Thraxas - The Complete Series (49 page)

“She might be looking for revenge now Ixial’s been killed.”

“I doubt it. I don’t think her loyalty to her old teacher would go that far. Sarin is focused on her own needs. Anyway, it wasn’t our fault Ixial handed in his toga. It was Tresius who hired the Assassins Guild. You know, I’m not sure if Sarin enjoys anything except killing. Makes me wonder what she wants gold for anyway. Probably wouldn’t know how to enjoy it if she got it. I’ll still kill her the next time we meet.”

Makri intimates that Sarin won’t need me to kill her if she meets her first. She goes upstairs to put on her tunic before hitting the streets.

“Nice shape,” says Captain Rallee when she’s gone.

“I guess.”

“You guess? Twenty years ago you’d have been baying at the moon if she walked by in that bikini, Orc blood or not.”

“Twenty years ago I wasn’t old, overweight and full of beer.”

I’m completely drained. Captain Rallee takes us up to the law courts in a Guard landus. It’s a silent journey in the early-morning light. I guess I should be happy as a drunken mercenary after coming out on top against formidable odds, but all I really want to do is sleep.

W
e arrive at the law courts with an hour or so to spare before the final day of the case begins. The sun beats down. There hasn’t been a breath of wind in the city for weeks. Stals flop lifelessly on the statues in the forum. Sweat runs down the inside of my tunic. I’m fed up with the heat. I’m fed up with being fed up with the heat. In his black uniform tunic, Rallee suffers as much as I do. I notice that the Guards and officials of the courts still treat him with respect. He might have been bounced out of the Palace by Rittius but they know the Captain is worth ten of him any day.

In the forum outside the courts people gather for the business of the day; everything from petty criminals heading for spells behind an oar to wealthy merchants from the Honourable Association of Merchants involved in complicated commercial law suits. There are even a couple of golden-haired and green-clad Elves, sitting beside the fountain with an advocate and his legal advisers, poring over some old scrolls.

“Got fleeced on a deal to ship a load of silver,” the Captain informs us. “Why these Elves still expect Turanian merchants to be honest is beyond me.”

Makri hails them in the royal language as she passes. The Elves leap to their feet in alarm, assuming that some important Elf Lord has arrived unexpectedly in the city. When they realise who has greeted them they practically fall over in their confusion. Makri grins and strolls on.

“I really thought Grosex killed Drantaax,” says Captain Rallee as he leads us down to the cells below the courts. “He’s such a sad little guy I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him, though not sorry enough to stop him from hanging. I have to hand it to you on this one, Thraxas.”

A sad little guy is a fair description of Grosex when we reach him. It’s the last day of his trial and he knows he’s going to be found guilty and hanged in short order. When we walk into his cell he’s slumped on his bunk. His face lights up with hope when he sees me.

“Thraxas! I thought you’d given up on me.”

“I never give up on a client,” I tell him. “And I don’t often lose one either.”

I pause, looking awkwardly around the cell. It’s completely bare. There’s nothing to focus my eyes on except Grosex.

“Although technically speaking, you’re not my client. Prefect Tholius dragged you off before you could pay me my retainer and we never did get round to formalising the deal. Which is unfortunate.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you were my client I might have to think some more about it. Because I’m pretty unlikely to turn over any client of mine to the courts. Goes against the grain. Even if my client turns out to be guilty, I’d rather send him out of the city on a fast horse than hand him over. But as you’re not really my client, and you did in fact kill Drantaax…”

I hold out my hands, palm upwards.

A look of terror crosses Grosex’s face. “I didn’t!”

I’m tired. I feel bad doing this. I want to get it over with quickly.

“Sorry, Grosex. I’ve been everywhere with this one. I’ve involved myself with killers, monks, the Brotherhood and Lord knows who else. Makri nearly got killed and plenty of others were. When you start playing around with so much illegal gold it spirals out of control. You should have stayed out of it. You were always going to end up way over your head.”

“Are you saying Grosex is guilty?” demands Captain Rallee.

“Yes, unfortunately. Drantaax knew nothing about the theft of the gold. There was no reason for him to. His business was doing well. He had no gambling debts or drink problems. That was just a story made up by Grosex to give the sculptor some motive for being involved. But it wasn’t Drantaax who Ixial approached with the proposition for hiding the gold in the statue. It was Grosex.”

I stare at the apprentice. He stares back helplessly, like a rabbit.

“Why did you do it?”

Poor Grosex seems unable to speak. Makri and Captain Rallee look on with interest.

“I don’t really care why you did it. Maybe you just wanted money. Drantaax didn’t pay you much. I’ve seen the room in Twelve Seas where you lived. Maybe Calia encouraged you. You wouldn’t be the first apprentice led down the garden path by the mistress of the house eager to get her husband out of the way. But if she was involved I doubt she wanted you to kill Drantaax.”

I turn to the Captain. “She went on holiday with Drantaax.”

“What?”

“On holiday. When the gold was stolen. They were having a break from the heat in Ferias. But when Grosex arrived in my office he told me he and Drantaax had been working on the statue round the clock for days. While Drantaax was away Grosex did the business with the gold. I didn’t add it up properly till we were in the magic space and something reminded me.”

I don’t mention that it was the talking pig that reminded me.

“Like I say, Drantaax knew nothing about the gold. Grosex loaded it inside the statue when Drantaax was away. Ixial arranged it all with him. And when Sarin’s men came to the workshop looking for it, Drantaax learned what was going on. He returned from an appointment early and interrupted them in the process of removing the statue. So Grosex killed him. Stuck his knife in him. Simple as that. Unluckily for Grosex, Calia arrived back and started screaming for the Guards before he could remove his knife. And then he realised that leaving a knife with his aura in it sticking in the body wasn’t the brightest thing he could’ve done, so he fled. He didn’t have the nerve to try and make it out the city gates, so he ended up at my office.

