Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  Charius the Wise interrupts me.

  “Must we listen to this man? He is already known to us as one of the principal troublemakers at the Assemblage. I insist that Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is arrested immediately.”

  Strong sounds of approval come from all round the room. I’m losing my audience. I hold up my hand.

  “You can insist all you want, Charius the Wise. But in Turai, no citizen can be arrested on a capital charge without the approval of the Tribunes. And I, Tribune Thraxas, withhold my approval until you hear me out.”

  This sounds impressive. It isn’t true, but it silences the room. I thrust Habali forward.

  “You’ve all seen Lisutaris stabbing Darius. You say no spell could create the illusion. And you’re right. There is no remaking spell. The pictures as conjured by Old Hasius are entirely accurate. A woman did walk into the Avenging Axe and stab Darius. But it wasn’t Lisutaris. It was Habali, dressed to resemble her. Meet Habali, once one of Turai’s most promising actresses.”

  My revelation is met by silence and a lot of puzzled looks.

  “An actress? Impossible!” says someone, eventually.

  “Not impossible at all. That room was dark. The only light came from the fire. In a wig and wearing the proper clothes, Habali was good enough to fool anyone. It fooled all of you. And me, which is more impressive, because I make my living by not being fooled. For all the world it looked as though Lisutaris murdered Darius, but she didn’t. She wasn’t in the room at the time. Copro entered my office and killed him, then used his sorcery to erase all trace of events. Then he sent Habali in dressed as Lisutaris and she pretended to stab Darius with one of those fake knives they use in the theatre with a retracting blade. All the time he was already dead.”

  I turn to Habali.

  “Isn’t it so?”

  For a moment I think Habali is going to let me down. Not surprisingly, she’s not keen on confessing to conniving in a murder in the presence of these people. However, she is already carrying a written pardon signed and sealed by Cicerius and a promise of enough gold to leave the city and set up in another state where she won’t be bothered by her tiresome husband. All in all, it’s not a bad deal from her point of view.

  “It’s true,” she says. “I did it. Copro paid me. I impersonated Lisutaris to make the illusion. I also helped in the first part of the plan. He obtained the dragon scales he needed for the erasure from me.”

  The controversy that follows is long and loud. Figuring I’ve done my part, I mostly stay out of it. Using the authority of the Tribunate, I send an assistant off to the Room of Saints to bring me beer while the Sorcerers once more conjure up the pictures of the murder.

  “Look,” says Habali. “I’m wearing the same earrings I have on now.”

  “But you look so much like Lisutaris.”

  “That’s because Copro styled my wig and did my make-up.”

  “He was such a great beautician,” sighs Tirini Snake Smiter, making her only contribution to the debate. The arguments continue. I take a seat. Makri sits down beside me.

  “I think that was a good piece of investigative work,” she says.

  “Thank you.”

  “It sounds like we’re winning the argument. Of course, I deserve a lot of the credit.”

  “You do?”

  “Certainly. You’d never have got the answer to the final test. Do you want to know how I did it?”

  I pretend to be interested. Makri launches into an explanation.

  “The sequence was 391, 551, 713. I wasted some time trying to see if the difference between each pair of numbers was significant, but it didn’t seem to be. Then I thought about prime numbers.”

  “What’s a prime number?”

  “It doesn’t divide by anything except itself and one. Three is a prime number, for instance, or seven. So I broke each of the numbers into their factors. It took a while but eventually I found that 391 was 17 times 23. Five five one was the product of 19 and 29. Of course by then it was becoming clear. The third number, 713, turned out to be 23 times 31, which I knew it would. So by then anyone could see that the answer to the test, the next number in the sequence, would be 1073, which is the product of 29 and 37. Do you want me to write out the sequence of prime numbers to make it clearer?”

  “No, you’ve explained it all very clearly already. It was brilliant of you to find the answer.”

  Makri sips her beer.

  “Easy really, but I was under a lot of pressure. Time was limited, the magic space was misbehaving and there were Assassins and unicorns wandering about.”

  I haven’t understood a word Makri has said. I congratulate her again on a fine piece of work anyway.

  “Make sure you tell Cicerius to remember that when I need his help getting in to the university.”

  “You’re still going?”

  “Of course I’m still going. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I thought you might be taking up a career as a useless drug user instead.”

  “Stop bringing that up,” says Makri. “I was sad about See-ath.”

  I get a final boost for the magic warm cloak from Irith and let Makri wear it on the way home. She does deserve some reward.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Three days later I’m sitting comfortably in front of the fire at the Avenging Axe. It’s early evening and the tavern is not yet crowded. I’m moderately satisfied. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is now head of the Sorcerers Guild and I have been well paid for my efforts on her behalf.

  “Fine efforts, though I say it myself.”

  “Many times,” says Makri.

  Makri is taking a break before the evening rush. Since the end of the Assemblage she’s been in a fairly benevolent mood. She struggles to manage on the money she gets at the Avenging Axe, so payment for her duties as bodyguard will make her life easier for a while.

  “I got paid for fighting. Like being a gladiator really. Except when I was a gladiator I didn’t get my hair done. Well, I did, in fact, but that Orc woman wasn’t really up to the job. A shame about Copro.”

