by Martin Scott
“A sequence of numbers,” replies Charius. “Your task is to find the next number in the sequence and bring it to me. The first person to do so will be the next head of the Sorcerers Guild.”
“What sort of test is that?” demands Lisutaris, sounding displeased.
“It is the test I have set you.”
“I’m not a mathematician,” declares Lisutaris. “I do not count this as a proper test.”
There is no sound of protest from Sunstorm Ramius. Maybe he’s a mathematician. Or maybe he’s about to cheat. Already I’m highly suspicious. I peer round the hedge. Charius is disappearing into the green light and Ramius is exiting through the opposite gap in the hedge. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is dragging a large water pipe out of her personal magic pocket.
“That’s not going to help,” I say, stepping forward.
Lisutaris looks round.
“Nothing’s going to help. Look at this.”
She hands over a sheet of parchment. On it are written the numbers 391, 551, 713.
“Anyone know what the next number might be?”
No one knows.
“It seems like an odd sort of test,” says Direeva.
“Don’t you know, Makri? You study mathematics.”
“I’ll try and work it out,” says Makri, but she looks puzzled.
“You do that,” says Lisutaris, and takes hold of the water pipe.
“For God’s sake, you can’t just give up,” I shout. “Not after all the effort we went to to get you here. Do something.”
“What? I’m no good at numbers. Never was.”
“Summon up a mathematical spirit or something.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“There must be some magical way of finding the next number. Otherwise Charius wouldn’t have set it as a test.”
Direeva wonders, like me, if this might have been arranged in some way for Ramius to win. Perhaps the Simnians didn’t bother bribing the Sorcerers because they’d already bribed Charius.
“If he walks back in here in thirty seconds with the right number, I’m going to be pretty suspicious.”
A unicorn walks by. We ignore it.
“Maybe they have mathematical spirits in Simnia.”
“Maybe,” says Lisutaris. “But not in Turai. I’m stumped.”
She lights the water pipe. I can’t believe she’s giving up so easily. Direeva suddenly makes a warning sound. Close to us, a green light is starting to glow. We all hurry behind the hedge, and peer round the edge just in time to see a dark shape disappearing into the forest.
“Covinius!” whispers Princess Direeva. “He’s come, as I thought he would.”
“Are you sure that was Covinius? I couldn’t see his face.”
“Who else would it be?”
Direeva steps forward.
“I will take care of him. Lisutaris, you must do what you can with the test.”
With that Direeva strides off, her long hair swinging in the light breeze.
I turn to Makri.
“Stay here with Lisutaris.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to see what I can find.”
“You’ll get lost.”
“No I won’t. I know all about sorcerous mazes. Maybe if I can rustle up a talking pig he’ll know the next number in the sequence.”
“The next number,” grumbles Lisutaris. “The whole thing is ridiculous. Who knows anything about mathematics?”
“Simnian Sorcerers, maybe.”
Lisutaris sits down with her pipe.
“It’s not a fair test,” she mutters, sounding irritatingly like a schoolchild. “I was expecting to be damming a river. Or building a mountain. I could have done that.”
“Fair or not, we have to find it quick, before Ramius. I’m damned if I’ve come this far just to let a Simnian win.”
Lisutaris doesn’t seem to care. She’s given up. Her hair is still beautifully styled. At a reception at the Imperial Palace, other women would be eyeing her with envy.
Chapter Eighteen
I set off through the Maze of Aero, leaving Makri to guard Lisutaris. I’m guessing that despite her firm intentions of remaining sober Makri will soon join in on the water pipe. It’s a deficiency in her character, brought about by having pointed ears. It will serve them right if Covinius kills Direeva and then chops their heads off. Some bodyguard. Ever since Makri started blubbering about that damned Elf See-ath she’s been as much use as a one-legged gladiator.
Was that really Covinius? Direeva seemed certain, but so what? I don’t trust her. I don’t trust anyone. Lisutaris is a disaster. Makri’s unreliable. Cicerius is hopeless. Tilupasis is a joke. Praetor Samilius couldn’t investigate the theft of a baby’s rattle. Everyone in Turai is useless. If it wasn’t for me the city would have fallen long ago. I get out my sword and march through the maze. I dislike mazes, magical or not. They’re irritating and pointless. Trust Charius the Wise to send us here.
I turn a corner and almost bump into a small figure I recognise. It’s Hanama, garbed in black, with a knife in her hand.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I tell her.
“Neither are you,” she replies.
“I’ve got more right than you.”
“No you haven’t.”
“I’m a Tribune of the People. You’re just an Assassin.”
“Since when could a Tribune of the People—an honorary title at best—interfere with the sacred final test of the Sorcerers Guild?”
“Since I decided it was my duty.”
“Your duty? Very amusing. Step aside, Investigator.”
“How did you get in here? And what are you doing here anyway?”
“Protecting Lisutaris. So I have no time to talk,” says Hanama, and walks past. I stare at her retreating figure.
“I’ve got more right to be here than you!” I roar. “I’m a Tribune!”
Hanama is now out of sight. Damn these Assassins. Always turning up when you don’t want them.
