by Martin Scott
I’m just beneath the top floor when there’s a flash and a shattering explosion rips through the building. Wood and stone rain down on my head. The floorboards cry in protest as mystical forces start to rip the place apart. All around voices are raised in panic as the warehouse starts to sway.
“Get out of here!” yells Demanius.
I keep on going. I have to rescue my client. Her sorcerous conflict with Glixius Dragon Killer has brought about the destruction of the warehouse, and for all I know she might be lying unconscious with Sarin the Merciless standing over her, crossbow in hand.
The walls are now starting to buckle. Strips of wood fall around my shoulders as I rush into the room at the very top of the warehouse. Fire has broken out and smoke is now pouring from the walls, quickly taking hold. As I reach the final room the roof starts caving in and I’m knocked off my feet by a great beam which pins me to the floor. I struggle to free myself, vainly.
“Thraxas?”
Lisutaris is standing over me, looking calm and untroubled.
“I gave you a safe landing. Why did you come back?”
“To rescue you.”
I think Lisutaris smiles. In the ever-thickening smoke, it’s hard to tell.
“Thank you,” she says.
The Sorceress waves her hand. The beam flies off me. I haul myself to my feet, with some difficulty.
“We have to get out,” I gasp. “Building’s coming apart.”
There’s a blast that sounds like a squadron of war dragons crashing to earth and the warehouse caves in. For the second time in the space of a few minutes I find myself one hundred feet off the ground with nothing in the way to break my fall.
Lisutaris is beside me in mid-air. We’re both hovering gently. It’s quite a pleasant sensation.
“Did you really come back to rescue me?”
“Yes.”
“But the building was collapsing. It was foolish.”
“I have a duty towards my clients.”
The breeze blows smoke from the wreckage around our faces. From this elevation I have a really good view of Twelve Seas. It doesn’t look any better.
We start to sink, very gently.
“Are those Civil Guards?” asks Lisutaris.
“I’m afraid so. Palace Security is here as well. And Harmon Half Elf.”
“What does he want?”
“Maybe the Sorcerers Guild is getting curious.”
Lisutaris frowns. Her long hair flutters in the wind.
“Are you saying my secret is out?”
“They have their suspicions. What happened to Glixius and Sarin?”
Lisutaris doesn’t know. She didn’t find it difficult to defeat Glixius in a contest of sorcerous strength but she was unable to prevent him from bringing down the building with a blasting spell which allowed him to escape.
“As for Sarin, I don’t know.”
With any luck she’ll have perished horribly. By this time we’re almost at ground level. A lot of people are waiting for us to land.
“What am I going to say?” asks Lisutaris.
“Say nothing.”
“Nothing? That’s hardly going to convince anyone.”
“You outrank all these people. Till the Consul himself has you under oath in a courtroom, deny everything. Let me do the talking.”
The corners of Lisutaris’s mouth turn downwards.
“I fear I’m doomed. But thank you again for your rescue attempt.”
We land a short distance away from the burning warehouse and are immediately surrounded. Everyone is asking questions at once. Captain Rallee is particularly insistent. This is his patch and he doesn’t like having it disturbed by armed gangs burning down warehouses.
“Or did you destroy the warehouse with sorcery?” he says, directing his gaze towards Lisutaris.
Harmon Half Elf stands to one side, waiting his turn. As far as I know, Turai’s senior Sorcerers have no power to officially censure the leader of their guild, but it’s going to destroy Lisutaris’s reputation if they turn against her. A man who seems to be in charge of the operatives from Palace Security—which is headed, unfortunately, by Rittius, a great enemy of mine—adds his voice to the others. Everyone looks to Lisutaris, waiting for an explanation. Desperate measures being called for, I step to the fore and hold up my hand.
“Official Tribune’s business,” I state, loudly. “Lisutaris is here at my request, helping me with an inquiry. As such, I forbid her to talk of today’s events. A full report will be presented to the Consul in good time.”
There’s something of a stunned silence. Civil Guards and Palace Security don’t expect to be given orders by Private Investigators. However, for some reason which it would take a historian to explain, the Tribune’s powers were very great, and could only be overruled by a full meeting of the Senate. It’s little wonder that the authorities eventually let the institution fall into disuse. Their powers were never legally rescinded, however, which means that as long as I’m a Tribune they’re stuck with it. Captain Rallee knows enough about the law not to argue, but as I lead Lisutaris away from the scene he draws me to one side.
“You’re digging yourself a pretty big hole, Thraxas. I don’t exactly know what’s going on, but if you’re covering up for Lisutaris, the government is going to come down on you like a bad spell. And don’t expect her to stick up for you when you’re being indicted before a Senate committee.”
“I won’t.”
“You know anything about any centaurs? We got a report from some crazy person that three of them were wandering around.”
“They were. I saw them, briefly.”
The captain doesn’t like this at all.
“Yesterday it was unicorns, now it’s centaurs. At first I thought it was the dwa talking, but now I’m not so sure.”
He turns to Lisutaris.
“You know of any reason why strange magical creatures might be suddenly appearing all over the city?”
