by Martin Scott
The carriage takes us towards Kushni. The driver shouts at some revellers who are blocking the street. They look like they might be inclined to argue over right of way, but when they recognise Lisutaris’s rainbow livery on the side of the carriage, they hastily move, not wishing to be blasted by a spell.
“Do you think we should revise our bet?” asks Makri. “The three of us have ended up placing a bet on thirty-five deaths. But with the count now at twenty-seven this may not be high enough.”
Lisutaris manages a grim laugh.
“True. And if the Consul freezes my assets before bringing me to trial, I may be in need of some money to pay for a lawyer. What’s the cut-off point for this wager?”
Makri looks a little uncomfortable.
“Well, you know, when the case comes to an end…”
“And when would that be?”
“When Thraxas solves it. Or gets killed. Or you get arrested.”
Lisutaris is shocked.
“The Turanian masses are gambling on me being arrested?”
“Only tangentially,” says Makri.
“Have they no respect for the head of the Sorcerers Guild?”
“Don’t complain,” I tell the Sorcerer. “It’s not as bad as betting on me dying.”
“I think Lisutaris dying also brings the betting to an end,” says Makri, helpfully. “But no one is really expecting that to happen. Apart from Parax the shoemaker; I think he wagered a little on Lisutaris’s death. And maybe one or two others. Captain Rallee as well. But not many. It’s definitely not as popular an option as Thraxas handing in his toga. Do you have any thazis?”
We smoke Lisutaris’s thazis sticks as we make our way through the busy streets. Even in the tense situation I appreciate the high quality of her narcotic.
“Grown in your own gardens?”
“Yes. Or rather, in the glasshouse I built last year.”
“You have a glasshouse?”
“A special construction,” explains the Sorcerer. “For protecting plants from the elements and maximising the sunlight that feeds them. They were first used in Simnia. I believe mine is the first in Turai.”
I’ve never heard of such a thing, and once more marvel at Lisutaris’s dedication to her favourite substance. Thazis is imported into Turai from the southeast, where it’s extensively cultivated. Though I’ve known people to occasionally produce their own plants, I don’t think anyone else in the city is capable of growing it in volume. A glasshouse. I would hardly have believed it was possible. It must have been extremely expensive.
“Fabulously expensive,” agrees Lisutaris. “But with the amount of rain we have in Turai, nothing else will do.”
Lisutaris turns sharply to Makri.
“Why has Captain Rallee placed a bet on me dying?” she demands. “Has he some inside information?”
Makri doesn’t think so, but Lisutaris is troubled. Maybe it’s the thazis. Overuse can lead to feelings of paranoia. I ask Makri casually if many people are betting money on me dying.
“Hundreds of people,” answers Makri. “It’s a strong favourite. The moment the Brotherhood got involved, money started pouring in.”
“I’m damned if I’m going to die just to win money for a lot of degenerates in the Avenging Axe. You think the Brotherhood worries me? Anyway, I thought this betting was just on the body count?”
Makri shrugs.
“It sort of grew. Moxalan was getting so many enquiries he had to take on an assistant and widen his range.”
The carriage pulls up and we climb out into the dusty street. Lisutaris is clad in her rainbow cloak. Possibly fatalistic by now, she makes no attempt to disguise herself as we stride into the Rampant Unicorn, a tavern on the outskirts of Kushni where, I’m told, Barius is often to be found. It’s yet another appalling den of iniquity, and at the sight of the head of the Sorcerers Guild striding through the doors, the place goes quiet. Several customers, presuming that Lisutaris must be here on official business, and whatever this business is it can’t be good for them, scurry for cover as the Mistress of the Sky heads towards the bar.
“I am looking for a young man by the name of Barius,” she says.
“He’s upstairs,” blurts the barman, quaking as he imagines the effect a spell from a disgruntled Sorcerer might have on him.
“This way,” says Lisutaris, leading myself and Makri up the stairs. She’s looking pleased with herself.
“I have never investigated anything before. It does not seem to be overly difficult.”
