by Martin Scott
“I’ve never heard of it. Does it involve staying sober?”
“Not as far as I know. I’m not planning on staying that sober at the Assemblage.”
The Captain grins. The fire illuminates his long yellow hair, picking out his handsome features.
“Better take care you don’t offend someone.”
“I’d be more likely to offend the Sorcerers if I was sober.”
“True enough. When I heard our government were putting up Lisutaris for head of the Guild, I thought they were crazy. Everyone knows she’s stoned every day. But who knows? It might be in her favour. Sorcerers, they never could control themselves.”
“You remember the time we were camped up in the north and Harmon Half Elf was meant to be keeping watch?” asks Gurd, bringing up an old war memory.
“Sure,” replies the Captain. “He got so drunk he thought our pack mule was a troll and blasted it with a fire spell.”
“And he burned all our supplies so we ended up eating the mule!”
We all laugh, and call for more beer, and we spend the night telling war stories and drinking.
“It was different in those days,” says Gurd, some time after midnight. “The Orcs were always attacking us. We had to fight to stay alive. But there wasn’t any dwa. I liked it better then.”
Chapter Five
The Assemblage is due to start in three days’ time. Already Sorcerers are arriving in the city, though there’s little sign of them in Twelve Seas. They’re either staying as guests of Turanian Sorcerers in Truth is Beauty Lane or else living in villas rented by the Guild in Thamlin. Some of the more adventurous among them may be visiting the Kushni quarter in the centre of town, where there’s a lot of diversion in the way of whores, gambling, drinking and dwa, but none ventures as far as Twelve Seas. This doesn’t mean we’re not interested in them. The local citizens read news of each new arrival in The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle of All the World’s Events, the cheap and poorly produced news sheet that brings the population of Turai its regular dose of gossip and scandal. Faced as we are with so many enemies, it’s comforting for Turanians to have powerful Sorcerers within our walls. When it’s learned that I’m to attend the Assemblage, most people are impressed, although fairly amused at the thought of me being some sort of government official.
“Of course,” as Chiaraxi, the local healer, points out, “it’s not as if our officials are all sober, responsible citizens. From what I’ve seen of these degenerates in the Senate, Thraxas would fit right in.”
“Only if they could make a special outsize toga,” replies Rox, who should stick to selling fish.
Bolstered by such support, I’m wrapping up all other business. The Transport Guild has paid me for the apprehension of Rezox and I’ve been to visit the suspicious merchant with regard to his wife. He’s a timber dealer by the name of Rixad. While I can’t say he’s the friendliest client I’ve ever had, he does seem to take my opinions seriously and he doesn’t quibble over payment. Rixad is around fifty, overweight and not the handsomest man in the city. I can see he might be suspicious of his glamorous young wife, but if he wants to use his wealth to scoop up a beauty in need of money, it’s almost bound to happen. His wife started off on the stage and might have thought it a wise move to swap the uncertain life of an actress for the luxury of an important merchant’s household, but she’s probably bored by now.
I report that as far as I can see she has no external interests save in beautifying herself.
“I checked out her visitors but there’s nothing suspicious. Standard crowd, cater for all the richest women in the city. I expect it’s costing you a bundle, but apart from that you’ve nothing to worry about.”
Rixad nods.
“The last bill from Copro was for more than a shipload of timber. I don’t mind. It keeps her happy.”
Copro is quite a well-known man in Turai. One of our finest beauticians. Since arriving in Turai he’s attained such a reputation that the female aristocracy fight for his services. Princess Du-Akan swears by him, I believe. He’s been a frequent visitor to Rixad’s wife, but as Copro is rumoured to have a close relationship with his young male assistant, he’s not a man you have to worry about your wife misbehaving with.
Business completed, I make my way home, reasonably satisfied. I’m still in a bad mood about having to attend the Assemblage, but at least it will be warm. The temperature has dropped even further and the streets are quieter than I’ve ever seen them. Only the most vital services are still in operation and many of the population are obliged to chip blocks of ice from frozen aqueducts and thaw it out for drinking water.
