by Martin Scott
“Don’t come crying to me if you all get arrested for illegal gatherings.”
“I won’t.”
I consider consulting the kuriya pool for some answers but decide against it. I don’t know enough exact dates and places for the things I’d like to know, so a good connection with the past would be almost impossible. Anyway I’ve hardly any of the black liquid left and I can’t afford any more. Sorcerous Investigator. Big joke. I can’t even afford the basics.
“Get a job,” says Makri.
“Very funny. You want to play some niarit after your shift?”
Makri nods. She tells me she saw some Elves today, travelling up from the docks on horseback with an escort of Civil Guardsmen.
“Probably some deputation from the Elf Lord who sent the Red Elvish Cloth. I don’t imagine they’re very happy it’s gone missing.”
Makri grunts. The whole subject of Elves is troubling to her. Basically, her Orcish blood appals them. Makri pretends not to care, but really she does. She won’t admit it, but I’ve seen her looking almost longingly at some of the young Elves who pass through Twelve Seas.
She adjusts her bikini and gets back to work, taking orders from thirsty late-night drinkers. This includes me and it’s around two in the morning by the time I stumble upstairs.
Sitting on my grubby couch is Princess Du-Akai.
“I let myself in,” she says. “I didn’t want to come into the tavern.”
“Feel free to visit any time,” I grunt, with less politeness than would be normal towards the third in line to the throne. I’m not particularly pleased to find anyone, even a Royal Princess, in my rooms uninvited. It gives me the strong suspicion she might have been searching them.
“Did you get the box?”
I shake my head. “I went back for it. Someone must have seen me hide it. It’s gone.”
“I must have those letters!”
I stare at the Princess. For the first time she looks uncomfortable. Good. I decide to give it to her straight.
“There weren’t any letters, Princess. Your box was there in Attilan’s safe all right. Nice box. Very fine inlay. No letters though. Just an Orc spell for putting a dragon to sleep.”
“How dare you examine the contents!”
“Welcome to the real world. And how dare you send me on a case with false information. Thanks to you, Princess, I’m up to my neck in the murder of a Niojan diplomat. Sure, you used your influence to get me out of prison but that’s not going to prevent the Consul pinning the murder on me if no one better comes along. So I’d suggest you start telling me the truth.”
We stare at each other for a while. Princess Du-Akai shows no inclination to start telling the truth.
“Do you know who killed Attilan?” I demand.
“No.”
“Did you?”
She’s shocked. She denies it.
“Why did you want me to get that spell? Where did it come from? And why was it in your box?”
The Princess clams up. She makes to leave. I’m mad as hell. Anytime I’m thrown in a cell I at least like to know the reason. I say a few less than complimentary things to her. She tosses a small purse on the table and tells me our business relationship is ended.
“Don’t slam the door when you leave.”
She slams the door. I count the money. Thirty gurans. Three days’ pay. Not bad. Another four hundred and seventy and the Brotherhood will be off my back. I wish I knew what it had all been about. I drink some more beer. It feels too hot to go to bed. I fall asleep on my couch.
Chapter Seven
I’m woken about three thirty in the morning by Makri.
“Makri, how many times do I have to tell you not to barge into my rooms? I might be doing something personal.”
She laughs at the thought.
“I’m going to start putting a closing spell on that door.”
“Your closing spell wouldn’t hold out for fifteen seconds against me, Thraxas.”
I expect it wouldn’t. Makri started fighting in the slave pits when she was thirteen. Seven years as an Orcish gladiator does give a person a tendency to be forceful. I struggle to rise as Makri clears some space on an old box to set up my niarit board.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asks. “You’re looking sadder than a Niojan whore.”
I tell her what happened with the Princess. “I got three days’ pay but I was hoping for a lot more. I guess she won’t hire me again after this. And I wouldn’t count on her help getting into the University.”
“You mean you insulted her?”
I admit it, but point out it was justified.
Makri takes out a couple of thazis sticks.
“This’ll cheer you up.”
“If Gurd catches you taking them from the bar you’ll be out on your ear.”
She shrugs. I light my thazis stick.
“How’s your studies at the Guild College?” I ask.