“I have no idea,” responds Lisutaris, which ends the matter. A Guards captain can’t get tough with the head of the Sorcerers Guild. Lisutaris turns to go and I follow her. Captain Rallee calls after us.
“I made a quick body count in the warehouse. Six men dead. How many more before it ends?”
“I have no idea,” I call back, uncomfortably.
“I’ve got a bet down on twenty; how’s that looking?”
Declining to reply, I usher Lisutaris up the paved road on to which I almost plunged from a great height. Behind us the fire wagons have arrived and are doing good work putting out the blaze. They train their horses not to fear fire. It’s a marvellous institution. The Civil Guards are arresting every remaining gang member, and Harmon Half Elf stares after us. Let him stare. I haven’t forgiven him for calling me an imbecile. We leave the scene in Lisutaris’s carriage.
“I believe that there is no extradition treaty between Turai and Abelesi,” says Lisutaris.
“So?”
“I’m just wondering where the best place to flee might be.”
“Flee? Put the thought out of your mind. We’re not beaten yet.”
“We have less than two days to retrieve an item which has so far eluded all our efforts. And even if we do find it, I’m still ruined. There’s no way of keeping it secret now.”
Lisutaris draws a thazis stick from a large pocket inside her gown.
“Don’t despair. I don’t give up easily. Besides, none of these people really know what’s going on. Till you admit you’ve lost the pendant, everything is rumour and supposition, and the head of the Sorcerers Guild doesn’t have to answer to rumour. Just keep denying everything.”
“And what if someone else retrieves the pendant?”
“Then I’ll be joining you in Abelesi. But it’s not going to happen. I’ll find it.”
Lisutaris isn’t convinced. Neither am I, but I’m stubborn.
“Any theories regarding the centaurs?”
“No. I can’t explain the
ir appearance, What did Captain Rallee mean when he asked you about how many bodies?”
“I expect he was just seeking information for his report. You know these Guards, always like to get their figures correct.”
Lisutaris turns her gaze fully upon me.
“I am head of the Sorcerers Guild,” she says.
Meaning, I think, that you can’t fob her off with a lie.
“Word got out that I was on a big case,” I admit. “It was the fault of this weird woman called Dandelion who talks to dolphins. She read in the stars that I was about to be involved in a bloodbath, and ever since then the regulars at the Avenging Axe have been taking bets on how many bodies there will be before it ends.”
Lisutaris’s eyes widen. I get ready to leap from the carriage. Unexpectedly, she starts to laugh.
“They’re placing bets?”
She seems to find this funny.
“Here we are, trying to keep the news from the Consul, and down in the Avenging Axe they’re placing bets.”
“I have strongly advised them to desist.”
“Why? How much has Makri gone in for?”
“Fourteen bodies.”
“Too few, I fear,” says Lisutaris.
“It is. I think we’re up to twenty-one now.”
“What odds are being offered?”
“Fifty to one for the exact total, twenty to one if you get within three.”
“You still have the money I gave you to retrieve the pendant? Then put me down for thirty-five,” she says.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. After my recent losses at the chariot races, why should I pass up this opportunity?”
“Because the whole thing is unethical.”
“A bet is a bet,” says Lisutaris.
I feel a great weight lifting off me. I realise why I’ve been so angry about the whole thing. It’s because I’ve felt unable to place a bet. Here am I, Thraxas, number one chariot among Twelve Seas gamblers, caught up in a fine sporting contest yet unable, for reasons of ethics, to participate. No wonder I felt bad. Now, with the sanction of my client, I’m free to join in. It’s a great relief.
“Fine. But do you really think we’ll reach thirty-five?”
“At least,” says Lisutaris. “I can feel it.”
As the carriage trundles along, I get down to some serious calculations as to where I’m going to place my own bet. I’ll show these scum at the Avenging Axe what a real gambler is capable of. Young Moxalan will regret ever entering the bookmaking business by the time I’ve cleaned him out.
Lisutaris drops me off at Quintessence Street. The woman who sells fish and the man who’s set up a stall for sharpening blades are arguing again. I’ve more to worry about than bad-tempered vendors. Like Makri, for instance, who once more is sheltering in my office.
“Are you going to spend every break in here till that freak Dandelion leaves?”
“I might.”
“You see, that’s one of your problems, Makri. You tolerate these weird sort of people and where does it get you? They take advantage. In a city like Turai it doesn’t pay to tolerate people. You have to be tough.”
“I am tough.”
“With a sword, yes. With down-and-outs, not nearly tough enough.”
“Doesn’t your religion say you should be kind to the poor?” counters Makri.
“Probably. I never learned much about it.”
“What about your three prayers a day? What are you praying for?”
“Self-advancement, same as everyone else.”
“I’m glad I don’t have a religion,” says Makri.
“That’s because you’re a Barbarian who grew up without the benefit of a proper education.”
“I’m educated enough not to continue with this conversation, you fat hypocrite,” says Makri.
She produces two thazis sticks which she’s stolen from behind the bar. We light one each and smoke them in silence. Relaxed from the effects of the thazis, I describe today’s events.
“All in all, another disaster.”