I arrive at the Avenging Axe just as Makri is climbing the outside stairs to my office.
“I just had an argument with the dealer who sold dwa to Minarixa,” she says. “Do you think there might be any trouble?”
“How bad was the argument?”
“He’s dead.”
I mutter the minor incantation to open my door and hurry inside.
“Of course there will be trouble. Did anyone see you?”
Makri doesn’t think so.
“The alley was dark and it was snowing.”
“Did you have to kill him?”
Makri shrugs.
“I wasn’t planning to. I was just going to beat him. He pulled a knife so I ran him through.”
I swear it was only last week that Makri was telling me in glowing terms about some lecture she’d attended concerning the importance of moral behaviour at all times.
“You think this was moral?”
“He deserved it.”
“I’m sure Samanatius would be highly impressed. If the Brotherhood find out they’ll be down on us like a bad spell. I don’t fancy trying to escape the city when the gates are frozen shut. Do you always have to do things which lead to trouble?”
Makri opens her mouth to reply but instead she starts to cry. I stare at her in complete astonishment. She’s never reacted like this before. When I shout at her she normally just shouts back louder, and maybe reaches for her axe.
Faced with a tearful Makri, I have no idea what to do. I’m worried it might be some sort of menstruation problem, a subject I had successfully avoided for forty-three years until Makri insisted on breaking one of Turai’s strongest taboos by bringing it up in public a few months ago, thereby throwing the whole neighbourhood into panic. The local priest swears he’ll never visit the Avenging Axe again. Makri slumps down heavily on the couch and continues to cry. I wonder if I could escape downstairs for a beer.
“Um … well, it might not turn out so bad … dwa dealers get killed all the time. Maybe the Brotherhood won’t care too much…”
Tears trickle down Makri’s face. I’m trapped.
“What’s going on? Is it something, er … personal…?”
Makri seems reluctant to talk.
“Okay, maybe you could tell me later, I’ve got some important…”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” she demands.
“What do you mean? I was trying to be sympathetic. If you’re just going to sit there all day being as miserable as a Niojan whore, what the hell do you expect me to do? I’m a busy man.”
“Well, that’s fine, I wouldn’t want to bother you,” says Makri angrily. “I won’t bother saving you next time you get in trouble.”
“Makri, the last thing in the world I want to do is discuss your private life, but Tanrose says I have to, so spill it.”
“You expect me to tell you about my private life? No chance.”
“That’s fine with me, I don’t want to hear it anyway.”
“All right, I’ll tell you,” says Makri. She sniffs, and drinks some of my klee.
“I slept with an Elf on Avula. And I’ve been miserable ever since.”
I silently curse Tanrose. She should be dealing with this sort of thing.
“Right … well … you know… I’m sure it will work out fine.”
Makri dabs her eye
s and looks at me.
“Is that it? Is that the best you can do?”
I spread my arms wide and contrive to look hopeless.
“Makri, I might be number one chariot when it comes to investigating and sharp as an Elf’s ear at the race track, but I never claimed to be any good on emotional problems. I assume this is an emotional problem?”
“What did you think it was?”
“With you it’s hard to tell. If it turns out you stabbed the Elf I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Makri starts crying again. I wish the Brotherhood would attack. A good sword fight would take her mind off it. Makri never had a lover before and now appears to be suffering some sort of crisis.
“Wasn’t that what you wanted? I mean, an Elf, leafy glades and such like? Better than some lowlife in Twelve Seas anyway. The first time I was with a woman I was fourteen, drunk, and her pimp came in halfway through to check I had enough money.”
“Why hasn’t See-ath been in touch?” wails Makri. “He’s ignoring me. Wasn’t it important?”
“He’s thousands of miles away on an Elvish island. How’s he going to get in touch?”
“He could send a message.”
I point out that in the middle of winter even the Elves can’t make the voyage to Turai. Makri is unconvinced and seems to think that he should have tried harder.