I walk on. By Hanama’s standards that was quite talkative. Maybe she’s warming to me. Another unicorn appears. Or maybe it’s the one I saw earlier. They all look much the same. It trots in my direction. Perhaps it can help. In the magic space, anything is possible. The sun’s just gone green, and the daisies are up to my waist.
“Greetings, unicorn. Have you seen a Simnian Sorcerer called Sunstorm Ramius?”
The unicorn regards me in silence.
“About so high,” I say, waving my hand. “Probably scowling.”
Behind me there’s a burst of raucous laughter.
“He’s trying to question a unicorn!”
I spin round. Quite a large squirrel is laughing at me.
“Don’t you know unicorns can’t talk?”
“I figured it was worth a try. I don’t suppose you’ve seen Ramius?”
“The Simnian Sorcerer? Ex-soldier type? Certainly I’ve seen him.”
The squirrel looks at me keenly.
“You have any thazis?”
“Yes, as it happens.”
I take out a stick and hand it over.
“Take the next right then keep to the left,” says the squirrel, then bounds off, thazis clutched tightly in one claw.
I walk on. I’ve just bribed a large squirrel with thazis. It’s fine, if you don’t think about it too much. The breeze is picking up and the daisies are still growing. It’s getting colder. I think I hear voices so I creep forward quietly. When the voices grow louder I halt. Sunstorm Ramius is round the next corner.
“You have the question?”
“I do.”
The sound of paper passing from one hand to another. I risk a glance. Ramius is conferring with a tall man in a toga who talks with a Simnian accent. It’s the mathematician Makri encountered at the Assemblage. This is outrageous behaviour. The final test is meant to be sacred. Like I always say, you can’t trust a Simnian.
The scholar studies Ramius
’s paper. Quill in hand, he makes some calculations.
“Hurry,” hisses Ramius. “Lisutaris is working on the problem at this moment.”
The scholar looks rather coldly at the Sorcerer.
“I am the finest mathematician in the west. No one will find the answer faster than I.”
He carries on scribbling. I’m tempted to advance and confront them with their perfidy. Without doubt Charius the Wise was bribed to set some numerical test, and the Simnians had their man ready to enter the field. If Ramius wins I’m denouncing him as the fraud I’ve always known him to be.
Finally the mathematician seems satisfied.
“The answer is—”
Ramius silences him.
“Don’t say it. Lisutaris may be listening in. You can’t trust these Turanian dogs. Write it down and show it to me quickly.”
The scholar does as he’s told. Ramius glances briefly at the answer then instructs him to take the paper away with him. The Sorcerer pulls a small globe from a pocket in his cloak, waves his hand over it, and the familiar green light grows till it’s large enough for his companion to step into, back to the real world. As Ramius turns round I withdraw quickly out of sight. Next second he marches round the corner and bumps into me. I beat him on the head with the pommel of my sword and he collapses in a heap.
“I’m appalled,” I say, staring at his prone figure. “You Simnians, you’re all cheats. And you were no use in the war.”
I hurry off as fast as I can. The air goes suddenly icy and snow starts to fall. Winter has arrived in the magic space. That’s all I need. A fierce wind blows the snow into my eyes. I curse. Ramius won’t be out for long. If only the mathematician had written down the answer, I’d have stolen it. Maybe back in Turai there’s someone who could work it out. That means getting out of here quickly. I need to find Direeva.
The icy wind hinders my progress. Not imagining that it would be winter here, I’m not wearing my magic warm cloak and am soon as cold as the ice queen’s grave and cursing all places magical where you can’t depend on the weather to be consistent for two minutes.
The hedges have been flickering, threatening to disappear but never quite going. I’m concentrating on following my path back to Lisutaris and it doesn’t immediately register that the hedge on my left has shrunk to just two feet tall. As I glance round, I catch sight of a figure walking along the next path. The snow is flying in my eyes, visibility is poor and I can’t be certain, but I’d swear that the person I see is Copro, beautician to the aristocracy. He’s carrying a crossbow. Immediately I attempt to leap the hedge. Unfortunately it chooses that moment to grow back to normal size and I bounce off with a face full of prickly leaves.
“Copro?” I mutter. “With a crossbow?”
By dint of some fine navigational skills I bring myself back to where Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, and Makri are sitting beside the water pipe. I tell them what just happened.
“They brought in the mathematician?” says Makri. “That’s really unfair.”
“Didn’t I say you can’t trust a Simnian?”
“Yes, you said it hundreds of times.”
“What’s this about Copro?” asks Lisutaris.
“He’s walking around the maze with a crossbow.”
“You imagined it.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because we’re in the magic space, where nothing is certain, and also there’s a heavy snowstorm affecting visibility.”
Lisutaris is annoying me so much these days. I can’t believe I ever liked her.
“I tell you it was Copro. Where’s Direeva? I need to get out of here to find someone back in Turai who can answer the question.”
“Like who?”
“I don’t know. I’ll go to the university and look for a professor.”
“That’ll take too long,” points out Makri. “How about Samanatius?”
“Could he do it?”
“He’s the finest philosopher in the west.”
“But can he do sums?”
Makri thinks so.
“I’ve been trying to work it out myself,” she adds. “But I haven’t got anywhere.”
