by Martin Scott
“Surely you do not wish to see these people made homeless, particularly in the middle of such a fierce winter?”
“I’d sooner they were warm and cosy. But I’m not really a Tribune. I was only given the post so I could get into the Assemblage.”
“Nonetheless, you have the power. Are you afraid that Cicerius would disapprove of you acting against his friend Capatius?”
“Not particularly. I just don’t see myself as a politician. And I’m busy.”
“Too busy to help your fellow citizens?”
If there’s one thing you can be sure of it’s that Lodius doesn’t care about his fellow citizens either, but I don’t seem to have the opportunity to point this out. He’s backing me into an awkward corner.
“Yes. I’m too busy. I’m already helping Turai by assisting Lisutaris. I can’t be rescuing the whole city. You’re head of a political party, why don’t you stop the evictions?”
“I don’t have the power. By some quirk of history, only the Tribunes can do that. A Tribune can insist that every legal step is followed to the letter in the matter of city development. Naturally, that was not what Cicerius had in mind when he nominated you, but the fact remains that you can prevent the eviction by referring the matter to the Senate. Once that has been done, I will take over.”
“Would this have anything to do with you needing four hundred votes in a vital ward that has an election next year?”
“I am concerned only with the plight of the poor.”
We stare at each other for a while. I’m wondering what pressure Lodius can bring to bear. While I don’t relish having him as a political enemy, Cicerius and the Traditionals still have more power. The Consul, Turai’s highest official, is always a Traditional, and they’re the party of the King. The last thing I want to do is end up an enemy of the King. The whole thing is extremely aggravating for a man who tries to stay out of politics. I inform the Senator that, sad as I am to see hardship among my fellow citizens, I’m not about to enter the political arena by vetoing Praetor Capatius. Senator Lodius sips his beer, and turns to speak to one of his assistants.
“Ivitius. Tell me again what you saw when you were visiting your cousin in Quintessence Street.”
“Thraxas the Investigator dumping a body over a wall,” says Ivitius.
“And what night was that?”
“The same night Darius Cloud Walker was killed.”
Lodius turns back to me.
“A very troubling affair, as you know. I understand that the Sorcerers Guild is currently extending its full powers in an effort to find out what happened to Darius Cloud Walker. But from what I hear, someone has cast a mystical shield over the events of the night in question. The Sorcerers are baffled, at least for the moment. Of course, they are lacking specific information. All they know is that the body was found in a snowdrift in Twelve Seas. If they had more facts—for instance, the exact location of the killing, and the identity of those around the victim at the time—I have no doubt that they could quickly learn the truth concerning his death.”
I can’t think of anything to say. I’m all out of words.
“My carriage is outside,” says the Senator. “I will take you to the site of the eviction. Nothing formal in the way of documentation is required. It is merely necessary for you to speak to the person in charge, one Vadinex, an employee of Capatius’s. Tell him that you are referring the matter to the Senate. Work will then cease, pending investigation.”
I still can’t think of anything to say. I get my cloak. We ride in silence along Quintessence Street. The snow and ice are thick on the ground, but Lodius has a sturdy carriage pulled by two equally sturdy horses and we reach the site of the eviction a lot quicker than I’d like to. The snow is falling on a dismal scene of workmen, city officials, lawyers, civil guards and poor tenants, all arguing bitterly. Despite the cold, violence is in the air as the Civil Guards hold back the crowd. Some of the slum dwellers scream from upstairs windows, aiming their anger at Vadinex, the man in charge.
I knew Vadinex in my army days. He stands about six and a half feet tall and he’s built like a bull. Once at a siege he won a commendation for being the first man over the wall. Praetor Capatius uses him for difficult assignments, and evicting a few poor tenants is all in a day’s work for him.
I really don’t want to be doing this. I notice Captain Rallee among the guards, and make my way towards him. Before I get there, a figure bursts through the crowd brandishing an axe. It’s Makri, clad in a thick cloak and her floppy hat, and bristling with weapons.