“I’m sure he could have sent a message.”
“How?”
“He could’ve used a Sorcerer.”
“Makri, Sorcerers can sometimes communicate over long distances but it’s not easy. Only a very powerful Sorcerer could contact Turai from Avula, and he’d need plenty of help from the right conjunctions of the moon, not to mention calm weather and a certain amount of good fortune. It’s a difficult business. I really don’t think your young lover could persuade the local Sorcerer to send a message to his girlfriend, no matter how much he wanted to.”
“Fine,” says Makri, angrily. “Be on his side then.” She stands up and storms out the room.
I take a hefty slug of klee. I’m unnerved. I resolve to have a strong word with Tanrose. She should be dealing with this, I’m far too busy investigating. I take another drink and realise I’m feeling angry about the whole thing, though I’m not sure why.
There’s a knock on my outside door. I answer it warily, fearing that the Brotherhood may be here to ask questions about their sudden loss of a dwa dealer. It turns out to be Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. I’m moderately pleased to see her and welcome her in. It’s probably a good idea to talk to her before the Assemblage, though I’m surprised she’s travelled to Twelve Seas. If I was a powerful Sorcerer living in the pleasant environs of Truth is Beauty Lane, nothing would get me south of the river.
Lisutaris has high cheekbones, a lot of fair hair and carries herself elegantly. We’re about the same age but you wouldn’t know it. She’s attractive, and rather glamorous when she takes the notion, though when she arrives she’s wrapped in a sensible amount of fur and her rainbow cloak is a practical winter model rather than the fancy thing she normally wears.
My rooms are extremely untidy. Lisutaris isn’t overly concerned about the niceties, however, and sweeps some junk off a chair before sitting down and enquiring if I can provide her with some wine to keep her circulation moving while she prepares some thazis for consumption.
“No wine. Beer?”
Lisutaris nods, and concentrates on her thazis. Most people smoke thazis in small sticks, but Lisutaris, when separated from her water pipe, constructs far larger versions, and she proceeds to do this while I bring her ale. In no time the room reeks of thazis and Lisutaris is looking more comfortable.
“It’s cold as the ice queen’s grave out there,” she mutters. “I’ve got a warming spell on my cloak, my hat, my boots and my carriage, and I’m still shivering.”
I ask her what brings her to Twelve Seas.
“I hear you’re going to the Assemblage as Cicerius’s representative.”
“I am.”
“Did he ask you to fix the election for me?”
“Not exactly. Just to make sure it wasn’t fixed against you. Do you care?”
Lisutaris shrugs.
“Not particularly. It will be bad for Turai if the Simnian gets the post, but what the hell, the Orcs will destroy the city soon enough, either that or Nioj will.”
“The King thinks that having you as head of the Guild will give us protection.”
“It might. Who knows?”
Lisutaris inhales another vast amount of thazis smoke.
“What I mainly want to happen at the Assemblage,” she continues, “is for me not to get killed.”
“You think that’s likely?”
She does.
“I received an anonymous message saying an Assassin was on his way.”
Lisutaris is short on details. She’s brought the message with her and hands it over. A small piece of paper with neat handwriting.
You may be in danger from an Assassin at the Assemblage. Covinius is coming.
There’s nothing else. Nothing else to see, that is, though a piece of paper can often yield a lot to sorcerous investigation. I tell Lisutaris I’ll get to work on it.
“Did you inform the Civil Guard?”
“Yes. But the Guards won’t be allowed into the Assemblage. That’s why I want to hire you.”
I tell Lisutaris that strictly she doesn’t have to. Cicerius has already hired me to work on her behalf. Lisutaris insists she’d be happier if she hired me directly, and there’s some sense in this so I take a retainer fee from her.
“It’s very hard to get any information about the Assassins. But I’ll do my best. Most probably it’s just some crank.”
“Who is Covinius?” asks Lisutaris.
“A member of the Simnian Assassins Guild. He has an evil reputation. People say he’s never failed on a mission.”
