Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  Possibly I shouldn’t have got so drunk at my boss Rittius’s wedding that I was immediately fired for outraging public decency. But Rittius hated me anyway. He was just looking for an excuse.

  My visit to the Deputy Consul’s office follows a long-established pattern. Cicerius roundly condemns me for my behaviour and I try vainly to defend myself. Any time I’ve worked for Cicerius there’s come a point when he’s felt the need to point out that I’m a disgrace to the fair city of Turai. After a little preparatory sarcasm, he starts laying in with the criticism even though, as I point out, I’m not working for his office at the moment.

  “But it was this office which gave you the post of Tribune. On the strict understanding that you were not to go around abusing your powers.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’d been abusing them. Anyway, Professor Toarius abused his first. I had to do something.”

  Cicerius points a bony finger at me.

  “Any use of your Tribunate powers is an abuse. It was merely a device to let you enter the Sorcerers Assemblage. Look what happened when you forbade Praetor Capatius to evict these tenants during the winter.”

  “You don’t have to remind me. The Praetor tried to have me killed.”

  Cicerius rattles on. As Turai’s foremost public orator, he has no trouble inventing new terms of abuse. The Deputy Consul is of the opinion that the prospect of a common man from Twelve Seas getting involved in the politics of our city state is just a step away from complete anarchy.

  “Who can say what will happen now?”

  I’m not here to argue civil politics with Cicerius, I just want him to get to the point so I can get on with my investigation.

  “It was never a good idea that Tribunes could hold up public affairs. Their power of referring matters to the Senate was an anomaly. That is why the post was abolished last century. I must insist that you drop your investigation.”

  As I suspected from the start, Cicerius shows no sign of providing me with beer. With the heat, my aching head and the intolerable sound of Cicerius lecturing me, I’m coming close to breaking point, a point at which I shall roundly abuse the Deputy, march out of the house and thereby do great damage to my career. I interrupt the flow to tell him that much as I didn’t want to use my Tribunate powers, I couldn’t see a ready alternative.

  “And as I recall, Deputy Consul, you ran for the election largely on an honesty ticket. Cicerius never takes a bribe and he never prosecutes an innocent man, so they say. Everyone’s still impressed by the way you’ve defended people in court because you believed them to be innocent, even when it meant going against your party.”

  This gets his attention. Cicerius never minds hearing good things said about himself.

  “So consider things from my point of view. Or, more to the point, from Makri’s. She’s completely innocent of the theft. You shouldn’t find that too hard to believe because you’ve met her and you know what she’s like. Demented but honest. And you also know how hard she works for these examinations. All the while slaving away as a barmaid to support herself and pay for her classes, which don’t come cheap. I thought that would impress you in particular.”

  Cicerius purses his thin lips. He takes my meaning. Though born into the aristocratic class, Cicerius wasn’t born rich. His father died when he was an infant, leaving a family in poverty because he’d invested all his money in a fleet of trading ships which went down in a storm. There was a dispute over the insurance and Cicerius’s mother, outsmarted by her late husband’s business partners, ended up in penury. This meant that Cicerius himself had to work extremely hard to make his way through university and up the ranks of government. Though he’s a rich man now, his younger years were one long struggle.

  The reason I know all this, the reason everyone knows all this, is that Cicerius himself has not been above bringing his background up on any occasion he needs to remind the Senate that he’s a self-made man, and proud of it.

  “Are you going to let a citizen of Turai—”

  “Makri is not a citizen of Turai. Makri is an alien with Orcish blood.”

  “Who did a good job for you when you needed someone to look after that Orcish charioteer last year. Are you going to let a hard-working young woman be denied her chance to sit her examination because Professor Toarius has taken an irrational dislike to her? And please don’t tell me that Consul Kalius has done the poor a great favour by appointing Toarius as head of the Guild College.”

  “Consul Kalius has done the poor a great favour by appointing Toarius as head of the Guild College,” says Cicerius.

  “I don’t care. He’s not stopping Makri from taking the examination. I’ve forbidden her expulsion. It can’t go ahead before it’s been discussed by a Senate committee, and by that time I’ll have evidence to prove her innocence. And nothing you can say can change my mind. I’m offended that a champion of justice like yourself should be ranged against me.”

  Cicerius is almost at a loss for words. I’ve managed to flummox the great orator, if only because he’s honest at heart. An appeal to justice wouldn’t have gotten me very far with any other official in this city. The Deputy Consul fixes me with a piercing lawyer’s stare.

  “You seem extremely concerned for the welfare of this young woman. Is there some arrangement between you?”

  I’m staggered that the Deputy Consul could suggest such a thing.

  “If I prove her innocence she won’t slaughter everyone at the College. I guess you could call that an arrangement.”

  Cicerius isn’t happy but really he’s in an impossible situation. He can’t bring himself to connive in a blatant injustice, and even if he could, there is no legal way to rescind my Tribune’s decree. Only I can do that, and I’ve made it clear I’m not going to.

