Thraxas - The Complete Series (12 page)

Makri is hurrying her meal before rushing out to tonight’s class. Principles of geometry, I think. She’s wrapped in the all-over cloak she’s obliged to wear at the Institute to prevent her from panicking the young scholars.

“What are you going to do?” she asks me.

“See if I can find out where the Princess has hidden the Cloth. It hasn’t come to light yet, and no one else seems to realise that it was hidden inside the dragon. I might still be able to recover it for the Elves.”

“Aren’t you going to help the Princess?”

“Of course not. She isn’t paying me, and I don’t owe her any favours.” Sometimes Makri just doesn’t understand the commercial nature of my business. I don’t help people for fun. I do it for money. Anyway, the Princess may well be beyond help. If she’s foolish enough to be caught slaying the King’s dragon, that’s her problem.

Of course, if I keep on looking for the Cloth it might be harder to convince those murderous people who think I already have it to leave me alone. But that’s my problem.

This evening, life in the Avenging Axe is in full swing. Mercenaries, dockers, labourers, pilgrims, sailors, local vendors and shop workers drink heartily, washing away their troubles. Young Palax and Kaby arrive and get out their mandolins, flutes and lyres and start entertaining the crowd with some raucous drinking songs, stomping traditional folk dances and a few maudlin ballads for the tavern’s lonely hearts. They’re good musicians and popular with the crowd, which is just as well really, or they might suffer more than the friendly abuse they already get for that brightly dyed hair and those colourful clothes and pierced ears and noses. Gurd pays them with free drinks. Quite a good scam really. Makes me wish I played an instrument.

Despite all the jollity Gurd is looking as miserable as a Niojan whore and fails to respond when I clap him on the back and ask him if he remembers the time we faced fourteen half-Orcs in the Simlan Desert with only one knife between us and still came out on top. He looks at me gloomily then asks if I’ll come and see him tomorrow.

I nod, though it’s not something I’m looking forward to. The talk I imagine will be about the cook, Tanrose, with whom Gurd thinks he may be in love. As an old bachelor who’s spent most of his life wandering the earth as a mercenary, Gurd finds this very confusing. He can’t make his mind up what to do, not wishing to offer her his hand in marriage and then find out that what he thought was love turns out later to be merely an infatuation with her excellent venison pies. He frequently asks my advice on the matter, even though I’ve pointed out that I have a poor record in affairs of the heart. Still, lending him a sympathetic ear is always a good thing. Makes him more tolerant when I’m late with the rent.

People laugh, dance, gamble, swap stories and talk about the day’s scandalous affair. By the light of the oil lanterns Palax and Kaby work up a furious rhythm which has the whole tavern either dancing or stamping their feet. I bang my tankard on the table in time to the beat, and shout for more beer. All in all, it’s a fine night in the Avenging Axe; more fun with the poor of Twelve Seas than I ever had with the aristocrats at Palace social functions. I end up hideously drunk, which would be fine but, just as Gurd and Makri are carrying me upstairs, Praetor Cicerius arrives. He is Turai’s most famed Advocate and a man of great influence in the city. He informs me that I have to come up to the Palace and interview Princess Du-Akai right away.

It takes me some time to realise what he means, and for a while I keep trying to tell the Praetor it’s no good. I’ve heard the rumours about his wife but I don’t do divorce work.

“There are no rumours about my wife,” retorts Cicerius, who is not the sort of man you can have a laugh and a joke with. He’s around fifty, thin, grey-haired, austere, and is famously incorruptible. I invite him to join in an obscene Barbarian drinking song I learned from Gurd. He declines.

“Why don’t you sort things out in this city, Praetor?” I demand, suddenly aggressive. “Everything’s going to hell and the government’s about as much use as a eunuch in a brothel.”

Colour drains from the Praetor’s face. Gurd and Makri abandon me in disgust. The Praetor’s two servants pick me up bodily and bundle me outside and into a landus, which Cicerius is allowed to ride at night as part of his senatorial privilege. I begin to enjoy the experience, and start bellowing the drinking song out the window as we ride through the quiet streets of Pashish. Cicerius looks at me with contempt. Let him. I didn’t ask him to come visit me.

“No use looking at me like that,” I tell him. “If the Princess chopped off the dragon’s head, it’s her fault, not mine. Bad thing to do. Poor dragon.”