“Okay. Better than rowing a slave galley.”
“You don’t sound too happy about it.”
“It would be fine if the other students weren’t on my back all the time. I heard someone whispering ‘Orc’ when I was coming out of my rhetoric lecture. I’d have chopped his head off except then they’d throw me out. Also they don’t let me take my axe into class.”
Makri lights up another thazis stick and sets up the opposing forces on the board, the front rank being, from left to right, Foot Soldiers of the Hoplite variety, Archers, then Trolls. The back rank comprises Elephants, Heavy Mounted Knights and Light Mounted Lancers. Each player has in their side a Siege Tower, a Healer, a Harper, a Sorcerer, a Hero and a Plague Carrier. At the very back of the board is the Castle, the object of the game being to defend your own Castle and storm your opponent’s.
“Kerk was hanging around outside your door earlier,” Makri tells me.
Kerk is an informant of mine. Fairly useless generally, and a hopeless dwa addict.
“Must have some information for me. He wouldn’t come in if he heard I was with a client. I’ll look him up tomorrow.”
I open a bottle of beer, pour us out a little klee, draw deeply on my thazis and make my standard opening, sending my Foot Soldiers up the flanks. Makri responds, as she generally does, by sending out her Mounted Lancers to harry them but I notice that she is also surreptitiously preparing to bring her Plague Carrier up the board early. I advance my Archers to support my Foot Soldiers and make sure my Sorcerer and my Healer are ready to react.
Makri, generally an impetuous player, tries to force an early engagement by suddenly sending out the rest of her Heavy Cavalry, followed by her Elephants. I withdraw slightly and, in a new variation, send my Harper, protected by my Hero, to play to the Elephants. The Harper’s music has the power of entrancement and it sends Makri’s Elephants to sleep. She can only watch in frustration as my Trolls advance among the immobile beasts and finish them off.
My solid phalanx of Hoplites and Archers is meanwhile holding off her cavalry and I start to send my Siege Tower lumbering up the board. Makri’s cavalry are causing casualties among my Hoplites but I’ve already got my Healer on hand to alleviate the situation. My Sorcerer is meanwhile holding her Hero at bay.
Due to her imprudent attack Makri’s Sorcerer is out of position and when battle is thickest in the centre I am able to send my Hero up the right flank with a horde of Elephants and I start to break through. My forces have an awkward moment when Makri suddenly and unexpectedly backtracks with her Plague Carrier and I lose a few Elephants to the plague before my Hero engages the Plague Carrier and puts him to flight. Meanwhile my own Plague Carrier is sneaking up the left flank, weakening Makri’s forces. Suddenly I break through on both sides. My Trolls and Heavy Mounted Knights surround and kill her Sorcerer and her Hero. My Hoplites break her cavalry in two and march up the board, followed by my Siege Tower. She tries to muster her forces but her last resistance is broken when my Plague Carrier kills her Harper before getting in amongst her Trolls and decim
ating them. Soon I’m swarming over her forces and I move my Siege Tower right up to her Castle.
In niarit it’s possible to come back from a poor position but not when playing against a master like me. Makri’s remaining forces are hemmed in and gradually whittled down as I prepare my final assault. My Hero leads a horde of infantry up the Siege Tower and into her Castle. Victory to Thraxas.
“Damn,” says Makri, and looks extremely annoyed. She’s not a good loser. Neither am I. Fortunately I always win.
“I’ll beat you next time,” states Makri.
“No way. I’m still number one chariot around here.”
Makri grins, drinks the rest of her klee in a gulp and departs to her room along the corridor. I struggle into my bedroom, blow out the candle and settle down to sleep. My slumbers are badly interrupted when Hanama, deadliest member of the extremely deadly Assassins Guild, pricks my throat with her dagger. It’s a poor way for a man to be woken up after a hard day’s work.
Chapter Eight
A night candle casts the merest glimmer of light in my room. Barely enough to illuminate the knife at my throat, or the figure of the Assassin looming over me. I’m pinned to my bed, unable to move. A bad awakening indeed. I’ve encountered Hanama before. She’s number three in the Assassins Guild, a ruthless killer. And yet, as my senses clear, I realise I’m not about to be immediately assassinated. If I was I’d be dead already. The Assassins don’t worry about formalities like waking up their victims.