I stifle a sarcastic response, and follow Lisutaris to one of four doors that lead off the upstairs corridor. Lisutaris tries the first door. Finding it locked, she mutters a minor word of power and it springs open. Inside the private room we find a stout man in a toga in the embrace of a woman who’s young enough to be his granddaughter, but probably isn’t a relation.
“I beg your pardon, Senator Alesius,” says Lisutaris grandly, and leads us back into the corridor.
“Well, that spoiled his afternoon’s entertainment,” I say. “The thing about investigating, you don’t just barge through the first door you come to.”
“And how did you expect me to choose?”
“It’s a matter of experience and intuition,” I explain. “You develop it after a few years in the business.”
“Very well,” says Lisutaris, motioning to the three remaining doors. “Which do you recommend?”
I select the door on the left. Lisutaris again mutters a word of power and it springs open. Inside we find a well-dressed middle-aged woman with plenty of jewels and a younger man, naked, who looks like he might be a professional athlete, both of them very busy with a pipe full of dwa.
“I beg your pardon, Marwini,” says Lisutaris, and withdraws from the room, quite elegantly. Makri and I stumble out after her, rather embarrassed at the whole thing.
“Who was that?”
“Praetor Capatius’s wife,” says Lisutaris. “Really, I had no idea. One always understood that they were a contented couple. Only last week she informed me over a glass of wine that she had never felt happier with her husband.”
“Probably because he’s coming home less.”
“Is this sort of behaviour standard all over Kushni?”
“Pretty standard,” I reply. “Though they might have to find a new place to misbehave if you keep using spells to open doors.”
“I want to pick the next room,” says Makri.
Inside the next room we find Barius. He’s lying semiconscious on a couch. The room stinks of dwa. From the overpowering aroma and general squalidness of the situation, I’d say he’d been lying here for a few days.
“I picked the right room,” says Makri, happily.
“You only had two doors to choose from.”
“That’s not the point. You were wrong and I was right.”
“It’s completely the point. The odds were entirely different.”
“Do you two never stop bickering?” says Lisutaris. “Here is your suspect. What do you do now?”
“Waken him up, if that’s possible.”
There’s a pitcher of stale water beside the couch. I take a lesada leaf from the small bag on my belt and try getting Barius to swallow it. It’s a difficult process and I’m careful in case Barius chooses this moment to vomit. Finally I succeed in making him swallow the leaf.
“Now we wait. Lisutaris, please lock the door again.”
Elvish lesada leaves are extremely efficient in cleansing the system of any noxious substances. They’re hard to get hold of in the Human lands and normally I’d be reluctant to waste one on a dwa addict who’s only going to fill himself full of dwa again at the first opportunity, but I don’t have time to wait for Barius to come round naturally. A few minutes after he’s swallowed the leaf, the colour is returning to his skin and his pupils are reverting to their normal size. He coughs, and struggles to rise. I give him more water.
“Who are you?”
“Thraxas. I
nvestigator.”
“Investigator… from Ve… Vee…” he gasps.
“No. Not from the Venarius Agency. I’m independent and I can help you.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to ask you a few questions.”
Possibly the lesada leaf has done its job too well. Barius has regained some youthful vigour and defiance.
“Go to hell,” he says, and struggles to rise from the couch. I place my arm on his shoulder and hold him down. Makri is by my side. I can sense her impatience. If Barius has any information that can help to clear her name, she’s not going to let him leave the room without imparting it. Lisutaris meanwhile looks bored, and in the sordid, foul-smelling room, less like she’s having a good time.
I ask Barius if he knew about the theft of the money at the Guild College. He gives an impression of a young man too confused by dwa addiction to know much about anything. I’m about to make some threats about telling his father and all his snooty relatives just what he gets up to in his spare time when Makri’s patience snaps.
