moment Lisutaris once more attempts to fire a spell at Deeziz. Deeziz brushes it off quite nonchalantly.

"Your sorcery is useless against me. But not against Lord Rezaz's army, perhaps. So it would be better for Prince Amrag if you were not around to use it."

With that, Deeziz the Unseen raises both arms in front of her, chants a short sentence, and there's an almighty explosion. I'm thrown backwards and crash into the wall, and pass out immediately.

Chapter Twenty-Three

When I wake up, it's dark and I'm very confused. Not the sort of confusion that comes from indulging too freely in Gurd's fine ale, and coming round on the floor wondering what day it is. More the sort of confusion that makes me wonder who I am and what my name is.

I stand up, looking around me dumbly. I'm in a large room. There are tables, chairs, half-finished drinks and a lot of cards scattered around. I'm the only person in the room. There's a fire in the hearth, burning low. It's still confusing. I can't make any sense of it at all. I notice my throat is very dry. There are drinks all over the place but I'm drawn to a bottle on the table where the cards are. I pick it up and glance at the label. The Grand Abbot's Ale. Odd name for a beer. I raise it to my lips and drink it all down.

And then it comes back in a flash. The Grand Abbot's Ale restores my memory. I'm Thraxas, private Investigator, currently engaged in a game of cards with Horm the Dead and various others. Except Horm and all the others don't seem to be here any more. The last thing I remember is Deeziz the Unseen casting a spell. I'd guess it was some powerful spell of confusion. Powerful enough to knock me out, despite my spell protection charm. I wonder if it worked on everyone else. From the way they've all wandered off, I think it has. Particularly as the card table is still loaded with money. People in Turai would have to be very confused indeed to leave money lying around in public.

My cards are still on the table. I flip them over: 7, 8, bishop, queen, all black. I turn over Horm the Dead's cards: four kings. It's a better hand than mine. He would have won. Of course, technically, the game hasn't finished yet. We never got round to declaring our hands. But he's no longer at the table, while I'm still here, which makes me the winner. Thraxas, number one chariot at the card table. I toss the cards in a heap then scoop all the money into my bag.

I walk past the bar and into the rooms beyond. Gurd's room is empty. No sign of him or Tanrose. I check the store rooms. Also empty. I hurry upstairs. I have a feeling there's something badly wrong but I can't quite put my finger on it. My office is empty and so is my bedroom. There seems to be a lot of noise outside. I hurry along to Makri's room. Makri is lying on the floor, drenched in sweat, barely conscious. Lisutaris is beside her, unconscious. I kneel down beside them. Makri opens her eyes.

"Are you confused?" I ask.

"Compared to you, no," says Makri. "What happened?"

"Deeziz. Enemy Sorcerer. Cast a powerful spell downstairs."

"I heard a bang," whispers Makri. "I found Lisutaris wandering in the corridor. I dragged her in here."

"You see anyone else?"

Makri shakes her head.

The noises outside get louder.

"What's happening?"

"I think the city has just fallen to the Orcs."

"What?"

Makri attempts to sit up, but fails. She's very weak, and the effort of dragging Lisutaris into her room has taken the last of her energy. I tell her to wait while I check on events outside. I walk along the corridor and go into the small cupboard which contains a ladder leading to the roof. It's an awkward climb, not one that I've made for a while. By the time I struggle on to the roof the noises outside are deafening. People are screaming in panic and confusion. I look north. Dragons are swooping over the city and smoke and flames curl over the Palace. Lord Rezaz the Butcher has taken the city and the population is fleeing as best they can. I struggle back down the ladder, and head for my office. I put on my magic warm cloak, take my sword, my illuminated staff and my grimoire of spells. I put a bottle of the Abbot's klee in my bag, along with thazis and the large joint of venison Lisutaris sent me. It's a heavy load, though not much to be taking away from the city I've lived in all my life.

I now have to get myself, Makri and Lisutaris to safety. I'm concerned about Gurd, but he's not around and I've no way of locating him. It's possible Tanrose has taken him off somewhere. Or it's possible he's just wandered off and has been killed by the Orcs.

