Thraxas - The Complete Series (71 page)

“I’d say you were in enough trouble without bothering a Bishop of the True Church,” says Gzekius, summoning a servant to show me out.

Everywhere I go I meet with sullen anger. Even Minarixa seems annoyed when I call in for some provisions, though it could just be the result of the effects of last night’s revels. Guardsman Jevox is surprised to see me.

“I was wondering why they let you out of jail. You’ve been working for Cicerius.”

“That’s right. Did you find out anything about the warehouse?”

Jevox hasn’t. If he does he’ll send me a message.

“You have any idea who broke in to the Pontifex’s house last night?”

No crime was reported at the Pontifex’s. I suppose that was to be expected. It’s baffling though. It was hard enough finding one person who’d know enough to steal that prayer mat. How come someone else suddenly knows enough to steal it from Derlex? The entire city can’t have been studying Orcish religion. The library only has one scroll.

I walk down to the Mermaid and there Casax the Boss is almost pleased to see me.

“You were right, Investigator. The Society of Friends had infiltrated Twelve Seas. Four of their men were in that warehouse for a week, posing as common labourers.”

Casax isn’t sure what they were doing there, though he presumes it was connected with the arrival of the Elvish and Orcish chariots, both of which were stabled temporarily in that very warehouse.

“I figured that myself. And I think I know what they were planning. A doping operation.”

Casax looks sceptical. “Doping? For the Turas Memorial? No chance, Investigator. The King’s Master of Horse inspects every entrant and Melus the Fair checks for doping as well as sorcery. You couldn’t get a doped horse past them.”

“Usually you couldn’t. But I think the Society came up with something special this time. Namely the coix plant.”

I take out a small fragment of the plant that Makri brought back from Mursius’s villa and hand it to him.

“Comes from the far west. Doesn’t look anything special, I know. But I’ve a strong hunch it’ll act as a powerful sedative on horses, and it’s completely unknown here in Turai. I reckon there’s every chance that if the Society managed to feed the correct dose of this to the Orcish and Elvish teams they’d both crawl round the track on the day and neither Melus the Fair nor the Master of Horse would be able to detect a thing.”

Casax stares at the green leaf. “I’ll have it checked out,” he says.

The Brotherhood prefer muscle to magic but they have Sorcerers on call if they need them.

“So, who was behind it?”

I admit I’m not certain but I imagine it must have been Senator Mursius. After all, the plant came from his house.

“And it makes sense. If the Society were planning something like this, who better to work it for them than the man who was entering the strongest Human chariot team? Mursius was very confident about his chances, far too confident for a man who’s up against an Elf. I know that Glixius Dragon Killer is involved. He might be the murderer. Maybe they argued over the cut. People like that always do.”

Casax shakes his head sadly. Not even a gangster likes to see a Turanian war hero exposed as a cheat at the races.

“Perhaps he wasn’t thinking straight,” I say. “He had problems with his wife.”

“I hear his wife is entering the chariot anyway. I also hear she likes to soak up dwa. You think she’s carrying on the doping operation?”

“I don’t know. I doubt it. Anyway, I’ll pass some of the leaf on to Melus the Fair. Once she’s studied it, it won’t get past her.”

Casax smiles. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do that before. “Congratulations, Investigator. You seem to have thwarted a Society operation. I like that. I’ll tell my men to keep a lookout for Glixius. We’ll make sure he doesn’t venture down this way again.”

When I leave the Mermaid I reflect that I’ve never had such a productive meeting with the Brotherhood. Casax might even feel he owes me a favour.

I head off up to the Palace to find Cicerius. The streets down here are impassable for wheeled vehicles and I have to walk a long way up Moon and Stars Boulevard till I find a landus to take me to the Palace. It still looks splendid, despite the deluge, but even here the gardeners are losing the battle with the volume of rain and huge swaths of land lie under water. The numerous officials scurrying around these parts do so with their cloaks pulled tightly round them and their faces downcast, looking no happier than the denizens of Twelve Seas. Cicerius greets me briskly. The Deputy Consul may be the only person in the entire city unaffected by the weather. He gets down to business right away.