Makri has two swords with her, one Elvish and gleaming and one Orcish and dark. She brought the Orcish blade from the gladiator pits and received the Elvish sword as a gift from the Elves on Avula. Both fine weapons, as fine as any held by anyone in Turai. Either one would fetch enough at auction to pay for Makri’s classes for a year or more, but Makri will never sell a weapon. She draws both of her swords. The light from the torch on the wall reflects brightly off the Elvish blade, but the Orcish sword seems to absorb light. It’s a vile weapon, and caused great offence to the Elves when Makri took it to their islands. Makri deftly positions the black Orcish sword under Barius’s chin.
“Tell us about the money or I’ll kill you right now,” she says.
Barius realises she’s serious. He looks at me fearfully, waiting for me to protect him. I look up at the ceiling. Makri pushes her sword forward. A trickle of blood appears on Barius’s throat. Barius cringes backwards, then tries to shrug as if unconcerned.
“So I took five gurans from a locker. Who cares?”
“I do, you cusux,” says Makri, raising her sword. “For the price of a shot of dwa, you’d ruin my life?”
I raise my hand to block Makri’s arm.
“It’s okay, we’ve got what we came for. We can go.”
“Have you got what you came for?” enquires Lisutaris. “Will such a confession under duress stand up in court?”
“There isn’t going to be any court case. Professor Toarius is going to quietly reinstate Makri when I tell him that his son stole the money for dwa and I have witnesses to that effect. The Professor is of course very keen to protect the family name, which is no doubt why he was so quick to pin the rap on Makri in the first place.”
Barius is shaking. I place my arm round him and lower him back on to the couch. He can sleep it off. Then he should go home, but I doubt he will. It’s not my problem. I’m concerned to learn that the Venarius Investigation Agency has already got to him. I still don’t know who hired them. Outside the Rampant Unicorn, Lisutaris shudders, rather delicately.
“What a disgusting place. I am astonished that Marwini should choose to have an assignation in such a location. Who on earth was that naked young man?”
“One of the King’s athletes, I think. On his way up in the world. Or down, maybe, if Praetor Capatius catches him.”
“It’s all rather embarrassing,” says Lisutaris. “Marwini is one of my guests at the ball tomorrow. As is Senator Alesius. I am not so surprised to find him here, of course. His behaviour is well known in certain circles.”
“So can I do my examination now?” says Makri.
“I’ll see Toarius tomorrow. It’ll be fine.”
“When is this examination?” asks Lisutaris.
“The day after tomorrow.”
“So soon? Will you still be able to attend my ball as my bodyguard?”
“Of course,” says Makri. “I’ve already completed my studies. But did I tell you I have to stand up and speak to the whole class? It’s really stressful.”
Makri is still complaining as we climb into Lisutaris’s carriage. One problem solved, more or less. Now we only have the matter of an important pendant to find, followed by Thraxas being hauled before a Senate committee on an allegation of cowardice. Somehow I can’t concentrate. It’s just so annoying the way Lisutaris, the so-called Mistress of the Sky, flatly refuses to invite me to her masked ball. I suppose it’s only to be expected. The upper classes of Turai are notorious for their degeneracy and ingratitude. Adultery. Dwa. Corruption. All manner of disgusting behaviour. An honest working man like myself is far better off not associating with them.
Chapter Fifteen
At the Avenging Axe there’s a summons waiting ordering me to report to the Consul, and another message, from Harmon Half Elf, requesting a meeting. I throw both messages in the bin and head downstairs for a beer. There I find Dandelion behind the bar being irritating, Gurd still looking as miserable as a Niojan whore, no food on offer, and a great cluster of dock workers all keen to know if there have been any more deaths recently. The front door opens. A government official in a toga walks in, swiftly followed by another official in a toga, and they each beat a path towards me, bearing scrolls.
The togas are hitting the Avenging Axe thick and fast these days. It’s a while since I’ve worn one. I used to when I worked at the Palace, for official duties. They’re expensive garments. Quite awkward to wear, but it lets everyone know you’re not the sort of person who wastes his time doing manual labour.
