Thraxas - The Complete Series (111 page)

“All right, I’ll tell you,” says Makri. She sniffs, and drinks some of my klee.

“I slept with an Elf on Avula. And I’ve been miserable ever since.”

I silently curse Tanrose. She should be dealing with this sort of thing.

“Right … well … you know… I’m sure it will work out fine.”

Makri dabs her eyes and looks at me.

“Is that it? Is that the best you can do?”

I spread my arms wide and contrive to look hopeless.

“Makri, I might be number one chariot when it comes to investigating and sharp as an Elf’s ear at the race track, but I never claimed to be any good on emotional problems. I assume this is an emotional problem?”

“What did you think it was?”

“With you it’s hard to tell. If it turns out you stabbed the Elf I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Makri starts crying again. I wish the Brotherhood would attack. A good sword fight would take her mind off it. Makri never had a lover before and now appears to be suffering some sort of crisis.

“Wasn’t that what you wanted? I mean, an Elf, leafy glades and such like? Better than some lowlife in Twelve Seas anyway. The first time I was with a woman I was fourteen, drunk, and her pimp came in halfway through to check I had enough money.”

“Why hasn’t See-ath been in touch?” wails Makri. “He’s ignoring me. Wasn’t it important?”

“He’s thousands of miles away on an Elvish island. How’s he going to get in touch?”

“He could send a message.”

I point out that in the middle of winter even the Elves can’t make the voyage to Turai. Makri is unconvinced and seems to think that he should have tried harder.

“I’m sure he could have sent a message.”

“How?”

“He could’ve used a Sorcerer.”

“Makri, Sorcerers can sometimes communicate over long distances but it’s not easy. Only a very powerful Sorcerer could contact Turai from Avula, and he’d need plenty of help from the right conjunctions of the moon, not to mention calm weather and a certain amount of good fortune. It’s a difficult business. I really don’t think your young lover could persuade the local Sorcerer to send a message to his girlfriend, no matter how much he wanted to.”

“Fine,” says Makri, angrily. “Be on his side then.” She stands up and storms out the room.

I take a hefty slug of klee. I’m unnerved. I resolve to have a strong word with Tanrose. She should be dealing with this, I’m far too busy investigating. I take another drink and realise I’m feeling angry about the whole thing, though I’m not sure why.

There’s a knock on my outside door. I answer it warily, fearing that the Brotherhood may be here to ask questions about their sudden loss of a dwa dealer. It turns out to be Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. I’m moderately pleased to see her and welcome her in. It’s probably a good idea to talk to her before the Assemblage, though I’m surprised she’s travelled to Twelve Seas. If I was a powerful Sorcerer living in the pleasant environs of Truth is Beauty Lane, nothing would get me south of the river.

Lisutaris has high cheekbones, a lot of fair hair and carries herself elegantly. We’re about the same age but you wouldn’t know it. She’s attractive, and rather glamorous when she takes the notion, though when she arrives she’s wrapped in a sensible amount of fur and her rainbow cloak is a practical winter model rather than the fancy thing she normally wears.

My rooms are extremely untidy. Lisutaris isn’t overly concerned about the niceties, however, and sweeps some junk off a chair before sitting down and enquiring if I can provide her with some wine to keep her circulation moving while she prepares some thazis for consumption.

“No wine. Beer?”

Lisutaris nods, and concentrates on her thazis. Most people smoke thazis in small sticks, but Lisutaris, when separated from her water pipe, constructs far larger versions, and she proceeds to do this while I bring her ale. In no time the room reeks of thazis and Lisutaris is looking more comfortable.

“It’s cold as the ice queen’s grave out there,” she mutters. “I’ve got a warming spell on my cloak, my hat, my boots and my carriage, and I’m still shivering.”

I ask her what brings her to Twelve Seas.

“I hear you’re going to the Assemblage as Cicerius’s representative.”

“I am.”

“Did he ask you to fix the election for me?”

“Not exactly. Just to make sure it wasn’t fixed against you. Do you care?”

Lisutaris shrugs.

