Thraxas - The Complete Series (132 page)

Charius looks like he’d like to say a lot more on the subject of Turai’s infamous behaviour.

“You went too far with murder, Deputy Consul. You may have cleared Lisutaris of the death of Ramius—though I am not the only one with doubts about the veracity of your witness—but she still stands accused of killing Darius Cloud Walker. I will not allow her to be confirmed. Unless she immediately withdraws I will expose her to the Assemblage. The pictures of her stabbing Darius will be made available to all.”

“It’s a fake reality,” I say.

“There is no spell for faking such a reality,” retorts Charius the Wise, then sweeps out, his dark rainbow cloak trailing behind him.

“If there was, you wouldn’t tell me about it,” I mutter.

Kalius walks in briskly, his scribe and assistant behind him.

“Is Lisutaris ready to leave?”

“She is being prepared,” replies Cicerius. “Though we are still hoping to avoid that eventuality.”

Once again I’m obliged to muscle into the conversation.

“Leave? Leave for where?”

“Lisutaris must go into exile immediately,” says the Consul. “There is no other option. Once Charius denounces her to the Sorcerers Assemblage there is no telling what may happen.”

“At least this way she may yet become head of the Guild,” adds Cicerius. “If we can find evidence to clear her, she may be able to return some time in the future.”

Poor woman. She loses her favourite hairdresser then gets sent into exile, all in the same day. I curse myself. I’ve failed my client. No one rushes to reassure me that I did my best. When you fail a client, you just fail.

“Can’t you buy us any more time?”

They can’t. Even Tilupasis has come to the end of her resources. Time has now run out. We’ve failed. Damn it.

In the Room of Saints, Makri is sitting on her own in a corner. She’s heard the news.

“It’s not fair. She didn’t kill Darius.”

“I know.”

Makri wonders if Lisutaris gets to be head of the Guild.

“I think that’s a moot point. She won’t be confirmed in the post. But I don’t think the Sorcerers’ rules allow them to elect anyone else till she’s dead.”

“From what I’ve seen of Sorcerers’ politics, that might not be too long,” says Makri.

It’s true. If Turai’s enemies in the Guild decide that they want a clear run at electing a new leader, Lisutaris will be vulnerable to attack in exile. We fall silent. There’s around thirty minutes to the confirmation, an event which is not now going to happen. Sorcerers drift in and out. From their ugly mood I’d say that Charius was already showing the pictures of Lisutaris wielding the knife. I drink a beer, and another, and another.

“I like Lisutaris,” says Makri, bleakly.

I drink more beer. It’s been a strange couple of weeks. Started off looking for a dragon-scale thief and finished off in the Maze of Aero. In between there was a lot of drinking and two murdered Sorcerers. Most of the time I’ve been cold as the ice queen’s grave and at the end of it I’ve accomplished nothing. I should stick to simple cases, like tailing ex-actresses for their suspicious husbands. I wonder how that couple are getting on now. Strange that I first encountered Copro giving the wife beauty treatment when he called at her house.

“Very strange really,” I say out loud.

Makri looks up from her beer.

“What’s strange?”

“Copro. Visiting that actress. The one I was watching. He was giving her beauty treatment.”

“So?”

“So Copro was booked up with Senators’ wives, Princesses, Lisutaris and her like. Why did he visit a merchant’s wife? They were rich, but his other clients were richer. You might have thought it beneath him to take on the wife of a merchant as a client.”

Dragon scales went through that house. It was on the list. I presumed they were for purposes of decoration. Maybe there was more to it. I haul myself to my feet and shake my head to clear it.

“Makri. Go outside and find some fast horses. Steal them if necessary.”

I hurry into the main hall and burst into Cicerius’s private room. I need documents and I need them fast. Minutes later I’m running through the hall and out into the entrance, where Almalas is still lecturing apprentices on the right way for a Sorcerer to conduct himself. Makri has two horses ready. Their owners aren’t happy about it but Makri holds them off with the point of her sword.