“Rittius, head of Palace Security, commands that you visit him immediately,” says the first official. “To discuss important matters of state.”
“The senate licensing committee, finding you in violation of an order prohibiting you from investigating, requires you to attend a—”
“I’ll be right there,” I say, finishing my beer in one swift gulp. “I just have to change my boots.”
I only have one pair of boots. They’re not to know that. Once in my office I head straight for the door and down the outside stairs, pausing only to mutter the minor incantation I use for a locking spell.
The two rival vendors have now come to blows. I use my body weight to send them flying in opposite directions and start walking swiftly, heading for anywhere that is free of summonses, enquiries and any other oppressive state instruments.
The situation is now disastrous. I have abandoned all hope of successfully bringing matters to a conclusion. Clearly Lisutaris is going to be unmasked at her own masked ball, revealed to the world as a useless incompetent who’s lost the pendant, thereby severely endangering Turai. This will swiftly be followed by a general round-up of all guilty parties, which will certainly include me. I’m going to be charged with failing to report a crime, obstructing the authorities, lying to the Consul, going against the wishes of the Senate and God knows what else. Even the claim of Investigator-client confidentiality—dubious at best in matters of national security—won’t do me any good, because I’ve been stripped of my licence and can no longer claim to be an Investigator in the legal sense of the word. My most likely destination is a prison ship. Maybe even a slave galley.
I strain to think of some way out of the dire situation. A golden tree erupts from the road in front of me and stands there looking pretty. This is now becoming seriously disconcerting. There’s a time and a place for sorcery and it’s not in the middle of Quintessence Street while I’m trying to concentrate. Attractive as the tree is, no one is pleased to see it. Onlookers mutter alarming comments about portents for the destruction of the city and the more nervous among them start wailing and kneeling down to pray.
I have some experience of this sort of thing. In the magic space, a kind of sorcerous dimension to which only those with magical powers have access, things appear and disappear all the time. When it’s flowers and unicorns it’s fine, but last time I was there a volcano erupted and I was lucky to escape with my
life. If the magic space is somehow breaking through into Turai—which is impossible, but I can’t think of any other explanation—then it might well mean the destruction of the city. Now I think about it, it might mean the destruction of everything. The tree disappears as swiftly as it arrived. Trusting that the Sorcerers Guild is currently working on the strange apparitions, I get back to my own problems.
I could go to Kalius and tell him everything I know, but it might be too late for that. Once Kalius learns I’ve known about the missing jewel for a week, he’ll be down on me like a bad spell. I’ll be turned over to Palace Security and Rittius will positively dance with glee as he’s locking me up. So telling the truth seems to be out of the question. Unfortunately, keeping silent doesn’t hold out much hope either. Everything is going to come out at the ball tomorrow.
I wonder if it might profit me to actually find out how the pendant went missing in the first place. Lisutaris has consistently prevented me from properly investigating this, claiming that only the recovery of the pendant is important. Maybe if I actually turned up at the Consul’s office with full details of who took the pendant and why, I might be able to bargain for a lesser sentence. It goes against the grain, though. I’d be acting against my client’s wishes. I keep this in reserve, though it’s a weak plan at best.
The only thing which would really help would be if I found the pendant right now and returned it to Lisutaris. She could present it to Consul Kalius and then just clam up about everything. Completely deny that it had ever been missing. Who could prove her wrong? It might still get us off the hook.
It strikes me that I may have been mistaken in following Lisutaris’s so-called leads all around the city. Naturally, when a man is looking for a lost pendant and the head of the Sorcerers Guild arrives in a hurry and tells him she has located said pendant, the man goes along with it. But where has it got me? Precisely nowhere. A lot of dead bodies and a headache from rushing around in the heat. For all I know the jewel might never have even been in any of these locations. Someone could have been leading Lisutaris on. Just because Lisutaris is extremely powerful it doesn’t mean she’s always right. Maybe if I’d just stuck to my own methods of investigation I might have made better progress. I’ve solved a lot of crimes by trudging round the city asking questions.