“Not particularly. It will be bad for Turai if the Simnian gets the post, but what the hell, the Orcs will destroy the city soon enough, either that or Nioj will.”

“The King thinks that having you as head of the Guild will give us protection.”

“It might. Who knows?”

Lisutaris inhales another vast amount of thazis smoke.

“What I mainly want to happen at the Assemblage,” she continues, “is for me not to get killed.”

“You think that’s likely?”

She does.

“I received an anonymous message saying an Assassin was on his way.”

Lisutaris is short on details. She’s brought the message with her and hands it over. A small piece of paper with neat handwriting.

You may be in danger from an Assassin at the Assemblage. Covinius is coming.

There’s nothing else. Nothing else to see, that is, though a piece of paper can often yield a lot to sorcerous investigation. I tell Lisutaris I’ll get to work on it.

“Did you inform the Civil Guard?”

“Yes. But the Guards won’t be allowed into the Assemblage. That’s why I want to hire you.”

I tell Lisutaris that strictly she doesn’t have to. Cicerius has already hired me to work on her behalf. Lisutaris insists she’d be happier if she hired me directly, and there’s some sense in this so I take a retainer fee from her.

“It’s very hard to get any information about the Assassins. But I’ll do my best. Most probably it’s just some crank.”

“Who is Covinius?” asks Lisutaris.

“A member of the Simnian Assassins Guild. He has an evil reputation. People say he’s never failed on a mission.”

“I’m not feeling any better,” says Lisutaris, frowning. “I don’t want this job enough to get killed for it.”

Lisutaris is strong enough to carry a powerful protection spell at all times. This will turn a blade, but there’s no saying how many ways a murderous expert like Covinius could find to get around it. I repeat that there’s probably nothing in it, but in truth I’m worried.

A freezing draught from under the door is badly affecting my feet. I kick an old cushion over to cover the gap. Lisutaris smiles. There are plenty of Sorcerers I wouldn’t welcome here, but Lisutaris isn’t the snobbish type. Back in the war she slept in a tent by the walls like everyone else. I realise I rather like her. I’ll be sorry if she ends up with an Assassin’s dart in her heart.

“I need someone to watch my back,” says the Sorcerer.

“Didn’t you just hire me for that?”

“Yes. But you’re going to be busy with other things at the Assemblage. I want to recruit Makri as a bodyguard.”

This doesn’t seem like a bad idea. If you want a bodyguard, Makri is a good choice, providing you don’t mind her killing a few extra people every now and then. And with the Guild College being closed for the winter, she’s got time on her hands.

“I think she’ll be pleased to do it. Cheer her up, probably.”

“Has Makri been unhappy?”

In other circumstances it would be strange that the well-bred Mistress of the Sky would even know Makri, but they’ve met through the Association of Gentlewomen. So I believe anyway, though the Association keeps its business secret.

“Fairly unhappy. A few personal problems. I sorted most of it out.”

Lisutaris’s attention is already starting to wander. When I ask her about the Assemblage it takes a few moments for her to reply.

“How exactly is the new head of the Guild chosen? Is it a straight election or is there some sort of test?”

“Both. The Sorcerers vote on the candidates and the top two go on to a final elimination.”

“Which involves?”

“A test inside the magic space.”

“What test?”

The Mistress of the Sky doesn’t know. Charius the Wise will set the test, and he’s keeping the details close to his chest.

“With any luck we’ll be looking for thazis plants,” says Lisutaris, who’s fairly single-minded about her pleasures these days. I show her along the corridor to Makri’s room and leave her at the door before heading downstairs for a beer. I get myself round a Happy Guildsman jumbo tankard of ale and inform Gurd that his barmaid will be missing for a few days as she is about to perform the duties of bodyguard for Turai’s leading Sorcerer. Gurd looks relieved. He’s been suffering at the hands of Makri’s moods, and ever since Tanrose told him it was due to some emotional difficulties, the Barbarian has been terrified that Makri might broach the subject with him. Gurd has more than enough emotional problems of his own. He’s attracted to Tanrose and never quite knows what to do about it.

“It will take her mind off things,” says Gurd. “Why did she want to get involved with an Elf anyway?”

