Thraxas - The Complete Series (138 page)

“There are some lockers. I have a key. I locked my knives away then I went to my class. We were learning how to make a speech in court. About halfway through the lesson a student came in and said the Professor wanted to see me. Which was unusual. Normally he tries to avoid me. So I went along to his office and he said that another student had lost some money from the common room and I’d been seen taking it! And then he expelled me!”

Makri’s voice has been rising throughout this and as she finishes she’s almost overcome with emotion. People stare at us, though not as much as they would have a year or so ago. The sight of Makri walking along Quintessence Street heavily armed is something the locals have become used to. As a woman with Orcish blood she’s not exactly popular, but people know better than to get in her way.

“Makri. Go home. I’ll fix things. I know the Professor has it in for you. No doubt after the money went missing he was keen to jump to conclusions.”

“How dare he accuse me of theft!”

It is unjust. Makri is relentlessly honest. Gets me down at times.

“Yes, how dare he. But do you really want to be chased out of the city? After all the work you’ve done here? What about your plan to go to the Imperial University?”

“You laugh at that plan. Everybody laughs at it.”

I’m starting to feel frustrated. At this moment I should be recovering a valuable jewel for Lisutaris, not helping a waitress with her career options.

“Of course I laugh at it. It’s impossible. But you’ve managed to do other impossible things since you arrived, so what the hell, maybe you’ll manage this one. So stop threatening to kill your professor, and come back into the Avenging Axe. I’ll go to the College, find out what’s going on, and sort it out.”

Makri stares at me for a long time. It’s alien to her nature to let another person fix a problem for her.

“Lisutaris is planning to introduce you to a professor at the university,” I point out.

“Can you fix it today?” demands Makri.

“I can try.”

“If you fix it today then it’s okay. If not, I swear I’ll kill Toarius tomorrow, and every other person at the college if I feel like it.”

Makri spins on her heel to march back into the tavern. Then, as if remembering something, she spins round again.

“What’s happening on the case you’re working on?”

“It’s gone bad.”

“Anyone dead?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

I stare at her.

“What do you mean, how many?”

“I just wondered.”

“Four, if you must know. Why is everyone suddenly interested in my business?”

Makri marches back into the tavern. Not having had the chance to fill up on beer, I follow her. I head for the bar with a determined expression on my face, warning everyone to stay out of my path. Unfortunately this has no effect on Dandelion, who appears from nowhere and practically throws herself in front of me.

“I have terrible news,” she wails.

“If it’s something to do with the stars, I’m not interested.”

“You must listen!”

“Can it wait till I get a beer?”

Apparently not. There’s no putting the woman off. Dandelion is practically jumping up and down in her frenzied eagerness to tell me something.

“They’re betting on the result. Even though I told them it was wrong.”

She’s lost me completely here.

“What are you talking about?”

“Everyone is laying bets on how many deaths there are going to be in the case you’re working on! It’s because I warned you there was going to be a bloodbath! A bookmaker has been here and they’re taking bets!”

“Dandelion!” says Makri, loudly. “Don’t distract Thraxas with your fanciful stories. He’s a busy man.”

“She gets these strange ideas,” says Gurd, and looks guilty.

I stare at the pair of them.

“Is this true?”

“First I’ve heard about it,” says Makri. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to the College to clear me of theft?”

“That can wait. I wondered why you were so keen to know the exact body count.”

Makri contrives to look innocent.

“I wouldn’t place a bet on such a tragedy as four deaths,” she says, in a dignified manner.

“Four?”

It’s Parax, who’s been listening in the background. “Did you say four? Already?”

He turns to Moxalan.

“I want to raise my bet.”

There are some mutters of interest from various onlookers who seem to be heavily involved already.

“We could be looking at double figures,” says one of them.

I’m furious.

“Is the whole tavern in on this? I can’t believe you’d all stoop so low!” I cry, taking in Gurd, Makri and the assembled lowlifes in one sweeping stare.

“Couldn’t you just have stayed quiet, you idiot?” says Makri to Dandelion.

“Don’t pick on Dandelion,” I roar. “She’s the only honest person in the place. Makri, I’m appalled at you.”

A vocal faction want to know if it’s true that the Sorcerers Guild has declared war on the Brotherhood.

“If they start throwing spells around we could be talking about fifty deaths. Maybe more.”

“If Thraxas gets killed, do we keep on counting?” demands Parax of Moxalan.

“No. It’s clearly stated in the rules that Thraxas’s death ends the body count.”

“What rules?” I demand.

“The rules of the contest. Hey, don’t look at me like that, Thraxas. I’m a bookmaker’s son. Just because I’m going to college doesn’t mean I’ve left the business.”

I shake my head. Sweat is pouring down my tunic. I never expected to find any trace of ethics among the clientele of the Avenging Axe, but even I’m surprised at this. It’s immoral. Taking bets on how many deaths there are going to be in my current case? What’s that going to do for my reputation?

I curse everyone roundly. So irate am I that I actually march out of the tavern without picking up a beer and I can’t remember the last time I did that. I need to get to the Mermaid to recover the pendant as quickly as possible, so I set off at a brisk pace, promising myself that I’ll have more than a few harsh words for Makri and Gurd when I get back.

Youthful dwa dealers hover round the alleyway that leads to the Mermaid. Close by are customers in various states of consciousness. Even in the open air the heavy aroma of burning dwa is easily discernible. The situation with this narcotic has now got completely out of hand. Ten years ago the local youths would have been stealing fruit from the market. Now they’re knifing strangers in the back for a few gurans. The violence of the gangs that control the trade has increased in proportion to the profits involved. The huge increase in illegal profits has led to city-wide corruption on unheard-of levels. Turai is a mess. It’s not just the Orcs we need protecting from.

