Thraxas - The Complete Series (13 page)

“How did the Assassins get involved?”

I shrug. That’s a loose end I’m far from tying up. Why Hanama wanted the Cloth is a mystery. But it is never easy to interpret the actions or motives of the Assassins. As far as I am aware they never hire out their services for any purpose except murder, but who knows? Maybe they’ve taken up investigating as a sideline.

“I can’t see an Assassin like Hanama wanting to be an Investigator,” says Makri.

“Why not? It’s better than rowing a slave galley.”

We’re now almost at the Palace. Makri has digested everything I’ve said, as she always does, being a smart woman, but she does wonder why the Princess wanted the Elvish Cloth in the first place.

“She wouldn’t tell me, even in private. Maybe she was acting from patriotic motives, to prevent the Orcs or the Niojans getting it. More likely, knowing our Royal Family, she’s got secret gambling debts and needed the money. Probably planned to sell it to the Orcs herself.”

“So who are you finding it for now? The Elves or the Princess?”

“I’m finding the Cloth for the Elves. And I’m clearing the Princess of dragon murder.”

“You’ll get confused.”

“Confused? Me? When it comes to multiple investigations I’m sharp as an Elf’s ear. Anyway, I need the money.”

The landus enters the Palace gates.

“Time to meet an Orc,” I say to Makri. “Keep your sword in its sheath, I need to hear what he’s got to say.”

O
rcs are a little larger than Humans, and slightly stronger. But uglier. They’re much given to wearing crude jewellery with motifs of eagles and skulls, and probably originated the nose-, lip- and eyebrow-piercing style with which Kaby and Palax now distress the respectable population of Turai. Craggy-faced with dark, inky-red skin, they generally dress in dark shaggy leather clothes of simple design and wear their hair long. They’re usually savage fighters and, despite what Humans say, are not stupid. I know that their diplomats have proved to be shrewd negotiators. It’s said in the west that most Orcs do not read, and there is no literature of any sort in any of their nations, but Makri claims this is not true. Nor, she says, is it true that they play no music; nor are they cannibals. She even says she’s seen Orcish paintings, though I find this very hard to believe. Makri loathes all Orcs, but refuses to admit that Humans are much more civilised. I know little of their civilisation. The only time I’ve encountered Orcs has been in battle, and most of the ones I’ve faced have ended up dead before we had a chance for much conversation. I’ve never even seen a female Orc, or a child.

As is the case with the Human Lands, Orcs speak their own national dialect as well as the common Orcish tongue. Very few people in the west know any Orcish—it’s regarded as very unlucky even to utter a word of it—so Pazaz the dragonkeeper is surprised and disconcerted when Makri addresses him in the common Orcish language. He’s naturally suspicious, but as he’s been told by his superiors to cooperate with the investigation, and we’re bearing a letter from the Praetor himself, he answers our questions.

“He claims not to know anything about the killing,” reports Makri, who is herself finding the conversation very unsettling. The last time she talked to an Orc, she was their slave, and she doesn’t enjoy the memory. “He’s upset though. He liked the dragon.”

“He liked it?”

“Used to read it stories at bedtime.”

“Ask him if he sold the sleep spell to anyone but Attilan.”

Pazaz denies that he sold a dragon sleep spell to anyone at all but we tell him we know he’s lying. I threaten to inform his Ambassador and he breaks down a little. He admits selling a copy to Attilan, but swears there was no one else.

It’s difficult to know if he’s telling the truth. I get a feeling with most suspects, but the emotions behind this craggy face are strange and unreadable. I lay some more of my cards on the table and tell him I know all about the plot to export Red Elvish Cloth to Gzak. Now he is really worried. Even though he’s under diplomatic protection he’d find himself in an uncomfortable position if the population of Turai learned about it. There’s enough bad feeling in the city about Orcs being here at all, without it being known that they’ve been trying to steal our magical secrets.

Nothing in his answers brings me any closer to learning who killed the dragon, or where the Elvish Cloth might be now. Praetor Cicerius told me that the religious ceremony attended by the Royal Family had lasted no more than half an hour. Whoever came here and killed the dragon must have had good inside information, but in a city as corrupt as Turai good inside information is available to anyone for a price. More interestingly, Cicerius also informed me that the Investigating Sorcerers from Palace Security have been unable to detect the aura of any unusual visitors to the zoo, which makes matters worse for the Princess. Still, with the dragon’s disruptive effect on any magical field, it’s not absolutely certain that no stranger has been here.

“It can’t have been easy for anyone to kill the dragon and remove the Cloth, sleep spell or not. Has no one been around showing any unusual interest in its habits?”

No one has, according to Pazaz. No one talks to him at all, apart from Bishop Gzekius, who’s made one or two attempts to convert him to the True Religion. I’m almost moved to sympathy for the Orc. Bishop Gzekius is always trying to put one over on his fellow Bishops. Probably wanted the Orc’s soul as a trophy.

It’s time to leave. Apart from having my suspicions about Attilan confirmed, I haven’t learned much. Lights burn still in the Palace as we’re led through the grounds to the gates. Inside I expect everything is in uproar, due to the arrest of the Princess. Times are changing. At one time a Princess would never have been arrested in Turai, no matter the crime. A Praetor’s son wouldn’t have been arrested either. Now, with Senator Lodius’s Populares increasing in power, the upper classes are feeling the pinch. Do them good maybe, having to obey the laws of the land.