“How many dead does that make?” asks Makri.
“Twenty-one. But there’s every indication that there’s more to come. So I figure we should place a few bets somewhere around the thirty mark, and maybe take a punt at forty, just in case things really get rough.”
“Pardon?” says Makri.
“Of course, you’ll have to put the bet on for me. Moxalan isn’t going to accept a wager from me, he’d disqualify me for having too much inside information.”
Makri is looking baffled.
“I’m getting the feeling I’ve missed something again. You’ve spent the last two days berating me for gambling on your investigation, and now you’re telling me I have to place a bet on your behalf? What changed?”
“Nothing.”
“What about the ethical problems?”
“I leave ethics to the philosophers. Lisutaris wants to put money on, you’d better do that as well.”
“Okay. As long as I can hide in your rooms from Dandelion.”
“If you must. I may need to borrow a little money.”
“What about all the money Lisutaris gave you?”
“I used it to pay the rent and buy a case of klee.”
“I don’t have any money to spare,” claims Makri.
“Yes you do. You’ve been putting away your tips to pay for your examinations and I happen to know you’ve more than a hundred gurans secreted in your room for that purpose.”
“How dare you—”
I hold up my hand.
“Before you launch into a diatribe, I might remind you that it wasn’t too long ago I found you trying to steal the emergency fifty-guran coin I was keeping under my couch. Furthermore, I’ve helped you out with money on numerous occasions, not to mention steering you in the right direction when it came to placing several astute wagers, so get off your moral high horse and make with the money. With my inside information and your cash we’re on to a certainty, and you’ll win enough money to pay for your examinations this year and next year and probably buy a new axe as well.”
“Well, all right,” says Makri, “but don’t ever lecture me about anything again.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Are you any closer to actually recovering the pendant?”
“No. It’s frustrating. I thought it was going to be easy. Sorcerers. You can’t trust them.”
The heat makes me drowsy. When Makri goes back to work I don’t fight the urge to go to sleep. I waken hungry and head downstairs to fill up with Tanrose’s stew. I hope she’s patched things up with Gurd. I depend so completely on her cooking that I dread her leaving the tavern. Moxalan is in the bar and Makri gives me a discreet nod, indicating that she’s placed our bet.
Despite the usual hubbub from the early-evening customers, something seems to be missing. No friendly aroma of stew. No smell of food at all. A strange sensation washes over me and I find myself trembling, something that’s never happened even in the face of the most deadly opponent. I fear the worst.
“Where’s Tanrose? Where’s the food?”
“She left,” says Gurd, and draws a pint with such viciousness that the beer pump nearly disintegrates in his hand.
“What about the food?”
“Tanrose left,” repeats Gurd, slamming the tankard down in front of an alarmed customer.
“Did she leave any food?”
“No. She just left.”
“Why?”
“Makri told her to.”
“What?”
“I did not tell her to leave,” says Makri.
My trembling is getting worse.
“Someone tell me what happened!” I yell. “Where has Tanrose gone?”
“Back to her mother,” says Gurd, flatly. “Makri told her to.”
“This is a really inaccurate description of events,” protests Makri. “I merely suggested that she take a little time to sort out her feelings for Gurd
and then speak to him frankly.”
Gurd sags like a man with a fatal wound. I get the urge to bury my face in my hands.
“What happened then?”
“She told me she was fed up with working for a man who was too mean-spirited to appreciate the things she did for him,” groans Gurd. “Then she packed her bags and left.”
Makri studies the floor around her feet.
“It wasn’t the result I was expecting,” she says.
“Why couldn’t you leave well alone?” I yell at her. “Now look what you’ve done! Tanrose has gone!”
Makri looks exasperated.
“I was only trying to help. Like you suggested.”
“Thraxas suggested it?” says Gurd.
“I did no such thing. Makri, you vile Orcish wench, do you realise what you’ve done?”
Makri’s mouth opens wide in shock.
“Did you just call me a vile Orcish wench?”
“I did. And of all the ridiculous things you’ve done since you arrived here to plague us, this is the worst. Now Gurd will be as miserable as a Niojan whore for the rest of his life and I’ll starve to death.”
“Why couldn’t you leave things alone?” cries Gurd.
After my Orcish slur Makri’s first impulse was to reach for her sword, but faced with fresh criticism from Gurd she’s confused.
“I was just trying to—”
Dandelion suddenly arrives and throws herself into the conversation.
“Thraxas, I have terrible news.”
“I’ve already heard,” I say. “We have to bring her back.”
“Who?”
“Tanrose, of course.”
“Has she left?” says Dandelion.
“Of course. It’s terrible news.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? This woman cooks the best stew in Turai.”
Dandelion sniffs.
“I do not partake of the flesh of animals,” she says.
I raise my fist.
“Don’t you dare punch Dandelion,” says Makri, getting in between us.
“Maybe I should punch you.”
“Just try it.”
Makri raises her hands and sinks into her defensive posture.
“I can’t live without Tanrose,” says Gurd. I’ve never heard him sounding so distressed. I once pulled three arrows out of his ribs and he never so much as complained.