“I’m not feeling any better,” says Lisutaris, frowning. “I don’t want this job enough to get killed for it.”
Lisutaris is strong enough to carry a powerful protection spell at all times. This will turn a blade, but there’s no saying how many ways a murderous expert like Covinius could find to get around it. I repeat that there’s probably nothing in it, but in truth I’m worried.
A freezing draught from under the door is badly affecting my feet. I kick an old cushion over to cover the gap. Lisutaris smiles. There are plenty of Sorcerers I wouldn’t welcome here, but Lisutaris isn’t the snobbish type. Back in the war she slept in a tent by the walls like everyone else. I realise I rather like her. I’ll be sorry if she ends up with an Assassin’s dart in her heart.
“I need someone to watch my back,” says the Sorcerer.
“Didn’t you just hire me for that?”
“Yes. But you’re going to be busy with other things at the Assemblage. I want to recruit Makri as a bodyguard.”
This doesn’t seem like a bad idea. If you want a bodyguard, Makri is a good choice, providing you don’t mind her killing a few extra people every now and then. And with the Guild College being closed for the winter, she’s got time on her hands.
“I think she’ll be pleased to do it. Cheer her up, probably.”
“Has Makri been unhappy?”
In other circumstances it would be strange that the well-bred Mistress of the Sky would even know Makri, but they’ve met through the Association of Gentlewomen. So I believe anyway, though the Association keeps its business secret.
“Fairly unhappy. A few personal problems. I sorted most of it out.”
Lisutaris’s attention is already starting to wander. When I ask her about the Assemblage it takes a few moments for her to reply.
“How exactly is the new head of the Guild chosen? Is it a straight election or is there some sort of test?”
“Both. The Sorcerers vote on the candidates and the top two go on to a final elimination.”
“Which involves?”
“A test inside the magic spa
ce.”
“What test?”
The Mistress of the Sky doesn’t know. Charius the Wise will set the test, and he’s keeping the details close to his chest.
“With any luck we’ll be looking for thazis plants,” says Lisutaris, who’s fairly single-minded about her pleasures these days. I show her along the corridor to Makri’s room and leave her at the door before heading downstairs for a beer. I get myself round a Happy Guildsman jumbo tankard of ale and inform Gurd that his barmaid will be missing for a few days as she is about to perform the duties of bodyguard for Turai’s leading Sorcerer. Gurd looks relieved. He’s been suffering at the hands of Makri’s moods, and ever since Tanrose told him it was due to some emotional difficulties, the Barbarian has been terrified that Makri might broach the subject with him. Gurd has more than enough emotional problems of his own. He’s attracted to Tanrose and never quite knows what to do about it.
“It will take her mind off things,” says Gurd. “Why did she want to get involved with an Elf anyway?”
“I don’t know. Probably thinks they’re handsome.”
“Why would she care about that? A good fighter and a good provider, that’s what a man should be.”
Sensing that Gurd is now worrying that Tanrose might not think he’s handsome enough, I change the subject.
“I’m about to look after an election. Not a job I ever thought I’d end up doing.”
“You think it will be fair?”
“I’ll make sure it is. Turai is depending on me, and I’m depending on the hefty fee Cicerius has offered me.”
“But what about all the magic they’ll be using?” asks Gurd. As a northern Barbarian, he’s never been too comfortable with magic.
“It won’t matter. If there’s anything irregular going on I’ll pick it up. Easy as bribing a Senator for a man of my experience.”
The tavern fills up as the evening draws on. The fierce winter is not harming Gurd’s business. People would rather be drinking in the warmth of the Avenging Axe than huddling miserably at home. I load up with several bowls of stew, then depart upstairs with beer. I look in on Makri to see if she’s taken the job as bodyguard. Lisutaris is still here. She’s lying unconscious on the floor surrounded by the remains of numerous enormous thazis sticks. Makri is comatose beside her. The room is so thick with smoke I can barely see the far wall. I shake my head.