Thraxas - The Complete Series (151 page)

“I am aware of these matters.”

“Then stop whining on about Lisutaris’s masked ball like a spoiled young princess and do some investigating.”

I sit down at my desk and drag a new bottle of beer from the drawer.

“I thought I’d just drink some beer instead. You investigate. Finest flower in Turai indeed. After you’ve investigated you can go and be Captain of Horm’s armies. Have a good time.”

“It couldn’t be worse than listening to you.”

“Maybe not. But if he tries to make you his bride, watch out. You might have to be dead first.”

“What do you mean?” says Makri, curiously.

“Horm the Dead is rumoured to actually have been dead. Died by his own hand then returned from the grave in some evil ritual known only to himself.”

“Why would anyone do that?” wonders Makri.

“Presumably the death-ritual gave him unearthly powers. I don’t know if any of it’s really true. He might just be pretending to have been dead to impress people.”

“He does look very pale,” says Makri.

“Not too pale to clutter up my office and go around kissing people’s hands.”

“Thraxas, that barely makes sense.”

“Not too pale to go to Lisutaris’s ball and spend the night dancing with a bunch of senators who’ve never done an honest day’s work in their lives.”

Makri wonders out loud at my intransigence and stupidity. I continue to drink beer. After a while she departs.

It’s hot as Orcish hell in here. I detest this city and everyone in it. It’s intensely annoying the way everyone is always playing up to Makri. The finest flower in Turai! It’s ridiculous. An Orcish savage in a ludicrous bikini more like. Unable to find any more beer in my desk, I go through to my only other room and hunt under the bed for my emergency supply.

T
he city is full of mythical creatures and dead Humans. Reports from all sides indicate an unexplained outbreak of unicorns, centaurs, naiads, dryads and mermaids. No harm is caused by these creatures—they tend to vanish when pursued—but it makes the population edgy. The thought of Orcish invasion is never far below the conscious thoughts of the citizenry, and anything strange or unexplained tends to be thought of as an evil portent.

I’ve been chasing round the city looking for a powerful sorcerous item. Strange sorcerous events are now happening. It doesn’t take a genius to think they might be connected, but if they are, no one knows why, not even Lisutaris. Furthermore, there seem to be too many of these occurrences for them all to be linked to one missing green jewel, even if the green jewel could produce these events, which it can’t.

As for the dead Humans, it’s another epidemic. Everywhere the authorities look, they find another group of corpses. Some with wounds, some just dead for no apparent reason. Again, it’s hard to link this exactly to the missing pendant. At the exact same time as three market workers are found dead in the centre of town, four aqueduct maintenance men are found slaughtered in Pashish. Lisutaris’s pendant can’t be causing it all, and in a city where death is a common occurrence, it’s impossible to work out which of the fatalities might be linked to the pendant.

After waking with a headache, and visiting the public baths to cleanse myself of the accumulated filth of several days’ activity in hot weather, I go to see Cicerius at the Abode of Justice. He’s already aware of the charge which has been laid against me.

“I don’t sympathise in the slightest,” he says.

“Thanks for your support.”

“You were clearly warned that trouble would arise from your use of the Tribunate powers.”

“But I did it anyway. And now I’m in trouble.”

“You are, though personally I do not believe the charge of throwing away your shield and fleeing the battlefield,” says Cicerius. “I studied your record quite carefully before I first hired you to work for me. As I recall, you were an insubordinate soldier but your valour was never questioned. But I cannot have the charge dropped. The matter must go before a Senate committee, and until then your Tribune’s powers are revoked, as is your investigating licence.”

“Can’t you use your influence? My accuser is Vadinex and he works for Praetor Capatius.”

Cicerius knows Capatius very well. Not only is the Praetor the richest man in the city, he’s a senior member of the Traditionals, Cicerius’s party.

“Last year I got in Capatius’s way and now he’s getting his revenge. Can’t you get him off my back?”

The Deputy Consul is unenthusiastic, though he knows I’m speaking the truth when I claim he owes me a favour.

“Were you with Vadinex at the Battle of Sanasa?”

“We were in the same regiment. I don’t remember ever being close to him on the battlefield. But I was with plenty of other men who are still alive today who’ll testify on my behalf.”

“So you hope, Thraxas. My experience as a lawyer has taught me that men’s memories can be strangely affected by the passage of seventeen years. And they can be affected a good deal more by bribery. A charge of this sort, brought after so many years, will not be easy to defend in court if your opponents have planned it well.”

Cicerius muses for a while.

“I really doubt that Capatius is behind this charge.”

“He has to be. Vadinex is his man.”

“Even so, I doubt it. It is true that you inconvenienced Praetor Capatius last year, but the inconvenience was minor by his standards. A mere blip in his considerable income. I have seen the Praetor many times since then and he has never given me the impression that he holds any strong grudge against you. I am aware that you do not trust him, but I believe him to be far more honest than you give him credit for. Like many rich men, he has suffered at the hands of the Populares, who are always keen to accuse any worthy supporter of the King of corruption. Capatius himself fought bravely in the war, with a cohort he raised and equipped at his own expense. In my experience, it is rare for a man who fought in that campaign to raise a false charge against another who also fought. It would go against his sense of military honour.”

I’m not convinced. Capatius is obscenely wealthy. I can’t believe anyone could get to be so rich and still have a sense of honour.

“You offended many people when you prevented a full investigation of Lisutaris’s actions at the warehouse,” points out the Deputy Consul. “Far more likely that one of them would now wish to see you punished. Rittius, for instance. The head of Palace Security has long disliked you.”