“Where is it?” she hisses.
“What?” I croak in reply.
“The Red Elvish Cloth,” says Hanama, plunging me into further confusion.
“What are you talking about?”
She presses the knife a fraction further.
“Hand it over or die,” says Hanama, her eyes as cold as an Orc’s heart.
The door to the next room swings open. Light from a lantern floods in. There stands Makri, sword in hand.
“Let him go,” she snarls.
Hanama laughs, a thin, humourless Assassin’s laugh.
“Nice bikini,” she says, mockingly, and in one swift movement draws a short sword and drops into a fighting crouch. Hanama’s small, thin figure is exaggerated by her featureless black clothes, making her appear almost childlike. I wonder if Makri realises how deadly she is. I ready myself to spring to her aid. Suddenly the outside door crashes open. Men pound into the office and on into my inner room. Makri and Hanama whirl round to face the intruders. I leap from the bed and grab my sword. There’s no time to think and little room to move as a horde of savage sword-wielding thugs threaten to sweep us away by sheer force of numbers. A massive man waves an equally massive scimitar at me. I avoid it nimbly and stick my knife into his heart. My next assailant slams a hatchet towards my head. I dodge the blow, kick him in the knee and slash my knife through his throat. I’m good at this sort of thing. So are Makri and Hanama. We drive our attackers back into the next room, then Makri leaps after them impetuously, followed by Hanama and me.
In the larger space of my office we find ourselves at a disadvantage. More attackers are pouring in from outside and they start to encircle us. There’s little time to think, though I get a brief glimpse of Makri scything two men down with one blow and flying over a low slash aimed by another to smash her boot into his face. I parry another blow but before I can counter-thrust my senses start going haywire. I detect magic, powerful magic, very close. I gain an impression of a large, cloaked figure in the doorway, one arm raised, before there’s a violent flash and I’m thrown back against the wall along with Makri and Hanama. The three of us lie there, gasping and bleeding. I don’t know what the spell was but it was pretty effective.
“Kill them,” says the Sorcerer, entering the room.
Suddenly Gurd, roused by the commotion, hurtles into the office with his axe above his head. Two men fall dead before they can scream. I drag myself to my feet as Gurd disappears into a maelstrom of blades and bodies. The interruption allows Makri and Hanama the few seconds they need to recover. A knife flashes out of Hanama’s palm, transfixing one man, while she deftly stabs another in the back. Makri hacks her way through to Gurd. I do likewise. Our savage attack begins to carry the day and our attackers start to crumble. One more push should do it. My senses go haywire again and I realise we’re in for another sorcerous attack. Damn all Sorcerers.
It’s interrupted by the shrill screech of whistles in the alley below. The Civil Guard has arrived. There’s confusion as our attackers fight their way down the stairs to make their escape. I don’t bother to pursue them. I can hardly stand upright. The exertion of the battle and the effects of the spell have really drained me. Also, I have a hangover.
“What was that about?” demands Gurd, as Civil Guards pile into the room.
I shake my head numbly. I don’t know. I look round to check on my companions. Makri is fine, calmly wiping blood from her swords on to the clothes of one of our many dead opponents. Of Hanama there is no sign. She’s slipped out in the confusion.
“What was that about?” echoes Captain Rallee.
“No idea,” I pant. “But I’m sure pleased to see you.”
“We had them beat anyway,” says Makri, dismissively.
Makri fights with a sword in each hand, or a sword in one and an axe in the other. It’s an unusual technique, almost unknown in Turai, and her mastery of the skill makes her pretty much invulnerable against your run-of-the-mill street fighter.
“Look, Captain,” cries one of the Guardsmen, holding up the arm of one of the bodies and pointing to a tattoo. The Captain crosses over to examine it. Two clasped hands.
“Society of Friends,” he says. “What have you done to offend them, Thraxas? You owe them money as well?”
I shake my head. I had no idea I’d offended the Society of Friends. I try to avoid offending large criminal organisations.