“I’m due in the law courts in an hour. I’m defending a Senator on a corruption charge, so I can’t spare you much time I’m afraid. Have you found the prayer mat?”

“Almost.”

“Almost is not good enough.”

I relate the full story of Derlex and Gzekius.

Cicerius nods.

“The True Church will have to learn not to meddle in state affairs. Who do you think took the mat from Derlex?”

“I don’t have any suspects. It’s very strange, Deputy Consul. Not that people are trying to sabotage the Orcs, we were expecting that. But who else could possibly know of the importance of that mat?”

Cicerius and the Consul are coming under increasing pressure from the King. Cicerius is fair-minded enough to realise that I’ve been doing my best, but he needs more than that.

“You have to find the mat by tomorrow. If you don’t, we lose the copper mines.”

Before I go I tell him a few details of the Mursius case. He takes the news about the Senator and the doping attempt calmly.

“Once I would have been shocked. Not any longer. Nothing surprises me in Turai any more.”

Last summer I helped Cicerius when his son had been supplying dwa to Prince Frisen-Akan, the heir to our throne. Cicerius can have no illusions about the state of our nation. Rotten, in a word.

At my request the Deputy Consul asked a clerk to examine the state of Mursius’s finances. He was in grave financial trouble. He’d lost a great deal of money speculating and he was hit badly when several ships to which he had joined with others to offer insurance sank last year in a storm. Much of his land was mortgaged and he had more debts than he could hope to meet.

Poor Senator Mursius. The man fights off the Orcs from our city and becomes a hero. Fifteen years on and he’s broke and his wife’s addicted to dwa. No wonder he tried to cheat at the races.

Cicerius summons his official carriage and we ride down to Truth is Beauty Lane, where the Sorcerers live. Melus has a large villa here, luxurious enough though not too ostentatious.

Melus is a powerful Sorcerer from a long line of Sorcerers. She came to public prominence when she was appointed to the job at the Stadium, since when she’s become a national favourite. Everyone trusts Melus. She’s around the same age as me and fought in the last war. All our Sorcerers did, and their Apprentices. She stood beside her father as he was killed by dragon flame, so I don’t imagine she’s too happy about having to help the Orc Lord either. I tell Melus the Fair about Senator Mursius’s plans for cheating in the races and hand her a leaf from the coix plant. She’s grateful though she doesn’t admit that it would have fooled her.

“I’d have picked up that something was wrong. Easy as bribing a Senator.”

Sorcerers always have a very high opinion of their own sorcery.

“Who do you fancy for the big race?” I ask her.

She laughs. “I’m not allowed to speculate.”

I inform her of developments, and admit that I don’t know where to look next for the prayer mat.

“I take it Rezaz the Butcher isn’t pleased?” I say.

“No he is not,” says Lord Rezaz Caseg, stepping into the room.

I look at Melus reproachfully. She might have told me there was an Orc Lord next door. If I’d known he could hear me I’d have used his proper title.

“So, Investigator, you have failed to locate my charioteer’s prayer mat?”

“That’s right.”

“Then we shall leave the city tomorrow.”

“There is no need to leave,” says Cicerius, calmly. “You may have complete confidence in Thraxas. He will locate the missing item.”

Cicerius proclaims this with complete conviction, though I know he doesn’t believe it. Lord Rezaz looks thoughtful. With everyone on their best behaviour you might think this was a gathering of old friends. Deputy Consul Cicerius, Melus the Fair and Lord Rezaz Caseg, in white toga, rainbow cloak and black cloak respectively, maintain a high level of dignity. It’s left to me to spoil it all. I’ve been having a hard time keeping calm. I manage until Rezaz’s attendant, a short, muscular Orc with a sword at each hip, makes a comment to his Lord in Common Orcish.

