by Martin Scott
“Well—”
I halt. I sit down.
“Possibly not, from the tenants’ point of view. But it meant going against Praetor Capatius and it got me in a load of trouble.”
Trouble which hasn’t gone away yet. That was the start of the accusations against me. It’s fatal to become embroiled in the politics of Turai. Lodius forced me into it.
“Has he been arrested?”
“He will be very shortly. I received a message.”
“And Senator Lodius sent you here to hire me?”
She shakes her head. It wasn’t her husband who suggested it.
“Deputy Consul Cicerius recommended you. It was he who sent the message.”
This takes me by surprise. I’ve done some good work for the Deputy Consul in the past year. He’s never shown much sign of appreciating it. I didn’t know I’d risen enough in his estimation for him to be recommending me. And it’s doubly strange, because Cicerius is also a bitter enemy of Lodius.
“Cicerius? Why would he try to help your husband?”
She shakes her head. She doesn’t know.
“What did he say? Try Thraxas, he’s a drunken disgrace to the city but he doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty?”
“He was a good deal politer than that.”
The woman’s facade slips a little, though she’s not exactly close to tears. Upper-class women rarely cry about important matters; it would show bad breeding. On the other hand, they may weep profusely if the hairdresser is late.
I don’t want to take on the case. Not only do I dislike Senator Lodius, I’ve a lot on my plate right now. Besides, with the Orcs planning an attack, the city’s liable to be razed to the ground in a few months’ time. Then who’s going to care who killed the Prefect? Still, I hate to see a murderer go unpunished. If the Civil Guards and Palace Security fail to catch the killer, he’ll be walking around free, and that never sits right. If I take on the case and clear Lodius, it’ll probably mean finding the real murderer. That, I suppose, would be good. But then I’d find myself on the wrong side of the city authorities and the King, who despise Lodius. That would be bad. I try to weigh things up but I’m drowsy from beer and tired from walking round Twelve Seas.
“I saw your husband hand food to Galwinius. Right after that Galwinius dropped down dead. It doesn’t look so good for him.”
“My husband did not kill the Prefect,” says his wife, emphatically. “No matter what the Sorcerers at Palace Security say.”
“The Sorcerers say he did?”
“I believe they are about to. An arrest warrant is being written as we speak.”
“Then Lodius is doomed.”
“My husband is not doomed.”
“He is. If the Sorcerers have fingered him, he’s doomed. Sorry, lady, just because he’s a rich Senator doesn’t mean he doesn’t have to suffer for his crimes.”
The woman looks at me coldly. She rises to her feet and speaks to her servant.
“Come. This man is not the person to help us. Deputy Consul Cicerius has misinformed us about his abilities.”
She turns away in a dignified manner.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
They walk to the door and leave via the staircase to the street below. I let them go, then take a hefty slug from my new bottle of klee. I’m annoyed. Usually when I give the brush-off to some unwanted client, they rant for a while, and insult me. Call me fat, or drunk, or cowardly, or something. They don’t just apologise for wasting my time and walk out in a dignified manner. The more I think about it, the more annoying it becomes. Who does that woman think she is to just walk in here, be insulted by me, then leave in a dignified manner?
I cross swiftly to the door and haul it open again. At the foot of the stairs the servant is still helping his mistress into the carriage.
“Okay, I’ll take the damned case,” I yell at her.
She raises her eyes towards me.
“Good,” she says, simply. “Would you like to visit my house to learn more of the matter? Perhaps later this evening?”
I nod, then slam the door. Makri chooses this moment to walk in.
“So you’re taking the case?” she says. “Is Lodius innocent?”
“How do you know so much about it?”
“I was listening at the door. So? Is he innocent?”
“I’ve no idea. But now I have to find out. Damn it, I didn’t want to have to work for Senator Lodius. I hate Lodius.”
“Then why did you take it on?”
“His wife tricked me by behaving in a dignified manner.”
