Thraxas - The Complete Series (193 page)

The wind blows a little colder. I wrap my cloak tighter around me. Down below is the rocky stretch of shoreline that leads to the harbour. Since talking about Captain Rallee and his girlfriend, I keep thinking about the card game in the upstairs room at the Golden Unicorn. General Acarius and Praetor Capatius are both regular visitors to the table. The General has a reputation as the finest gambler in the Turanian army, and he’s very wealthy. Half the Turanian fleet is built from wood grown on his family’s vast estates. As for Capatius, he’s the richest man in Turai. He owns his own bank and his trading empire extends all over the west. If I could just get myself around a rak table with these two I’d soon show them how the game should be played.

I do have a slight connection to the game at the theatre. Ravenius plays there. Ravenius, a senator’s son, also comes down to the Avenging Axe to play at our weekly game. The stakes at the Avenging Axe are a lot lower than Ravenius is used to at the Unicorn, but the young man is such a keen gambler he enjoys playing anywhere. Perhaps he could introduce me to General Acarius. I shake my head. It’s hopeless. You have to lay down a lot of money before they’ll allow you to sit at the table. More than I can raise.

My companion in the lookout post is Ozax, an old soldier now turned master builder. Something catches my eye and I call him over.

“A ship?”

It’s an unexpected sight. Ships don’t sail these waters in winter; the gales are too severe. Though this winter isn’t particularly harsh, there have already been several storms fierce enough to sink any warship or trader foolish enough to venture out. We watch as the vessel limps towards the harbour.

“Trader,” mutters Ozax. “Looks like it’s barely afloat.”

The ship’s masts are broken and it’s crawling along under one ripped sail. It’s low in the water, and though we can’t see it clearly at this distance, I’m guessing that all spare hands on board are currently pumping out water for all they’re worth, trying to keep the vessel afloat. I can see soldiers hurrying along the harbour walls, ready to deal with any emergency. In time of war, no ship can enter the harbour unbidden. It’s protected by both chains and spells, and the harbour master won’t admit anyone till he’s very sure that it’s not an enemy.

As we watch, the stricken ship crawls up to the entrance to the harbour then halts, its bow pressed against the thick chains that block the entrance. Sounds of shouting float over the water. Probably whoever’s on board is yelling at the defenders to let them in before they go under, which won’t be long. The vessel hovers perilously at the entrance, sinking ever further in the water. Just when it seems it’s about to slide beneath the sea, the great chains are pulled back. The Sorcerer on duty at the harbour removes the defensive spells and the ship begins to crawl into the harbour. They’ve made it to safety.

It’s an interesting occurrence. As a curious sort of person, I might be inclined to take a walk over if I hadn’t promised to see Tanrose after my shift. I run into Makri as I’m walking back to the Avenging Axe. She’s wearing a man’s tunic and leggings, and her floppy green pointed hat. Its a foolish item she picked up on the Elvish isle of Avula. Only Elvish children wear them and it looks ridiculous. Along with her new golden nose ring, it makes for a particularly offensive sight. The assorted lowlifes who frequent the Avenging Axe are always going on about how great it is the way Makri bulges out of her tiny chainmail bikini in all the right places, but as far as I can see they’re missing the point. For one thing she’s far too skinny round the waist, and for another, even if you like the skinny type, a pretty face and figure don’t make up for her numerous faults. She paints her toenails gold like a Simnian whore, she has her nose pierced like some refugee from an Orcish brothel, she’s got the longest and most unruly hair in the city, and beneath that are a pair of pointed ears. Together with her short temper, her foolish intellectual pursuits and her weird puritanical streak it makes for a very unattractive package. Anyone ending up with Makri as a partner would soon come to regret it.

“What’s the hurry, Thraxas?”

“I need a beer.”

“Since the Orcs arrived you’ve hardly been sober.”

“Who wants to be sober when the Orcs are outside the walls? Last time they were here I was drunk for three months. And still fought heroically.”

There are some people on the streets, but between the cold weather and the war there’s not a lot of merriment about. Makri isn’t helping. She’s unusually gloomy. Even the sight of a new batch of swords being laid out in the armourer’s window doesn’t bring a smile to her face, and Makri is a great weapons enthusiast.

