Thraxas - The Complete Series (148 page)

“Why? How much has Makri gone in for?”

“Fourteen bodies.”

“Too few, I fear,” says Lisutaris.

“It is. I think we’re up to twenty-one now.”

“What odds are being offered?”

“Fifty to one for the exact total, twenty to one if you get within three.”

“You still have the money I gave you to retrieve the pendant? Then put me down for thirty-five,” she says.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. After my recent losses at the chariot races, why should I pass up this opportunity?”

“Because the whole thing is unethical.”

“A bet is a bet,” says Lisutaris.

I feel a great weight lifting off me. I realise why I’ve been so angry about the whole thing. It’s because I’ve felt unable to place a bet. Here am I, Thraxas, number one chariot among Twelve Seas gamblers, caught up in a fine sporting contest yet unable, for reasons of ethics, to participate. No wonder I felt bad. Now, with the sanction of my client, I’m free to join in. It’s a great relief.

“Fine. But do you really think we’ll reach thirty-five?”

“At least,” says Lisutaris. “I can feel it.”

As the carriage trundles along, I get down to some serious calculations as to where I’m going to place my own bet. I’ll show these scum at the Avenging Axe what a real gambler is capable of. Young Moxalan will regret ever entering the bookmaking business by the time I’ve cleaned him out.

Lisutaris drops me off at Quintessence Street. The woman who sells fish and the man who’s set up a stall for sharpening blades are arguing again. I’ve more to worry about than bad-tempered vendors. Like Makri, for instance, who once more is sheltering in my office.

“Are you going to spend every break in here till that freak Dandelion leaves?”

“I might.”

“You see, that’s one of your problems, Makri. You tolerate these weird sort of people and where does it get you? They take advantage. In a city like Turai it doesn’t pay to tolerate people. You have to be tough.”

“I am tough.”

“With a sword, yes. With down-and-outs, not nearly tough enough.”

“Doesn’t your religion say you should be kind to the poor?” counters Makri.

“Probably. I never learned much about it.”

“What about your three prayers a day? What are you praying for?”

“Self-advancement, same as everyone else.”

“I’m glad I don’t have a religion,” says Makri.

“That’s because you’re a Barbarian who grew up without the benefit of a proper education.”

“I’m educated enough not to continue with this conversation, you fat hypocrite,” says Makri.

She produces two thazis sticks which she’s stolen from behind the bar. We light one each and smoke them in silence. Relaxed from the effects of the thazis, I describe today’s events.

“All in all, another disaster.”

“How many dead does that make?” asks Makri.

“Twenty-one. But there’s every indication that there’s more to come. So I figure we should place a few bets somewhere around the thirty mark, and maybe take a punt at forty, just in case things really get rough.”

“Pardon?” says Makri.

“Of course, you’ll have to put the bet on for me. Moxalan isn’t going to accept a wager from me, he’d disqualify me for having too much inside information.”

Makri is looking baffled.

“I’m getting the feeling I’ve missed something again. You’ve spent the last two days berating me for gambling on your investigation, and now you’re telling me I have to place a bet on your behalf? What changed?”

“Nothing.”

“What about the ethical problems?”

“I leave ethics to the philosophers. Lisutaris wants to put money on, you’d better do that as well.”

“Okay. As long as I can hide in your rooms from Dandelion.”

“If you must. I may need to borrow a little money.”

“What about all the money Lisutaris gave you?”

“I used it to pay the rent and buy a case of klee.”

“I don’t have any money to spare,” claims Makri.

“Yes you do. You’ve been putting away your tips to pay for your examinations and I happen to know you’ve more than a hundred gurans secreted in your room for that purpose.”

“How dare you—”

I hold up my hand.

“Before you launch into a diatribe, I might remind you that it wasn’t too long ago I found you trying to steal the emergency fifty-guran coin I was keeping under my couch. Furthermore, I’ve helped you out with money on numerous occasions, not to mention steering you in the right direction when it came to placing several astute wagers, so get off your moral high horse and make with the money. With my inside information and your cash we’re on to a certainty, and you’ll win enough money to pay for your examinations this year and next year and probably buy a new axe as well.”

“Well, all right,” says Makri, “but don’t ever lecture me about anything again.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Are you any closer to actually recovering the pendant?”

“No. It’s frustrating. I thought it was going to be easy. Sorcerers. You can’t trust them.”

The heat makes me drowsy. When Makri goes back to work I don’t fight the urge to go to sleep. I waken hungry and head downstairs to fill up with Tanrose’s stew. I hope she’s patched things up with Gurd. I depend so completely on her cooking that I dread her leaving the tavern. Moxalan is in the bar and Makri gives me a discreet nod, indicating that she’s placed our bet.

Despite the usual hubbub from the early-evening customers, something seems to be missing. No friendly aroma of stew. No smell of food at all. A strange sensation washes over me and I find myself trembling, something that’s never happened even in the face of the most deadly opponent. I fear the worst.

“Where’s Tanrose? Where’s the food?”

“She left,” says Gurd, and draws a pint with such viciousness that the beer pump nearly disintegrates in his hand.

“What about the food?”

“Tanrose left,” repeats Gurd, slamming the tankard down in front of an alarmed customer.

“Did she leave any food?”

“No. She just left.”

“Why?”

“Makri told her to.”

“What?”

“I did not tell her to leave,” says Makri.

My trembling is getting worse.

“Someone tell me what happened!” I yell. “Where has Tanrose gone?”

“Back to her mother,” says Gurd, flatly. “Makri told her to.”

“This is a really inaccurate description of events,” protests Makri. “I merely suggested that she take a little time to sort out her feelings for Gurd and then speak to him frankly.”