Considering there are nine dead bodies in my room the Civil Guards make surprisingly little fuss. The attackers’ tattoos confirm them all as members of the Society of Friends, and the Society cuts little ice down here in Brotherhood territory. The Civil Guard isn’t going to waste too much time on the matter, especially as I’m a Private Investigator. Captain Rallee observes that, whatever the reason for the attack, I probably deserved it.
Gurd is distressed at the damage to the room, but reasonably jovial about the whole affair. He hasn’t had a good fight for a long time.
“Who was that woman?”
“Hanama. A high-up member of the Assassins Guild.”
Makri’s eyes widen. “There’s an Assassins Guild? I never knew they were so organised.”
“Well it’s not an official guild. They don’t go to meetings with other guilds or send representatives to the Senate. But they exist all right. And a bunch of very deadly killers they are too. They’re behind most of the political murders here, and they’ll work for anyone who pays them.”
“But she wasn’t trying to assassinate you, was she?”
I shake my head. “She seemed to think I had some Red Elvish Cloth.”
“Huh?”
I shake my head. I can’t make it out either. “The consignment that went missing on its way to Turai,” I explain. “But what it’s got to do with the Assassins, or why Hanama thinks I’ve got it, is a mystery.”
A municipal cart rolls up outside and some government workers start carrying the bodies out. Tholius, Prefect in charge of Twelve Seas, doesn’t spend a lot of the King’s money on keeping the place tidy but he does at least provide a service for mopping up corpses.
“What is this Cloth?” asks Makri, as I pour myself a beer to calm myself after the fight.
“The most valuable substance in the west. Worth more than gold or dwa because it’s completely impenetrable to sorcery. It’s extremely rare and the Elves guard it pretty closely. They make it from the roots of some bush which only flowers every ten years. Or maybe twenty. I can’t exactly remember, but it’s rare. It’s illegal for
anyone but the King to own it here. He’s got a room lined with it at the Palace where he discusses state secrets with his advisers. Because it forms a total magic-proof barrier it’s the only place that’s completely safe from prying Sorcerers, so he can be sure that enemy Orcish Sorcerers aren’t eavesdropping in wartime for instance. The Orcs don’t have any of this stuff, which gives us an advantage. Plenty of people would like to get their hands on some.”
“Were the Society of Friends after the same thing?”
“It’s possible. I can’t think why else they’d be here. How did word get around that I’ve got the Red Elvish Cloth? It’s got nothing to do with me. It’s not even in the city.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the Elves mark all their cloth when it’s in transit. A sort of magical signal, so any Sorcerer can locate it. After it reaches our King, an Elvish Sorcerer removes the mark, making it undetectable, but before that’s done, Palace Sorcerers could locate it with their searching spells, and I know they’ve been scanning the city.”
“Maybe whoever stole it removed the mark,” suggests Makri.
“Unlikely. Elvish magic markings are practically impossible to erase. Usually one of their own Sorcerers does it for the King. I wish I knew how I’d become involved in all this. I’d better learn a more powerful locking spell for my door. It didn’t take Hanama long to get through it.”
“I like her,” says Makri.
“What d’you mean, you like her? She was holding a knife at my throat.”
“Well, apart from that. But she was a good fighter. I always like good fighters.”
“You’ll be a fine philosopher, Makri.”
I sleep soundly for what’s left of the night. Crisis or no crisis, I’m a man who needs his sleep.
Chapter Nine
I look suspiciously at the coin in my hand. An Elvish double unicorn. Very rare. Very valuable.
“We will pay you another one if you find it.”
I look suspiciously at my visitors. Elves are very well regarded in Turai—fine upstanding race, good warriors, excellent poets, beautiful singers, kind to trees, at one with nature and so on—but I have my reservations. In my line of trade I’ve seen some evidence of Elvish misbehaviour that most people haven’t. Okay, I’ve never come across an Elf who was a vicious killer like some Humans I’ve known but I’ve certainly encountered a few with distinctly criminal tendencies. What’s more, in my business a visit from an Elf usually means trouble, because if they have any sort of minor problem then their Ambassador sorts it out for them, with plenty of help from our authorities, who always like to keep on their good side.