“I don’t know. Probably thinks they’re handsome.”

“Why would she care about that? A good fighter and a good provider, that’s what a man should be.”

Sensing that Gurd is now worrying that Tanrose might not think he’s handsome enough, I change the subject.

“I’m about to look after an election. Not a job I ever thought I’d end up doing.”

“You think it will be fair?”

“I’ll make sure it is. Turai is depending on me, and I’m depending on the hefty fee Cicerius has offered me.”

“But what about all the magic they’ll be using?” asks Gurd. As a northern Barbarian, he’s never been too comfortable with magic.

“It won’t matter. If there’s anything irregular going on I’ll pick it up. Easy as bribing a Senator for a man of my experience.”

The tavern fills up as the evening draws on. The fierce winter is not harming Gurd’s business. People would rather be drinking in the warmth of the Avenging Axe than huddling miserably at home. I load up with several bowls of stew, then depart upstairs with beer. I look in on Makri to see if she’s taken the job as bodyguard. Lisutaris is still here. She’s lying unconscious on the floor surrounded by the remains of numerous enormous thazis sticks. Makri is comatose beside her. The room is so thick with smoke I can barely see the far wall. I shake my head.

“You’ll be a fine new head of the Sorcerers Guild,” I mutter, and leave them to it. If Cicerius could see her now, I figure he’d be regretting his choice.

I
take the paper to Astrath Triple Moon and ask him to work on it for me.

“Do you have any more details?”

A good Sorcerer can often glean information from an object but only if he has something to go on, something to anchor the enquiry. Left to his own devices, Astrath might scan the city for days and not link the paper to anything.

“It might not even have originated in Turai.”

“It did. I checked the watermark. The paper was made and sold right here in Turai. And it’s a woman’s handwriting.”

“How do you know?”

“I know. I’m an Investigator. The message was handed in at the Messengers Guild post in the middle of Royal Boulevard, which doesn’t narrow it down much. That’s a busy station, and the man on duty doesn’t remember who brought it in. But I have a hunch. Not that many people in Turai would ever have heard of Covinius. A few people at Palace Security maybe, but they don’t employ women. But there is one woman who’d know all about him. And she’s based in Kushni, not far from that messenger post. Hanama.”

“Hanama?”

“One of our own Assassins. She might send a warning to Lisutaris.”

“Wouldn’t that be against the Assassins’ rules?”

“Hanama seems to be playing by her own set these days.”

Astrath Triple Moon agrees to check her out, and I carry on with my preparations for the Assemblage. Cicerius is providing me with expenses money so I’ll be okay for beer. Makri complains continually about the weather and is even more irritating than usual.

“Maybe she should sail back to Elfland,” suggests Gurd, after clearing up the tavern following a fight between Makri and three dock workers who she claimed had insulted her. “A barmaid has to expect a few insults, it’s part of the job.”

Two days later I’m standing outside a large hall at the edge of Thamlin, just outside the grounds of the Imperial Palace. The grounds are white, covered by snow. The trees are frosted and the ponds and fountains frozen over. Snow is falling heavily and the assembled soldiery and Civil Guards stand miserably in shivering ranks. They’re gathered here because the King himself has been making a speech to the Sorcerers, welcoming them to the Assemblage and wishing them a pleasant time in the city state of Turai.

I’m stuck outside because I wasn’t invited to this part of the ceremony, which demonstrates that Tribune of the People is not that great a thing to be. While I’m waiting to be let in, I reflect sadly that a few years ago, when I was Senior Investigator at Palace Security, I’d see the King regularly. I doubt he’d recognise me these days. If he did he wouldn’t acknowledge me. A man who’s been bounced out of his job for drunkenness at the Palace no longer has enough status to be noticed by the King. I wonder if Rittius will show up at the Assemblage. He’s the current head of Palace Security and a bitter enemy of mine. I’ve done him plenty of bad turns and he’s paid them all back. Last year he took me to court and damn near bankrupted me. I shiver. Maybe I can persuade one of the Sorcerers here to show me a more effective spell for warming my cloak.