Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  He leans forward.

  “You know anything about the death of a dwa dealer?”

  “Which one? They die a lot.”

  “Orius here thought he might be able to pick up a little Orcish aura round the death scene.”

  I glance at the Sorcerer, then back to Casax.

  “So?”

  “Your young companion is part Orc. And handy with a sword.”

  “Plenty of people are handy with a sword in Twelve Seas. And she’s not the only girl in town with Orc blood.”

  Casax glances round the room.

  “Is this it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean is this all you have? Tiny rooms full of junk? Furniture fit for a slum?”

  “It suits me fine.”

  “You don’t have something salted away? Gold in the bank?”

  I look at him blankly.

  “Why do you do it?” he asks.

  “Do what?”

  “Investigate.”

  “I got thrown out of my last job for being a useless drunk.”

  “You could still do better for yourself. Rezox would have paid you to let him go. So would plenty of others. You could live a lot better.”

  The Brotherhood boss rises to his feet.

  “If you came here to give your pet Sorcerer a chance to see what he could learn, you’re going to be disappointed,” I tell him.

  Orius Fire Tamer sneers at me.

  “You think you have any power to affect me?”

  “I think I could toss a knife in your throat before you got a spell ready, kid.”

  Casax almost grins.

  “He might, Orius. He’s a tough guy, Thraxas. Not so tough that he’d bother me, but tough enough. When he’s sober.”

  He turns to me.

  “If your Orc friend killed my dealer I’ll be down on her like a bad spell. Not that I miss the dealer. But I’ve got a position to maintain. You understand.”

  They depart. I open my klee. The bottle is almost finished. I make a mental note to buy more. Makri appears.

  “Was it about the dealer?”

  “So they said. But I think Casax was more interested in what Lisutaris and Direeva were doing here. He won’t learn anything from Orius. That runt isn’t going to get through a hiding spell cast by Lisutaris. What’s the kid think he’s doing, linking up with the Brotherhood? When I was his age—”

  “Thraxas,” says Makri, loudly. “Be quiet. I have something important to tell you.”

  “If this is about See-ath, I don’t—”

  “It’s not about See-ath. It’s about Samanatius. They’re trying to evict him.”

  “What?”

  “The landlord wants to demolish the block. He’s using the collapse of the aqueduct as an excuse. He’s been trying to get rid of Samanatius and the other tenants for months now, he wants to make money on the land.”

  I’m staring at Makri in bewilderment. I can’t think why she’s telling me this. It almost sounds like she expects me to do something about it.

  “You have to do something about it.”

  I finish off my klee.

  “Me? What? Why?”

  “The owner got the go-ahead from Prefect Drinius, but it’s illegal to demolish the block without permission from the Consul’s office.”

  I shrug.

  “Happens all the time. If the local Prefect says its okay, the owner’s not going to wait for the Consul to screw things up. Just mean another bribe to pay.”

  “They can’t evict Samanatius! He’s a great man.”

  I don’t care one way or the other about Samanatius.

  “You have to stop it.”

  “Makri, what gives you this bizarre idea that I could do anything? I’m an Investigator, not a planning inspector.”

  “You’re a Tribune of the People. You can halt any building work by referring it to the Senate for adjudication.”

  My head swims.

  “What?”

  “It’s part of the power invested in the Tribunes. They could do lots of things to protect the poor. Stopping landlords from demolishing buildings was one of them.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I’m not. I looked it up in the library.”

  “That was a hundred and fifty years ago.”

  “Their powers were never rescinded.”

  “But I’m not a real Tribune. It’s only a device to get me into the Assemblage.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” declares Makri firmly. “Cicerius made you a Tribune and it’s legal. You now have the full power of the Tribunate behind you and you have to do something.”

  I grab for the klee. It’s empty. There must be a beer round here somewhere.