“You’re not going to evict Samanatius,” she yells.
An elderly figure in a plain cloak, presumably the philosopher himself, steps forward through the blizzard to lay his hand on her shoulder, indicating I think that he doesn’t wish to see violence done. Vadinex confronts her, flanked by his helpers. Makri raises her axe. I step forward.
“Stop!” I yell.
I have a loud voice when necessary, and a lot of bulk. It’s hard to miss me, even in a snowstorm.
“I’m halting this work. As Tribune of the People, I am referring the matter to the Senate.”
There is general astonishment. Captain Rallee actually laughs. Vadinex doesn’t seem so amused.
“What the hell are you talking about, Thraxas? Get out of my way.”
Various others now step forward in support of my statement. Several cold-looking lawyers, accompanied by armed men, courtesy of Lodius, announce that the eviction cannot now go ahead.
“The Tribune has spoken.”
Everyone looks at me. I feel foolish. Senator Lodius has now stepped into the fray. As people recognise him they realise that this is not a joke. Captain Rallee addresses Vadinex.
“It’s legal,” he says. “The matter has to go to the Senate. You can’t carry out the eviction.”
Vadinex starts to protest but Captain Rallee cuts him short.
“I said it’s legal. And if you keep me standing here in this snowstorm any longer, I’m liable to throw you in prison for assaulting a Civil Guard. Eviction over. Everybody go home.”
Vadinex eyes me with loathing.
“The Praetor will be down on you like a bad spell for this,” he growls.
Makri hurries over.
“Stay away or I’ll kill you,” she spits at him.
Vadinex always had a short temper. Were the area not so thick with Civil Guards, he’d quite likely attack her. I’d like to see Makri killing Vadinex. The way the huge man looks at her before he departs, she may yet get the chance. He moves off, taking his companions with him.
“Thraxas, you were great!” enthuses Makri. “I knew you’d come through in the end. Come and meet Samanatius!”
I shake the elderly philosopher’s hand. He thanks me warmly, but when he looks into my eyes I know he knows I’m not here of my own free will. All around, tenants of the slums are congratulating me for rescuing them from Vadinex.
“Good work,” booms Senator Lodius, and gets round to letting everyone know that he is the man responsible for their salvation. The congratulations fail to give me a warm glow. Makri might be as happy as an Elf in a tree that Samanatius has a reprieve, but I’ve got other things to worry about.
“Where’s Lisutaris? You’re meant to be protecting her.”
Makri tells me she’s asleep in her room at the Avenging Axe. Direeva is with her.
I frown.
“I’m starting to get suspicious of Direeva. I don’t like the way she keeps sticking to Lisutaris.”
“Tilupasis likes it. Tilupasis seems to have a lot of influence, even with the Consul.”
“She ought to. They’re having an affair. Well, according to scurrilous rumour anyway, and I generally trust that. Do a good job for Tilupasis and she might help with the university.”
“I already thought of that.”
I ask Makri if Tilupasis is a supporter of the Association of Gentlewomen, but Makri doesn’t think she is, which strikes her as odd.
“Maybe she thinks she’s doing fine already,” I suggest.
Makri isn’t enjoying her employment as bodyguard.
“I expected I might have to kill the occasional attacker and maybe fight off a few Assassins. I never thought it would involve being nursemaid to a woman who can’t stand upright after lunchtime. What were you thinking of, nominating her for head of the Sorcerers Guild?”
“I didn’t nominate her. Cicerius did. Is she still going at the water pipe?”
“Like a hungry dragon chewing on a carcass. How does she ever remember any spells? I mean, you can’t remember them even when you’re sober.”
“She studied more than me.”
“It was hell at the Assemblage. I had to keep dragging her away from visiting Sorcerers so they wouldn’t see how doped she was. Isn’t she meant to be impressing people?”