“Official government business,” I cry. “You will be fully compensated.”

I leap into the saddle and we set off through the driving snow.

I
arrive back at the Assemblage with a very tired horse and an unwilling companion. There I find that Lisutaris is refusing to leave the city.

“Why should I? I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Even if you didn’t, Charius can prove that you did. The authorities will have no choice but to put you on trial if you stay.”

“What do you mean, authorities?” demands Lisutaris, facing right up to the Consul. “You’re the authorities. And I’m head of the Sorcerers Guild. No one is running me out of Turai.”

I’ve arrived back at the Assemblage with Habali, wife of Rixad, the woman I spent so much uncomfortable time watching in the freezing cold. Though I have important news I’m having trouble getting a word in. Faced with an uncomfortable exile, Lisutaris is mad as a mad dragon.

“You expect me to just set off through the winter and find a new place to live?”

“We will provide you with funds,” says Cicerius.

“And work towards your eventual recall,” adds Kalius.

“It’s for the good of the city,” says Tilupasis. “And your own. No one benefits if the Sorcerers Guild produces their pictures and demands you stand trial.”

“I’m getting sick of those pictures,” says Lisutaris, her voice rising. “How about if I just blast anyone that tries to show them again? If anyone tries to chase me out of Turai I’ll be down on them like a bad spell and that’s that.”

Hardly rational, but Lisutaris is angrier than I’ve ever seen her. She should take up thazis. Might calm her down.

“If I could make a suggestion,” I say, barging my way forward through the assorted assistants and guards who ring the room. Since I became Tribune, it’s proved a lot easier to get places. A few weeks ago I’d have been about as welcome as an Orc at an Elvish wedding at a meeting of the Consul, Deputy Consul and head of the Civil Guard. Now they’re almost pleased to see me, even though I’m aware I smell of beer. I wouldn’t normally notice, but it clashes with Lisutaris’s perfume.

Beside me Habali is nervous. When I persuaded—or threatened—her to accompany me, she wasn’t expecting to have to face a roomful of arguing politicians. Before I can speak further the room starts filling up with Sorcerers.

“Didn’t I say there were to be no interruptions?” snaps Cicerius.

“I insisted,” retorts Charius the Wise. Filing in behind him is a large delegation. He’s brought the Chief Sorcerer from each country with him. Even Princess Direeva is here, her shoulder heavily bandaged.

“It’s time,” says Charius.

Cicerius looks helplessly at Kalius. Kalius looks helplessly at Tilupasis.

“We require a little longer,” says Tilupasis. She’s still unruffled, but it’s a hopeless task. Charius isn’t going to wait any longer. Beside Charius, Lasat, Axe of Gold, is looking on with grim satisfaction. He may have been blackmailed into silence but he’s not going to be sorry to see the Turanian disgraced.

“It’s time—” repeats Charius.

“—for some explanations,” I say, using my weight to break through the throng.

“Explanations?”

“About the remaking of reality.”

A general groan issues from the Sorcerers present, all of whom know of my fruitless search for such a spell. I must have approached every delegation, and everyone has told me to forget it.

“I take it you’ve all now seen the pictures of Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, killing Darius Cloud Walker. And you’ve probably all heard my theory that someone erased what really happened. And just about all of you have told me there’s no way a Sorcerer could make some phony pictures to replace it—”

Charius the Wise interrupts me.

“Must we listen to this man? He is already known to us as one of the principal troublemakers at the Assemblage. I insist that Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is arrested immediately.”

Strong sounds of approval come from all round the room. I’m losing my audience. I hold up my hand.

“You can insist all you want, Charius the Wise. But in Turai, no citizen can be arrested on a capital charge without the approval of the Tribunes. And I, Tribune Thraxas, withhold my approval until you hear me out.”

This sounds impressive. It isn’t true, but it silences the room. I thrust Habali forward.