  “I understand our female aristocracy is devastated.”

  “Tirini Snake Smiter has sent to Pargada for their best man.”

  “Why would she do that?” I ask. “Doesn’t everyone say she’s already the most beautiful Sorcerer in the world?”

  “So?”

  “So why does she need an expert beautician?”

  Makri looks at me.

  “I doubt you’d understand even if I explained it to you.”

  She frowns.

  “Now I’ll be an outcast. Which is unfair. I had to kill Copro.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Makri. You were already an outcast.”

  Makri has cleaned her armour and carefully stored it away. Back at work and needing to earn tips, she’s reverted to the chainmail bikini. The firelight glints on her skin. Sailors and workmen are pleased enough at the sight to hand over a little extra.

  My winnings on the election were very modest. I picked up a little on Lisutaris, but I was so busy I missed out on the opportunity to increase them.

  “I hate to miss out on a bet. I’d have got more down if Honest Mox’s son hadn’t gone and killed himself with dwa.”

  Minarixa the baker. Mox’s son. And young Tribune Visus. The city’s going to hell.

  “Don’t involve me in any gambling,” states Makri. “I’m saving my money. I have fees to pay when the Guild College opens. I need to get back to studying. I’m way behind with rhetoric. Four days on the water pipe and I forgot all the best-known speeches from last century.”

  I refrain from commenting.

  “I’m still puzzled by the witness,” says Makri.

  “What witness?”

  “Direxan. The Matteshan who saw Covinius emerge from the magic space after killing Ramius. You said no one had ever seen Covinius.”

  I sip my beer. Gurd really knows how to serve his beer. And Tanrose really knows how to cook a ven
ison pie. They should get together. They’d be the ideal couple.

  “It was all arranged, I imagine.”

  “Who by?”

  “Cicerius. Or more probably Tilupasis and her boyfriend the Consul.”

  “You’re losing me here.”

  “Covinius was hired to kill Sunstorm Ramius. Turai hired him. I wasn’t meant to know about him. I wouldn’t have if Hanama hadn’t accidentally learned about it.”

  “You mean this city actually hired an Assassin to kill Lisutaris’s main opponent?”

  “So I believe. No wonder Cicerius kept telling me to ignore Covinius. He knew all along he wasn’t a danger to Lisutaris.”

  Simnia hired Copro. Turai hired Covinius. It was hard to sort it out. I wasn’t really meant to. Makri muses on this for a while.

  “Doesn’t Cicerius make a big thing about being the most honest politician in Turai?”

  “He does. And he’s right, mostly. He never takes bribes and he never allows the prosecution of opponents on trumped-up charges. When it comes to foreign policy I suppose he has to be pragmatic.”

  I drink my beer, and try and calculate the cost of winning the position of head of the Guild. Two murders, several accidental deaths, and gold and dwa beyond count.

  “An expensive victory. But worth it to the government. Especially as the city’s masses will end up paying for it in taxes.”

  “Are you still in trouble with Praetor Capatius?”

  “No, Cicerius is keeping him off my back provided I don’t do any more Tribune-like actions. Which I won’t. Anyone looking for help in an eviction can go elsewhere.”

  Senator Lodius sent me a payment for my services. I still don’t like Lodius. I kept the payment.

  “Am I still in trouble with the Brotherhood?”

  I shake my head. The Traditionals have influence with the Brotherhood and Cicerius has smoothed that one out for us as well.

  “Great,” says Makri. “Everything worked out well.”

  Lisutaris has been confirmed as head of the Guild. The foreign Sorcerers are already leaving the city. In a week they’ll all be gone, apart from those few still receiving treatment by the city’s doctors after the excesses of the Assemblage.

  “How is Sareepa Lightning-Strikes-the-Mountain?” asks Makri.

  “Still sick. One of the worst cases of alcoholic poisoning the apothecaries have ever had to deal with, apparently. She’ll thank me in the end.”

  As the tavern begins to fill, Makri returns to work. I spend the evening drinking beer, and playing a game of rak with Captain Rallee and a few others.

  “Damned Sorcerers,” says Rallee. “You know they were all immune to prosecution for dwa? City’s going to hell.”

  Captain Rallee is in a foul temper due to being out on patrol on one of the coldest nights of the year. I’m not planning on leaving the comfort of the tavern for the rest of the winter. Now I’ve been paid, I don’t have to. Come the spring, business should pick up. I just did some sterling service for the city and I’m expecting the city to be grateful. Between them, Cicerius and Lisutaris should be able to put a few wealthy clients my way.

  It’s deep into the night by the time I make it upstairs to my rooms. My office is surprisingly warm. A fine fire is lit and an illuminated staff casts a warm glow over the shabby furnishings. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, Makri and Princess Direeva are all unconscious on the floor. I sigh. Makri’s good intentions haven’t lasted for long.

  Direeva opens her eyes.

  “For a woman who doesn’t like me, you spend a lot of time in my room.”

  Direeva shrugs, drunkenly.

  “What really happened in the magic space?” I ask her.

