Thraxas - The Complete Series (30 page)

“Way beyond me, I’m afraid. I could never get it to work. My powers don’t rise much above the sleep spell for knocking out opponents these days.”

“Hmm.”

He takes his grimoire off a shelf and hunts through the index. “How about this? Temporary bafflement. Simple little spell. Makes anyone searching your rooms very confused indeed. Not foolproof, of course, if you’re up against anyone strong-willed enough, but it should be enough of a distraction to let you conceal anyone from nosy Civil Guards.”

That sounds like it might work. I thank him, finish up my wine and take my leave. After the coolness of Astrath’s house the evening streets are still unbearably hot, and walking home I am followed again. I don’t try to shake them, preferring instead to discover their identity, but the culprit is tricky and I fail to get a glimpse of him.

Back at the Avenging Axe Makri has finished her shift and is about to disappear up to her room to study mathematics, which is part of her course at the Guild College. It is Makri’s ambition to attend the Imperial University. This is impossible as the Imperial University does not admit women students. It only admits the sons of Senators or the richest of our merchants, and it is certainly not likely to accept anyone with Orc blood in her veins. Despite this, Makri refuses to be deterred.

“The Guild College didn’t want to admit me either,” she points out. “And look how well I’m doing there.”

“Last week you had a fight with
eight
of your fellow students.”

“They insulted my ears.”

One consequence of Makri’s unusual parentage is that her ears are rather pointed, though as her hair is so long and thick, they’re usually hidden from view.

“So? I’ve insulted your ears plenty of times.”

“You’re a drunken oaf who doesn’t know any better,” counters Makri. “Students ought to be polite. Anyway, I wouldn’t really call it a fight. Most of them just ran away. And I passed the philosophy exam right afterwards.”

I notice that Makri has secreted a few thazis sticks from behind the bar among her sheaf of papers. I take one from her as we walk upstairs.

“Better not let Gurd catch you stealing his thazis.”

“He should pay me better. Why wouldn’t you help the dolphins?”

“Help the dolphins? You mean work for Dandelion? You must be joking. I’m an Investigator on a murder case. I haven’t the time to traipse round after some social misfit with flowers in her hair listening to some so-called talking dolphins bleat about their healing stone. The woman was obviously insane.”

Makri laughs. “I liked her.”

“Only because you always like people that outrage me.”

“Like who?”

“Like Hanama the Assassin, that’s who. Woman damn near killed me and now you go to meetings with her.”

This is a slight source of friction between myself and Makri. Makri has become involved with the Association of Gentlewomen, a group formed to advance the rights of women in Turai, which, it must be admitted, are rather limited. Can’t join the guilds for one thing, apart from a few specialised ones like the Sorcerers and the Assassins. Can’t join the Honourable Association of Merchants either, which puts a serious block on business opportunities and such like. Can’t vote, can’t sit in the Senate. Nor are they allowed in the luxurious baths and gymnasia up town. Which, I must admit, never troubled me unduly till Makri became involved with the Association and started making a big deal about it.

I’m willing to go along with her views, I guess. It’s no skin off my nose. As long as I contribute a guran or two to Makri’s collections, it keeps her off my back. However, as I learned to my cost recently, membership of the Association of Gentlewomen has grown alarmingly recently. It would be a great surprise to most citizens of Turai if they knew, for instance, that not only did the Association have the support of the likes of Minarixa the baker and Chiaraxi the herbal healer, but it can count on the covert support of Princess Du-Akai, third in line to the throne. The King certainly won’t be amused if he finds that out. Nor will the True Church, who regard the Association as an abomination.

Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, a very powerful Sorcerer when she can stay away from her waterpipe, is another supporter. Strangest of all, I’m pretty sure that Hanama, number three in the Assassins Guild, is in there as well. The thought of Makri attending secret meetings with these people makes me worry that possibly some people in the city who shouldn’t know my business might occasionally be learning a few things they oughtn’t. Not that Makri would ever knowingly betray any of my secrets, of course, but she’s only been in the city a year and remains unsophisticated in the ways of civilisation. She sometimes gets cheated in the market. She finds it awkward using cutlery. I can still lie to her and get away with it.

Makri goes off along the corridor to study. I go to sleep.

N
ext day I’m awake so early I almost catch morning prayers, which I haven’t done for years. Despite my prompt start it’s a morning of complete frustration. I take a landus up to the prison but I can’t get to see Grosex. All prisoners have the legal right to see their representatives, which in this case includes me, but in Turai legal niceties aren’t always respected and I’m turned away at the prison with the abrupt news that Grosex is not seeing anyone. When I protest loud and long about it an official asks me to produce evidence that I have in fact been employed by Grosex to investigate his case.

“Prefect Tholius dragged him off before he could write my authorisation.”

And that doesn’t get me anywhere at all. Obviously the authorities want this wrapped up quickly without the bother of anyone constructing a reasonable defence. Grosex’s trial is scheduled for next week and if this situation continues he’ll certainly hang. Drantaax was valued by the city, and public opinion is baying for his killer’s blood.

I curse my lack of influence with officials in this town. I have plenty of contacts in the underworld, but since getting booted out of the Palace many powerful doors have been slammed shut.

It strikes me that Cicerius, our new Deputy Consul, might be willing to go out on a limb for me after the good service I rendered him recently, but Cicerius is away on official business in Mattesh, so I am for the moment stuck.

If I can’t see Grosex then I should certainly see Drantaax’s wife but all my enquiries lead nowhere. No one saw her go and no one has any information as to where she might be. She has one relative in town, a brother who works in a warehouse down at the docks. He can’t tell me anything and doesn’t seem to care much. They never got on, apparently.

“Was she having an affair with the apprentice?” I ask him.