  “Makri, this is insane. I’m sorry your buddy’s getting evicted but I can’t stop it. What the hell is Cicerius going to say if I suddenly start using my supposed power to order the local Prefect around? The Senate would go crazy. So would the Palace, probably. I’d have the whole government on my back. Who is the landlord anyway?”

  “Praetor Capatius.”

  “Capatius? The richest man in Turai? Controls about forty seats in the Senate? Sure, Makri, I’ll take him on any time. Easy as bribing a Senator. I’ll just tell him to please stop behaving badly. Be reasonable.”

  “You can do it,” insists Makri. “It’s part of your power.”

  “I don’t have any power,” I roar, frustrated by her insistence. “And have you forgotten what else is going on right now? I’m in the middle of a case that’s quite probably going to end up with me rowing a slave galley and Lisutaris dangling on a rope. I’ve got Sorcerers, the Deputy Consul, and an election to worry about, not to mention Covinius, deadly Assassin, in case you’ve forgotten. And you expect me to march up to Prefect Drinius and say, ‘Excuse me, you have to stop this eviction because I’m a Tribune of the People’?”

  “Yes.”

  “Forget it.”

  “Samanatius will not be evicted.”

  “I can’t prevent it.”

  “I’ll kill anyone who tries,” threatens Makri.

  “Good luck. Now excuse me, I’ve got an investigation to be getting on with.”

  I grab my warm cloak and depart swiftly. Stop the eviction indeed. Use my powers as Tribune of the People. That would certainly give the local population something to laugh about. They’d still be laughing when Praetor Capatius hired twenty armed men to chase me out of Twelve Seas.

  It takes a long time to find a landus. I’m cold. I wish I had more beer inside me. I wish I wasn’t always having to visit the Deputy Consul. For a man who paid out good money only a few days ago to hire me, he shows a great lack of enthusiasm to see me when I finally roll up at his house.

  “What do you want?”

  “Beer. But it’s usually in short supply round here, so I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

  “Have you disturbed me merely to request alcohol? I have an important appointment with Tilupasis.”

  “She’s an efficient woman, Tilupasis. Sharp as an Elf’s ear. You ought to make her a Senator. I need to talk to Rezox. I threw him in the slammer a week or so back and I need some quick access. It’s to help Lisutaris.”

  For all that he’s a crusty specimen and was a poor soldier, Cicerius can move quickly when he needs to. He’s known for his quick wits in the Senate. As soon as I hold up the possibility of helping Lisutaris, he moves into action, dashing off an official letter and granting permission for me to visit Rezox in prison. And when I mention that Rezox may not be forthcoming with the important information, he replies brusquely that he can deal with that if necessary.

  “His crime was to steal dragon scales from a warehouse? Tell me on the way why this is important. If he seems disinclined to co-operate, I can offer him his freedom.”

  I wasn’t planning on taking Cicerius along with me but he insists. Inside he’s no calmer than me. We’re just waiting for the scandal to blow up in our faces. The Deputy Consul lives in fear of
anything damaging the interests of his beloved Turai. Furthermore, the repercussions of Lisutaris’s arrest would hand a huge slice of harmful ammunition to Senator Lodius, head of the Populares. The opposition party will use Lisutaris’s downfall to smear Cicerius, and by association Kalius, the Consul, and even the King.

  We hurry to the prison in Cicerius’s official carriage.

  “Powdered dragon scales form part of a rare spell for erasing the past.”

  Cicerius still maintains that things would never have gone so badly wrong if I had looked after Lisutaris properly.

  “It could be worse. Certain members of the population of Twelve Seas are suggesting I use my Tribune’s powers to stop Praetor Capatius carrying out an eviction.”

  Cicerius is incredulous.

  “What? You will do no such thing.”

  “Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning to. Although they have a point. It’s hardly fair of the Praetor to use the cover of a fierce winter to evict the poor. You’d think the man had enough money already without tearing down his slums.”

  I know this will annoy Cicerius. Capatius is a strong supporter of the Traditionals and a huge contributor to their funds.