“Where is Direeva? I have to get out.”
“Use salt,” says Makri, who remembers that on a previous occasion I brought us out of the magic space by sprinkling salt on the ground. I’m dubious about trying this again.
“It might collapse the magic space, and then what would happen to the test?”
“Wouldn’t work anyway,” says Lisutaris, looking up from her pipe. “Charius’s magic space is different. Stronger.”
“Can you send me back to Twelve Seas?”
“Yes. But it’ll create a large disruption in the magic field. Charius the Wise will know something has happened. If we want to be discreet, we need Direeva.”
The snow starts coming down more heavily. Lisutaris waves her hand and a fire grows up beside her. Direeva walks into the clearing and collapses. Blood spurts out of a bad wound in her shoulder, caused by a crossbow bolt which is deeply embedded in the flesh.
“Who did it?”
Direeva didn’t see her assailant’s face.
“It was Copro!” I yell.
“Why did they hire this Investigator?” says Princess Direeva. “He gets more foolish every day.”
“You never liked Copro,” says Makri. “But that’s no reason to start accusing him of assassination attempts.”
I ignore this.
“Can you get me back to Twelve Seas?” I ask Direeva, as Lisutaris tends to her wound. The Princess regards me with distaste but, ignoring her injury, concentrates briefly and opens a breach in the magic space.
“You’ve got five minutes,” she says, as I step through, emerging at the corner of Quintessence Street.
I step over the rubble into Samanatius’s academy. Inside the dingy hall Samanatius is lecturing a group of students. I march through their midst and take a firm grip on the philosopher’s arm, drawing him to one side.
“Samanatius, about that favour you owe me. I need to find the next number in this sequence and I need it right now. It’s to help Lisutaris.”
Samanatius grasps my meaning immediately. He excuses himself from his students and examines the paper I’ve thrust under his nose. After thirty seconds or so he nods.
“A sequence of products of prime numbers, I believe.”
I’m expecting him to start scribbling some notes, but apparently Samanatius has the mental capacity to work it out in his head.
“One zero seven three.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite certain. The sequence is—”
“No time for that. Thanks for your help.”
I hurry out of the academy, impressed by Samanatius’s mental powers. Maybe he deserves his reputation as philosophy’s number one chariot. I’m almost glad I saved him from eviction. I wonder what he’s like at working out odds on the races.
The green portal of light is still visible in the street, now wavering slightly. I throw myself through it, arriving back in the magic space some way from the clearing. Copro the beautician is advancing towards me, crossbow in his hand.
“So it’s you!” I roar. “You’re Covinius. I’ve suspected this all along. It’s a fine disguise, Assassin, but not fine enough to fool Thraxas the Investigator.”
The maze alters again and I find myself on my own, surrounded on every side by vegetation. I swing my sword desperately in an effort to cut my way through to Lisutaris before Covinius can reach her. The hedge in front of me bursts apart and Makri appears, axe in hand.
“What’s going on? The hedge just started growing all over us.”
“Did you see Copro?”
“Are you still on about that?” says Makri.
“I tell you, he’s the Assassin.”
“Why would he be? He’s such a fine hair stylist.”
“I’ve had my eye on him for a long time. He didn’t fool me with his deft make-up and
effeminate ways. The man is a deadly killer. Where’s Lisutaris?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then keep chopping.”
“This is more like the magic space I remember,” says Makri, as penguins start to wander through the snow. “Do you have the answer?”
“Yes.”
“So have I,” says Makri.
I pause for a moment.
“What?”
“I have the answer. I worked it out.”
Makri looks pleased with herself. I’m irritated.
“It took you long enough. Couldn’t you have done that before I went beating Ramius over the head?”
“You beat Ramius over the head?”
“Yes. Before I visited Samanatius. It was all a lot of trouble. Which could have been avoided if you’d come up with the answer before I set off.”
“Well, I didn’t,” says Makri.
We start chopping through the maze again, calling for Lisutaris.
“You might give me some credit anyway,” says Makri.
“What for?”
“For solving the puzzle.”
“I solved it first.”
“You didn’t solve it at all,” contests Makri. “You just asked Samanatius.”
“I got the answer, didn’t I?”
Makri rests her axe.
“You know you’re really getting on my nerves these days, Thraxas. Everything is always about you: ‘I did this, I did that’. Do you have any idea how tedious it is having to listen to your lousy stories all the time? And if it’s not that, it’s some stupid criticism of me for getting on with my life. I tell you, it’s about time—”
“Will you stop acting like a pointy-eared Orc freak and keep chopping?”
The hedge beside us splits apart in a sheet of yellow flame and we find ourselves confronted by an angry-looking Sunstorm Ramius.
“Thraxas hit you on the head,” says Makri. “I had nothing to do with it.”
Ramius hurls a spell at me. My protection charm saves my life but I’m tossed to the ground and lie in a heap. Seeing that I’m still alive, Ramius draws a sword and charges forward. He’s almost upon me when Makri leaps forward and pounds him on the head with the flat of her axe.
“Apologise for calling me a pointy-eared Orc freak,” demands Makri.
I struggle to my feet.