Despite her recent lapses, Makri does have something of a puritanical streak, which now appears to be resurfacing. She thinks that people should get on with their work, and Lisutaris is certainly failing to do this. I agree that Lisutaris can’t be impressing the Sorcerers with her performance.
“The delegation from Turai are doing their best. The other two Tribunes have been spreading hospitality around to the extent that some of our guests are now so sated with sex, alcohol and dwa that they’d vote for anyone they were told to. It’s not going to be enough to defeat Ramius in the vote, but remember, our candidate only has to make it into the top two.”
“But those two go into some sort of final contest,” Makri points out. “How is Lisutaris going to manage that?”
“Who knows? It wouldn’t surprise me if Tilupasis is working on some way of cheating right now.”
At the Avenging Axe, Makri goes to check on Lisutaris. I’ve barely time to load up with stew, venison and yams before I’m back at work, studying the list of recipients of dragon scales. It’s an interesting collection, containing the names of quite a few aristocratic Turanians. These rich ladies like to make their hair sparkle with dragon scales, but it seems as if they prefer to buy them at a discount, even if it’s illegal. Coralex and Rezox were doing a good trade. Clients include Praetor Capatius, Prefect Galwinius, several other Senators and various high-up city officials. Rich merchants too, including, I note, Rixad. I’m not surprised. He was keen to keep his wife happy, and nothing says I love you better than a sprinkling of well-cut dragon scales.
Unfortunately, few people on the list have any knowledge of sorcery. I can’t see Capatius or Galwinius huddled over a cauldron, cooking up a magical brew. The name of Tirini Snake Smiter catches my eye. She might be buying dragon scales for making spells. She is a Sorcerer. But she’s also a woman who loves to display herself to her best advantage, and I’m inclined to believe she wanted to make her hair sparkle rather than work some malevolent spell. Tirini would be an unlikely murderer. She never dabbles in politics, or crime, to my knowledge, being more concerned with party-going, temporary romances and generally enjoying herself. She has a lot of power, but the most notable thing she’s done with it recently is light up the trees in her garden in a fantastic display for a reception she held. The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle was impressed. They liked the fireworks too. I don’t see her as a murderer.
The only other name of note is Princess Direeva. Direeva has recently bought dragon scales from Coralex. I muse on this. In my eyes Direeva is already a suspect for the murder of Darius. No known motive but plenty of opportunity. And now it turns out that she’s been clandestinely buying the main ingredient for a hitherto unknown spell of erasement.
Unfortunately Direeva also wears beads made from dragon scales in her hair. If I confront her she’ll simply say she needed some new jewellery. She does have a lot of hair to decorate.
I need a drink. After a lifetime as a private citizen, suddenly being obliged to act in an official capacity has unnerved me. I’m grateful it’s midwinter. People have enough problems worrying about staying alive without paying too much attention to the startling sight of Thraxas suddenly appearing as a minor politician. With any luck it will soon be forgotten about. It had better be, I’m not planning on defending anyone else’s rights.
Chapter Thirteen
Next morning at Lisutaris’s villa I find Makri sitting in front of a well-laden breakfast table.
“Lisutaris still unconscious?”
“No, wide awake.”
I’m surprised.
“What happened? The water pipe break from overuse?”
“Lisutaris never starts on the water pipe till Copro’s been to do her hair. She needs to be fully alert for the morning beauty treatments. Copro wouldn’t like it if she wasn’t paying attention. He’s quite temperamental.”
Discussing Copro, I feel quite temperamental myself.
“I need to see her.”
“You can’t see her yet. Copro doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s working.”
“Goddammit, are you serious? I’m trying to get her off a murder rap and she’s too busy getting her hair done?”
“You can’t expect an important Sorcerer to turn up at the Assemblage with her hair in poor condition,” says Makri. “It’s hardly going to impress people.”
“They’re voting for top Sorcerer, not fashion woman of the year.”
“No one’s going to vote for her if they think she’s not making an effort,” asserts Makri.
“So how come you’re a fan of Copro all of a sudden? I thought you didn’t like him.”