  Direeva doesn’t look quite so drunk any more.

  “You don’t get on well with your brother. He controls the army and you control the Sorcerers. Pretty soon the Southern Hills is going to erupt in a civil war. Turai would much rather have an alliance with Lisutaris’s friend Princess Direeva than your brother.”

  “What are you talking about, Investigator?”

  “Was Covinius even in Turai? No one ever saw him, apart from you and a phony witness Tilupasis bribed with gold.”

  “Of course Covinius was in Turai. He killed Ramius.”

  I look at her.

  “Maybe he did. But an intelligent man might think it was you.”

  “No one would mistake you for an intelligent man,” says Direeva.

  “If Turai paid you to kill Ramius, I wouldn’t be surprised. And I won’t be surprised if Turai comes to your aid when you’re deposing the King.”

  The Princess laughs.

  “A foolish theory. Was not Hanama the Turanian Assassin also in the magic space?”

  “She was. Protecting her friend Lisutaris, I imagine. She might have killed Ramius. But I think you’re a more likely candidate.”

  I don’t really care one way or the other.

  “You expend a lot of effort in your work,” says Direeva.

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “No. Your work is pointless.”

  “It’s better than rowing a slave galley.”

  I haul Makri to her feet and drag her along the corridor. Restricted space or not, she can entertain her friends in her own room. Direeva takes Lisutaris.

  “Poor Copro,” mutters Lisutaris, coming briefly back to consciousness.

  “Don’t worry. There will be another brilliant young beautician emerging next season. Now you’re head of the Guild, you’ll be number one client.”

  “Sharp as an Elf’s ear,” says Lisutaris, but whether she means herself, Copro or me, I’m not sure.

  Now my room is clear of intoxicated Sorcerers and barmaids, I have a final beer before going to bed. I wonder how long my term of office as Tribune is supposed to last. However long it is, I’m withdrawing from politics. A man should never get involved with these people. It’s far too dangerous.

  THRAXAS AND THE DANCE OF DEATH

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2002 by Martin Scott. Published by permission of Orbit Books/Time Warner Book Group UK.

  A Baen Books Original

  Baen Publishing Enterprises

  P.O. Box 1403

  Riverdale, NY 10471

  www.baen.com

  ISBN 10: 1-4165-2144-5

  Cover art by Tom Kidd

  First Baen paperback printing, July 2007

  Distributed by Simon & Schuster

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Thraxas and the Dance of Death

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  In the enchanted city of Turai, the royal family is corrupt, the politicians can be bought, and the civil guards have better things to do than guarding. Thraxas may look unprepossessing, being overweight and not quite overbrained, and more interested in pursuit of his next glass of beer than pursuit of justice, but if you’re in trouble in Turai this portly private eye is probably your only hope. Turai is no stranger to death in all its forms—except that now a silent and insidious variety of death has entered the city, and no one knows who will die next. What they do know is that everywhere Thraxas goes in his search to recov
er a missing magical jewel, the mysterious killer has been there first, leaving the dead or dying as its calling card. Thraxas hasn’t a clue, but does have a pressing shortage of funds, and if stopping the unseen, unknown silent killer is what it takes to recover the jewel and replenish his wallet, he’ll take the job. But will he solve the mystery, or join the dance himself?

  Chapter One

  It’s summer. It’s hot. The city stinks. I’ve just been described as a liar in court and subjected to a stream of hostile invective that would have made a statue flinch. Funds are low, I’m short of work and badly in need of beer. Life, in general, is tough. It’s no time for my idiot companion Makri to be complaining about an examination.

  “So you have to take an examination. You wanted to go to Guild College. What did you expect?”

  “It’s not just a written examination. I have to stand up and talk to the whole class. It’s making me feel bad.”

  “You used to fight in the gladiator slave pits. I thought you’d be used to an audience.”

  Makri shakes her head violently, causing her huge mane of black hair to swing around the small of her back. Underneath all her hair Makri has pointed ears. This often leads to problems.

  “That was different. I was killing Orcs. It never felt stressful like talking to a group of students. They’re all merchants’ sons with money and servants in their houses. They’re always laughing at me for being a barmaid. And how am I meant to prepare for anything when this stupid city is as hot as Orcish hell and stinks like a sewer?”

  Summer in Turai is never pleasant, and this summer is promising to be as bad as last year when dogs and men keeled over in the street, overcome by the heat, and the main aqueduct into Twelve Seas was dry for a record eighteen days in a row.

  Makri continues to complain about her upcoming examination but I’m too annoyed about my recent experience in court to pay attention. A few months ago I arrested a thief down by the docks, name of Baxin. He was stealing Elvish wine. I apprehended him and delivered him, complete with evidence, to the Transport Guild. Unfortunately, being caught in the act of committing a crime has never stopped a Turanian criminal from putting up a strong defence in court. The devious, toga-clad lawyer Baxin hired to defend him made a good job of convincing the jury that Baxin was nothing more than the victim of a bad case of mistaken identity. The real criminal was the notoriously unreliable Investigator Thraxas, a man with a city-wide reputation as a person of bad character.