“You’ve all seen Lisutaris stabbing Darius. You say no spell could create the illusion. And you’re right. There is no remaking spell. The pictures as conjured by Old Hasius are entirely accurate. A woman did walk into the Avenging Axe and stab Darius. But it wasn’t Lisutaris. It was Habali, dressed to resemble her. Meet Habali, once one of Turai’s most promising actresses.”

My revelation is met by silence and a lot of puzzled looks.

“An actress? Impossible!” says someone, eventually.

“Not impossible at all. That room was dark. The only light came from the fire. In a wig and wearing the proper clothes, Habali was good enough to fool anyone. It fooled all of you. And me, which is more impressive, because I make my living by not being fooled. For all the world it looked as though Lisutaris murdered Darius, but she didn’t. She wasn’t in the room at the time. Copro entered my office and killed him, then used his sorcery to erase all trace of events. Then he sent Habali in dressed as Lisutaris and she pretended to stab Darius with one of those fake knives they use in the theatre with a retracting blade. All the time he was already dead.”

I turn to Habali.

“Isn’t it so?”

For a moment I think Habali is going to let me down. Not surprisingly, she’s not keen on confessing to conniving in a murder in the presence of these people. However, she is already carrying a written pardon signed and sealed by Cicerius and a promise of enough gold to leave the city and set up in another state where she won’t be bothered by her tiresome husband. All in all, it’s not a bad deal from her point of view.

“It’s true,” she says. “I did it. Copro paid me. I impersonated Lisutaris to make the illusion. I also helped in the first part of the plan. He obtained the dragon scales he needed for the erasure from me.”

The controversy that follows is long and loud. Figuring I’ve done my part, I mostly stay out of it. Using the authority of the Tribunate, I send an assistant off to the Room of Saints to bring me beer while the Sorcerers once more conjure up the pictures of the murder.

“Look,” says Habali. “I’m wearing the same earrings I have on now.”

“But you look so much like Lisutaris.”

“That’s because Copro styled my wig and did my make-up.”

“He was such a great beautician,” sighs Tirini Snake Smiter, making her only contribution to the debate. The arguments continue. I take a seat. Makri sits down beside me.

“I think that was a good piece of investigative work,” she says.

“Thank you.”

“It sounds like we’re winning the argument. Of course, I deserve a lot of the credit.”

“You do?”

“Certainly. You’d never have got the answer to the final test. Do you want to know how I did it?”

I pretend to be interested. Makri launches into an explanation.

“The sequence was 391, 551, 713. I wasted some time trying to see if the difference between each pair of numbers was significant, but it didn’t seem to be. Then I thought about prime numbers.”

“What’s a prime number?”

“It doesn’t divide by anything except itself and one. Three is a prime number, for instance, or seven. So I broke each of the numbers into their factors. It took a while but eventually I found that 391 was 17 times 23. Five five one was the product of 19 and 29. Of course by then it was becoming clear. The third number, 713, turned out to be 23 times 31, which I knew it would. So by then anyone could see that the answer to the test, the next number in the sequence, would be 1073, which is the product of 29 and 37. Do you want me to write out the sequence of prime numbers to make it clearer?”

“No, you’ve explained it all very clearly already. It was brilliant of you to find the answer.”

Makri sips her beer.

“Easy really, but I was under a lot of pressure. Time was limited, the magic space was misbehaving and there were Assassins and unicorns wandering about.”

I haven’t understood a word Makri has said. I congratulate her again on a fine piece of work anyway.

“Make sure you tell Cicerius to remember that when I need his help getting in to the university.”

“You’re still going?”

“Of course I’m still going. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I thought you might be taking up a career as a useless drug user instead.”

“Stop bringing that up,” says Makri. “I was sad about See-ath.”

I get a final boost for the magic warm cloak from Irith and let Makri wear it on the way home. She does deserve some reward.