I fall asleep, and have only dim memories of being carried into the Palace. The servants are insulting about my weight. I insult them back. I’m not the first man carried drunk into the grounds of the Imperial Palace, though I may well be the heaviest. I’m deposited in some building I don’t recognise and the servants start forcing deat down my throat. Deat is a hot herbal drink. Sobers you up. I detest it.

“Gimme a beer,” I say.

“Get him sober,” says Cicerius, not bothering to conceal his loathing and contempt. “I will bring the Princess. Though why she insists on seeing him is beyond me.”

I drink some deat, fail to sober up, and start wondering exactly where I am.

“The reception room of the Princess’s chambers,” a servant tells me.

“Right,” I grunt. “I suppose Princesses don’t get thrown in the slammer like ordinary people.”

I think of all the times I’ve been thrown in jail and get slightly maudlin. “Nobody loves me,” I tell the servant.

Cicerius arrives back with Princess Du-Akai. I greet them genially. The Princess thanks me for coming. She doesn’t comment on my drunkenness. Good breeding.

“I am in grave trouble.”

“I bet you are.”

“I need you to help me.”

“Too bad,” I say, again gripped by alcoholic aggression. “I’m all out of help for clients who lie to me.”

“How dare you speak to the Princess like that,” roars Cicerius, and we start to argue. Princess Du-Akai intervenes. She motions both the servants and the Praetor outside, and draws up a chair next to me.

“Thraxas,” she says, in the most pleasant of voices. “You are a drunken oaf. Tales of your misdemeanours while working at the Palace do not do you full justice. In the normal course of affairs, I would have nothing whatsoever to do with you. You’re so far below me in the social ladder I wouldn’t notice if I stepped on you. That woman with the Orcish blood is better bred than you. As well as being a drunk, you’re gross, and a glutton, both qualities I despise. You belong in your slum in Twelve Seas, and I’d much rather you were there than here in this room with me. However, I need your help. So sober up, stop playing the fool, and get ready to listen.”

“I seem to be doing a lot of listening already. Why should I help you?”

“For two reasons. Firstly, I shall pay you extremely well. I understand you are badly in need of money. Gambling is another of your bad habits.”

I curse. My gambling debt seems to be the most talked about thing in this city. Even the Royal Family knows about it.

“What’s the second reason?”

“If you don’t help me, I will ensure that your life in this city is hell on earth. I may be heading for a secure cell in a nunnery but I’m still third in line to the throne, and I have more influence in my little finger than you have in your whole fat body. So listen.”

She holds out a heavy purse. I listen.

W
hen I’m finished listening I’m led into the next chamber by a servant. Cicerius is waiting for me. He is no more friendly than before. The fact that the Princess thinks I can help her doesn’t make him any keener on me. Cicerius is not known for his affability. Despite his unparalleled reputation for honesty he is commonly regarded as a rather distant and austere man. Senators rarely hobnob with commoners like myself, and Praetors never do, except when they need their votes.

As I enter he is in animated conversation with a younger man whom I recognise as his son, Cerius. The Praetor sees me enter but does not acknowledge my presence so I sit down heavily and wait for him to finish. I’m tired and want to go home and sleep. Damned Princess.

Finally Cicerius turns to me. “I trust your interview was satisfactory.”

“Very satisfactory,” I brag. “The Princess knows I’m number one chariot when it comes to investigating so she’s decided to put the whole affair in the hands of a man who can get things done. Smart woman, the Princess.”

Cicerius fixes me with a hostile gaze. He is famous for his oratory and advocacy in the law courts. Part of his considerable armoury while making speeches is his range of facial expression, and the expression he wears when looking at me speaks volumes, rather like a man peering at a rat crawling out of a sewer. No way to behave when he’s trying to be elected to a public post, I would’ve thought, but I suppose he doesn’t care too much about my vote.

If I am to help the Princess I’ll need Cicerius to open a few doors for me. While we are discussing arrangements, we are interrupted by the arrival of a Captain from Palace Security.

“Praetor Cicerius,” he says, “I have a warrant here for the arrest of your son, Cerius.”

The Praetor masks his outrage, and demands quite coldly to know the reason why.

“A charge of importing dwa,” says the Captain. He shows Cicerius and Cerius his warrant then puts his hand on Cerius’s shoulder. Cicerius is left speechless as his son is led away. It’s a cruel stroke and a well-timed one by his rival Rittius. Praetor Cicerius has just lost his family and the election at the same time.