  “Very well,” he says. “You may continue with your investigation. And when the matter comes to the Senate committee I will ensure that it is looked into thoroughly. But I warn you, if there are any political repercussions of your actions, if Senator Lodius and his opposition party again manage to make you their tool in an action against the government, I will personally rescind your Investigator’s licence. With your past record, it will be quite in order for me to do so.”

  Having nothing more to say, I make to leave.

  “One moment,” says Cicerius. “Why did Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, visit you?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Lisutaris is head of the Sorcerers Guild and an important person in the interests of this city state. If she is in any sort of trouble I would naturally wish to know.”

  “If she was in any trouble and she’d consulted me, I doubt I’d tell you. I respect my clients’ privacy. But she didn’t come to see me, she came to see Makri.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. She was inviting her to her ball.”

  Cicerius is surprised. Twenty years ago, a woman like Makri would never have been allowed to attend such an event.

  “So be careful who you bump into on the night. If it’s a crazy-looking woman with an axe, don’t ask her about college.”

  I depart, leaving Cicerius displeased with the laxity of manners in modern-day Turai. As a Sorcerer mutters a spell to let me out of the building, I’m wondering what sort of costume our Deputy Consul will be sporting at the ball. I just can’t imagine him in fancy dress.

  Chapter Eight

  Back in Twelve Seas, I take the short cut through St. Rominius’s Lane, not caring if the dark alley might be filled with dwa dealers. If they bother me they’ll regret it. I don’t see any dwa dealers but I do see a unicorn. I stand and stare in amazement. You don’t find unicorns in Turai. You find them mainly in the magic space, which can only be visited by sorcery. As for the real world, unicorns only appear in a very few places, each of these places being of some mystical significance. The Fairy Glade, for instance, deep in the forests that separate Turai from the Wastelands, has its share of the one-horned animals, and there’s reputed to be a colony way out in the
furthest west. Other than that, you’d have to go to some of the remoter Elvish Isles to see one. Wherever you might expect to find a unicorn, it wouldn’t be in a noisy, busy, dirty city like Turai. Absolute anathema to the refined breed.

  Yet here it is, snowy-white, golden-horned, standing in a grimy little alleyway looking at me like it hasn’t a care in the world. Faced with the fabulous creature, the thought quickly flashes across my mind that if I could capture it, I might be able to sell it for a healthy profit to the King’s zoo. He’s been short of fabulous creatures since his dragon was chopped up a year or two back.

  “Nice unicorn,” I say, holding out my hand in a reassuring manner and stepping forward carefully. As soon as I move, the unicorn turns and bolts round the corner. I fly after it but it’s vanished.

  “Stupid beast,” I mutter, and hurry on. Now it will have plunged into Quintessence Street, where it will be apprehended and sold for profit by some person far less needy than me. If I get there quickly I still might be up for a share.

  I rush down the alley, oblivious to the heat and dust, and burst into the main street, eagerly looking in every direction at once.

  “It’s mine, I saw it first, you dogs!” I cry, and brandish my sword to discourage anyone from muscling in on the deal.

  Two women at a watermelon stall look at me, puzzled.

  “What’s yours?” they ask.

  “The unicorn. Which way did it go?”

  The women burst out laughing, and keep laughing for a long time. It is apparently the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. And yet I’m right next to the mouth of the alley. It had to have emerged here. I confront the watermelon sellers.

  “Didn’t a unicorn come out of that alleyway?”

  They look at me with what might be pity.

  “Dwa,” says one.

  “A serious addiction,” agrees her friend.

  I look round wildly. Apart from a few people staring at the mad person shouting about unicorns, no one in Quintessence Street is showing signs of abnormal activity. It’s quite obvious that no single-horned fabulous creature has featured here recently. So it just ran round the corner and vanished from sight.

  I realise that someone has been playing a trick on me. A Sorcerer’s apprentice with nothing better to do, most probably. He’ll regret it if I catch hold of him.

  “Okay, I’ll take a watermelon then,” I say to the women.

  I eat it on the street, cooling down from my exertion. What was I thinking, chasing after an obvious illusion? I must be getting foolish. Flocks of stals—unfortunately real—are perched listlessly on the roofs. These small black scavenging birds spend their time picking up scraps from the market, but in the deadening heat even they’re finding it tough to make a living.

  Makri is waiting for me in my office. I’m not mentioning the unicorn to her.

  “You know I have to stand up and talk to the whole class?”

  “I believe you mentioned it.”

  “I have to walk out in front of everyone and declaim in public.”

  “So you said.”

  “It’s worse now. I have to stand up and talk to a class of people who all think I’m a thief! Is that fair?”

  When Makri is in a bad mood her hand has a tendency to stray towards where her sword would be, if she was wearing one. She’s doing it now, but is clad only in her chainmail bikini, without weapons. In the sweltering heat sweat pours down her body. I’m given to believe that the lower-class elements in Twelve Seas like the effect.

  “Have you proved me innocent yet? No? Why not?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Will it take long?”

  “I’m involved in a very important case, Makri. Vital for the city. With bodies everywhere.”

  “How many bodies?”

  “Nine.”

  Makri purses her lips.

  “I’ve bet on fourteen. Do you think I should up it?”