  “Presumably Capatius is set on improving the people’s housing conditions.”

  I laugh, which annoys him.

  “Capatius is set on improving his bank balance. Which is odd really, seeing as he owns his own bank. Doesn’t it bother the Traditionals that some of your supporters spend their whole life bleeding the poor?”

  “I do not intend to discuss Turanian politics with an Investigator,” says Cicerius.

  He doesn’t mind discussing politics when it suits him. We’ve arrived at the prison. We hurry inside. A Captain of the Guards salutes the Deputy Consul and leads us to Rezox. Cicerius’s assistant Hansius, arriving before us, has arranged for the interview in a private room. He’s an efficient young man, Hansius. He’ll go far.

  In detention, Rezox looks about as miserable as a Niojan whore, and the sight of me coming for a visit doesn’t cheer him up any. Cicerius begins to speak. Not having time for long speeches, I interrupt.

  “Rezox. I need to know who you were passing the dragon scales on to. Spill it and Cicerius will get you out of jail.”

  “Is that true?”

  “Sure it’s true. Cicerius has the green-edged toga. He can authorise it. So long as you tell me now.”

  Rezox weighs things up. If he’s worried about the morality of selling out his partner, it doesn’t delay him for more than five seconds.

  “Coralex,” he replies. “Up at the top of Pashish.”

  “Coralex?” says Cicerius. “I know of him. He’s a respectable importer of wine.”

  Coralex is the biggest disposer of stolen property in Turai. I thought everyone knew that.

  “Cicerius, you’re much too trusting. Okay, I’m off to see Coralex.”

  Before departing, I inform Cicerius that the threat from Covinius is now very real.

  “I don’t know if he had anything to do with Darius’s murder but I know he’s in Turai. There’s a strong chance his target is Lisutaris.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He’s a Simnian Assassin, isn’t he? Sunstorm Ramius might be favourite to win the election but that doesn’t mean the Simnians won’t try to get rid of the opposition.”

  “I regard that as highly unlikely,” replies Cicerius. “Simnia has never attempted assassination in the Sorcerers’ contest.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.”

  “Might his purpose in Turai be unconnected with the Assemblage?”

  “It might but we ought to assume the worst. Can you provide any more of a bodyguard for Lisutaris?”

  The Deputy Consul nods.

  “Is Coralex really a disposer of stolen goods?” he asks.

  “One of the biggest.”

  Cicerius shakes his head sadly.

  “My household has purchased wine from his warehouse. Some citizens have lost all sense of morality.”

  I depart swiftly on the trail of the dragon scales. My sense of morality went into decline a long time ago. It kept getting in the way of my work.

  Chapter Twelve

  Honest Mox’s bookmaking establishment is closed for the first time in living memory. The gambling fraternity of Twelve Seas are stunned. I’m standing outside in the snow with about twenty others, looking forlornly at the locked front door.

  “What happened?”

  “His son just died. From dwa.”

  The frustrated gamblers shake their heads. It’s almost too bad to contemplate. We never thought we’d see the day when Mox had to close. There’s a general feeling that if we can make our way here through the bad weather, Mox ought to at least be able to keep his shop open.

  People start drifting away, heading north towards the next bookmaker. It’s a frustrating occurrence. I was planning to lay off a little money on Ramius. As Lisutaris is likely to be slung out of the competition I really wanted to cover my losses with another bet. I’ve no time to visit another bookmaker. I need to see Coralex in a hurry. I curse. This job just gets worse and worse.

  The wind howls down from the north. By the time I reach Coralex’s house in Golden Crescent, home of the richest merchants, I’m about as angry as a Troll with a toothache. The servant who answers the door tries to keep me out and I just walk over him. They don’t build many domestic servants that can stand up to me. Another functionary attempts to hold me back and I bat him out of the way. Coralex appears at the top of the stairs. I’ve encountered him before in the course of my work, though I’ve never invaded his home before. I march up the stairs and grab him by the throat.