“You notice how it’s not such a bad winter?” she says.

I nod. It’s cold, but nothing like last year.

“Wouldn’t you say it’s warm enough for the Guild College to open?”

Makri has a strange passion for education. It’s another of her faults.

“It always shuts in winter. Anyway, you said they’d suspended classes for the duration of the war.”

“But they could have stayed open and we’d have been able to take our exams before the spring. Might have got the whole year finished before the Orcs attacked.”

“Makri, you must be the only person in the city who’s thinking about learning anything right now. Chances are there won’t even be a city after the spring.”

“That’s just the point,” says Makri, now agitated. “Supposing the college goes up in flames and all the records are destroyed? I’m number one student, two years at the top. I’m going to finish with distinction this year and who’s going to know if they don’t give me my certified scroll?”

Poor Makri. If it were anyone else complaining about their education at a time like this I’d ridicule them, but I’ve realised over the past two years what it all means to her. Makri has moved heaven, earth and the three moons to complete her studies at the Guild College. This college, a place for the sons of the lower classes to further their studies, didn’t want to admit her. Makri had to struggle all the way, and she’s still struggling, scraping together enough money to pay for her classes, and dealing with a lot of hostility because of her Orcish blood. It’s quite an achievement for her to have accomplished as much as she has. Makri’s dream is to enter the Imperial University of Turai. It’s a hopeless dream, but I’ve giving up mocking her over it.

“Don’t worry, we’ll hold off the Orcs for a while yet. Hell, we don’t even know if Prince Amrag’s got any sort of force out there.”

Makri shakes her head.

“Even if we win the war it’ll still delay the exams. I need my certified scroll to apply to the university.”

“Makri, do you have enough money to pay for the university?”

“No.”

“Do you have a plan to circumvent the article in the university statutes which forbids the education of women?”

“No.”

“Do you have some means of getting round the other part of their constitution, which forbids admitting anyone with Orcish blood?”

Makri purses her lips.

“No,” she admits.

“So what’s the difference? Even if you nail your scroll to the university doors they still won’t let you in.”

“I’ll think of something,” says Makri, stubborn in the face of the uncomfortable truth.

“Think of something? What?”

“I don’t know. Just something.”

“Threatening them with your axe won’t work.”

“Then I’ll think of something else.”

“Maybe,” I suggest, “when Prince Amrag takes over the city he might make you a professor.”

Makri whirls to face me, a furious look on her face.

“I told you not to mention him!”

“I’m an Investigator. I find it hard not to mention things.”

Makri glares at me, but refuses to discuss it further. Since learning that she’s half-sister to the new overlord of all the eastern Orcs, I’ve certainly been curious to learn more. However, apart from the vague information that they had the same father but a different mother, and that Amrag escaped early from the Orcish slave pits, leaving Makri there to fend for herself, I’ve learned nothing at all. Makri refuses to discuss it and insists that I never mention it to anyone. I’m okay with not mentioning it. It’s not the sort of thing she’d want the public to know. But I can’t help feeling she ought to tell Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. In time of war any information about the enemy leader would surely be helpful, and Lisutaris wouldn’t give Makri away.

We walk past some small alleyways. Each one we pass is occupied by someone either selling dwa, or using it. The distinctive smell of the burning substance assails us from all sides. It’s impossible to travel more than a few yards along the narrow pavement without being approached by someone trying to make a sale. By the third or fourth time I give up answering and just bat them out the way.

“Turai is going to hell,” I mutter, stepping over the prone body of an addict, sprawled out in the street. Many of them are young men who should be doing military duty. “If this gets any worse the city won’t be worth defending.”

I shake my head.

“I should have left this place long ago.”

“So why didn’t you?” asks Makri.

“I could never think of any place better to go.”

The outskirts of the harbour is a really bad part of town, worse even than the rest of Twelve Seas. Shivering young prostitutes, wrapped in threadbare cloaks, try to attract our attention as we pass. Beggars hold out their hands hopelessly, and a few children, far too raggedly dressed to be out in this weather, stand forlornly outside taverns, waiting for their parents to emerge. Things don’t improve when I spot Glixius Dragon Killer coming towards us. He’s a large man, broad and vigorous. Even without his rainbow cloak he’d stand out from the poor miserable masses around him.