“Probably,” he replies, indicating it’s time for me to be on my way. I hang around to be awkward but learn no more than the fact that we’re bringing in a lot of wheat by ship these days.

I’m interested that Drantaax’s wife Calia comes from a family of dock workers. Means she married above her class. Drantaax isn’t an aristocrat but a successful sculptor ranks some way above your standard manual labourer. Everybody in Turai is conscious of such a distinction.

I visit the Guard station when Tholius is away but Guardsman Jevox doesn’t know where Calia is and doesn’t think the Guards have any real leads.

“It can’t be that easy for a woman with no family to hide in the city. Where would she go? The servants claim she couldn’t have taken any money with her. And why did she disappear?”

“Maybe she killed him so she could set up with the apprentice,” suggests Jevox.

“Well, if she did it was pretty careless to use his knife and get him hanged as a result.”

I wonder about Calia and Grosex. If they were really having an affair it seems strange that she would take to her heels and leave him in the lurch.

Jevox tells me he used to know her when she still lived down by the harbour. He remembers her as a very beautiful young woman.

“No surprise when she married a wealthy sculptor. If she’d held out she could probably have gone even higher.”

Jevox is busy. Tholius is giving his men a hard time because Senator Lodius, who leads the opposition party, the Populares, is using the recent wave of crime as a stick to beat the Traditionals with.

“Foreign Ambassadors’ houses burgled!” he roars in the Senate. “Gold stolen from the King! Honest citizens murdered in the streets! Dwa spreading like a curse through the city! And what are our representatives doing about this crisis?”

There’s more to the speech, as reported in the
Chronicle
, and it naturally makes every city official from Consul Kalius downwards uncomfortable. Senator Lodius’s Populares suffered a slight reverse in the elections a few months back, but he’s still a powerful man in the city, capable of causing any amount of problems if he stirs up the mob. So the Civil Guards are all working overtime to try and solve a few outstanding crimes and they’re none too pleased about it. I leave Jevox staring glumly at a pile of witness reports concerning a dwa-related murder at the docks. None of the witnesses seem to have seen anything, which is usually the case when powerful dwa gangs commit violence.

If I had something belonging to Calia I might be able to work a spell to locate her but I have nothing. I go back to the sculptor’s house but it is now locked tight and guarded and nothing I can say will get me inside. I curse myself for not taking something when I had the chance before. However, the Guards’ Sorcerers won’t make any progress in this direction either because the moons won’t be back in the right conjunction for several months. Grosex can’t wait several months.

I complain about this to Astrath Triple Moon.

“Any time I need to find someone in a hurry the moons are in the wrong alignment. Sorcery’s a bust when it comes to solving crimes.”

“Not always. I’ve got you some good results in the past.”

That’s true enough. Anyway, it’s just as well sorcery can’t solve all the crime in the city, otherwise I’d be out of a job.

Astrath scans the city for the statue, without success. Which seems to make it certain that it’s gone far away, but how remains a mystery. Back in the Avenging Axe I complain about my lack of progress to Makri.

“The only thing that’s happening is I’m getting followed.”

“Followed? Who by?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t caught so much as a glimpse. But I can feel it.”

“Have you tried the kuriya?”

I shake my head. Kuriya, a dark and mysterious liquid, will sometimes yield up a picture in reply to a question, provided the enquirer has been trained in the process. It’s something I can still do with reasonable results on occasion, though it completely drains me these days. However, it doesn’t always work and the liquid, imported from the far west, is hideously expensive, so I’ll only really be able to try it once. I’d rather get information about Grosex than whoever is tailing me. I’ll look after them in person when they show their faces.

I finish my lunchtime ale. I can’t see Grosex and I can’t find any witnesses to what went on and I need to know. I turn my thoughts back to Drantaax’s wife Calia. Perhaps the kuriya might give me a hint. Worth trying. I’m not getting anywhere without it.

It takes a long time to put myself into the required mental state. Ideally a Sorcerer should work in a peaceful environment but there is precious little quiet in Twelve Seas at the best of times, with fish vendors, dwa dealers and whores all competing to advertise their wares. Stray dogs growl and fight with each other, children play noisily in the dirt and women shout at the stallholders as they bargain for their cheapest vegetables. Apart from this uproar there’s the additional noise of the builders everywhere. It’s not easy to sink into a trance. I do my best.

In front of me is a saucer full of the precious black liquid. The one merchant who imports it from the far west claims that it’s dragon’s blood. This is not true—I’ve seen dragon’s blood—but it gives him a reason to charge such a ridiculous price for it. Whatever its origins, it can respond to the searching mind of a skilled Sorcerer. And even me, though I never made it much past Apprentice.

I’ve drawn the curtains and illuminated my room with a large red candle. The shiny black liquid reflects the light. I concentrate on the flame, and think about Drantaax’s wife, and where she might be.

For a while, nothing happens. Almost long enough to think that nothing will happen. I stay in my trance. Time passes. The room goes cold and I can no longer hear the noise outside. Finally a picture starts to form: a house, a large house, a white villa on a wooded hill.

I’m straining to see more clearly when my concentration is affected by a tiny nagging feeling of unease. I don’t know what it is. I ignore it. It won’t go away. I try and concentrate on the picture, but it’s slipping. Deep in my trance, I realise that someone is in my room. A bolt of fear shoots through me, the horrible terror of being helpless in front of an enemy. I emerge from the trance with a frightened roar, leaping to my feet confused and disorientated and whirling round frantically to see who’s there. My vision spins crazily for a second and then focuses sharply on two figures just yards from where I was kneeling. One of them is engaged in going through the papers on my desk while the other one keeps look-out. They’re both wearing red robes. They both have shaven heads. Monk burglars?