“The calculating bitch,” says Makri. “There’s no way you could stand up to that.”
“You said it. Now I’m going to be defending the person the whole city will think murdered Galwinius. Probably at the instigation of the Orcs. The news-sheets will be down on me like a bad spell. Why is it I always get the really bad cases?”
“Well,” says Makri, thoughtfully. “You live in quite a bad part of town. Probably most of the better cases go to the high-class Investigators in Thamlin. And you drink a lot, which might put some of the more respectable clients off, and you’re known to have a really bad temper, which again is off-putting for a lot of people. Also you’ve got quite a serious gambling problem so I suppose some people might think you’re not really a trustworthy person to give money to. You’ve been thrown in prison quite a few times, you were denounced in the Senate and you’ve been regularly criticised in the news-sheets, including one really comprehensive report which included not only the time you were hauled before a magistrate for stealing a loaf of bread but also the time you tried to steal wine from the church in Quintessence Lane. You were sacked from your job at the Palace, your wife ran off, and you sometimes turn up to meet clients after smoking far too much thazis, which hardly gives a good impression, and didn’t you once—”
“Makri, will you shut up. It was a rhetorical question.”
“I’m just explaining why—”
“Fine. I get the picture. Why don’t you go downstairs and see if any Orc Sorcerers have been sending you flowers? I need to sleep.”
“Also, you sleep on the couch when you should be working.”
Makri departs. To hell with her. One day that woman will push my endurance past its limit. I drink more klee and fall asleep.
Chapter Eight
I waken to the notion that I should be getting on with something. I’ve forgotten what. I’m splashing water on my face when I remember I’ve just been hired by the wife of Senator Lodius. It’s one of the biggest criminal cases in the history of Turai. I guess I should be pleased to be involved. I’m not, and not just because I’m going to have to miss out on Tanrose’s cooking for another few hours.
I curse out loud. Of all the assorted aristocrats who’ve ever looked down their noses at me, Lodius is one of the worst. In normal circumstances he wouldn’t let me in his house. No doubt he laughed when I was booted out of my job at the Palace. The senatorial class have always had it in for me. Senators, Prefects, Consuls, I loathe them all. I put my life on the line for this city. What did they do in the Orc War? Hid in their villas, probably, while poor men like me did all the fighting. And did we get any thanks after the war? We didn’t. I detest them.
I put my sword on my hip, place a spell in my memory in case of emergencies, and head downstairs for a final beer before setting off. Makri has finished her shift and wants to know where I’m going.
“To see Lodius’s wife.”
“I want to come.”
“Why?”
“Gurd and Tanrose are having this intense conversation and it’s making me uncomfortable. And Dandelion is being really irritatingly happy about them getting back together. She’s talking about the stars smiling in the heavens and I can’t take it any more.”
I’m about to tell Makri that she can’t accompany me because I’m about to visit the house of a Senator and Makri, with her Orcish blood, won’t really be welco
me, but I stop myself. Why should I put myself out just to please some Senator’s wife? Apart from when she’s being the most aggravating person in the city, Makri’s my friend. One of the very few friends I have. She can come if she wants. Do them good in Thamlin to see how the other half lives, I pick up another bottle of klee from behind the bar. Dandelion hands it over with a frown. She’s possibly the only barmaid in Turai who doesn’t really approve of drinking. Makri puts on her man’s tunic, fits two swords at her hips, a knife in her boot and wonders if she should bring her axe.
“We’re not going to fight a dragon, we’re going to interview a Senator’s wife.”
“That’s what you always say. And then something bad happens and I really need my axe.”
“Believe me, no axe is necessary.”
Makri looks a little unhappy.
“You just don’t like walking down the street with a woman with an axe.”