I am dead tired. The heat of the night weighs me down. I could happily lie down and sleep where I am. The stress of the day and my tiredness is making my head pound; the prospect of facing my room, once more in ruins, makes it worse. We travel back in silence to Twelve Seas. Makri’s thinking about Orcs. She tells me later that Pazaz had seen her fight in the arena, which made her feel even more like killing him.

“The next time I meet an Orc it’ll take more than diplomatic protection to keep his head on his shoulders,” she says before lapsing into gloomy silence. Neither of us has any inspiration. The night is oppressively warm and all I want to do is clear a space on my floor and sleep. Which is something I can’t yet do, because there at the Avenging Axe, in his blue-edged Praetorian toga, is Cicerius in a landus, with his customary severe expression and a couple of servants looking nervous to find themselves in Twelve Seas in the middle of the night.

I’ve had my fill of the upper classes. I’m so tired I can’t even be bothered to be rude. I just ask Cicerius if he can wait till tomorrow for the progress report on the Princess.

He hasn’t come for a progress report. He’s come to hire me to get his son off the hook. I fail to stifle a yawn, and lead him inside. I help myself to a flagon of ale from behind the bar and try to concentrate on what Cicerius has to say. I could cope with being Turai’s cheapest Investigator but I’m finding it hard being the busiest.

O
ne thing abut Cicerius, he’s a man for plain speaking when necessary. He apologises stiffly for his former brusque refusal of my offer of help, and admits that I am probably the man for the job.

“As you know, my son Cerius Junius has been accused of dealing in dwa.”

One time that might have shocked me. It doesn’t any more.

“Deputy Consul Rittius, acting on information, obtained a search warrant this evening. He visited my house while I wasn’t there. In the course of his search he found dwa in Cerius’s rooms.”

“How much?”

“Two imperial pounds.”

“Right. Too much for personal use. Who’s he dealing it to?”

Cicerius looks pained. “I refuse to believe that my son is a dwa dealer.”

I point out that these days even the most respectable families are finding themselves involved in dwa. Cicerius frowns. His famous eloquence departs him as he considers the prospect of his son ending his days in a prison galley.

“So what do you want me to do?” I ask, drinking some beer.

“Find out the truth. As you know, Rittius and I are bitter rivals and are standing against each other for the post of Deputy Consul. He has leapt at the chance to discredit me. If Rittius defeats me and remains Deputy Consul, great harm will come to the city.”

By which Cicerius means that Lodius’s Populares will gain the ascendancy. As a bastion of the Traditionals, Cicerius doesn’t like the thought of that at all. Not being interested in politics, I don’t much care.

“I’d say you’re discredited already.”

“Not quite. Consul Kalius has no wish to see my son ruined. Nor does he wish to see me discredited and the Populares gaining ground. With the political situation in Turai being so volatile these days, it is vital that Senator Lodius does not increase his influence.”

“So the Consul is going to sweep it under the carpet? Then why do you need me?”

“The Consul will not sweep it under the carpet,” retorts Cicerius with asperity. “All citizens in Turai are subject to the law. But he will see that the case is not brought to court if Cerius names the people he bought the dwa from, and whom it was intended for. That is standard practice.”

True enough. Many small dwa dealers have wormed their way to freedom by selling out their larger partners in crime.

“Unfortunately Cerius absolutely refuses to speak. I cannot understand it. All he has to do to safeguard his reputation, not to mention his family’s, is tell the Consul the full story. He refuses.”

Poor Cicerius. You spend all your time being the most respectable politician in Turai then your son goes and gets arrested for drugs. Just goes to show that even the blue-lined Praetorian toga can’t guarantee you happiness.

“You’re the finest lawyer in Turai, Cicerius. I’ve heard you tearing people apart in court with your cross-examination. If you can’t get anything out of your son, what makes you think I will?”

Cicerius looks pained. The whole episode has obviously come as a terrible shock to him. He admits that his courtroom techniques somehow don’t seem suitable for dealing with his son.

“Also I have little experience of these matters. Even in these decadent times I did not imagine that a young man of Cerius’s character would become involved in dwa. Furthermore, in the few hours since this happened, I have already invited Tuparius to investigate the matter. Tuparius could learn nothing from my son.”

Tuparius. A high-class Investigator. Works out of Thamlin. I don’t like him much but he’s not a bad Investigator compared to some of the others that work up there.

“Is he still on the job?”

Cicerius nods. I don’t mind too much. Frankly, in a case of dwa dealing I wouldn’t expect Tuparius to come up with much. Not enough low-life contacts.

“Even if you can learn nothing directly from Cerius,” continues the Praetor, “I shall expect you to find out full details of the business, including where the dwa came from and who it was for. Once that information is passed on to the Consul, Cerius will not be brought to court. If he is not brought to court, we may keep it from reaching the ears of the public.”

“Rittius is down on you like a bad spell. He’ll make sure it does.”

Cicerius raises one eyebrow slightly. Which means, I imagine, that he still has enough influence around here to hush it up, providing there is no court case.

“How long do I have?”

“It generally takes one week till the preliminary hearing. After that it will be too late.”

I point out that I am already busy, far too busy to be wading into another case.

Cicerius points out that the public scandal will undoubtedly hand the election to Rittius. Which isn’t so good for me, I must admit. Even if I don’t care about politics, my life would be easier if the Deputy Consul wasn’t a man who hated me. If I help Cicerius here, and he wins the election, then the new Deputy Consul would be in my debt. I become slightly more enthusiastic. Maybe I’ll get back into the Palace one of these days after all.