“Which is the only smart thing he did,” I add, glumly. “I have a reputation in certain circles for getting men off in dubious circumstances.”

And that’s about as much explaining as I want to do. I turn to go, but Captain Rallee grabs my tunic.

“You mean you started all this for no reason, Thraxas? Grosex stuck a knife in Drantaax? That’s what the Guards have been saying all along.”

“Well, you’ve got to get one right sometime.”

“So thanks for dragging us all through the magic space and damn near getting us killed.”

“I recovered the gold, didn’t I?”

Captain Rallee isn’t too pleased at all this. “I’ll remember your words about sending your guilty clients on a fast horse out of town,” he says acidly. “Try doing that again and I’ll be down on you like a bad spell.”

I walk out quickly, not wanting to catch Grosex’s eye. I’m so keen to get out of the building I’m practically running when I get to the exit. By the time Makri catches up I’m well on my way to the nearest tavern.

“Don’t feel bad,” she says, and takes a beer to keep me company. “It’s not your fault your client turned out to be guilty.”

“It still makes me feel bad.”

“If he’d paid you a retainer, would you really have got him out of the city?”

“Maybe. I never like turning a client in. Bad for business. But Grosex deserves it. It was pretty cold-blooded of him to murder Drantaax. The sculptor might not have paid him too well, but he didn’t do anything to deserve being killed.”

I down my beer and order another. With the heat and the exhaustion and all my exertions leading to this sad denouement, I’m not in the best of moods. I’m annoyed at Grosex and I’m furious at myself for being taken in by his sad demeanour. I’m humiliated at the thought of Captain Rallee telling his cronies in the Guards that they were right all along and that old Thraxas must be losing his grip.

Furthermore Captain Rallee is now annoyed at me and he’s in a position to make my life awkward. The Brotherhood are none too pleased with me either. They certainly suckered me with Quen. It was a smart move for Casax to put a spy on me. I imagine the Boar’s Head just burned down by accident and Casax immediately saw his chance to get someone into the Avenging Axe. Quick thinking on his part. I could take it as a compliment that the moment he heard about the gold and the monks he reckoned that I might well be the man to find it. What I mainly feel is stupid for not suspecting anything. All that time the Brotherhood and their tame Sorcerer were wandering around pretending to be looking for Quen, they were really looking for the gold. Only the fact that Astrath had put a bafflement spell on the place kept them at bay, I suppose, till I took it into my head to expose the gold right under Quen’s nose. That makes me feel annoyed at Makri. She offered Quen shelter when she pretended to be on the run. I’m about to vent some of my anger on her, when I remember I’m pleased she isn’t dead. I probably should mention that.

“I’m pleased you’re not dead,” I tell her.

“Thanks. You don’t sound too pleased.”

“I am. But it was pretty dumb of you to bring a Brotherhood spy into the house.”

“I didn’t know Quen was a spy.”

I inform Makri shortly that she’s bound to get us into trouble if she insists on bringing in every waif who’s looking for sanctuary.

“Not as much trouble as you taking on clients who are guilty of murder,” retorts Makri angrily. “You didn’t even have to take him on. You just got annoyed because Tholius offended your precious dignity.”

“My precious dignity? I’m fed up with your stupid fixation with your own honour. You could have got us killed in the magic space just because you refused to run away from overwhelming odds. Good fighters know when to retreat.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything about good fighting,” says Makri. “If I didn’t spend half my life doing some good fighting at your side you’d be dead and buried by now.”

“Is that right?” I demand, banging my fist on the bar. “You think just because you could beat a few Orc gladiators you’re number one chariot? I was street fighting before you were born.”

Makri is now irate. The heat has affected her as well. Customers edge away from us, wondering if swords are going to be drawn.

“Then maybe at your age you should be thinking about retiring,” says Makri. “Concentrate on your drinking.”

“Well, I like that. Next time someone fires a crossbow bolt into you don’t expect me to save your life.”

“If you hadn’t bundled into me in the first place I’d have avoided it and there wouldn’t have been any life-saving to do.”

Makri and I are now standing toe to toe, glaring into each other’s eyes.

“Oh yes?” I roar. “It wasn’t me bundling into you that made you get hit. It was taking dwa that slowed down your reactions!”

“I have not been taking dwa!” shouts Makri.

“Oh no? I saw you stumble when we met in Quintessence Street. How much time did you spend in Kaby’s caravan with Dandelion and Soolanis?”

Makri is livid. The drinkers who had edged away now clear a wide circle around us.

“You fat drunk!” she yells.

“Don’t call me fat, you pointy-eared dwa addict!” I yell back.

“How dare you say that!”

“Did I hurt your feelings? Why don’t you go and tell your friend Hanama about it? She’s always looking for some information.”

For a second Makri looks as if she really is about to draw her sword. Instead she slams her leather tankard down on the bar so hard the handle snaps off, then storms out the tavern.

I yell some more abuse after her.

“Another beer,” I say to the barman. For an instant he looks like he’s about to ask me to leave the tavern but on seeing my face he thinks better of it and brings me a drink.

I’m about as angry as a wounded dragon. I can’t stand it that Grosex turned out to be guilty after I decided he wasn’t. I feel a little better for having someone to yell at. I finish my beer and get another. After that I get another. Then I get bored with the company I’m in so I make with a few insults about lawyers and head east to the Kushni quarter where I get spectacularly drunk with three mercenaries from Misan and a professional dice player from the far west and manage to forget what it is I’m so mad about.