I stare at Makri suspiciously.
“There’s something different about you.”
“No there isn’t.”
“Yes there is. Your hair is different.”
“Just a little rearrangement,” says Makri, defensively. “Copro said it would show off my cheekbones better—”
“Your cheekbones? What’s got into you? When you arrived in Turai you couldn’t stop talking about how stupid the rich women were.”
“I’m just fitting in,” says Makri, calmly. “As Lisutaris’s bodyguard I can’t be arguing with her hairdresser. It would create all sorts of difficulties.”
She studies her fingernails.
“Do you think I should get my nails done as well? I’m not really happy with this colour.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It clashes with the chainmail.”
Makri holds her fingers over a piece of chainmail, and peers in the mirror.
“Thraxas, you remember how I said I’d like to be blonde after we saw all those blonde Elvish women? What do you think?”
“Will you stop talking like this? Yesterday you were going to chop up Vadinex with your axe, and today you’re twittering on about your hair.”
“I do not see the two things as mutually exclusive,” protests Makri.
“Life was easier when you were an ignorant Barbarian.”
“I was never an ignorant Barbarian.”
“Well, you didn’t used to ramble on about hair and make-up. When you arrived in this city all you wanted to do was attend the university.”
“I still do. I may wear a little eyeliner when I get there.”
“What happened to Makri the demented swordswoman?”
“Make your mind up, Thraxas. Only last week you were lecturing me about killing the dwa dealer. You want me to kill someone? Fine. Just point me in the right direction.”
“I don’t want you to kill anyone.”
“Don’t worry about me,” says Makri, warming to the topic. “I’ll kill anyone that needs killing. Orcs, Humans, Elves, Trolls, dragons, snakes, mythical beasts—”
“Will you shut up about killing things?”
“What, so now I’m not meant to talk about killing people or make-up? Is there any subject you’d be happy with?”
“Solving a murder would be a good choice. How long is Lisutaris going to be?”
“I think she’s scheduled for a manicure as well. Copro brought his best assistant, and a nail specialist.�
��
Quite a long time apparently. Makri is showing little interest in the food in front of her, so I pile up a plate for a good second breakfast, meanwhile silently cursing Copro and his ilk. When I was young the city wasn’t full of beauticians. Old Consul Juvenius would have thrown Copro off the walls, and a good thing too.
“So what do you think?” says Makri.
“About what?”
“Dying my hair blonde.”
“I think you’ll look like a cheap whore. Stop asking me about it.”
“Do you have to be so unpleasant? Looking after Lisutaris is stressful. I need some relaxation.”
Unable to take any more of this, I carry my plate over to the window and stare out at the ice-covered garden. If Makri asks me one more time about her hair I’m going to turn her in as an accessory to murder. There’s some commotion in the long hallway and a messenger rushes in calling for Makri. He hands her a slip of paper. Makri breaks the seal and looks concerned.
“Bad news at the Assemblage.”
“The Sorcerers have got through—?”
“No. Sunstorm Ramius has dispatched Troverus to take Princess Direeva to dinner. Tilupasis is very concerned.”
Makri rises to her feet.
“I have to intercept them.”
“Who is Troverus?” I ask, feeling confused.
“Handsomest young man in Simnia, according to all reports. Tilupasis has been worried about him all along. That Ramius, he’s cunning.”
Makri starts making ready to leave. She has a determined look in her eyes.
“I won’t have it. No ‘handsomest young man in Simnia’ is going to charm Direeva into voting for Sunstorm Ramius.”
Makri hurries to don her armour, and throws her weapons into the small purse which contains the magic pocket. All the while she’s muttering about the perfidy of the Simnians.
“It’s underhand tactics. I’ll show them.”
“I thought you weren’t keen on this vote-winning business. You said it was corrupt.”
“It is. But I refuse to be defeated,” states Makri. “Look after Lisutaris till she gets to the Assemblage. And whatever you do, don’t insult Copro. He’s extremely temperamental.”