Back in Makri's room I ask Makri if she can stand. She shakes her head.

"The Orcs have taken the city. We have to get away."

Makri scowls.

"Orcs? In the city? We have to fight."

She attempts to rise, but fails.

I pick her up.

"My swords," says Makri.

I pick up her swords and her favourite axe and head downstairs to the back of the building. Luckily the cart is still in the stables. Everyone in the tavern must have been too confused to take it. I dump Makri in the cart and run back upstairs. I don't know how much time I have. The Orcs will be sweeping through the city. If resistance has completely crumbled it won't take them long to reach Twelve Seas. I pick up Lisutaris and carry her downstairs. I throw her in the cart then set about getting the horse affixed to the reins.

When I make it out into Quintessence Street I'm greeted by a scene of terrible panic. People are running everywhere, screaming that the Orcs are here and we're all going to be slaughtered. It's quite likely. But I've encountered Orcs many times, and I haven't been slaughtered yet, so I'm not about to give up now. I drive the horse forward through the crowd, all heading south towards the harbour in a desperate effort to escape from the invaders.

I have no thoughts of staying and fighting. With dragons swooping over the Palace, and Lord Rezaz's army inside the walls, we're already beaten. I don't intend to lose my life in a dark street in Twelve Seas for no reason. I spur the horse on.

Makri emerges from her stupor.

"What's happening?"

"We're leaving Turai."

"Why?"

"It seems like a good time for a fresh start."

Makri opens her mouth to protest, but lacks the strength, and she sinks back into unconsciousness. Our progress is interrupted when the wagon becomes hemmed in by people and we come to a halt. I look around impatiently for some means of escape but there's nowhere to go. If the Orcs arrive now we're finished. Neither Makri nor Lisutaris are in a fit state to be of any help.

At this moment a dragon flies overhead and a troop of heavily armed Orcs advances into Quintessence Street, sending the crowds fleeing in terror. There is a terrible panic as people dive through windows into houses, climb walls, anything to escape. For a moment I consider just picking up my sword and confronting the Orcs. I can kill three with my sword and another four or five with a spell before I die. That's not too bad. I notice the alleyway on the right looks familiar. I once climbed out of the sewers into that alleyway. There's a manhole cover there. I take Lisutaris in one hand, Makri in the other and drag them over the side of the wagon. It's fortunate that neither of them are heavy women or I'd never make it. When I reach the manhole cover the Orcs are no more than fifty yards away. I open the cover, drop Makri and Lisutaris through it, clamber inside, and pull the cover over my head. Then I descend the ladder as quickly as I can, because if the water level in the sewer is high, Makri and Lisutaris will be drowning by now.

The water is several feet deep. Makri is struggling to stand but Lisutaris is floating face down. Praying that I haven't actually killed Turai's leading Sorcerer, I drag her out of the water.

"What are you doing?" croaks Makri, slightly more animated after being dumped in the sewer.

"Escaping. The Orcs are right overhead. Can you walk?"

Makri nods, and then falls over.

"No, seriously," I say, dragging her to her feet. "Can you walk?"

"I'm strong," says Makri, and falls over again. For a moment I wish I'd just stayed and fought the Orcs, but I grit my teeth and start dragging Makri and Lisutaris through the sewer. It's a tough job but at least I know where I'm going. I've been here before. I was once chased through this sewer by Glixius Dragon Killer, curse his name. I wonder if he had something to do with the appearance of Deeziz in the Avenging Axe. I wouldn't put it past him.

My illuminated staff lights the way but progress is painfully slow. The last time I was here it wasn't only Glixius I had to worry about. I encountered an alligator as well. Damn these sewers. And damn Makri and Lisutaris for being too ill to walk. If an alligator arrives I'll feed them to it and make an escape myself.

After what seems like hours Lisutaris grunts, and starts to come round.

"What's happening?"

"You got hit by a spell of confusion and the Orcs have taken the city. We're escaping through the sewers."

"We have to fight!" cries Lisutaris.

"It's too late to fight."

"We can't run away!"

"Can you remember any spells?"

Lisutaris looks blank.

"Spells?"