It’s not long till nightfall. Unless we want to walk to Thamlin, we’ll have to catch a landus quickly. Riding is forbidden in Turai after dark. We find one at the foot of Moon and Stars Boulevard. I tell the driver our destination and sip from my bottle of klee as we trot over the river. Makri lights a thazis stick. Thazis is still technically illegal, but with the influx of dwa, a much more serious drug, the authorities have given up caring about it. The driver wants to talk about the imminent attack from the Orcs. We remain silent but it doesn’t put him off.
“The end for Turai, I reckon,” he says. “We can’t fight them again. Where’s our army going to come from? Half the young men in the city are off their heads on dwa. Half the Senators too. I heard that General Lamisius got thrown out of the army last week for selling the stuff to his men. And there’s nothing in the armoury; the Brotherhood and the Society of Friends sold all our weapons long ago. And who’s going to come to our assistance? The Simnians? No chance. They’ll sit at home while we get butchered. And I can’t see the Elves sailing up again. Why would they? They’ve got problems of their own, and anyway, I don’t think the Elves have really got the stomach for another war. What does that leave us with? Nioj? There’s no way they’re going to help us; those northern pigs would probably laugh if the Orcs destroyed us. Which leaves us the League of City States, and what’s that worth these days? The League’s been in chaos longer than anyone can remember. You think they’re going to be able to raise an army? That’s about as likely as sunshine in the underworld. We’re doomed and everyone knows it. As soon as winter’s over I’m taking the family and heading west. See if we can go far enough so the Orcs won’t find us.”
I try to ignore him. I’ve got enough on my mind without the relentless pessimism of a landus driver. Besides, there’s more truth in what he says than I want to acknowledge.
Senator Lodius’s villa is guarded by four uniformed men from the Securitus Guild. I’m expecting trouble gaining entry, but when I announce myself they wave me right through. Makri gets a few curious glances but they don’t raise any objections. The servant who answers the door seems a little surprised, but even so she welcomes us in. She deposits us in a waiting room, where I look morosely at a small bust of Saint Quatinius which I recognise as coming from the workshop of Drantaax, one of Turai’s most famous sculptors. Or he was, till he was murdered last year. I investigated the case. Another sorry affair full of malice and greed.
We wait for what seems like a long time. Makri wonders out loud if my clients always take this long to appear.
“Only the wealthy ones. Senators, Prefects, they never treat a man right. And their wives are worse. When she gets here she’ll demand I clear her husband in the space of a couple of hours and probably add on a lecture about my public duty into the bargain. As if any of these people ever did their public duty.”
I take another drink of klee and belch noisily.
“Why did she hire you?” says Makri.
“Number one chariot at investigating.” I reply.
The Senator’s wife, Ivaris, appears in the room, accompanied by a young female servant. She apologises for keeping us waiting, citing a crisis in the kitchen as an excuse.
“I was hoping you’d change your mind,” she says. “And you are…?” She looks towards Makri.
“Makri. I help Thraxas with the fighting.”
Ivaris smiles politely. I’m half expecting her to throw us out on the spot, but even Makri’s pointy ears, male attire and twin swords don’t seem to upset her.
“I do hope you can help my husband. It would be a terrible tragedy were he to be unjustly convicted of such a crime.”
“Yes, he’s a fine man. It’s an honour to work for him.”
“I do not believe you like him at all,” responds Ivaris.
“I don’t. But I’m taking the case. No one poisons a man when I’m in the room and gets away with it. Especially when I’ve been eating the food.”
“You find that particularly offensive?”
“I do. Tampering with food is a serious crime. I charge thirty gurans a day plus expenses. But when you hire me I’m in charge of the case. So don’t get it into your head that you can start telling me how to do my job.”
Ivaris looks a little puzzled.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She’s so polite. It’s annoying.
“Where’s Lodius?”
“At the Abode of Justice. Ostensibly he is helping with their inquiries but in reality they’re not letting him out of their sight. He’ll be arrested and charged any time now. It might already have happened.”