“Yes, it’s possible it’s Rittius. But my instinct tells me that Capatius has put Vadinex up to it. So I appeal to you to make efforts on my behalf. Because as you will understand, Deputy Consul, if I’m dragged before a Senate committee on a charge of cowardice, I’ll be obliged to kill my accuser and flee the city.”

Cicerius looks shocked.

“You will obey the law of Turai,” he informs me sternly.

“Absolutely.”

“While you are here,” says Cicerius, “would you care to tell me the precise nature of the difficulties that Lisutaris finds herself in?”

“No real difficulties, Deputy Consul. A minor matter of a missing diary.”

I intimate that I am unable to say more due to Investigator-client privilege.

“You have no such privileges. Your licence has been suspended.”

“Then I’ve suffered a sudden loss of memory.”

“Yesterday a unicorn wandered through the Senate while I was speaking,” says Cicerius.

“That must have livened things up.”

“My speech did not need to be livened up. It was already quite lively enough. Do you have any idea why these creatures should suddenly be infesting the city?”

“None at all.”

“Nothing to do with our powerful Sorceress Lisutaris?”

“Not as far as I know.”

Cicerius dismisses me. I’m fairly satisfied with the meeting. He might help. If nothing else, I’ve ascended the social ladder a fraction in the last year. Not too long ago I’d never have been granted permission to see the Deputy Consul, never mind ask him for a favour.

Halfway between Cicerius’s office and the outskirts of Thamlin, I encounter a figure walking briskly up the road in a cloak and hood which hides her features.

“Makri? What are you doing here?”

Makri pulls back her hood a little.

“I’m in disguise.”

“I can see that. Why?”

“I’m going to kill Vadinex.”

“What? Why?”

Makri shrugs.

“I thought I’d help you.”

“How were you going to find him?”

“Call in at Praetor Capatius’s mansion and find out from someone there where he was likely to be.”

“And then go and kill him?”

“That’s right. If he was dead, there wouldn’t be a charge against you, would there?”

I’m almost touched by Makri’s concern.

“It’s not a bad plan. But I’ve just asked the Deputy Consul to intervene on my behalf and I don’t want to offend him by killing Vadinex before it’s absolutely necessary.”

Makri shrugs. She hasn’t asked me a single question about the Battle of Sanasa because, I know, she does not regard it as possible that I fled the field. I remember that I’m friends with Makri and feel bad about giving her a hard time.

“I’m about to hunt through some taverns in Kushni for Barius, Professor Toarius’s son. I think that if we apply some pressure we might get to the bottom of this theft at the college.”

Makri wants to come along, so we set off towards the centre of the city.

“Was it a really bad disguise?” asks Makri.

“Not too bad. But I recognised your walk.”

“I didn’t really need a disguise at all, but I thought if I killed Vadinex it would be better if people didn’t know it was me that did it. You know, with us living in the same tavern. It might have cast suspicion on you.”

“I appreciate you making the effort. I’m sorry I moaned at you.”

“It was more than moaning. It was vilification and character assassination.”

“Surely not.”

“You called me a vile Orcish wench.”

“Then I apologise for any offence. As always, I meant it in a positive sense.”

The heat is stifling. Makri removes her cloak as we walk through the dusty streets.

“I did mess things up with Tanrose. When I suggested she take some time to think about her feelings, I wasn’t expecting her to leave the tavern.”

“It’s not really your fault, Makri. The problem is with Gurd. He’s been a bachelor so long, he’s scared to acknowledge any sort of affection for her. That’s why he started criticising her bookkeeping.”

“To disguise his affection?”

“Yes.”

Makri nods.

“I have encountered this sort of thing in the plays of the Elvish bard Las-ar-Heth. Not concerning bookkeeping, but similar. The great Elvish lord Avenath-ir-Yill once made his queen cry by accusing her of infidelity with a unicorn, but really he was just upset because she no longer played the harp to him at bedtime. The reason for this was that her hands were sore from plaiting the unicorn’s mane, which she had to do to keep her son alive, but of course she couldn’t explain this to her husband without letting him know about the curse which hung over her family.”

My head is starting to spin.

“This is similar to Gurd and Tanrose?”

“Very. A frank exchange of views would have resolved the problem, but they both had secrets they didn’t want to reveal. Eventually, of course, it led to the great schism between the tribes of Yill and Evena, which, I understand, is not fully resolved even now.”

“You read all this in a play?”

Makri nods. She is apparently a great enthusiast for the plays of the Elvish bard Las-ar-Heth.

“Quite an unconventional rhyme scheme, and rather archaic in tone, but very stirring.”

“I’ll read some at the first opportunity,” I say, which makes Makri laugh, which she doesn’t do that often.

“Is that a mermaid in that fountain?”

We stare across the road at the large fountain. Sitting at the feet of the statue of St. Quatinius there is indeed a mermaid. Children laugh, and point. The mermaid smiles seductively, then fades away.

“Turai is becoming a very interesting place. Are we all going mad?”

“I don’t know. At least it’s only friendly creatures who’ve been appearing. It’s not going to be much fun if dragons start roaming the streets.”

“I liked the frogs,” says Makri.

By this time we’re passing through the royal market, just north of Kushni, one of Turai’s main concentrations of goods for sale. The shops here sell clothes, jewellery, wine, weapons, expensive goods mainly. The market stalls sell foodstuffs but are very different from the cheap markets of Twelve Seas. Here the servants of the rich come to order household provisions from market traders whose stalls are full of the highest-quality fare, often imported from the nations to the west, or even the Elvish Isles.

Makri stares through the window of a jeweller’s shop.

“Who earns enough to buy these things?” she wonders out loud.

A young woman emerges from the shop, followed by two servants. When she sees Makri she gives her the slightest of nods before passing by. I ask Makri who the young woman was.

“Avenaris. Lisutaris’s secretary.”