  “Coralex. I’m in a hurry. You got some dragon scales recently from a crooked merchant named Rezox. I want to know who you sold them to.”

  “Throw this man out of the house,” yells Coralex.

  An employee hurries into view, a more formidable specimen than the domestic servants. He’s tall and he carries a sword. I slam Coralex into him then grab him by the scruff of the neck and tumble him downstairs.

  I turn back to Coralex.

  “As I was saying. What happened to the dragon scales? Stop stammering, I don’t have time. I’m here with the backing of Deputy Consul Cicerius, and if I have to toss you downstairs, the Deputy will move Heaven, Earth and the three moons to see I don’t get prosecuted. He’s already very upset by what he just learned about you.”

  The merchant hesitates. I touch my dagger.

  “Spill it.”

  Coralex spills it. At his age, he isn’t going to get off lightly from a trip down the stairs. A man of his wealth naturally has a very long staircase.

  I leave the house with a lot of information, and curses raining down on me from Coralex, his wife, and a very pretty daughter who probably doesn’t know that her father deals in stolen goods. Outside the snow catches me in the face. I shake it off. Now that I’ve really offended someone, I feel like I’m working well. I have a list of the people who’ve recently bought dragon scales, and as these are not easy to come by there’s a good chance that the mysterious spell-worker will be among them.

  Back in Twelve Seas I buy a bundle of logs from a street vendor, stoke up the fire, open a beer and prepare to study the list. I’m interrupted by a knock at the door. I wrench it open and am surprised to find Senator Lodius, leader of the opposition party in Turai and sworn enemy of Cicerius. I’ve never spoken to Lodius. He did once violently denounce me to the Senate after I’d run into some trouble while working for Cicerius. The Chronicle ran a full report, listing many of my previous misdemeanours.

  “Are you busy?” he enquires, politely.

  The Senator is a man of medium height, about fifty or so but well preserved. He has something of an aristocratic air, though he styles himself leader of the democratic Populares party. He’s not particularly imposing in appearance but he’s handsome enough for a political leader, with blue eyes, short grey hair neatly
styled and a well-cut toga just visible under a thick woollen cloak. He’s a powerful speaker when he has to be and he has a lot of support in this city.

  “I’m busy. But come in anyway.”

  I don’t know why he’s here. Lodius is far too important to be visiting me. I’ve never liked the man—he always gives me the impression of a politician who’d hitch his wagon to any cause which might bring him to power—but if he’s here to offer me some lucrative work I might be prepared to change my opinion.

  The Senator is accompanied by two assistants, or bodyguards more likely, as Turanian politics is inclined to be violent. I kick some junk under the table, draw out a chair and motion the Senator to take a seat. Surprisingly, he accepts my offer of beer. He takes the bottle, doesn’t mind that I don’t have any goblets to hand, and gets right down to business.

  “I understand you are busy, at the Sorcerers Assemblage?”

  At the mention of the Assemblage I’m immediately on my guard.

  “I wish you success,” he says. “It will be a fine thing for the city if our candidate is elected.”

  I’m expecting Lodius to start in with some criticism of Cicerius and the Traditionals, but that doesn’t seem to be what he’s here for.

  “I am hoping, however, that you will have time to perform another function. Have you heard of the impending demolition of the buildings around the collapsed aqueduct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you aware that the proposal to clear the area will make four hundred Turanians homeless?”

  I wasn’t, though the way landlords crowd people into the slums, it’s not really a surprise.

  “Praetor Capatius wishes to develop the land for profit,” continues Lodius. “As the richest man in the city and a strong supporter of the Traditionals, the Praetor has of course no regard for the rights of the ordinary citizen.”

  By this time I’m eyeing the Senator warily. I don’t like where this is going.

  “Are you aware of your powers as Tribune of the People?”

  “I’ve a rough idea.”

  The Senator nods. Then he asks me what I’m planning to do.

  “I wasn’t planning to do anything.”