Gurd sags like a man with a fatal wound. I get the urge to bury my face in my hands.

“What happened then?”

“She told me she was fed up with working for a man who was too mean-spirited to appreciate the things she did for him,” groans Gurd. “Then she packed her bags and left.”

Makri studies the floor around her feet.

“It wasn’t the result I was expecting,” she says.

“Why couldn’t you leave well alone?” I yell at her. “Now look what you’ve done! Tanrose has gone!”

Makri looks exasperated.

“I was only trying to help. Like you suggested.”

“Thraxas suggested it?” says Gurd.

“I did no such thing. Makri, you vile Orcish wench, do you realise what you’ve done?”

Makri’s mouth opens wide in shock.

“Did you just call me a vile Orcish wench?”

“I did. And of all the ridiculous things you’ve done since you arrived here to plague us, this is the worst. Now Gurd will be as miserable as a Niojan whore for the rest of his life and I’ll starve to death.”

“Why couldn’t you leave things alone?” cries Gurd.

After my Orcish slur Makri’s first impulse was to reach for her sword, but faced with fresh criticism from Gurd she’s confused.

“I was just trying to—”

Dandelion suddenly arrives and throws herself into the conversation.

“Thraxas, I have terrible news.”

“I’ve already heard,” I say. “We have to bring her back.”

“Who?”

“Tanrose, of course.”

“Has she left?” says Dandelion.

“Of course. It’s terrible news.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? This woman cooks the best stew in Turai.”

Dandelion sniffs.

“I do not partake of the flesh of animals,” she says.

I raise my fist.

“Don’t you dare punch Dandelion,” says Makri, getting in between us.

“Maybe I should punch you.”

“Just try it.”

Makri raises her hands and sinks into her defensive posture.

“I can’t live without Tanrose,” says Gurd. I’ve never heard him sounding so distressed. I once pulled three arrows out of his ribs and he never so much as complained.

“You’re not listening to my news,” says Dandelion.

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

“But the stars are sacred!”

“I’m not interested.”

There’s no putting the woman off. Dandelion is practically jumping up and down in her frenzied eagerness to tell me something.

“The most serious of warnings! Last night there were flashes in the sky the like of which I’ve never seen!”

“So?”

“It was as if the skies above the beach were on fire!”

“Will you stop giving me warnings? They’ve already caused enough trouble.”

Dandelion looks hurt. She fingers her necklace—a ridiculous affair made of seashells—and mumbles something about only trying to help. Voices are raised everywhere as people now seek to give their opinions on the various topics on offer. Gurd, Makri and myself all find ourselves bombarded with suggestions. Most people seem to think that Gurd should go and propose marriage to Tanrose immediately, but there’s a vocal faction who want to know if it’s true that Lisutaris has promised to kill anyone who gets in the way of her illicit love affair.

“Lisutaris is not having an illicit love affair.”

“Then why has she hired you to retrieve her diary? Word is it’s full of incriminating poetry.”

“How many people are likely to get in her way?” asks Parax. “Are we talking three figures?”

“If she’s been spurned,” muses a docker, “she might get very violent. You know what women are like when they’re spurned.”

Gurd abandons all hope and sits down heavily behind the bar, unwilling or unable to even draw a jar of ale. Makri, remembering that I called her a vile Orcish wench, is now threatening to kill me. I inform her I’ll be happy to send her head back to her mother, if she has a mother, which I doubt. It would seem that things could hardly get worse when a young government official in a crisp white toga strides into the bar. Ignoring my drawn sword, he hands me a document.

“What’s this?”

“Citation of cowardice.”

“What?”

“You’ve been called before a committee of the Senate to account for your behaviour at the Battle of Sanasa.”

My head swims. The Battle of Sanasa was all of seventeen years ago.

“What are you talking about?”

“It is alleged that you discarded your shield and fled the field.”

There’s a gasp from the assembled drinkers in the tavern. Discarding one’s shield on the field of battle is one of the most serious charges that can be faced by a Turanian citizen. Never did I imagine that I could be accused of such a thing. The world has truly gone insane.

I
erupt in a volcanic fury.

“Discarded my shield? Me? I practically won the Battle of Sanasa single-handed, you young dog. If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t be walking round this city in a toga. You wouldn’t have a city to walk around. Who makes this allegation?”

“Vadinex, also a participant in the battle,” answers the official.

“We’ll see about that,” I roar, and head for the door, sword still in hand. I wave it for extra effect. No one accuses me of cowardice. Gurd brings me to a halt by placing his arms around me and wedging his foot against a table.

“Where are you going?” he demands.

“To kill Vadinex, of course. No one accuses me of discarding my shield.”

“Killing Vadinex won’t help.”

“Of course it will help. Now get your arms off me. I have some killing to do.”

“They’ll hang you.”

I try to break free from Gurd’s mighty grip. Makri is looking on, amused.

“Not that I mind you being hanged for murder, Thraxas, what with you calling me a vile Orcish wench and being intolerably rude, but isn’t this similar to when you told me not to kill Professor Toarius?”

“It’s not the same at all. Vadinex has impugned my honour.”

“Toarius impugned mine.”

“I don’t care!” I roar, and renew my struggle with Gurd.

“You’ll be arrested and then you won’t be able to help Lisutaris.”

I cease struggling. In truth, I’m finding it hard to break free of Gurd’s grasp. He always was an unusually strong man, and he’s kept himself in better shape than me. He starts hauling me back towards the bar.

“Would they really hang Thraxas if he killed Vadinex?” asks Makri.

“Yes,” replies Gurd.

“Then it sounds like a good plan. Let him go.”

Gurd shoots a very fierce and barbaric scowl in Makri’s direction.

“We don’t need any more advice from you. Go and serve customers.”