"The things you do sorcery with."

The Sorcerer looks puzzled.

"Oh yes. Spells. No, I can't seem to remember any."

"Then we'd better keep moving. We're not far from the outlet on the shore. If we're lucky we'll be far enough away from the Orcs. I don't expect they'll scour the coastline tonight."

Now that Lisutaris is conscious again, the going is a little easier. I sling Makri over my shoulder. Even though she seems to be unconscious she keeps hold of her bag containing her two swords and her axe. At least she's not leaving the city empty-handed.

When we arrive at the outlet on the shore the beach is lit up with explosions. Some Sorcerers at the harbour are putting up resistance and the last ships are leaving the dock, crammed with refugees. People who couldn't make it on to a ship are streaming along the rocks towards the beach, fleeing through the winter night in all directions. Fire and smoke hang over the city although there doesn't seem to be a general conflagration. I'd guess that the Orcs won't burn Turai; they want it as a base to gather strength during the winter.

We're too far from the harbour to reach any of the ships. I don't see anything to do except start walking.

"No good," gasps Lisutaris. "I'm too weak."

The lingering effects of the malady, followed by Deeziz's spell, have taken all of the Sorcerer's strength.

Makri comes awake and slides off my shoulder.

"There's an empty boat out there," she says.

I can't see any boat. Nor can Lisutaris.

"I can see it," says Makri. "I have Elvish eyes."

Makri looks at me.

"I've got the malady," she says, and sounds quite unhappy.

"You'll recover. Lisutaris, can you bring the boat in?"

Lisutaris shakes her head.

"I can't remember any spells."

I drag my old, out-of-date grimoire from my bag. Most of the spells in it I could never use and the few that I could are no good in the circumstances. Maybe the head of the Sorcerers Guild can make something of it. I thrust the book at her. Lisutaris looks at it hopelessly.

"I can't read it."

I explode with exasperation.

"Could you make an effort? I've just dragged you from the Avenging Axe to the beach via a sewer. The least you could do is remember a simple spell. Here."

I take out some thazis from my bag. It's still fresh and green. Lisutaris's eyes light up and she rolls a thazis stick with nimble dexterity. Without even thinking about it she mutters a word, causing the stick to light, and inhales deeply.

"Of course," she says. "I'm a Sorcerer. I do spells. Let me see that book."

The Mistress of the Sky flips over the pages while I light the book with my illuminated staff, trying not to make it to bright for fear of attracting attention. There's no saying that a dragon won't suddenly decide to practise its fire-breathing technique on the hopeless survivors who throng the beach.

Lisutaris snaps the book shut, and utters a few words, a spell of bringing.

"The boat is coming."

"Good. So is a dragon."

The dragon, flapping its wings languidly, appears over the city walls, heading our way. A small boat heaves into view. A tiny fisherman's craft, with one sail. I sling Makri over my shoulder again and splash through the water towards it, flinging her over the side then climbing in myself. Lisutaris can't make it over the edge and I have to haul her in. The dragon is getting ominously close.

"Use a spell," I scream. "Get us out of here."

Lisutaris snaps her fingers and we begin to drift out to sea. The dragon turns its head towards us but doesn't follow. Dragons are not keen on flying over water.

Lisutaris lies down on the deck.

"More thazis," she mutters. "I want more thazis."

I hand the sorceress my thazis pouch. She rolls herself another stick.

"When I get my strength back," she says grimly, "I'll come back and chase those Orcs all the way to the mountains."

I gaze towards the shore. Maybe I'll come back with her, and help chase the Orcs. Or maybe I'll just keep going till I reach the furthest west, and see if anyone there needs an Investigator. The way I've been feeling about Turai recently, just keeping going doesn't seem like such a bad option.

What with the malady, Deeziz's spell and the thazis, the greatest Sorcerer in the west is once more out of commission. She falls asleep as we drift away from the shore. I haul both Lisutaris and Makri into the small cabin, cover them with their cloaks, and go back on deck, looking towards Turai. Flames and smoke tower over the Palace and dragons still swoop down from the sky. I let the boat drift with the current, and I wonder if I'll ever see the city again.