The Senator’s wife again manages to conceal her emotions, though it must be hurting. I wonder if I should dislike her a little less. Being so wealthy, plump and clean she doesn’t look like she’s got an ounce of strength in her, but she probably has. She’s the daughter of a Senator, from one of Turai’s oldest families, naturally. Came with a lot of money, I expect, from her father’s interests in the gold mines, and his shipping concerns.
Lodius himself is equally well born, though he’s not above styling himself a man of the people when it suits him, because his family were originally farmers outside the city. But they made a lot of money by buying up land from families impoverished by the wars in the last century and I doubt if anyone in the family has touched a plough in the past fifty years. He’s an aristocrat through and through, which might not save his neck this time. Even though the male aristocracy are, unlike the unfortunate Herminis, generally allowed to go into exile if convicted of a serious crime, I doubt that option will be offered in this instance. Public opinion wouldn’t allow it, not for the killer of Prefect Galwinius. And if public opinion did allow it, the Palace wouldn’t. Lodius is facing execution. The King will be delighted at an excuse to get rid of him.
“Do you have any idea what the evidence is? Apart from being the person who handed over the poisoned food?”
Ivaris shakes her head.
“It all came as a terrible shock. I have no idea why anyone would accuse my husband. He cannot possibly have done such a thing.”
“Your husband spends his life berating the Traditionals. Galwinius was a very important Traditional. They were hardly the best of friends.”
“That is simply the way things are done in the Senate. My husband would never condone any act of violence.”
This isn’t true. When the elections come round there’s plenty of violence, condoned by anyone who wins votes as a result. I let it pass, but point out that being an opponent of the Consul might easily be enough to land Lodius in serious trouble.
“It wouldn’t be the first false accusation of murder made in this city for political ends. I’m suffering a false accusation myself. Which Lodius and his Populares weren’t falling over themselves to help me with, now I think about it.”
Ivaris looks upset. I move the conversation on.
“What about this court case? Galwinius was reported to be suing your husband.”
“A dispute over a will,” says Ivaris. “But I do not know the details.”
I doubt that’s true. Ivaris doesn’t seem like a woman who’s entirely ignorant of her husband’s affairs. I let it pass. I can find out the details elsewhere. But already it’s obvious that things aren’t looking good for Lodius. He’s just handed over a poisoned pastry to a man who was about to sue him. A man who was already his enemy.
“Did Cicerius say he’d get me access to your husband?”
“Yes. Can you go immediately? Or rather, as soon as Sabav is over.”
“Pardon?”
“Evening prayers. It’s almost time.”
It’s a legal requirement for all citizens of Turai to pray three times a day. The more devout among the population go to church, though that’s not required by law. Anywhere will do. If I’m in my own room I ignore the call for prayer. Any time I’m unlucky enough to be caught outside I generally just kneel down in the street with the other unfortunates and doze off for a few minutes while they go through their routine. As for Makri, she has no affinity whatsoever with Turanian religious practices and generally makes sure she’s well out of sight at prayer times. But now Ivaris is actually offering us the use of her family’s prayer temple. I don’t want to accept. Suddenly I’m painfully aware that I reek of klee. Though I’m not what you’d call a religious man, you never know. Entering a private chapel while stinking of alcohol might lead to problems. I’ve often felt I was cursed by the Gods. No point making things worse. I start to make an excuse but Ivaris waves it away. Makri is shuffling round uncomfortably and looks very unhappy about the whole idea. As Ivaris leads us towards the courtyard temple in the centre of the house, Makri whispers in my ear quite urgently.
“Will I have to say anything?”
“No,” I whisper back. “Just nod at the right places. And don’t sing any Orcish hymns or anything.”
“I don’t sing Orcish hymns,” hisses Makri. “I only curse in Orcish.”
“Well don’t do that either.”
“Why would I?” says Makri.
“Who knows? I’ve never understood anything you do.”
“Are you accusing me of being an Orc?” demands Makri, quite loudly.