Lisutaris hired me to retrieve her pendant. I’ve failed once and I don’t intend to fail again. I march towards the Mermaid ready to look Casax, the Brotherhood boss, squarely in the eye and demand the return of the jewel. This doesn’t work out so well. Before I reach the door it bursts open and Casax, Karlox and about twenty of their associates rush out of the building, pursued by smoke and flames. The Mermaid is about to burn to the ground. I shake my head. It’s turning into another really bad day.

W
ith its hot, dry summers, Turai is prone to serious outbreaks of fire. Fortunately, the city’s fire-fighting services are well advanced. The best in the civilised world, some say. Given that much of the land is covered with tall wooden buildings crammed close to their neighbours, nothing else will do. Since half the city burned down around seventy years ago, there’s been a sustained effort to improve our fire-fighting capabilities, and thanks to a series of decrees from the Senate, the Prefect who runs each district is obliged to provide and maintain a sufficient number of water-carrying wagons, complete with equipment and emergency personnel to man them. This served us well during the last war, when the Orcish armies besieging Turai hurled fireballs over the walls with their siege devices but failed to destroy the city as intended. Around that time an engineer in the army developed an efficient new type of water pump which, in the hands of operators strong enough to keep the pistons moving, is capable of throwing water almost fifty yards. Equipped with this device, our fire-fighters have in recent years performed heroic service and are one of the few groups of people universally admired in Turai.

As the tavern empties and smoke starts to billow out of the windows, a great cry goes up for the fire services. A bell is sounded in alarm and people look to the end of the alleyway, anxiously expecting horse-drawn wagons to appear. Nothing happens. No wagons come. As Casax the Brotherhood boss sees his headquarters starting to disappear in flames, he becomes agitated. He screams for his men to bring water from neighbouring houses, waving his fists to encourage them. The way the flames are taking hold, I doubt that this is going to do much good.

Normally I’d enjoy seeing the Mermaid burning to the ground. However, it strikes me that it’s hardly helpful to my immediate purposes. I approach Casax. He doesn’t acknowledge me, being too busy trying to save the tavern to pay any attention to an unwelcome Investigator. I grab him by the arm.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Casax?”

I point to a young guy in a fancy cloak who’s slumped in the alleyway, suffering either from inhaling smoke or, more probably from shock at finding himself dragged out of a burning building in the nick of time.

“Your pet Sorcerer.”

“What?”

“Orius. Or, to give him his full name, Orius Fire Tamer. Which name leads me to suspect he ought to be able to do something.”

Casax wastes no time. In seconds he’s dragging the unfortunate young man up on to his feet and over to the fire.

“Put it out!” screams Casax.

Orius looks like he’d rather be elsewhere, concentrating on his recovery, and struggles to stand erect. I can’t say I’m sympathetic. I never thought it was a good idea for the young Sorcerer to get involved with the Brotherhood. Life for a gang member has its rewards, but it can be tough at times.

Just when it seems that the flames must engulf the tavern, Orius manages to catch his breath and gather his concentration. He chants a spell. The flames seem to weaken. He chants again, and they go out. The crowd cheer. Orius Fire Tamer collapses in a heap. To give him his due, it was a nice piece of sorcery, in difficult circumstances.

Casax doesn’t waste any time congratulating his Sorcerer. He needs to see that his headquarters have survived intact, so he strides swiftly into the tavern, motioning his henchmen to follow. I walk in after them, uninvited. The building hasn’t fared too badly. Part of the roof has collapsed, but Orius halted the flames before they really took hold. Coughing from the effects of the smoke that still hangs in the air, I look around. I don’t quite know what I’m looking for and I don’t get much of a chance to search before Casax spots me and angrily demands to know what I’m doing here.

“Just visiting. And incidentally, you owe me for reminding you about Orius Fire Tamer.”

“I’ll send you a present,” rasps Casax. “Now get out of here.”

“You want to tell me how the fire started?”

“I don’t want to tell you anything. Maybe you should be telling me something.”

I shake my head.

“All I know is that Prefect Galwinius has been pocketing the money he should’ve been spending on fire wagons.”

“So what are you doing here? I get suspicious when Investigators turn up just when my building is burning down.”

Casax stares at me. I stare back at him. We’ve had a few run-ins in the past. Nothing too serious. Nothing to make us lifelong friends. All around, Brotherhood men are dampening down the last few tongues of flame and carrying boxes here and there, presumably illicit goods, or maybe Casax’s records. Casax is an organised sort of guy. All Brotherhood bosses are. Organised and violent. I decide to tell him why I’m here.

“I’m looking for a stolen jewel. In the shape of a pendant.”

“So?”

“It was stolen from a Sorcerer. The Sorcerer traced it here.”

“Then the Sorcerer was mistaken.”

“I doubt it. And the Sorcerer would pay well to get it back. It’s a family heirloom.”

Before Casax can reply, he’s interrupted by Karlox, a tough enforcer.

“They’re dead,” says Karlox.

“Who’s dead?”

“The three strangers who wanted to see you. They’re still upstairs. But dead.”

“Burned?” asks Casax.

“No. Stabbed.”

Casax’s brow furrows.

“What do you mean, stabbed? No one gets stabbed in here unless I say so.”

“They weren’t by any chance three men who came here to sell you some stolen jewellery, were they?” I ask.

Casax stares at me.

“Time to leave. Investigator.”

Knowing that I’m not going to learn anything more, I turn to go. Casax calls after me. When I turn to face him again, he’s got a mocking smile on his face.

“That makes seven, I believe.”

“Seven? Seven what?”

“Seven bodies. You want to give me and Karlox here any inside information? We figured we might place a little wager with young Moxalan.”