I walk up to him. “Hire me,” I say. “I’ll help your son.”

Cicerius glares at me with increasing loathing before marching swiftly out of the room.

“Only trying to help,” I say to the servant as he guides me out.

It’s around two in the morning when I arrive back at the Avenging Axe. I’m fairly sober, sober enough to avoid stepping on the drunks and desolates who litter the night-time streets, or tripping over the wreckage that’s still piled up after the riot. I have a headache. I’m tired. I can’t stand any more aggravation. When I reach my room it has again been wrecked.

I stare at the incredible mess with dumb fury. Every piece of furniture has been reduced to matchwood and everything I own is strewn over the floor. Who is behind this? Whoever it is I swear an oath to run them through and dance on their remains.

Makri’s a light sleeper. She’s woken by my cursing and appears with a sword in her hand. She’s naked.

“Shouldn’t you get dressed before you challenge intruders?”

“What for? They’d be dead before they noticed I wasn’t wearing anything. What’s going on?”

“My room’s been wrecked again,” I say, needlessly. Makri offers me the use of her couch. I shake my head.

“I wasn’t planning on sleeping yet. I’m still working. And I need you to come and speak Orcish. Cicerius has arranged for me to see the dragonkeeper.”

“Now?”

“Has to be. If things get any worse for Cicerius he might not have enough influence to even get me into the zoo.”

“How come?”

“His son just got arrested for dealing dwa. But that’s his problem, he doesn’t want any help from me. I’m working for the Princess again. I’ll explain on the way.”

Makri nods, and departs to get dressed. She loads up with weapons and I don’t object. On our way back to the Palace I fill her in with the details.

“Princess Du-Akai claims she’s innocent. She admits she was going to cut open the dragon to get the Red Elvish Cloth. Which is why she wanted the sleep spell originally. I asked her if she’d got the spell back but she denied it. That’s why she had the dwa, to try drugging the beast. Anyway, someone beat her to it. So when the King and his retinue walked in and found her and Strongman Brex standing beside the dead dragon with an axe and a big bag of dwa it naturally looked suspicious.”

“Naturally. Where did she get the dwa?”

“She stole it from the apartments of her brother Prince Frisen-Akan, though she didn’t tell the King that. He doesn’t know what a degenerate his oldest son is. I reckon the King might have tried to hush it up about her killing the dragon but Senator Lodius was there on official business. Naturally he started raising a scandal right away.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“Find out who really killed the dragon before the Princess is dragged in front of the special Royal Judiciary and sentenced to life in a nunnery. You see I was right about the Elvish Cloth, Makri, even if no one else realises. It was inside the dragon. Find that and we’ll find the killer. Maybe the killer of Attilan as well.”

“Are you hired for that?”

“Not exactly. But Turai badly needs to produce a culprit. Nioj is raising hell about it. Cicerius agreed that a reward would be forthcoming if I cleared the matter up. Praetor Cicerius is a pillar of the establishment, or was till his son was arrested. He’s as cold as an Orc’s heart but he’s also one of the few men in Turai I’d trust. Incidently, he regards me as the scum of the earth. Just his bad luck I’m the only one who can help the Princess. Mind you, I’m not entirely sure the Princess didn’t kill Attilan, or have him killed. She
was
having an affair with him. That’s how she learned about the stolen Cloth and Attilan’s plan to intercept it for Nioj. Attilan had heard about it from a Niojan agent who was spying on the Orcish Ambassador. The Orcs initiated the whole thing. They hired Glixius Dragon Killer to steal the Cloth and load it into the dragon so they could ship it home later. Who else knew about all this I’m not sure, but it’s a safe bet others learned of it. Turai is a hard place to keep a secret, especially in diplomatic circles, with Sorcerers prying everywhere. Anyway Attilan bribed the dragonkeeper to let him have an Orcish spell for putting the dragon to sleep so he could recover the Cloth. Princess Du-Akai decided it would be a good idea if she did it instead, which is why she sent me to recover the box with that phoney story about the love letters. Which is where we came in, more or less. I guess whoever ended up with the spell took the opportunity of the Royal Family all being at their religious ceremony to sneak into the zoo and do the deed. I’ve no idea who it was though. Not many people have access to the private zoo at that time of day. Diplomats mainly. There again, the Brotherhood and the Society of Friends are quite capable of bribing their way anywhere.”