  “Don’t talk to me about that.”

  She shrugs.

  “So don’t I matter as much as this other case?”

  “No,” I say.

  “Why not?”

  “Because the other case involves a matter of national importance!” I explode. “And also I’m being paid.”

  “Fine,” retorts Makri. “Of course when I was saving your neck last winter from that man with the magic sword I didn’t stop to ask if I was being paid or not. I just saved your life. I didn’t wait around to check on any possible remuneration, just weighed in there and risked my own life to save yours. But hey, I’m only a barbaric gladiator. When I was growing up I didn’t learn all the rules of civilised society. I just did what I thought was the right—”

  “Makri, will you shut the hell up!”

  When Makri arrived in Turai I swear she wasn’t capable of these sustained bursts of withering eloquence. I blame the rhetoric classes.

  “I’ll sort it out for you. And meanwhile you can still take the examination.”

  “In front of people who think I’m a thief.”

  I ask Makri what she’s doing in my office when she should be working downstairs. She looks uncomfortable.

  “Gurd and Tanrose are still arguing. The atmosphere’s bad.”

  I’m still curious as to why she’s in my office instead of her own room.

  “Dandelion’s there. I said she could stay a while.”

  “Why do you put up with that woman? Sling her out.”

  Makri shrugs, and when I press the point she becomes agitated. I drop it. Makri has to return to her work anyway so I accompany her downstairs. I should send another message to Lisutaris letting her know what happened at the Blind Horse. I’ll do it after a beer or two.

  At the bar I’m accosted by Parax the shoemaker, who, in keeping with his normal practice, is not making shoes at this precise moment. He asks me how my day has been.

  “Bad.”

  “Any dead bodies lying around?”

  “Since when would you care, Parax?”

  “Can’t a man worry about his friends?”

  It’s news to me that Parax is my friend. Telling him that he can look elsewhere for his inside information, I take a beer, a bowl of venison stew, a plate of yams and a large apple pie to a table, where I read the latest copy of The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle of All the World’s Events, one of Turai’s news sheets, and a fertile source of information on the city’s many scandalous occurrences.

  There doesn’t seem to be much scandal today apart from a report that Prince Frisen-Akan, heir to the throne, has extended his holiday at his country retreat, which, as everybody knows, is a coded way of saying that the King has sent him out of town in an effort to get him sober. The Prince is degenerate even by royal standards. At one time it would have been a better-kept secret, but these days, with Senator Lodius’s opposition party grown so powerful, fewer people are feeling it necessary to revere the royal family. When I was a boy no one would have dared speak a word against the King, but these days you can hear talk in many quarters about how we might be better off as a democracy. Certain other members of the League of City States have already been riven by civil war as the power of their kings waned. If Senator Lodius and his Populares party get their way, it’ll happen in Turai sooner rather than later.

  Gurd sits down heavily beside me.

  “I can’t take any more of this,” he confides. “That fishmonger was here again today and Tanrose was all over him.”

  “Gurd, you’re exaggerating.”

  “Does it take two hours to order fish for next week’s menu? It’s not that popular an item.”

  “I don’t know. A lot of dockers like it.”

  “I’d say dockers usually go for stew,” says Makri, appearing next to our table with a tray of drinks in her hand.

  “No, I think they still prefer fish.”

  “How would you know?” demands Makri. “It’s me that takes the orders.”

  “I’m an Investigator. I notice things.”

 
“Tanrose didn’t have to—” begins Gurd.

  “There’s definitely more stew sold to dockers than fish,” states Makri emphatically.

  “I beg to differ. Fish is still the staple diet of the dockers in Twelve Seas.”

  “How can you say that, Thraxas? It’s just not true. No wonder you’re always having trouble solving your cases if you can’t observe a simple thing like who eats—”

  “Enough of this!” yells Gurd, banging his fist on the table.

  “Is Tanrose still upset at you?” asks Makri.

  “Yes. No. Yes. I don’t want to discuss it.”

  Seeing my old companion-in-arms looking as miserable as a Niojan whore, I wish there was something I could do to help.

  “Maybe it’s time for some action,” I suggest. “Remember when we spent five days in that mountain fort waiting for the Simnians to attack? And eventually Commander Mursius said he’d be damned if he was going to wait any more than five days for a Simnian and he led us out and we drove the Simnians way back over the border?”

  “I remember,” says Gurd. “What about it?”

  “Well maybe it’s time you asked Tanrose to marry you.”

  There’s a slight pause.

  “Did I miss something?” says Makri.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well how did you get from attacking the Simnians to Gurd asking Tanrose to marry him?”

  “It’s obvious. There comes a time when it’s no good sheltering behind the walls any longer. You have to attack. Or, in this case, get married.”

  Makri considers this.

  “What if the Simnians had brought up reinforcements?”

  “We’d have beaten them as well.”

  “What if they’d made an alliance with the Orcs and had some dragons lying in wait?”

  “Very unlikely, Makri. The Simnians have never been friends with the Orcs.”

  “So you’re saying I should ask Tanrose to get married?” says Gurd, looking quite troubled at the thought.