Very few people in Turai speak any Orcish. Since Makri arrived, mine has become quite fluent. The attendant’s remark produces the slightest of smiles from the Lord Caseg. I turn to Cicerius, bristling with anger. “That’s it, I’m leaving. I refuse to work for an Orc who says I’m too fat to find my own feet.”

I let the attendant have a choice insult, also in Orcish, that I’ve heard Makri use on occasion.

“How dare you say that about my mother,” he says, drawing his sword.

I draw mine. I’ve had enough of being polite to Orcs. I like this better.

“Please!” cries Cicerius as he tries to get between us. There’s a commotion at the door and Lord Lisith-ar-Moh walks in with his Elvish attendants. He stares in surprise at the sight of myself and the Orc facing each other with swords in our hands.

“What is going on?” demands the Elf Lord.

“Have you met the man responsible for seeing that the Orcs are treated fairly?” says Melus.

Everyone looks at me. I still have my sword in my hand. I suddenly feel very conspicuous.

“Well, he started it,” I say.

The Deputy Consul shoots me a glance that speaks volumes. I sheath my weapon. Cicerius explains to Lisith what has been happening.

The Lords exchange formal bows.

“An epic battle, that day at the walls,” says Rezaz. “I regretted that my allies were foolish enough to allow your ships to land. Had I been overall Commander of our forces, I would not have permitted it.”

The Elf Lord allows this to pass without comment. Both of them, each with great power, are too skilful and experienced to give anything away in terms of emotions. They hate each other, but they’re not going to let it show, not here.

“I hear that your Orcish chariot is a fine vehicle,” says Lisith politely.

“It is. My pride and joy, in these days when warriors must seek their diversions elsewhere. I was looking forward to the race.”

They enter into a discussion, but I don’t pay much attention. I’m still insulted at the Orc commenting on my weight. So it is that on this momentous occasion, the first in recorded history in which Orcs, Elves and Humans have a discussion without there being a war going on, I spend my time staring glumly out the window at the rain, drinking wine.

I’m interrupted by a loud cough from Cicerius.

“So, are you in agreement?” he says.

I look blank. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

Cicerius restrains his ire. “It is suggested that Melus, Azgiz and Lothian will go with you immediately in an effort to find the prayer mat.”

“Azgiz and Lothian? Who are they?”

A tall young Elf steps forward, bows, and introduces himself as Lothian.

“My personal swordsman,” says Lord Lisith.

The Orc who insulted me also steps forward.

“Azgiz,” he says. “Personal swordsman to Lord Rezaz Caseg.”

I turn to Cicerius. “You want me to wander round the city with an Orc and an Elf in tow, looking for a prayer mat? Forget it.”

“What choice do we have? I appreciate that you came close to locating it. As does Lord Rezaz. Had you not been so occupied with your wine you might have heard him compliment your powers of investigation. But time is running short. Both Melus and Lothian should be able to sense any Orcish item. And it seems reasonable that Azgiz should accompany you.”

“Hasn’t it struck you that we’re not exactly going to be inconspicuous? Not much chance of going anywhere discreetly.”

“Melus can discard her rainbow cloak. Azgiz and Lothian can cover themselves with hoods. No more objections. There isn’t time. You must locate the prayer mat before tomorrow morning. Now go.”

And thus it is that I find myself hunting through the city with the Stadium Sorcerer, an Orc and an Elf. Another momentous and historical occasion, I suppose. Orcs and Elves have never cooperated before. Neither of them looks happy about it.

I tell them that we’ll have to call in for Makri. I refuse to accompany these three on my own. God knows what might happen. Also, I want to see Makri’s face when I turn up with an Orc in tow. If she kills him on the spot we can always flee the city. At least we’d get out of the rain.

“It’s your fault,” I say to the Orc, as we take our leave.

“What is my fault?”

“The rain. You’ve cursed the city.”

“Orcs are not perturbed by rain.”

“That’s because they’re stupid,” I say.

It’s not much of an insult. With a few beers inside me I’m sure I can come up with something better.