His eyes narrow as he approaches, and so do mine. Glixius Dragon Killer is an old enemy. He’s a powerful Sorcerer, though not one who’s ever been a credit to the city. Until recently he was outside the influence of the Sorcerers Guild, though he’s been brought back into the fold due to the current crisis. That doesn’t alter the fact that he’s a criminal. He may have escaped conviction, and he might even be fooling the Sorcerers Guild, but he’s not fooling me.

Like any successful Sorcerer, Glixius is wealthy. I wonder what he’s doing in the poor part of town. Something illegal no doubt. I’m wearing my spell protection charm but I get ready for action because Glixius is strong, and quite capable of launching a physical assault if he feels like it.

Glixius halts right in front of me.

“Thraxas the cheap Investigator,” he says, getting straight to the point. I look him in the eye, but don’t bother to reply.

“I’ve been talking to Ravenius,” continues the Sorcerer. “He tells me you play rak every week in your cheap little tavern.”

I’m surprised. I can’t imagine why this would interest Glixius.

“I usually play with General Acarius and Praetor Capatius at the house of Senator Kevarius. But Kevarius has closed his doors for a few days. His wife is down with the winter malady.”

He looks at me mockingly.

“I imagine your stakes are too small to be of much interest.”

I’m not certain if he’s angling for an invitation to our game or merely taking the opportunity to insult me.

“So why don’t you join us?”

“I doubt there’d be enough money on the table to make it worth my while.”

“You can stake anything you like. I’ll be pleased to take it off you.”

Glixius eyes me for a few moments. I think he might be smiling though it’s hard to tell. He’s a square-jawed, steely-eyed sort of individual, and it would take a lot to brighten up his face.

“I never like to sit at a game without five hundred gurans in front of me.”

“Five hundred gurans is fine.” I reply. “Bring more if you like. It’ll be a pleasure to show you how the game is played.”

Glixius sneers, then gives the faintest of nods, and marches off.

Makri is looking puzzled.

“What was that about?”

“He wants to play cards.”

“At the Avenging Axe? Why?”

“Because he hates me,” I say. “Can’t get over the time I punched him in the face. Probably he’s been looking for revenge ever since. And now he thinks he can humiliate me at the card table. Poor sap. I’m number one chariot at rak.”

Makri is doubtful.

“I still think it’s strange the way he just walks up out of nowhere and says he’s coming to the Axe to play cards.”

“That’s because you don’t appreciate how much he dislikes me. After all, I did once publicly accused him of a serious crime when he was completely innocent.”

“You’ve done that to most people in the city,” says Makri.

“That’s true. But it’s probably still on his mind.”

We walk on towards Quintessence Street.

“You don’t have anything like five hundred gurans, do you?” asks Makri.

I admit I don’t. The most I can raise is about forty. Which might be a problem.

“Do you have anything spare?” I ask.

“Of course I don’t,” says Makri. “Who does?”

Light snow is falling as we reach the Avenging Axe. I’m looking forward to a beer and a seat by the fire.

“Are you meeting Lisutaris soon?”

“Forget it,” replies Makri. “I’m not asking her to lend you money.”

“You don’t need to ask. Just bring up the subject. She’ll probably volunteer.”

Makri declines, and I’m obliged to drop the subject as Tanrose is waiting for me when we enter the Axe. I’d like to thaw out in front of the great fire downstairs but she doesn’t have a lot of time before getting back to her cooking, so I content myself with taking a bottle of beer upstairs to my office, and lighting the fire. The room is cold and I leave my cloak draped around my shoulders as I take a seat at the large, dark wood desk I use to transact my business.

Tanrose sits down opposite me. She’s not a thin woman, but she’s not as large as might be expected, given the excellence of her cooking. Tanrose is currently one of the Avenging Axe’s more cheerful inhabitants. If she’s worried about imminent Orcish invasion it doesn’t show. Since becoming engaged to Gurd she’s been happy.